Okay. Short author's note this time, since I'm posting this in the library at school and don't have much time. I know I promised a ball…but I did have to include some major plot points…and they took up thirteen pages. Never fear! I've started working on the ball chapter now (boy…is it going to be long!) THE REVIEWS ARE ABSOLUTELY FANTASTIC! I would answer them all…but, again, school library. And the bell is about to ring (was supposed to doing research on a debate…but I wanted to work on this, instead.) Okay…MY READERS ARE THE BEST READERS IN THE ENTIRE WORLD!!! Yep. That's right. I'll answer some of the reviews next chapter, okay.

P.S. MASTERPIECE PERSUASION WAS QUITE GOOD! I can't wait for Sense&Sensibility (I actually didn't wait; someone had uploaded it on YouTube and I watched it. WONDERFUL! If you have four hours of spare time on your hands (like I did this weekend) watch it. Andrew Davies is my hero!

Kudos, everyone!

Chapter 13

Endless Speculation

Sir Arnold Piedmont arrived at Haye-Park before his letter of acceptance did…or, rather, would have, had he taken the trouble of writing one. He was a stout, rubicund man in his early sixties, with small eyes set close together over a large, hawkish nose. His hair was not yet grey but an indeterminate color somewhere between black and brown and had been tied back from his sallow face with a yellowed piece of ribbon. Though dressed shabbily, he carried himself with an air of great importance. He was not, by any means, a man to be trifled with.

The man who accompanied him, Rupert Pettigrew, was a tall, handsome youth who appeared the antithesis of his guardian. Dressed in the most fashionable style, though tastefully (as opposed to most young men of the day), Rupert was dashing, carefree, and young. Upon closer glance, however, one might discover a calculating gleam in his eye that matched his guardian's.

"Sir Arnold," Lady Piedmont greeted him, "and dear Rupert. I am so pleased you were able to come on such short notice." She held out her hand, which Sir Arnold clumsily attempted to bestow a kiss upon. He ended up missing. Rupert's attentions, on the other hand, were decidedly gallant. Sweeping her a jaunty bow, he took her hand and held it to his heart.

"Dear Aunt Olivia, I am overjoyed," he said, kissing it lightly, "to see you in such looks!" His eyes flitted past her to the two young ladies exchanging glances in the corner. "Overjoyed," he repeated, his eyes still fixated in their general direction.

Lady Piedmont reclaimed her hand and said pleasantly, "Indeed, Rupert. You are too kind."

"Regular chip off the old block," Sir Arnold said, slapping his ward heartily on the back, as though, in his bygone days, he too had made elaborate bows and kissed ladies' hands with as much gallantry as did his ward. "I couldn't have been prouder than if he was my actual son."

Rupert, grimacing slightly at being thus abused, took a few steps away from his guardian.

"Pray, be seated," Lady Piedmont urged, gesturing to the chairs in front of her.

"Kind of you, most kind of you," Sir Arnold muttered, easing himself in an armchair, with his eyes still darting about the room, alighting upon every article of value. "Quite a place, I must say. Ain't it quite a place, Rupert?"

Rupert replied in the affirmative.

Sir Arnold nodded vigorously. "Yes. Quite a place, Ollie."

If Lady Piedmont were displeased with such a nickname, she did not betray it. "I do not believe you have had the pleasure of meeting my young protégées," she said pleasantly, motioning towards Caroline and Louisa, who were situated very prettily upon a settee nearby. "They are staying with me for the summer as well, and I am very happy to have their company."

Sir Arnold nodded curtly. "How d'you do?"

"Charmed," Rupert said, with a debonair smile that was no doubt was practiced every morning before the mirror, "to be in the presence of such a wealth of beauty!"

Louisa giggled appreciatively, while Caroline straightened, smiling. Since the disastrous news that her betrothed had become engaged to that mealy-mouthed chit Amelia Lawrence, she had been forced to cast about for other suitable alternatives. And here was the handsome ward of a baronet. What a stroke of fortune!

"Your arrival coincides at a most opportune time," Lady Piedmont said, "for I was entertaining the prospect of giving a ball at Haye-Park only yesterday."

"A ball?" Sir Arnold asked indifferently. "What need have we for that nonsense? Just extra expense."

"What Sir Arnold means to say," Rupert hastily intervened, "is that we have both would greatly enjoy a ball. It would be nice to become acquainted with the local folk. Would it not, Father?"

