A/N: An expanded version of the picnic. I normally write from Charlotte's perspective, since Sanditon is her story, but this one just naturally seemed to flow from Alexander's point of view.

Any background I made up for Colbourne is purely my own invention. I am unaware of any season 3 spoilers. I feel like we are still missing parts of his story and this is what I came up with. He seems like a man who is very hard on himself.

For Yellowsponge.

The figures on the page were starting to swim before his eyes, swirls of black ink on white paper. In an effort to clear his vision and ease the throbbing at his temples, Alexander Colbourne pushed the ledger away, sat back, and gazed out the window. The sun was high overhead, letting him know he had been working without pause the entire morning. No wonder his eyes were tired.

At least the numbers were favorable. The income from the estate and his investments had grown this year, just as it had last year and the year before that. He did not delude himself that it was due to his genius. There had been no daring speculation on his part, no brilliant schemes. Merely sound judgment, discipline, and keeping an eye on things. It was an estate any father would be pleased to pass on to his son.

That is, it would be if he had one.

Not for the first time, Colbourne wondered if he should be giving more consideration to his heir. He assured himself that there was time. He was still young - well, relatively young - and men twice his age could sire a child. But to do that, he would have to marry. And having failed at the institution once, Colbourne did not think he was ready to engage in it a second time. He had no doubt that he could attract a woman. His money alone made him an eligible target regardless of his other qualities (or lack thereof). However, he had no desire to tie himself to someone who did not share his interests and was not compatible with his temperament. He simply didn't have the heart.

Of course, as far as the rest of the world knew, he was not childless. Leonora could inherit the property. A few short weeks ago he would have scoffed at the idea. A woman responsible for the largest estate in Sanditon? But enter Miss Heywood - Miss Heywood and her conviction that women deserved an education and an opportunity to use their minds - and the notion did not seem quite so farfetched. She was proof that there were females in the world who possessed intelligence, curiosity and logic, and he believed she could learn the fundamentals of running an estate. In fact, she was better suited than his younger brother, who was less rational and couldn't add a column of numbers to save his life. And if Miss Heywood had the ability, then why not Leo?

But tying an estate to a female, no matter how capable, was almost like giving it away. If she married, it became the property of her husband. If she remained single, it eventually ended up in the hands of the nearest male relative; in this case, his brother - or his brother's son, should he ever have one.

And then there was the fact that Leo was not really his daughter - and least not by blood. He sighed.

"Mr. Colbourne?"

He turned his gaze from the window to see Mrs. Wheatley standing in the doorway. "Yes?"

She studied him. Whatever she had been about to say was discarded and replaced with, "You have a headache."

There was no point denying it. The woman could detect a lie at fifty paces. He shrugged. "A small one."

"Go out and take walk," she said. "It is a fine day."

"After I have finished with-"

"Take a walk," she said again. "You will be doing no one a favor if you do not take care with your health."

She was right about that. He could not be falling ill. He had an obligation to his family.

"Very well," he agreed.

She waited until he rose from his chair, then walked with him to the door. Colbourne suspected, had he attempted to return to his desk, that she would have taken his arm and forcibly steered him through the hallway. He doubted there were many men who allowed servants the liberties that he allowed her. But then Mrs. Wheatley had become far more than a servant years ago.

When they were at the outer door, she said, "Perhaps you can help me with something while you are walking."

"Yes?"

"The ivy on the corner of the east wing. I think it may be growing into the window frame. Would you mind looking? If it is, I will get one of the gardeners to cut it back."

He wondered why she couldn't verify this from inside the house but decided not to ask. Walking by the east wing was as good a route as any, and he may as well walk with some purpose.

"Very well," he said again. He raised an eyebrow and gave her a wry smile. "Any other tasks for me?"

"No, other than enjoying the weather. I will be disappointed if I see you back in your study in anything less than two hours."

"I'll do my best."

"Thank you."

He stepped outside. It was indeed a fine day. The sky was nearly cloudless and a light breeze carried the scent of the sea and kept the insects at bay. He walked around the perimeter of the house in no particular hurry, feeling the sunshine ease the tension in his shoulders. As he approached the east wing, he noted the ivy that Mrs. Wheatley had mentioned.

"Mr. Colbourne!"

Miss Heywood. He recognized the voice instantly; pleasingly low, with a distinct absence of silliness. In no time at all that voice had become a part of his life and it had surprising power to shift his emotions. He turned to see his governess seated on a blanket with the children and the pieces fell into place. Mrs. Wheatley. She knew about the picnic - had probably packed the luncheon herself - and had sent him in its direction. Yet another one of her schemes to encourage him to spend time with Leonora and Augusta.

Well, she wasn't going to succeed today. He held out a hand to forestall further requests. "I won't disturb you," he said quickly, and turned to resume walking.

