Smile.

Do not ruin her evening.

This party will end soon enough.

Josephine eyed a small champagne tower, designed to impress. She could practically hear Constance's voice demanding that her engagement celebration not be complete without one. The decorations were the sort of excess for which her best friend had come to be known. Undoubtedly, Miss Whitmore had managed to give the modest affair an illusion of grandeur.

But no amount of ornaments would quell Miss Yorke's nerves. If Constance hadn't been her dearest friend, Josephine might have occupied her evening elsewhere. Perhaps, helping form a plan. Or, at the very least, pressing her father for more information. Instead, Josephine was eyeing a precarious set of drinking glasses cascading to a finish.

"I do believe my niece inherited her flare from me, did she not?" Lady Cavender appreciated, spoon swirling a rose pink custard, poised to take a delicate taste. "And where has your beau scampered off to?"

True to her unladylike roots, Josephine stole Lady Cavender's spoon, taking an unsolicited bite. After swallowing her ill-gotten gains, she answered, "Tennyson has scampered off with my father. The pair have been inseparable these past few days."

"Why do you sound as if someone robbed your reticule? You should be thrilled that the pair get on so well. Lord Cavender and my father, although friendly, had not a thing in common. One studied animals, meanwhile, the other shot them."

That coaxed a smile. Josephine wasn't jealous of Tennyson's time with her father, but she wasn't keen on being ignorant of the latest plans. Plans they were likely discussing that very moment. Sans Josephine. Her father had said they needed to follow his direction just so. But he had yet to say much at all. Aside from telling Josephine to enjoy Miss Whitmore's party, she was in the dark as to the next step. She knew Sir Hadley was playing a large role. But what that role was? Josephine hadn't a clue.

Besides that, her ire had not wholly dissipated. Both Tennyson and her father had lacked honesty. Lacked trust. Wounds that would heal, but still stung. Josephine envied Constance and her straightforward courtship. Boy meets girl. They fall in love. Both families thrilled. Say I do. Throw the rice. Live happily ever after. Must be nice.

"I am not so downtrodden. I simply...I...ugh I am not even sure anymore," Josephine struggled to express. "Do you ever just wish for a smooth road and all you encounter are divots? I suppose I am weary from all the jostling."

"My dear, no road is without challenges, and what we are able to tolerate is much dependent on the destination. The importance is loving where you are headed." Lady Cavender gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. "But in my humble opinion, you are on the right road. Oh! Upon my word, my sister looks far too complacent. I must go and stir the pot!"

Tennyson was the right road, and worth every jostle. Leave it to Lady Cavender to simplify it so. Josephine was grateful for the reassurance.

Lady Cavender flitted away, and Miss Yorke searched about the room. Henry grinned at Josephine as she tip-toed to peer over top the glasses. "Looking for someone in particular?" he asked.

She spun around at his sudden appearance. "Henry. Well, well, well. What say you?" Josephine eyed is dandified ensemble with curiosity. "I am not sure I have ever seen you in such a powdered shade of blue." She barely controlled her mirth. A wonderful distraction he was.

Henry looked down as if assessing his own garments for the first time. Truth be told, he felt ridiculous, but pride would not permit that admission. "Why yes! I do not think I have ever owned this unforgettable color. You have my Aunt to thank for it. I am sure she was provoking me when she purchased it. But what better revenge than proudly flaunting her gift?"

"The very best revenge, to be sure! I only wished she had gifted you a fox shawl. You would have cut a striking figure with that accoutrement." Josephine's grin was ear to ear.  Henry mirrored her, and tugged at the sleeves of his ridiculous coat.

"Honestly, this garment serves a duel purpose. I am also stealing a measure of attention away from my dear sister. And we both know how Constance feels about that."

"Alright, but promise a reprieve for her wedding day." Josephine teasingly warned. "If you arrive in blacks, I can think of numerous ladies who will deliver you a thrashing."

