A/N: Guys, I'm overwhelmed by the response to this so far - thank you so much to all of you who read/favourited/followed/reviewed. Updates will roughly be weekly for this, but I'm posting this one early in honour of the release of Poldark because we need all our Hobbit men in period dress!

I've also managed to find my Bag-End House - it is Barnsley House in Gloucestershire - the photo can be found on the Sonnet page of my tumblr. I have images of the other houses in my mind, so if anyone wishes to know, feel free to ask.

So without further ado, here is the next instalment, I hope you enjoy!

TWO

not love

Lobelia Bracegirdle was not by any means Bilbo Baggins' favourite person in Little Bagshot. She was ostentatious and rude and generally thought herself above everyone else. Which was partly why he had invited her to tea - her taking umbrage to Mr Durin's comment was the very thing he needed to fuel his righteous anger.

"He slighted you?" she questioned loudly, her fingers gripping the china handle of her tea cup tightly. "To your face?"

"Not to my face," Bilbo corrected.

"Yes, he was hiding behind a pillar," Asphodel chimed in, her smirk hidden by the her teacup.

"I was not hiding!" he protested, "I just happened to overhear their conversation from where I was stood."

"Behind a pillar," Primula added in flatly. Bilbo just glared at her.

It was the Monday following the ball, so naturally, their conversation had turned to the subject of any gossip from the party at Tuckborough.

"I find it hard to understand why he considers himself so above you," Lobelia muttered snootily, "Or indeed the rest of us."

"I think his fortune may have a little to do with it," Primula reasoned.

"Manners maketh man. And I don't think he could have acted in a less gentlemanlike manner had he called Bilbo a farmhand to his face." The last part she near spat out, venom darkening her tone. Bilbo was quite sure she took great offense to one she had once pursued being likened to a common farmer.

"Well we shall not stoop to his level," Asphodel stated firmly. Bilbo almost winced as he recognised the stern, mothering tone she used on her nieces and nephews. "Instead we shall hold a party for them - for them all."

"It has been quite some time since Bag-End has played host to any kind of large gathering."

"Mr Baggins, you can't be considering this," Lobelia protested.

"I have been looking for an excuse to have a party for quite some time now," Bilbo replied, "And being overly kind to Mr Durin seems as good a reason as any."

"Kill them with kindness," Asphodel laughed. "I did say that arrogant man would regret his words to you."

"Mr Fundinson told me how his friend dislikes dancing," said Primula, "Perhaps we should make there is at least some of the amusement. We may not have a grand ballroom like Tuckborough, but there's space enough."

"It will have to be after the dance at the Assembly Rooms," said Lobelia. "Otherwise it will happen too close to the ball. What a shame it must be for Mr Durin, that we hold so many dances here."

Their conversation soon passed onto the subject of the upcoming dance as opposed to the one they had just had previous, speculating, as always, on who would dance with whom. One of Bilbo's cousins was, according to Asphodel, who in turn had heard it from Menegilda, intending to court Miss Gilly Brownlock.

"I suspect we will hear of an engagement soon, even taking into account the usual Baggins reticence in such matters."

The rest of the week Primula and Bilbo engaged in nothing but minor social calls for young Frodo was coming home from school and his cousin was quite beside herself at times in excitement. She busied herself with sewing him a new handkerchief and bothering their poor cook Bell Gamgee to ensure they had all the ingredients to prepare all of Frodo's favourite meals and sweets.

Bilbo himself rode up to Gloucester in order buy several new books and toys for his nephew and to frame the watercolour Primula had completed the week before of himself, sat reading beneath the old oak tree in the garden. It being one of her best works and he insisted on setting it on a particular empty wall in his parlour he had been meaning to fill for quite some time.

