Three carriages ambled up the wide road leading away from London, traveling north toward the Yorke family home. The group's journey served a duel purpose. Josephine's father was finally home and had summoned his daughter's return. Aside from Mr. Yorke's request, there was to be a celebratory dinner in honor of Miss Whitmore and Sir Cartwright's upcoming nuptials. For those two reasons, Josephine found herself returning home after a minimal stay on High Street.

Taking lead of the procession were Grimsby and Cartwright occupying a single coach. Relishing the space, both men stretched out long legs, opting for comfort over class.

The second carried Miss Isabella Tennyson and a sleeping Miss Chilcott, snuggled beneath Josephine's hand-sewn blanket. How her Aunt could find restful slumber with all the jostling of a bumpy road was beyond Isabella's comprehension. She felt anything but restful. Isabella hadn't planned on traveling. She hated being trapped inside a carriage for any length of time. Although the trip was unexpected, she had been thrilled over the latest developments between Josephine and her ornery brother. He had been unbearable as of late, and Isabella had been biting her tongue until he came back to his senses. Back to Miss Yorke. Tennyson had stressed and fussed over telling his sister, knowing the effect his actions could have upon her future. She had promised complete comprehension of the repercussions to her situation, and yet had given joyful approval, helping to soothe her brother's guilt-ridden heart.

The rear coach, although the largest, was the most cramped. Miss Yorke and Lady Cavender sat across from Lord Cavender and Mr. Tennyson.

Tennyson could have ridden in his plush, well-sprung coach alongside his sister and Aunt, but his desire to be close to Josephine defeated his need for comfort. In fact, he savored the cramped quarters and each violent shake. Holding his breath for the next time her knee might brush against his.

Josephine spent most of the ride sharing secret smiles with the man across the seat. However, she couldn't help but peer beside her every now and again. Lady Cavender donned a distracting fox fur wrap. Head still intact. And not a demure sleeping fox. The creature was snarling. Frozen forever in a moment of rage. Clearly, Lady Cavender's idea of a joke. Several times Josephine had caught Tennyson eyeing the garment warily. Then they had shared a knowing grin. But eventually the fur wrap was too much. It had become the elephant in the room, or you could say the fox in the carriage. It needed to be addressed.

"Pardon my candor Lady Cavender, but your shawl is quite terrifying," Josephine had the decency to look remorseful. "Where on earth did you purchase such a thing? His expression is positively vicious."

Tennyson hid his smirk behind a propped up hand. He had wondered the very same thing, but hadn't the audacity to ask. He was, after all, a guest in The Cavender's coach. Obviously, Josephine had no such qualms.

"Is it not just the ghastliest thing?!" Lady Cavender enthused, pride shining. "I forced my husband to purchase it. We were perusing a little seaside village, and I took one look at that snarling face and fell in love! I plan to scare many a person."

Lord Cavender offered up his own morsel of information, "But it is not a he, Miss Yorke. If you notice the snout, it is quite shorter than a males of the species would be. This here is a vixen. Vixen being, of course, the name for a female fox."

"Of course it would be a girl," Tennyson chimed in, humor evident. "Only a female could look so ferocious." That sent everyone into laughter.

Talk of shawls aside, the carriages slowed signaling a brief respit. Lord and Lady Cavender quickly exited, anxious to stretch their aching limbs. Josephine moved to follow when a folded piece of parchment fell from its hiding place beneath her glove. She tried to recover the fallen piece, but was no match for Tennyson's stealth.

He grabbed the paper with a mischievous grin. "Hiding secret notes, are you?" Tennyson clucked his tongue. "What would your father have to say? Would you like to tell me what it says, or shall I hazard a guess?"

Her expression was more playful than annoyed. "It is one of my lists, if you must know."

"Hmm...last I checked, you were no longer in need of a husband. So, unless my name is occupying each line, I suggest you discard it."

"It is not a list of the husbandly variety, thus you may relax." Josephine soothed, leaning forward and gripping the edge of the seat at each side.

Tennyson leaned in closer, following her movements. Placing his hand upon her jaw, he slowly coaxed her toward his waiting kiss. Both breathless. One, two gentle brushes of the lips. Her future husbands lips. She shyly smiled before darting toward the list clutched in his right hand. Josephine had underestimated her opponents speed and focus. Tennyson quickly secured the paper, while they playfully sparred over it's possession.

Josephine gave up easily, play fighting with him had been the goal. She loved their back and forth. He may have won the paper, but she had been the winner of two perfectly placed kisses. Whether or not he read her list, made little difference to Josephine. She was a terrible secret keeper all around, so why would she try to hide anything from the man she loved?

"You are sneakier than Lady Cavender's shawl, you little vixen," Tennyson declared, winded from there tussle. "But in all seriousness, here, take it." He extended her the list that was rightfully hers without so much as peeking at the contents. Even though she didn't care if he read it, something about him offering it back unread warmed her heart. Tennyson prized control wherever he could find it, so although simple, relinquishing the list had been an extraordinary show of trust.

"Go on, read it. I truly do not mind."

He quirked a disbelieving eyebrow.