"Spoil sports, the lot of you." Henry leaned against the doorframe. "After Constance's wedding, I am touring the continent with a few of my school friends." He hoped Josephine would look disappointed by the news.

Unfortunately, she beamed with excitement for him. "Really?! Our Henry, a world traveler! I am delighted for you! There is no better time to see the world, before being bound by wife and family. You must bring me back something! The more obscure the better."

"A mummified beetle, perhaps?"

"Save that gift for your Uncle. He would die of happiness." Josephine clasped hands in front of her with a contemplative expression. "How quickly things change. You are off to see the world. Constance and I will be old married ladies. Elise has found a best friend in Ms. Pendy. If the world does not slow, I am bound to become dizzy." A faint smile touched her lips. "You will be very missed. Promise me you will slow down and savor the memories."

"I promise." Henry knew there would be no confessions of undying love. None of the "please do not go's" he longed for, but he appreciated what Josephine could offer. He would be missed. Very missed. That would have to be enough.

"Pardon me, Miss Yorke," a young housemaid whisper-shouted from the hallway behind them, nervously huddled against the wall. Josephine supposed her nervousness was the result of interrupting their conversation. A forbidden act by a servant. But one easily overlooked by people like Henry and Josephine.

Josephine abandoned Henry, who dipped his head in dismissal, allowing them privacy. Henry assumed, as Josephine had, that it was a matter concerning Constance or the party itself. The housemaid began with apologies. "Forgive me, but there's a man in the library that insisted I find you Miss. He said it was urgent he speak with you. I wasn't sure what to do. He didn't give me his name. What shall I tell him, Miss?"

A man in the library? It had to be Tennyson. There may be something new to tell. Was their plan taking shape? Whatever that plan was. She needed to find out. "No need to tell him anything. You have done what he has asked. I will go see him for myself. Thank you." It wasn't the housemaid's place to question a lady, so she just looked on wearily as Josephine advanced down the hall and out of sight.

The clamoring of voices had dimmed to muffled tones, as the distance between Josephine and the festivities expanded. Pushing the library door open, she examined the dimly lit room. The sun now beneath the horizon, with the moon putting on little show through the tall windows. A fire burned weakly, clinging to life. Her eyes roved, searching for the familiar face. Until there the face was sitting behind a small writing desk. Tennyson. She gasped. Horace Tennyson.

"Close the door." His cold tone left no room for argument.

Josephine tried to steady trembling hands as she sealed herself in with a monster. She contemplated running out the door but couldn't seem to convince her feet. She would pretend there was nothing unorthodox about his summons, or his appearance in the Whitmore's dark library. "Mr. Yorke, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Do not be coy Miss Yorke. I have no tolerance for the ignorant and even less for those who feign it."

She kept her chin high, a desperate attempt at confidence. It didn't fool either of them.

"Come closer." Another summons, feeling infinitely more dangerous than the last. She took two slow steps, and conceded to another two more when Mr. Yorke kept determined stares on her feet. The party noise gone. Replaced by calm crackles of wood and the easy swishing of Josephine's skirt. Quiet usually calmed, but tonight it amplified the tension.

He gestured to a bench seat positioned between his spot at the desk and the room's marble fireplace. Josephine looked out the large windows to her left. One propped open, allowing a dusky breeze to filter in. She wondered if that was how Horace came to be in the Whitmore's library. Had he crawled in through that very window? Josephine wished she could crawl out through it, but something about Horace's sinister demeanor begged her not to try.

"I would rather stand." She argued against his suggestion. Josephine was already closer than she ever wanted to be. His presence was filling the room. Suffocating, a deafening noise in the silence.

Horace smirked, and with a heavy thud, propped a mahogany-handled pistol atop the desk. Aimed directly at her heart. "Please sit," he said. "I insist."

And for the first time since she had entered the library, Josephine was grateful she hadn't tried to run. Horace's bullet would have stopped her.

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Forgive me for never updating! I've kinda lost my enthusiasm with this book even though I only have like 2 chapters left!
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