Thursday could not come soon enough, and when it arrived, he and Primula passed the morning restless with anticipation and unable to focus on any one activity as they sat in the parlour. At the familiar sound of hooves on gravel, they dashed out into the courtyard, grinning broadly as the carriage came to a stop. Frodo hopped out into the ready embrace of his mother and she littered his face with kisses. His tiny nose wrinkled at the attention until she released. Bilbo received a tight hug about his legs before he bent down to scoop the boy up, letting out a breath at the exertion.

"You've grown my lad."

"And I've lost my tooth," the boy declared proudly, sticking his tongue through the gap in his teeth.

"Well I hope that means you're still able to eat cake," Primula teased.

Frodo's bright blue eyes lit up, "There's cake? Can I have some?"

"Once we've had luncheon," Bilbo answered and set him on the floor once more, ruffling his mop of dark curls as he led him inside.

For the rest of the afternoon, Frodo played in the bright sunshine with the Gamgee's youngest son, Samwise, the two resuming their friendship as if their months apart had never occurred. Sam's father, Hamfast Gamgee was one of the tenant farmers on Bilbo's estate and despite the differences in their situation, Bilbo got along with him very well.

The following day Bilbo decided to take Frodo over to Brandy Hall to see his cousin Merimac who would have just returned from school also. The walk was a good three miles but the day was a little milder so it was not a chore, but pleasant.

As they were passing through the town centre, he saw Mr Fundinson across the square and he hailed him,

"Mr Fundinson, good day!"

Quickly, he smoothed away the frown that twitched at his brow as he saw Mr Fundinson was not alone.

"And Mr Durin, to you too," he added, with a notably smaller amount of enthusiasm.

"Ah Mr Baggins, hello to you," Mr Fundinson greeted. Mr Durin just inclined his head. Mr Fundinson smiled kindly down at Frodo, "And this must be the young Master Baggins I heard so much about."

"Indeed," Bilbo turned and smiled down at his nephew. "Frodo this is Mr Fundinson and Mr Durin, they moved into Ered Luin House."

Frodo offered them a shyer version of his usual toothy grin. "Nice to meet you."

"By the by, Mr Fundinson, you are all invited to a small gathering at Bag-End, Mrs Baggins will be sending the invitations."

"Thank you," Mr Fundinson replied kindly, "How is your cousin?"

Bilbo did not miss the slight frown that clouded Mr Durin's brow.

"She is in good health, thank you Mr Fundinson. Excited to have this one back," he added, with a ruffle to Frodo's hair that made the boy squawk in protest.

The boy tugged at his sleeve then, "Uncle, are we still going to see Uncle Rory and Auntie Menny?"

"Yes, and we're in plenty of time for luncheon so don't you worry," he said, punctuating his statement with a light tweak to Frodo's nose.

"Uncle?" came the distinct voice of Mr Durin who was frowning fully. "Forgive me, but I was under the impression he was yours and Mrs Baggins' son."

"He is Mrs Baggins' son, but not mine. Frodo's late father was my cousin Drogo Baggins, Primula was his wife, and I took them both in after his passing," Bilbo explained. He needed to speak to Primula - if it emerged that someone had actually mistaken them for married, even if it was an honest mistake, the town gossips would have a field day.

"So there is not, in fact, a Mrs Bilbo Baggins?" Mr Durin asked, his voice a little tight.

"No," said Bilbo firmly, "Nor is there ever likely to be." He muttered the last bit before he could help himself and froze, finding his eyes locked with those piercing blue ones, their expression unreadable.

"Well," Mr Fundinson began with a cough, "We had best let you get going. It was nice seeing you, Mr Baggins."

"Good day, Mr Fundinson, Mr Durin," he said, barely able to nod his head in farewell before he was pulled away by Frodo.

"Prim," Bilbo began resolutely. It was suppertime, and with Frodo already in bed, Bilbo and his cousin had elected to sit out on the veranda, watching the setting sun as they shared a pot of tea and Bilbo smoked a pipe.

"Yes?"

"We need to be more careful."

"What on earth do you mean?" she asked, frowning.