Sir Arnold grunted an intelligible answer, while Caroline interrupted to say, "I fear you will only find disappointment in further acquaintance with the Hertfordshire natives."

"Are they savages, then?" Rupert asked, leaning forward with a flirtatious smile.

Caroline nodded. "Quite. I have never met with such ill-bred people in all my life."

"We must all have our opinions, I suppose," Lady Piedmont cut in smoothly, "and I find I must take a differing standpoint on the inhabitants of the county. I think them all very amiable and agreeable company."

Caroline rolled her eyes at this and Louisa did likewise. Rupert reclined in his seat lazily, and Sir Arnold, unable to formulate a sentence due to the severe itching of his nose, merely sneezed.

At that moment, the footman entered and announced, "Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

"Who?" asked Rupert, straightening, "is Miss Elizabeth Bennet?" He looked faintly curious.

Caroline glowered. "One of the natives. A horrible, harum-scarum wretch of a girl!"

"Caroline!" exclaimed Lady Piedmont.

She said no more, however, because the harum-scarum wretch herself had entered. She was dressed in an old gown, splattered with mud, and her hair was disheveled and windblown.

"Oh," she said, looking around the room, "I had no idea you were entertaining. I should not have come."

"Oh, nonsense!" Lady Piedmont cried, secretly in dismay that Lizzy would make an unfavorable impression upon Rupert in such a state of disarray, while, at the same time, glad she had her company to withstand the afternoon . "Please, do come in."

"I suppose," Elizabeth said. Her customary seat occupied by Sir Arnold, (she thought it extremely impertinent behavior in a guest to confiscate the property of another) she removed to a footstool at Lady Piedmont's feet.

"This is Miss Elizabeth Bennet," Lady Piedmont said, although an introduction was hardly necessary, as both Sir Arnold and Rupert had taken stock of her name and situation from the footman. "Lizzy, this is my brother-in-law Sir Arnold Piedmont and Mr. Rupert Pettigrew, his ward."

Elizabeth's eyes widened and she looked at Lady Piedmont for confirmation. "Sir Arnold Piedmont?" she asked. "As in the man who…"

"…is my brother-in-law," Lady Piedmont answered quickly. The expression in her eyes silently begged Lizzy to remain silent. "I have invited him to stay with me for the remainder of the summer."

"How d'you do?" Sir Arnold asked.

She starred daggers at him. "Not well, at all."

"Indeed," he replied, unsure of what to say next. "May I inquire what plagues you?"

"Poisonous company," she muttered under her breath. "Rheumatism," she said aloud.

Sir Arnold nodded, as if this made perfect sense.

"Where do you dwell in this charming county of England?" Rupert asked pleasantly, his ulterior motive being to discern whether she was of good fortune or not. He was always attempting to discern whether girls where of good fortune or not. His handsome waistcoats and beautifully tailored jackets did cost a pretty penny, after all. And what better way to pay for them than by taking a wealthy wife?

She looked him up and down with cynical eyes. "Longbourne."

"It is not a great distance from here," Lady Piedmont added, "so Elizabeth visits me frequently."

Satisfied that Longbourne was not the abode of a great heiress, Rupert renewed his attentions to Miss Caroline Bingley, who did them appropriate justice. That left Elizabeth to converse with Sir Arnold and Lady Piedmont.

They lapsed into silence for some moments, as Sir Arnold required time to scratch his nose and Lady Piedmont required time to collect her thoughts.

A few moments later, (his nose being tended to) Sir Arnold cast his eye once more about the parlor and licked his chapped lips. "How are your…financial affairs, m'dear?" he asked Lady Piedmont suddenly. His eyes betrayed a speculative gleam; they were full of morbid curiosity. It appeared that he had been waiting to ask the question for several minutes and had only yet found the opportunity. He addressed himself entirely to Lady Piedmont; Elizabeth he ignored.

Lady Piedmont lowered her eyes to her lace cuffs and played with them nervously. "I am well enough, I suppose. I want for nothing."

He laughed. It was a harsh, barking, dissonant sound. Elizabeth grimaced and wished to put her hands to her ears. "I am sure you are doing quite well with such a set-up as all this."

"Really, sir!" Lady Piedmont exclaimed, snapping her eyes upon his.

"Come, come now. As friends, we must know of each others situations so that we may help one another."

"Are you in need of help, then?" Elizabeth asked coolly.