But Miss Heywood wasn't finished. "How is Hannibal, sir?" she asked.

He almost laughed. Not we are enjoying a spell of fine weather or isn't the breeze lovely or any one of a dozen platitudes that most young women would employ. No, she decided to ask after his horse. He found his feet moving in her direction, as if of their own volition. "Recovering, thank you," he replied. And then, because he couldn't resist, he added, "He sends his regards."

"Be sure to send him mine in return."

And just like that, the irritation he'd felt at Mrs. Wheatley's scheme dissolved, replaced by the enjoyment of sharing a pleasantry with Miss Heywood. But then Leonora called out, "We are having a picnic, Father, and learning about wildflowers. Say you'll join us, please," and he knew he could not continue to stand there. He must either sit with them or resume his walk.

He sat. Not because of Leonora's entreaties nor Augusta's deprecating comments. He was accustomed to both. He sat because Miss Heywood regarded him with a look of expectation and he did not want to disappoint her. It was disturbing to realize her opinion mattered that much.

To be fair, though, he believed most men would not wish to disappoint her at this moment. She was not wearing a hat and her hair, normally gathered neatly atop her head, was loose about her shoulders and in attractive disorder as a result of the breeze. She looked quite beautiful and he wondered why he had not noticed it before. It wasn't that he had considered her plain. He had always found her appearance pleasing. But he saw now that she possessed a natural beauty that needed no adornment beyond sunshine and a soft wind.

He realized he was staring. He quickly looked away and gestured at the picnic. "You have enough for another?"

Miss Heywood chuckled. "We have enough for another three, at least. Mrs. Wheatley is quite generous with her picnics."

"Yes, I'm certain she is."

His housekeeper had supplied the girls with bread, cheese, and a variety of fruits. He stretched out his legs and took a blackberry. It was juicy and sweet, warmed by the sun. His headache eased a little.

"So, what have you learned of wildflowers?" he asked Leo.

She pointed to an array of blooms arranged along one side of the blanket. "I found columbine," she said, "and corncockle. Augusta says corncockle is a weed but it looks much too pretty to me."

He shrugged. "Weeds are simply flowers that are growing in a place where they are not wanted. It doesn't mean they are not pretty. It's a matter of perception." He noticed Miss Heywood's frown and added, "You don't agree, Miss Heywood?"

She smiled. "I am a farmer's daughter, sir, so I take a practical view of it. Corncockle is pretty, but it often grows alongside wheat and it is difficult to separate the two when you are harvesting. When I was Leo's age, my father sent me to the fields to pull corncockle. I have never looked too favorably on it since."

He laughed. "I suppose that is fair." Recalling his earlier musings about her ability to manage an estate, he asked, "Do you assist your father in running the farm?"

"I do. I did not think you'd wish me to include agriculture in the girls' lesson plans, but if you have a different inclination, I can talk at length about fertilizer and crop rotation."

He laughed again. His headache was nearly gone. "What about your brothers?"

"They are more involved now that they are coming of age. I am the eldest, so initially my father taught me."

Along with English poetry and mathematics, Colbourne thought. Your father sounds like an interesting man. Not many would ask that of a daughter. Aloud, he simply replied, "I see."

The breeze caught her hair and blew a few strands across her face. She brushed them away with her fingers in a gesture similar to one his wife used to make. Lucy had also been a dark-haired beauty, vivacious and seemingly happy when Colbourne met her. Unlike Miss Heywood, however, Lucy had no practical education. She had a limited education of any type, if truth be told. Her father was a baron, pleased to expound at length how the honor had been bestowed on his ancestor by Elizabeth I in 1590 and handed down from father to son ever since. He appeared to believe the ancient title conferred a superiority that made education and occupation unnecessary. Thus, he encouraged his daughters to be proficient in the ballroom but absent from the library. Unfortunately for his family, the wealth that accompanied his title had eroded over the last few generations, and since he considered any form of work beneath him, their circumstances were much reduced. Young Alexander, poised to inherit a thriving estate, had been considered a very eligible match even if he was not among the ranks of the nobility.

"What do you grow on your farm besides wheat?" Leo asked Miss Heywood, interrupting his thoughts.

"Barley," Miss Heywood replied. "It grows well in England and there is a good market for it. You cannot brew beer without it."

"Can you drive a plow?"

His governess laughed. "No, Leo. My father taught me many things, but driving a plow is not one of them."

"What about cows? Have you ever milked a-"

"Leo!" Augusta interjected sharply. "Please save your questions for another time. You may be interested in Miss Heywood's rustic skills, but the rest of us are not."

Colbourne frowned. He actually was interested, but for a grown man such questions bordered on impertinent. Leo, on the other hand, could be excused for asking them. He waited for her to resume but Augusta had succeeded in silencing her young cousin. Leo gave the girl an irritated glance before rising and announcing that she was going to seek out more flowers.