"When I encountered Mr Fundinson and Mr Durin on our walk today, I introduced them to Frodo."

"That's nice," she replied airily, then raised her eyebrow in a manner that questioned where Bilbo was going with the conversation.

"Mr Durin seemed to be under the impression that we were married."

Primula snorted loudly, ignoring Bilbo's nonplussed expression.

"Sorry Bilbo, but you know how ridiculous I find the prospect of us bound in matrimony."

"I'm flattered," he answered flatly.

"I will check our behaviour though," she continued, thankfully a little more serious now, "Perhaps if we do not dance at the Assembly Rooms?"

Bilbo wondered at that - knowing the people of Little Bagshot, if they changed their behaviour too much, it would be picked up on and decided that they were attempting to conceal something - something like a secret engagement. Instead, Bilbo resolved that he should feign a strain of some kind and swear off dancing for the whole evening.

As much as Bilbo adored dancing, he did not falter in his decision and so remained upon the sidelines, watching the merriment with a relaxed smile and fending off prospective partners with an apologetic comment about his knee. This worked for the most part and Bilbo did not feel too unkind in his refusals for there were plenty of partners to go around. The Old Oak Inn, known locally as 'the Party Tree' was a large set of rooms in the centre of town and indeed, it seemed as if all of Little Bagshot had come down that night, dressed in a vibrant mix of colours that swelled and twirled with the dancing throng.

Bilbo himself had worn his favourite burgundy velvet coat - it was getting a little worn now and would soon need to be relegated from his dress clothes, but since he was not intending to dance tonight, he revelled in the comfort the warm, familiar fabric provided.

"Come Mr Baggins you must dance! You cannot remain in the corner all evening."

Bilbo withheld a sigh as he was accosted by his Uncle Isembold, who, that night, it seemed, had taken it upon himself to see to it that everyone danced at least one turn.

"Thank you, no, Mr Took," he answered, voice a little overly-polite. "I am not of a mind to dance this night."

"Nonsense!" Isembold cried, "Look there is Mr Durin, he is not presently engaged." Bilbo winced as his uncle called the tall gentleman over, his face fixed in its usual unimpressed expression. Bilbo remembered the man was rather disinclined towards the amusement. "Come Mr Durin, say you will dance with Mr Baggins here."

To Bilbo's surprise, Mr Durin bowed his head and offered out his hand, "Mr Baggins."

"Please, you must excuse me," said Bilbo, "I injured my knee on my walk today, so I do not dance tonight."

"Well then we must get you to a seat," the man said, frowning down at Bilbo. His uncle had already disappeared off, no doubt to search out his next victim.

He took the proffered arm and let Mr Durin lead him into the other room, where there were seats and tables. On his way out, he caught eyes with Primula, who was in the midst of a dance with Adalgrim, and scowled at her inquisitive look.

Only once he had taken the seat Mr Durin had found for him, did he realise how warm the man's arm had been and he stared down at his hand in confusion.

"I hope you are comfortable."

Bilbo looked up sharply, his hand quickly curling into a fist, and nodded.

"Yes, I thank you."

Mr Durin turned to go, but before he could, they were approached by Mr Fundinson's younger brother, looking every inch the soldier in his formal uniform of a rich crimson.

He glanced at Bilbo and offered a curt nod before looking to Mr Durin expectantly.

"Mr Baggins, may I present Colonel Dwalin Fundinson; Colonel, Mr Bilbo Baggins of Bag-End."

The Colonel inclined his head in greeting, evidently more like his friend than his brother, in being of few words. Then, however, he offered a small quirk of his lips, that on anyone else Bilbo may have called a teasing smile, to his friend and said, "So this is Mr Baggins."

"Your uncle came to call, he spoke of you," Mr Durin said quickly, by way of an explanation, before he excused himself and disappeared into the crowd.

Colonel Fundinson took a seat adjacent to Bilbo, looking at him appraisingly.