Sir Arnold allowed his shifty eyes to rest upon her for a moment. They narrowed slightly as they took in her defiant face-her fingers curled about Lady Piedmont's hand. "You might say that."

"Well I cannot see what business it is of Lady Piedmont's," she returned.

"I cannot see what business it is of yours," he sneered.

She did not appeared to be moved. "Lady Piedmont invited you here as a friend," she said, "not to help you. I think you had better keep that in mind."

He shrugged. "Mustn't heed the observation. I did not intend to offend, m'dear. Did not intend to offend." There was defeat in his tone; he no longer wished to fight in the presence of such a girl. It was obvious, however, that her impertinence angered him. What right had a fiery young woman to stand between Sir Arnold Piedmont and easy access to money? Lady Piedmont was usually an open pocket.

"Well you certainly sounded as if you meant to," Elizabeth could not help supplying, in a very dour voice.

Lady Piedmont put a restraining hand upon hers. "I fear that such matters are not equal to our current situation," she said quickly. "Can we not be happy in each other's company for the afternoon?" she pleaded. " I am sure such things can be discussed at a later…more appropriate time."

Sir Arnold did not appear satisfied, but he did not argue. With his restless, suspicious gaze, he swept the room again and again, always keeping the corner of his eye upon Elizabeth Bennet. Indeed, he had felt a sort of instinctual antipathy towards from the moment she had swooped in to protect his bird of prey.

Perhaps Sir Arnold had met his match.

A dusty, drab little man arrived at Longbourne, preceding Elizabeth's return home. It was late afternoon, and he had just arrived in Hertfordshire. There was a briefcase in his hand and a frown upon his face, which marked him instantly as a solicitor.

With solemnity, he requested to see Mr. Bennet, and, with solemnity, he waited in his library, looking over his books and papers. There was, indeed, so much solemnity about him that one might have assumed him to be an undertaker.

When Mr. Bennet entered the room, he introduced himself as Franklin Harpe, the solicitor of Mr. Edward Darcy. He refused all refreshment and all nourishment; no doubt he would have refused a chair, had Mr. Bennet not adamantly assisted. So, with solemnity he sat, and with solemnity he said:

"You are aware, sir, of the disownment and disinheritance of a Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, son of Mr. Edward Darcy?"

Mr. Bennet said that he was. Indeed, everyone was.

"Then, perhaps you are curious to know who Mr. Edward Darcy plans on instating as his heir?"

Mr. Bennet replied that he was most curious.

"Well, sir," returned Mr. Franklin Harpe, without the slightest appearance of interest, "the entirety of Mr. Edward Darcy's fortune, which, I can assure you, is considerable, is to pass to your daughter, Miss Elizabeth Bennet." He paused, checked his watch, and continued. "Pemberley and other such property cannot be passed to her, of course. I believe such has been entailed upon a Mr. Charles Bingley."

At this, Mr. Bennet had nothing to say.

He had nothing to say as Mr. Franklin Harpe explained the legalistic details. He had nothing to say as Mr. Franklin Harpe laid some papers upon his desk and promised to maintain correspondence. He had nothing to say as Mr. Franklin Harpe rose, dusting off his already dusty garb, and wished Mr. Bennet a good day. He had nothing to say as Mr. Franklin Harpe escorted himself to the door and down the lane, to whoever knows where he was hurrying.

Indeed, he had nothing to say until he heard the footsteps of his daughter on the drive outside and the door opening and her familiar tread down the hallway. Then, he said, "Elizabeth!" very loudly, and she came into his study and asked him what was the matter and he looked at her very long and very hard and took her into his arms and said, "Lizzy, you witch, you are an heiress!"

And she said. "Well, that's hardly a good joke."

And he said. "Indeed, it is not, is it?"

And they laughed very long and hard together at this poor joke... until they both realized that it was not a joke at all.

Mr. Darcy arrived at Netherfield the following Saturday. Forewarned by little Paul Standeford that the Darcy coach was rumbling up the hill towards the village, everyone in Meryton was out to greet him. Indeed, they had all rushed to either their windows or the streetside to get a better view of the Darcy cavalcade, which consisted of one large black equipage stacked high with luggage.

"Which means he plans to stay for quite sometime," Mr. Ellis Burstow sagely observed to Millicent, his cow.

