Author's note: I have now changed the summary of the story to include AU as well as regular canon, so the summary will not be misleading anymore. I truly do care about my writing; if I didn't, you'd have a story chock full of grammar and spelling errors. Anyway, thanks for the reviews! A double thanks to callensensei for helping me with the AU idea! Enjoy chapter four!

My Unfading Flower- Mr. Thurston Howell III's thoughts on his wife, Lovey.

Being rich, I have seen many beautiful women in my day. Of course, being born to privilege has it's drawbacks- not many, but being chased by women is one of them. It seems rather picky of me to state so, but believe me, when you are a single young rich man you get most of your exercise running away from prospective mates. At least, that's how it was in those days. Now, people have an appalling lack of motivation; they marry only for love. You see, I was immensely lucky. I married well and for love.

The first time I saw her face was at the Miramar Cotillion. In those days, the dances at the Miramar were something else! All the Harvard men would impress the ladies and shame the Yale boys, and everyone would have a grand time. By midnight, the Yale men would leave in a huff, and then the party would really begin! I usually entered around midnight, though. I could never stand those Yale men.

Well, I came in late and the first face I saw was hers. She was standing by the doors to the terrace, taking in some fresh air. She was alone, and had nestled herself in between some gigantic bouquets of roses. But the lady was too beautiful for the roses; she outshone them all. I was surprised that no man had claimed her hand yet.

I moved to go to her side, but one of my college buddies stopped me. "Don't you know that she's a Wentworth?" he inquired. "You'd have to be a duke or a prince to get her hand."

I frowned. "Is she really that picky?" I said rather huffily.

"Oh, no! The girl's a real topper! It's just... her family is really strict, you know?"

My smile returned then, along with my resolve to win the lady's hand. I promptly thanked my college pal for his input and promptly threw it out the window. I wasn't used to being told no.

I smiled as I approached her, a boyish grin from ear to ear. I was dashing in those days, and I knew Shakespeare from heart. I recited a sonnet before I even inquired her name, and I saw her face brighten with pleased embarrassment. You see, no one else had dared approach her.

We spent the entire evening together, finally breaking apart when the chauffeurs came to get us around five (the proper time for an exclusive party to break up). I was amazed at the sincerity and beauty of this woman. Of course, I thought her kind of forgetful at first, but after a while I found that was a redeeming quality. She never remembered to hold grudges (for long).

We spent all summer together, gallivanting in the evenings when parties were in full swing. I attended every garden party, and she attended every sports outing. We knew it was love after the first few weeks; we no longer would say, "I", we said "we."

Alas, as tragic tales go, her parents found out about our romance. We were forbidden to marry! Well, being forbidden never stopped a Howell. The Howells are known for their courage! Their strength in adversity! Their sheer natural ability to climb up ladders to third stories... well, that relates back to Uncle Lester, whom I shall not discuss here. Suffice it to say, my princess in her tower was willing to elope with me, and I was willing to throw caution to the wind. So, like the noble kings of old, I stole a ladder from the window-washer, saddled up my polo pony, and sneaked out to the Wentworth house in the middle of the night.

She was waiting for me, dressed in a beautiful white spring dress. It wasn't exactly a wedding dress, but I believe she never looked lovelier than she did at that moment.

I began to comment her on her good looks. "My, you're lovely," I meant to say, but due to the darkness my lovely bride stepped on my hand and it came out, "Love-EEE!"

The screech awoke her parents, who in an instant had the grounds flooded with light. My lady and I scurried down the rest of the way, and no sooner than I had her situated on my polo pony than I heard her mother begin to scream. I jumped up beside my bride to be, and we rode off in a flurry, gunshots masking the sound of my horse's hooves.

"Thurston," she said as I was trying to steer the wild steed, "I just love what you called me back there."

"What is it, dear?" I asked as the horse rattled through the Wentworth woods.

"Lovey," she said. "It's much better than my real name, Eunice."

"Well, I'll agree to that," I replied, still trying to keep us from falling headlong into a ditch.

"So, could you call me that from now on? Please, Thurston?" she begged.

"Alright, I'll call you Lovey! Just let me steer this thing..." I replied.

"Oh, good!" she said excitedly, not noticing the strain in my voice. "I'm glad."

It's been many years since I told the story of our courtship, but never have I once regretted what I did. True, Lovey and I have our little spats, as all married couples do, but each day I find something more about her to love. The way she has acted through this entire dilemma; she mothers the other castaways, she listens to everyone's problems, and she throws us parties to help us all unwind. She is always making sure we are well, and never have I seen a kinder nurse in times of sickness. She is truly beautiful to me; as beautiful as she was the night I met her. The night I happened to catch the eye of an unfading flower in the midst of wilting roses.