Bilbo shifted uncomfortably as he searched for a topic of conversation. "I hear you are engaged to be married?"

The Colonel did smile then and Bilbo almost fell off his chair at the shock of seeing that expression as anything but intimidatingly stoic.

"Indeed, to a Mr Ryson; he is a vicar in a parish in Surrey. Least suitable job for him in my opinion - he was a horror when we were children."

Bilbo laughed a little at that, "Our local vicar is one of my mother's brothers Isembard - he and my mother were the most mischievous of the Earl's children - not exactly priesthood material either."

"I swear there are too many Tooks here to keep track of," the Colonel muttered, not unkindly.

"Well my mother had eight brothers and two sisters - most of whom have grandchildren of their own now, and that's just the immediate line."

He let out a low whistle, "I do not quite fancy the idea of ten siblings - one was just enough for me."

Bilbo gave an understanding nod, "I am in fact an only child, so sometimes the sheer size of my extended family can overwhelm me."

"They seem very amiable. Though it is a shame the same cannot be said for everyone here."

Bilbo caught the pointed look Colonel Fundinson gave across the room towards Lobelia who kept glancing over at the pair, her expression mildly affronted.

"Ah, never mind Miss Bracegirdle. She has just taken offence to something your friend said."

He let out something akin to a groan then, his expression a mixture of annoyed and apologetic.

"Yes, I was told about that; has my friend not apologised yet?"

"Not as such, no."

"He does regret what he said," Colonel Fundinson said seriously and Bilbo was quite sure he was telling the truth. Mr Durin's attentiveness tonight spoke of an apology where his words did not. "He just does converse with strangers as well as he should like."

"I am not sure how well I should fare; for none here are a stranger to me, and we each are all so well acquainted," said Bilbo and he started in earnest to wonder what it must be like, to come into a place such as Little Bagshot; where no-one new ever really came, and no-one born there ever really left. There was an order to things here, a manner in which all things were done; who married whom, who lived where. That was why Mr Fundinson's coming had been such a sensation because it was the first real change that had happened in a long time.

"Little Bagshot was brought to our attention by a gentleman in London - Sir Grey - are you acquainted with him at all?"

"Sir Gandalf Grey?"

It had been a long while since he had heard that name aloud, or indeed seen the tall grey haired man to whom it belonged.

The Colonel nodded.

"He was a dear friend of my mother's," Bilbo informed him. "I have not seen him since her death, but he did so love to visit here."

Bilbo gave a happy sigh as he recalled many a Midsummer's Eve as a child spent in the gardens at Tuckborough, watching the fireworks Sir Grey brought every year.

"Have you ever seen his fireworks?"

The Colonel raised a thick eyebrow, "His fireworks? No I have not."

"He is famous for them, around these parts. He would do a display each year at Tuckborough for Midsummer."

"Such a shame for us to have missed it," said the Colonel politely.

"There hasn't been fireworks since the last Earl - my grandfather - died some ten years ago. There is still a party up at the Manor though."

Bilbo repressed the sombre mood that threatened to rise up alongside the mention of the death of the Earl - such an event was embroiled in the terrible winter that had swept through Little Bagshot, which also claimed the life of his late father.

No indeed, such a happy occasion did not call for such thoughts.

With a forced smile, he rose from his seat.

"If you will excuse me, Colonel Fundinson," said he, "I should like to go get myself a drink."

The Colonel bowed his head in farewell and Bilbo set off towards the large table that held the punchbowl. Along the way, he was swooped down upon by Lobelia.

"Mr Baggins," she hissed, "Why were you talking to Mr Durin and the Colonel?"

It amused Bilbo somewhat that her distaste for the man had spread to one of his friends, but not the other, he supposed that it was because Mr Fundinson was more sociable than his brother, given the open secret of his need to find a wife.