As the carriage passed out of the narrow Main Street and onto Netherfield, residents lingered over garden fences and shrubbery and wooden carts to gossip and chatter about the strange set of affairs. What with Mr. Darcy the Younger becoming engaged to the beautiful Amelia Lawrence and Mr. Darcy the Elder promptly disowning him and installing Elizabeth Bennet as his heir…well, it provided room for endless speculation.

"I've heard Darcy is to duel his father!" the Grocer whispered to the Blacksmith.

"Dear me," replied the sergeant, who had been listening while darning a pair of socks. "I do hope there will not be too much bloodshed."

"Daresay there will be," predicted the Blacksmith ominously.

"She is due to inherit everything," whispered Miss. Thalia Beeton across the street at the Concerned Citizen's (Meryton chapter) meeting. The chapter had been organized primarily for the purpose of combating the antics of a certain Elizabeth Bennet, but, since the aforementioned's sudden quiescent stage, the Citizen's had not had much business to Concern themselves with. This piece of news considerably brightened their afternoons.

"Wretched girl!" proclaimed Ms Phoebe Longsword, "she once forced my Donald to eat dirt!"

"She tied my clothes line into knots dozens of time!" cried Mrs. Annabelle Griffith, holding a handkerchief to her eyes in distress, "how could she be deserving of such a fortune?"

"Poor Amelia!" said Miss Rosanna Beaufort. "Think of how wretched life will be for her now Mr. Darcy hasn't any money."

"Hold your tongue, Rosanna!" exclaimed her mother.

"Well, it is the truth!" exclaimed Mrs Prudence Eggleston, "he hasn't a dime now. His entire fortune is tied up with his father."

"He has a handsome fortune from his mother, though, does he not?" inquired meek Ms Mary Ellen Gillbanks.

Miss Thalia Beeton sniffed. "Hardly enough to support dear Amelia as she deserves."

"But at least they have each other?" Ms. Mary Ellen Gillbanks tentatively suggested.

"Hogwash!" declared Miss Thalia Beeton. "What does love matter when you haven't any money?"

Next-door, Mr. Gilbert Preston was discussing the matter with his wife at the supper table.

"I think it is a very tangled business," his wife remarked, cutting him a generous slice of ham. "I do not think that Mr. Darcy should have disowned his only son."

Mr. Preston, pausing over his supper contemplatively, replied that he thought his wife had a valid point.

"Indeed, Miss Amelia Lawrence appears a very pretty, genteel sort of girl," she continued, emboldened. "No fortune, of course, but, then, I never thought Mr. Darcy cared much for such material things."

Mr. Preston, cutting into his ham, nodded vaguely.

"I do hope," she concluded, "that things shall turn out well."

Mr. Preston hoped so too, but his mouth was too full to permit him to say so.

At the apothecary, Dr. Dormer was prescribing a medication to Mr. Hammond Bochum.

"Take two pills of this," he said, handing a brightly colored bottle across the counter.

Mr. Hammond Bochum took the bottle and peered very closely at it. "Say, what do you think of this whole Darcy affair?" he asked, pocketing it.

Dr. Dormer scratched his head. "I think perhaps Mr. Darcy has gone slightly mad."

"Indeed, sir!" exclaimed Mr. Hammond Bochum. "And what would you prescribe for that?"

Again, Dr. Dormer scratched his head. "You know, I really couldn't say." Nor could anyone else in Meryton, for that matter.

As Mr. Hammond Bochum exited the shop, he found the streets still crowded with people of all ages and situations talking of the Darcys and the Bennets and the Lawrences and whoever else was connected. Now, everyone buzzed with anticipation of a confrontation between the two Darcys. Alas, they were only to be disappointed, for Mr. Darcy the Younger ( as he was called by the townsfolk) had removed to the Mermaid tavern, a respectable lodging in Meryton, not two days prior and showed no intentions whatsoever of marching up to Netherfield and demanding his inheritance from Mr. Darcy the Elder. Needless to say, the townsfolk of Meryton were all crushed with disappointment at missing such a spectacle.

So came Mr. Darcy to Hertfordshire, and so came the inhabitants of Meryton to the good, healthy gossip upon which they stocked up for the winter.

It came as no surprise to anyone that Miss Elizabeth Bennet was the first person Mr. Darcy requested to see. Immediately upon settling at Netherfield, he sent his carriage round to Longbourne, which she promptly boarded. She was off to Netherfield at once.