Colbourne watched his daughter tromp down the hill, her back stiff, her steps determined. He turned to his niece. "So, what has Miss Heywood been teaching you this morning, Augusta?"

Augusta shrugged. "Not a great deal." With sly look, she added, "As you arrived, she was asking about Aunt Lucy."

Even though Colbourne knew her intent was to put Miss Heywood in an unfavorable light, he couldn't help regarding his governess with surprise. Miss Heywood appeared discomfited, but answered honestly, "Miss Markham was saying her mother and your late wife were close."

"Yes," he said quietly. "Inseparable."

Miss Heywood nodded, and for reasons he could not fathom, he felt an urge to tell her about his marriage. He wanted to explain how events had unfolded quickly - his father's death, inheriting the estate, the wedding - and how they had inexorably swept him along before he was ready. He had an odd feeling that she would understand, or at least try to. But it was not a conversation an employer should have with his employee, and certainly not one he could have in front of Augusta. And as seemed to happen often lately, his niece saw an opportunity to argue with him about their lack of society and did not hesitate to take it. Thankfully, Leo returned with knapweed and cornflowers before the argument escalated too badly.

Colbourne informed his daughter that the proper name for cornflowers was Centaurea, taken from the stories about Chiron the centaur. Before he could tell her more, Miss Heywood offered, "In the myth he used them to heal his wounds from the poisoned arrows."

He looked at her again - his surprise a pleasant one this time. As a boy, he had loved the Greek myths. His governess forbade them, however, insisting that Alexander and his brother study English history and literature exclusively. He had kept the book of myths hidden in his bedroom and read it late at night when he was sure she would not see him. Apparently Miss Heywood had read the myths too, although he doubted she had been required to be as secretive. It gave him pleasure to think they shared an interest, and when Miss Heywood told Leo, "Cornflowers are my favorite," he gave the flowers to her. She accepted them with appreciation, as if they were a rare blossom cultivated in his hothouse instead of a wildflower growing freely on his estate.

"You enjoyed the Greek myths?" he asked her.

"I still do." She smiled. "I tell my father they make good bedtime stories to read to my younger brothers and sisters, but the truth is I find them very entertaining."

"Do you have a favorite?"

She bit her lip. "It is difficult to select only one. I like the story of Daedalus and Icarus and read it often to my siblings. It's a good cautionary tale about being bold and clever, yet not becoming swept away by your own cleverness."

"Icarus losing his wings when he flies too close to the sun, you mean."

"Yes."

"Any others?"

She flushed. "The love stories, I suppose, especially the story of Eros and Psyche."

Colbourne nodded. He knew that one well, even though it had been years since he had read it. Eros, the son of Aphrodite and a god, is besotted with the beautiful human Psyche. His mother, jealous of Psyche's beauty, orders him to make the mortal woman fall in love with the most vile creature imaginable. Instead, Eros marries Psyche himself, although he keeps her unaware of his true identity. He comes to her only when it is dark, telling her to have faith in their love even though she cannot see him.

"'Love cannot live without trust,'" he quoted softly.

Miss Heywood nodded and her cheeks grew even rosier.

"I don't understand," Leo said. "What does that mean? What is the story about?"

Miss Heywood glanced at him and waited.

"It is the story of how Eros the god falls in love with and marries the mortal Psyche against the wishes of his mother," he explained to Leo. "'Love cannot live without trust' is something that Eros says to Psyche."

His daughter regarded him with a puzzled expression. "That cannot be all. Why would he say that? And where is the conflict? Every story must have a conflict."

Colbourne laughed and was joined by Miss Heywood and - to his astonishment - by Augusta. He looked at his governess. "Your turn, Miss Heywood. Perhaps you can give Leo the rest of the story?"

Miss Heywood nodded and turned to Leo. "Eros and Psyche are very happy when they first marry," she said, "but eventually Psyche worries that there is some terrible reason her husband will not show himself to her. Her sisters, jealous of her happiness, prey upon those worries, telling her that she must be married to a monster. One night she cannot resist any longer and holds the candle to Eros's face when he is sleeping. She sees that her husband is not a monster but, in fact, a very handsome god. Relieved, she is about to return to sleep when a bit of hot wax from the candle drips onto Eros and wakes him. He leaves her, saying, 'love cannot live without trust.'"

Augusta frowned. "And that is how it ends? With them separated forever?"

Miss Heywood shook her head. "No. Psyche is determined to win her husband back and goes to his mother for help. Aphrodite does not approve of their marriage, so she gives Psyche three impossible tasks to complete before she can reunite with Eros. Psyche despairs, but Nature as well as some of the other gods are touched by her devotion and help her. Eros eventually returns to her and they live happily ever after."

Leo smiled. "I'm glad it has a happy ending. All stories should have happy endings."