"The Colonel is actually very amiable Miss Bracegirdle, and not inclined to insult our ways," he began, his tone one of light scolding, "As for Mr Durin, I fear he may simply need time to acquaint himself to our way of life. He does appear to wish to make amends."

Lobelia huffed, but left him alone, and disappeared in the direction of his cousin Otho.

Bilbo managed to spend the remainder of the dance without engaging in anything but light conversation with various people. Without dancing, it was considerably less entertaining and without that pleasant kind of exhaustion afterwards he did not fall asleep so easily and instead lay on his back, mulling over the events of the evening.

Mr Durin had indeed been rather gentlemanly - and his arm had been very warm.

"If the weather holds out, we will be able to host the party in the garden," Primula mused, her eyes moving to the garden outside, bathed in the soft morning sunlight.

Bilbo gave a hum of agreement, though his eyes were more focused on the letter he held in his left hand. Though, as he had expressed to Colonel Fundinson some days previous, he had not seen Sir Grey in around seven years, he did still partake in a rather irregular correspondence with the man. This letter was, so far, much similar to the others previous, enquiries after Bilbo and his family and anecdotes from Sir Grey's own colourful life. He also mentioned having recommended Little Bagshot, and Ered Luin House in particular, to a friend and wondered whether Bilbo had yet had chance to become properly acquainted with the Fundinsons as of yet.

"Bilbo?" Primula prompted when he did not respond to her in satisfactory manner.

"I'm sure that will be lovely," he said distractedly, catching the side of his mouth with the jam-covered scone and leaving a streak of pink there.

His cousin made a vague noise of irritation and went back to her breakfast and fussing over Frodo who had somehow managed to get smear of jam in his eyebrow.

"Sir Grey is coming to visit," Bilbo announced, his gaze still locked onto the paper before him.

Primula raised an eyebrow at him, only speaking when she realised her cousin was not paying her any notice, "Indeed?"

Young Frodo perked up in his seat, having heard many a tale of the man's fireworks.

"Yes," Bilbo said, placing down his scone to trace the words on the paper, "He writes: 'It has recently come to my attention that I have not been paying you the courtesy you deserve. I miss Little Bagshot ever so acutely and as such, would presume to impose upon your kindness, should such a thing be agreeable. I am currently in residence at Rivendell Abbey, home of my dear friend Elrond Peredhel, the Duke of Suffolk, so please send any further correspondence there. Unless I hear otherwise, I shall presume to arrive three weeks this Wednesday hence, and you can expect me at four o'clock, prompt. I am most looking forward to seeing you again my dear boy.'"

Primula let out an impressed breath, "The Duke of Suffolk? I suppose I should not have expected any less of the great Sir Gandalf."

"We could put him in the Blue Room," Bilbo mused, setting aside the letter to take a sip from his teacup.

"Does he say for how long he intends to stay?"

"No, he does not," he replied with a quick glance back to the letter. "I shall write to him at once and ask." He paused for a moment to finish off his tea before adding, "However, when he used to come for an unspecified amount of time, he usually would not leave until he had coerced someone in going on an 'adventure' with him. Most likely a Took. Even more likely my mother."

Primula raised an eyebrow, a amused gleam in her eye, "I did not know your mother went away unchaperoned."

"She was wild, even for a Took," said Bilbo fondly, "That and I think everyone in Little Bagshot knows Sir Grey to be harmless, if a little eccentric."

"Will you be like Sir Grey when you get older Uncle?" Frodo piped up from where he had been engrossed in his food. "Will you not marry and instead travel around the country with your stories?"

"I'm afraid not my boy," Bilbo chuckled, "I have no intention of leaving Little Bagshot."

Frodo's little brow pulled into a confused frown, "But what if you should fall in love with a man who lives far away?"

Primula laughed heartily, partly at her son's concern and partly at Bilbo's shocked expression.
"There are not many from afar who come here," she comforted him, "So you need not fear someone coming to steal your Uncle away."