She required no escort into the home. With a saucy smile at the immovable butler (she had, indeed, regained some of her vivacity), she made her way down the hallway and to the library, where she was certain of finding her dear Uncle Willy-Ben.

She did indeed find him but not as she had expected. Instead of the spry, healthy man of past summers, she found herself welcomed by a pale, emaciated man with sunken cheeks and eyes and a face so pale as to be almost transparent. Age, which had so long delayed in his favor, had found him at last.

"My dear child!" he cried, in a voice that remained robust and hearty despite his appearance. He took her up into his arms and embraced her tightly. "My dear, dear pirate Blondebeard! How happy I am to see you!"

"Uncle Willy-Ben!" she exclaimed, momentarily forgetting her vexation with him at making her an heiress. "Oh…I am glad to see you too!"

"It has been an entire year," he said, "since last I saw you. How things have changed!" He reluctantly released her, and she found a position on a footstool at his feet. "You, my dear, have changed."

"Have I?" she asked absently, gazing into his face. The careworn lines about his mouth; the thin, papery texture of his skin; the dark circles beneath his eyes all worried her. He was in worse health than she had anticipated. "I believe you have changed, as well."

He nodded. "Yes, my dear. But let us not worry on my account. I am old; it is to be expected."

She gripped his hand. "You mustn't say such things, Uncle Willy-Ben."

He merely smiled.

"I should not be so happy to see you, you know," she said, releasing his hand, "after what you did to Darcy."

Mr. Darcy attempted to look very grave, but the roughish twinkle in his eye betrayed him. "What did I do to Darcy?" he inquired.

She raised her eyebrows skeptically. "You know very well what you did. Your own solicitor came down to inform Papa last Saturday, and that, I very well know, was at your bidding."

"Well, let us put that matter aside for now. Tell me about my son's betrothed." He paused, thinking. "What was her name again? Amy Lucas? Amanda Rent?"

"Amelia Lawrence," she replied.

"Ah. Yes. Amelia Lawrence." He reclined in his chair, observing Elizabeth. "Well…"

Lizzy frowned. "I shall not be tricked into abusing my own cousin," she said, "nor shall you hear my opinion on the subject of their betrothal. I have no opinion." She paused, meeting his gaze. "You, however, do. You must, after disowning him!"

"My dear girl, what else had I to do?" he asked.

"Talk to him!"

"How could I talk to him when had already engaged himself to the girl?" he asked.

Elizabeth sighed. "You know very well you could have at least had a conversation with him…expressed your anger face-to-face. Besides, you barely know Amelia Lawrence. Do you disapprove of her so much that you are willing to disown your own son because of his attachment to her?"

"I hate it when you speak sense, Lizzy!" he cried, with some humor. "How foolish you make an old man feel! But why do you defend his actions, my dear. I was sure you would be as ready as I to censure them." He had already taken notice of her pallor, her unusually quiet manner, her sad expression. Indeed, he already knew her secret. He had known it far longer than she. Why then, he asked himself, would she take such pains to defend the man who had so injured her?

"I do not defend his actions," she answered, "but I think that I should hate to see my two dearest friends quarrel in such a manner…over something so insignificant as a betrothal!" She paused, looking down at her fingers. "I only want what is best for him…for you both."

Mr. Darcy took her hand. "Do you think marriage to Amelia Lawrence is best for him?"

She shook her head. "I do not know. I only know that he is happiest when around her, and that he is deeply in love with her." She looked down again. " I think, perhaps, he could be happy with her."

"Ah, but could is not certain." He leaned back in his chair again. "What a stew we have gotten ourselves in, Lizzy! And all over this little chit of a cousin of yours. No offense, my dear," he added, observing her expression. "But do tell me, what is so exceptional about her that she should have so captured by son's affections?"

Lizzy turned her attention to the ceiling, thinking.

"Is she high-spirited?" Mr. Darcy asked.

Elizabeth considered. "I suppose you could say so."

"Is she very pretty?"

"Beautiful."

"Is she accomplished?"

"She plays the piano and embroiders, if you consider such pursuits marks of accomplishment."

"Hardly," Mr. Darcy replied. "She sounds average to me."

Elizabeth shrugged. "Everyone in the world is average, until touched by love, I believe."

"What is this, Lizzy!" cried Mr. Darcy at this statement. "I have never heard you so sentimental before! Why do you not rant and rave against the chit, eh? Has she not stolen your best friend…your fellow companion in all of those glorious pranks?"