"No really. It is of no consequence. Although, the last item may interest you."

His curiosity had officially been raised. "You are sure?" Tennyson double-checked, not wanting to overstep his bounds. But saying he didn't want to read it would have been a lie.

"Positively."

He unfolded the small sheet. Carefully smoothing out the creases. His face remained placid as he examined her scrolled handwriting.  Josephine leaned back, trying to analyze his reaction.

Accept
1. C̶o̶n̶q̶u̶e̶r̶ my fear of roosters.
2. Take Elise to a concert in London.
3. Compose my own piece for pianoforte.
4. Force Father to visit Mother's grave.
5. Find a love which surpasses Tennyson.

Tennyson's eyes scanned each line, giving nothing away. She recited the list within, overcome with sudden embarrassment and vulnerability. Josephine's nerves pushed her to defend, "I wrote it out of frustration, mostly. Or maybe boredom. It is hard to remember. I have no intention of completing the senseless thing. I simply needed to..."

He interrupted her explanation. "Nothing on this list is senseless." His answer was stern. Serious. Josephine swallowed hard. "With one exception. Number five should never have needed to be written. Josephine, I...it is my fault and I am sorry for it. How can you trust me with all I have said and done? Heaven knows I would not have done the same in your position. I am a coward. I hold grudges and assume the worst. But you? Some view forgiveness as a weakness, but they are wrong. It takes strength to look for the good. To trust. You are all that is courage and kindness wrapped in the most beautiful of colors. I do not deserve you. I just pray your father will not notice, because this time, I am not letting you go."

Josephine's heart swelled. It did that a lot around Tennyson. She wished he could see himself through her untainted eyes. But sometimes the monsters blind us to reality. Distort and twist, until the mess becomes our new truth. Josephine thought of Tennyson as a well-worn treasure. Scratched surface, but his value had never diminished. Instead, growing over time. Hardly the picture he painted of himself. She wanted to throw her pedestal he'd created beneath his own two feet.

Had Tennyson made mistakes? Yes. Had he broken her heart. Definitely. But no human is infallible. He had also stitched the pieces back together. She couldn't accept his praise about her forgiveness, when Tennyson was such an easy man to forgive. Like praising a duck for its ability to swim.

"One day I will show you." Her words spilled softer than the green velvet draping her skin.

"Show me what?" he asked.

"Everything you deserve but do not feel worthy of."

The charged silence bounded between them, infused with promise. Hope.

But Tennyson couldn't relinquish his guilt. He had left gaping holes in the story. Josephine knew some but not everything Horace was capable of. She knew that Red's blood stained fur was the result of Horace's growing wrath. But Tennyson hadn't told her the full extent. Not his father likely being responsible for her mother's death. His gut twisted at the thought of revealing that heinous revelation. His already tarnished name could be forever ruined in her eyes. He was being selfish. Lies by omission. Another reason he didn't deserve her.

Tennyson broke the silence, rubbing his jaw. "I am going to help you finish your list. We might as well begin by marking through number five, because as long as I breathe, there will not be a man to love you more than I do."

"How can you be so sure?" she teased, savoring his possessiveness.

His green eyes darted to her blues. Tennyson thought of her father. Mr. Yorke probably loved his daughter just as fiercely as Tennyson. A bond he hoped would solidify the man's approval. Tennyson would marry Josephine either way, but he wanted nothing else to dampen her joy and further mar their tumultuous courtship. She carried enough weights by loving him. Tennyson couldn't stomach another. He needed her father's blessing.

Mr. Yorke's support had other benefits, too. Tennyson needed as many allies as possible when his father finally came calling. Horace Tennyson always took his precious time, probably delighting to think of his son squirming in fear. Horace was like lighting in a storm, you could hear the thunder, see the flashes of white light amongst dark clouds. But where and when it would strike was anyone's guess. Tennyson knew his father would come, he just didn't know when or where or how destructive the crash.

Lord and Lady Cavender would be back to the carriage soon, and their moment alone would pass. Tennyson owed Josephine answers he didn't want to give. When you spend your life not trusting the very people who were supposed to love and protect you, keeping secrets becomes second-nature. But Tennyson wanted to be everything she already thought he was.

He hadn't answered her question, fortifying his nerves to make an overdo confession. Trusting Josephine to love him despite his father's wicked deeds. He grabbed her hand stroking a thumb across her knuckles. "Josephine...there is something I must tell you about my father...Your mother, she..."

The click of the carriage door had them quickly shifting away from one another. Tennyson wasn't sure if he was grateful or irate over the intrusion. He had been ready to lift the weight settled on his chest, and now it would have to wait. Heavy and daunting.

Lady Cavender was the first to retake her seat. "If the fox fur was not enough to keep me warm, the laughter from scaring Sir Cartwright certainly was!" she pronounced, patting congratulations atop the shawls head.

Tennyson and Josephine shared a single look. An unspoken promise to continue their conversation later. And the smirk Josephine added comforted him like no one else ever could. As if saying, calm yourself, it will be alright. And for the first time in Tennyson's life, he almost believed it.

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