Frodo nodded, placated, then fixed a serious gaze upon each of them.

"When I am older," he said determinedly, "I am going to marry Sam."

Bilbo grinned, "A fine match indeed."

Frodo's instant smile quickly quashed the negative thoughts that sprung up in his mind; Bilbo had no objections to such a thing personally, but the class difference would be a cause for disapproval, coupled with the fact Frodo was Bilbo's sole heir and as such would be expected to marry to produce heirs. Yet, Bilbo mused, he had still managed to find an heir, wishing only for a marriage of true minds and, for him, such a union would not bear him any sons. No, Frodo could marry whomever he wished, just as Bilbo's father had told him, and the boy was lucky if he had indeed found someone already, at the age of six.

That afternoon Bilbo sat in his study, writing a reply to Sir Grey, as he watched Frodo and Sam playing in the garden with a smile on his face. Primula, as she would be for each day for the rest of the week, was busy completing tasks for the party, planning the menu, sending invitations and things of that ilk.

Bilbo, by contrast, passed the time in a much more idle manner. Most afternoons he spent in the garden, reading in the shade of the old oak. On Wednesday, he took Frodo and Sam up to Brandy Hall to spend the day with Merimac, who, despite his protests that at ten he was much too old for such games, led a pirate raid on the sweets shelf of the pantry. Three young privateers collapsed at his side, a book in the hands of Merimac, and so Bilbo spent the afternoon in the rose garden at Brandy Hall, reading to them some of Gulliver's Travels.

Sooner than Bilbo realised, the party at Bag-End was upon them. Primula, it seemed, had taken it upon herself to host a rather more informal affair - a sort of buffet - in the garden, something she stated Bilbo had approved of, yet he had no recollection of doing so. As it was, he thought a party in the garden was rather a splendid idea, for the garden was at its loveliest in summer and the day had been bright and cloudless, as was the evening thus far.

He stood upon the veranda, engaging in light conversation with his various guests as they entered, Primula, ever the dutiful hostess, at his side, He was just informing his Uncle Isumbras of Sir Grey's forthcoming arrival when his butler, Hayward, announced the arrival of the Fundinsons and Mr Durin. The Earl promised to ask him more of it before moving aside so his nephew could greet his latest guests.

Mr Fundinson greeted them with his usual warmth and his brother was friendly in that gruff manner of his. Even Mr Durin wore a milder version of his habitual stern expression as he greeted Bilbo.

"Mr Baggins, I thank you for your hospitality."

"We thank you for joining us," he answered politely, "Please, help yourself to the wine, eat your fill."

Mr Durin inclined his head in thanks, then again to Primula in greeting, though he did not offer her any words before he moved to join the Colonel and they both headed for the long table that was laden with food.

Bilbo did not miss the significant look Primula shot him over Mr Fundinson's shoulder. She would get some strange look in her eye each time their neighbour's friend was mentioned in passing conversation - ever since he had told her of what ever happened at the dance.

The day following the dance, she had come to him in his study, a figurative bee in her bonnet.

"I meant to speak to you last night," she had begun in that dangerous tone that usually foreshadowed a good scolding. "But why did I have Lobelia telling me off last night because, Heaven forbid, you decided to consort with Mr Durin?"

Bilbo sighed heavily, "She seems to have taken greater offence than I to Mr Durin." He rubbed the bridge of his nose to ward off the headache that usually came with trying to fathom the workings of the young lady's mind. "Honestly, he behaved perfectly well - he helped me to a seat when I told him I could dance due to my...injury."

Primula was silent, looking at him in utter incredulity. Then, finally, she asked, "He asked you to dance?"

Bilbo had given her a mild glare, one he hoped warned her mind off pursuing any particular trains of thought. Mr Durin was very handsome, so much was apparent to even the most indifferent observer, but the very notion! The man was just making amends for his previous poor conduct. "He was practically forced into it by Uncle Isembold - you know how he is."