"She has stolen Darcy," Elizabeth answered, "but he was already tiring of our escapades, anyway. I suppose it was only natural that he should tire of them..."

"Oh, my dear, no one tires of childhood."

"Darcy does!" she said. "He does not understand why I cannot tire of it so quickly as he can…but I cannot, Uncle Willy-Ben! I have tried to be ladylike and proper these past weeks, to prove to Darcy that I can understand the adult world…but he has not noticed, and I am sick of it!"

"Sick of what, my dear?"

"Sick of propriety and rules and society!" she exclaimed, "I am sick of everything, really. I want nothing more than to sail far, far away from Hertfordshire. My life here is so dull and unvarying! I want excitement and swashbuckling adventure…not the constant torture my life has become!"

Mr. Darcy took her up into his arms again and comforted her, though she was not crying. "It must be painful, my dear, to see him so attached to another."

"Yes," she replied quietly, her head against his shoulder, "I think it is. I think sometimes I cannot bear it, but I try my best. I go on walks."

"Walks?"

"Yes. Long walks. They clear my mind. I like to imagine that I am walking to Russia…or China…or Spain…sometimes I imagine I am in the Sahara."

"You are quite changed, my dear," Mr. Darcy said. "I did not think to find you so very altered."

She wiggled out of his embrace and reclaimed her footstool. "But I am on the mend, sir. I am not nearly so bad as…as…as I was."

"Indeed."

She nodded. "And I am tired of talking of me. I am quite dull these days, you know." She smiled her best Lizzyish smile. "Let us talk of something else."

"If you insist, my dear," he said, "though I personally find you fascinating."

She bowed. "Indeed, sir. Who could not find the dread pirate Blondebeard fascinating? Anyone who does not find him fascinating is to be cooked in hot oil!"

"Dear me!" exclaimed Mr. Darcy. "Such violence. Now here is the old Lizzy!"

She winked.

"But I must address you on one more serious issue," he said, before she could introduce a brighter topic, "and that is the subject of your inheritance."

"Really," she sighed, "must we talk of that?"

"Have you no thought for your own fortunes, my dear?" he asked, half-concerned and half-amused.

"My fortunes?" she asked. "Why, they are not rightfully mine, sir! And I do not care two monkeys for Darcy's inheritance," she scoffed. "And I never have!"

Mr. Darcy sighed, opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. Indecision was written plainly across his face.

"I feel I must offer some form of explanation for my actions," he said, "in disowning my son. Do not look at me so harshly, Lizzy. I must have you understand why I did it."

Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest and nodded. "Explain away."

He cleared his throat and gripped the edges of his chair. "I am at some loss of how to explain it exactly, my dear," he said, after a few moments.

"I am listening," Elizabeth said, "and I think I have a vague idea."

"Did you ever love someone," he began slowly, "so much that you felt that necessity required you to play the villain in order to make them see reason?"

Lizzy did not answer. It was, in a sense, a rhetorical question.

He laughed. "This is very difficult, indeed, with you starring at me so solemnly! I shall sound foolish, indeed, when I say I acted only in Darcy's best interests by disowning him and passing his inheritance to you."

"I must ask you again," Lizzy said, "as, I believe I did earlier, to consider if marriage to Amelia Lawrence is not in Darcy's best interests?"

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, starring at the fire. "This engagement, dear one, interferes with every conceivable wish and desire my heart has fostered. Perhaps, if circumstances were different, I could allow it without interference. As matters stand, however, I must do all in my power to prevent what I believe to be a disastrous alliance."

Silence in the library, unbroken except for the ticking of the grandfather clock against the wall.

"There, I have said it!" he exclaimed. "Perhaps I am cryptic. But I feel no more need to explain myself today. There is, after all, a time and place for everything."

Lizzy nodded. "I believe that will do for serious conversation today," she said playfully.

"You are right," he answered, "I think we had best lay the matter to rest for the time being. Frankly, I am sick of discussing it, and, as it is a rather beautiful day outside, I should like you to take my arm and join me in the gardens."

She rose and stretched obediently, ready to greet the sunshine outdoors. Eager for some exercise, she took his arm and walked slowly outdoors with him, where they whiled away the remainder of the beautiful afternoon talking of pirate lore, Julius Caesar, apricot jam, and botany.