Colbourne considered warning his daughter that life did not always gift you such endings, but recalled that the girl was growing up without a mother. She already knew life could be unkind.

Augusta was still frowning. "Where is the book?" she asked Colbourne.

He paused as he was reaching for a bunch of grapes. "I'm sorry?"

"The book," she repeated. "I am often in your library and I have not seen a book of Greek myths."

"Do you wish to read it?"

"Perhaps."

An avid reader, Augusta's taste usually ran to histories and biographies. He was going to warn her that she might find the myths fanciful, but stopped himself. Why discourage the girl? He shrugged. "I hid the book as a boy because my governess did not approve of reading myths. I will see if I can find it." The truth was, he knew exactly where the book lay. It was in his bedroom still. He sometimes read it when the tasks of managing the estate became tedious.

Augusta raised an eyebrow. "You disobeyed your governess," she stated. "You...disobeyed."

If he didn't know better, he could swear she was teasing him. There was humor in her countenance instead of its usual petulance. He shrugged again. "Believe it or not, I was a child once myself. I did not make a habit of it but, yes, on rare occasions I disobeyed my governess."

"I would like to have met her."

He shook his head. "Actually, Augusta, I don't think you would have enjoyed that at all. My brother and I were not allowed to express opinions or ask questions. And given how free you are with your opinions...well, I believe you are far better off with Miss Heywood."

Miss Heywood smiled, her dark eyes both amused and kind. He wished he had more cornflowers to give her.

"Tell us another story, Father," Leo demanded.

"Excuse me?"

"Please tell us another story," she amended. "Another one of the myths. What was the first one Miss Heywood mentioned? About Ica...Ica..."

"Icarus," he finished. "It is a good tale. But August probably feels she is too old for stories."

"No," Augusta said quickly. "I don't mind." Before he could smile, she added, "Anything to keep Leo quiet."

"Very well."

"And don't tell this one so quickly," Leo interjected. "Give us all the details...please."

So he began the story of Daedalus, his son Icarus, and their effort to escape imprisonment using wings held together with wax. He took his time and occasionally looked to Miss Heywood for help even though he knew the tale well. He found he enjoyed having her as a partner. Nearly all of his endeavors were carried out alone and it was nice to work with someone for a change. In fact, he was enjoying the picnic far more than he would have thought possible. He had never considered himself the type to tell stories, yet Leo was transfixed and even Augusta had laid down her notebook and was listening.

When he finished the tale, the girls were silent for a moment. Then Leo said, "The wings worked...except Icarus flew too close to the sun and they melted, so he ended up in the sea." She sighed. "I suppose there is a lesson in that."

Miss Heywood looked at her. "What do you think it is?"

"I am not certain."

"I like to think the lesson is that you should listen to your father," Colbourne teased. "After all, Daedalus warned Icarus over and over not to fly too high, but Icarus disregarded his counsel - and look what happened to him."

Augusta shook her head. "The lesson isn't about obeying your parent. Miss Heywood told it to us earlier. It is about not not getting carried away by your own cleverness - about not being too prideful. The wings worked well and Daedalus and Icarus were able to escape. But Icarus wasn't content with that. He kept flying higher until the wings melted and he fell into the sea to drown."

Leo frowned. "Maybe the lesson is that you should use twine to hold wings together instead of wax."

They all laughed.

"What about the other story?" Augusta asked Miss Heywood. "The one about Eros and Psyche. Do you think 'love cannot live without trust' is the lesson? Should Psyche have trusted Eros enough not to look at him?"

Colbourne waited, curious to hear his governess's response.

Miss Heywood pursed her lips. "Perhaps. And perhaps Eros should have trusted Psyche enough to show his best self - his truest self - to her much earlier. He did not believe she could cope with knowing who he really was, but it turns out she could. Fortunately, they were able to rectify their mistake and be together in the end. Some people are not so fortunate."

No, Colbourne thought, they are not. And some people cannot accept your true self when you show it to them. For an instant, he thought he detected a pained look in Miss Heywood's eyes, making him wonder if she, too, had experienced betrayal. But the look disappeared so quickly he decided he had imagined it.

The sun was well past its zenith now, and he knew he had been out longer than the two hours promised to Mrs. Wheatley. The time had passed quickly. He could not recall another occasion when he and the girls had felt so much like a family. If this was Miss Heywood's doing, then she was more than a governess. She was a miracle worker.

Reluctantly, he pulled out his pocket watch and opened it. It was after four.

"We should return to the house," he told the girls. "It is tea time."

"Already?" Leo asked. "I was hoping to gather more flowers."

"You can go out again this week, if Miss Heywood does not object. And I believe Mrs. Wheatley has planned gingerbread for tea."

"Oh," Leo replied. Gingerbread was one of her favorites. "Well, as long as we can do this again..."

Colbourne nodded. He hoped they would do it again, too.