Ben scribbled out a line, enjoying the brief cessation of rain. He had never written a more difficult letter in his life, but he had no intentions of actually speaking to his mother, even over telephone lines and the Atlantic Ocean. If she found out . . . he could not say whether her hatred of the Fitzwilliams or desire for social prominence would win the day, but he wasn't about to find out.

"Mr Gardiner?"

Ben jolted, nearly knocking over his cup of tea, and met a pair of familiar cool green eyes. Belatedly, he stood. "Miss Fitzwilliam, what an . . . unexpected . . . pleasure."

She smiled. "Yes, it is rather." She looked around the shop distastefully. "This is very . . . quaint, isn't it?"

Beautiful she might be, but charming she most certainly was not. Ben could not prevent a certain frostiness entering his voice as he said, "I daresay it is very different from what you are accustomed to."

"I meant no offence. The best books are just across the street, and I was hungry, so Mr Solomon directed me here. He said I wouldn't find better tea anywhere. What do you think?" She settled herself across from him without so much as a by-your-leave. It took every ounce of composure he possessed to keep from desperately searching the letter for incriminating material. She would only have to look down to catch the name -- he was sure he had mentioned Marianne -- but snatching it up would look even worse.

"My preferences are too plebeian for you, I fear," he said, reaching for the letter and folding it up as casually as he could. "I find that it tastes very much like tea, which is enough for me."

"Oh!" She looked embarrassed. "Did I interrupt you?"

"Yes," said Ben, smiling; "but it does not follow that the interruption must be unwelcome. It was simply a matter of obligation, very dull."

"Well, then -- you do not mind my sharing the table?" There was a faint smile on her face, and Ben briefly wondered if she was as oblivious as she appeared.

"Of course not. You must tell me how you met Janine and Carl."

"Actually, I don't know Janine that well, although she seems lovely. Carl is my friend. He and my brother were schoolmates -- Eton -- and bonded over some dreadful thing, although they are not really similar at all. I met him when Darcy brought him along when he came home for the holiday, Carl's family was abroad or something -- they were very laissez-faire sort of parents, you know -- do you know the Carletons well?"

"No, I'm afraid not -- is Darcy one of them?" inquired Ben. He was not truly curious about the ins-and-outs of this overbred young lady's connections, he assured himself -- in fact, in the light of day, he knew that he did not truly care about her at all -- it was only for Marianne's sake.

She looked both astonished, amused, and horrified at once. It was a rare feat. "No, he is my brother."

He could not keep his mouth from twitching. "Darcy and Daria?"

"We're twins." An attendant who had always treated Ben with familiarity bordering on insubordination set a cup of tea before Daria.

"Your tea, Miss Fitzwilliam," he murmured.

"Thank you," she said absently, every inch lady of the manor -- even when there was no manor. "It's a family name, actually. There were plenty of Fitzwilliam Darcys in mother's family, and Darcy Fitzwilliams in father's -- they intermarried often enough. Mother and father are only distantly related, though."

"That must be a great comfort to you."

She looked faintly puzzled. Ben sighed. No sense of humour either.

"That is how I met Carl, and when he met Janine -- " she shrugged. "Darcy and I weren't certain about it, but he was determined -- and since it was the only thing he'd ever been determined about in his life, we gave him our blessing. Fortunately, it turned out well. She is a lovely girl."

"You gave him your blessing?" It was only with the greatest of efforts that he kept his face straight. "Surely he's old enough to make his own decisions?"

She gave him a patronising glance. "You haven't known Carl very long, have you?"