Primula gave a hum of agreement that did nothing to ease his mind before she left him well enough alone.

Bilbo had avoided bringing it up any further; content that for now, at least, she seemed to have the sense to let the matter be.

The look she was giving him now, however, gave him no such comfort.

All their guests had arrived and, left to his musings, he had somehow wandered into a conversation between Asphodel and Misters Fundinson and Durin, with the former two being the main contributors.

"I did not realise you were Mrs Baggins' sister," Mr Fundinson was saying.

"Yes, she is the youngest of us all," said Asphodel.

"And, pray tell, how many is 'all'?"

"Seven," Bilbo answered.

"Seven?" Mr Fundinson asked. "So I take it the propensity for large families in these parts is not just limited to the Tooks?"

He looked surprised when both Bilbo and Asphodel chuckled heartily.

"Mrs Burrows' mother was my mother's sister."

"So a Took," concluded Mr Durin, drawing a slight look of surprise from Asphodel at his, albeit minor, contribution.

"We are everywhere," said Asphodel flippantly.

"The family connections here do seem a little… confusing," Mr Fundinson tried diplomatically.

"Nobody really likes to leave," Bilbo explained with a shrug, "So the extensive intermarrying is largely us making to with what we have."

Asphodel snorted ungraciously, "Not that that applies to you, cousin?"

"Yes, well you know the offers I've had," he replied dryly. "It is a wonder I am still amenable to the idea at all."

"You are to remain a bachelor then?" inquired Mr Fundinson with a surprised tilt to his brow.

"If I can help it."

"You would not marry Mrs Baggins then?" Mr Durin asked, his tone derisive. "Even though you sit here and you make house together?"

Bilbo narrowed his eyes, feeling his temper begin to simmer, "What are you implying, sir?"

"It is rather improper, do you not think, Mr Baggins?"

"Perhaps so," he managed to concede before his anger boiled over, and he continued sharply, "But I love Primula like a sister and she brings a light to this house that had been extinguished when my mother passed and I like to think that I provide some small form of comfort to her as she continues to grieve her late husband. So yes, it may be improper, but it does us more good than not and I thank you not to pass such judgements on myself or my family!"

He finished his tirade taking in a deep breath, a little too incensed to be embarrassed by the extra looks he had drawn towards them. Excusing himself quickly, he moved away to go fix himself another cup of wine. The imprudence of the man! He had even defended him to Lobelia. Well, he certainly regretted his insistence that the man was more gentlemanlike than their first encounter would imply. Evidently, he had been quite right the first time - the man was insufferable!

After the party had ended, Bilbo sat with Primula on the veranda, each wearing a blanket to ward off the coolness that darkness brought as they sipped upon a nightcap. Primula was drinking hers much slower, occasionally raising her cup to her lips in between staring at the amber liquid pensively. The silence between them was reflective, but as comfortable as all their silences were wont to be.

"That was quite the spectacle earlier," said Primula slowly, after a while.

Bilbo ran a hand through his hair, ruffling the once combed curls as he heaved a sigh.

"Sorry," he began, "But you know I will not allow for someone to besmirch your reputation thus."

His cousin gave him a long suffering glance, "And what of your own?"

"I have the inherent respectability of being a Baggins," he smirked teasingly, "Whereas you, my dear Prim, are half-Brandybuck, half-Took."

She gave him a brief, aghast look and swatted his arm in jest. Bilbo chuckled quietly to himself and she joined in after a moment before sobering.

"Still Bilbo, I will not invite ridicule upon us - what if you found someone but he would not choose you because of me?"

Bilbo took her hand that lay upon the table, stroking the back of it gently in an attempt to dissuade her worry. "If that were the case, then he would not be a man whom I could love."

She answered his wry smile with one of her own and the two lapsed into silence once more. Together, they remained thus, watching the deep night sky, only retiring when the paler blues of the early summer dawn began to creep upon the horizon.