Chapter Eight: Coffee And Courtship

[Jeanette's POV:]

After the disastrous occurrence of the previous day, I'd hoped that I could get to my shift and just forget about my eleven o'clock appointment. As it turned out, Heidi and the other girls had a different scheme in mind. I'd no sooner walked in the door than Marcia was appraising my choice of wardrobe.

"Jay, don't you think that's a little…bland?" she asked timidly.

"Bland?" I repeated, arching an eyebrow as I walked behind the Check-Out and Return counters.

"Well, she could make it work if she puts on a little make-up…" I heard Leslie remark thoughtfully. I set my purse down and turned to face them, squaring my jaw, my arms crossing on their own.

"What in the world are you two going on about?" I asked evenly.

"Oh, you know!" Heidi giggled, coming over to join them, a coffee thermos in hand. "Your lunch date with the gorgeous Lancelot Pendragon!"

"It's not a date." I said firmly. "We are just going to have a quick cup of coffee and he's going to apologize for offending me the other day."

"Yeah, and he's going to apologize by inviting you to go out on his yacht for the weekend!" Leslie waggled her eyebrows at me, a disgusting and somewhat male-typical trait that didn't work on her.

"I very much doubt that Mr. Pendragon owns a yacht, and even if he did, I'm quite sure he wouldn't invite me to go on it." I groaned and rubbed my temples, feeling a headache already setting in. What had I done to deserve this?

"So what did the flowers yesterday mean, huh?" Marcia said pointedly.

To be honest, I still wasn't quite sure. I'd taken them home, put them in a vase with water, and set them out on the counter and puzzled over it for a while. Giving flowers to a woman you barely knew sent out, in my opinion, wrong or skewed signals. It was a gesture of courtship, and one typically implemented after at least a fair number of meetings between the man and woman. Mr. Pendragon and I had only met once, and the gesture seemed almost presumptuous of him, as though he expected that I acknowledged a courtship initiated.

Which of course, I didn't.

Still, if he'd meant it to be a further apology and just a kind reminder that I'd lost enough of my sanity to agree to this…this not-date, then it was perfectly acceptable.

Much to my astonishment, Chantelle appeared like a ghost nearby. "What is going on here, ladies?"

"Nothing…" a couple of us replied, myself included.

"Trying to give Jeanette advice for her coffee with Mr. Pendragon this afternoon." Heidi said mischieviously.

"This afternoon?" Chantelle demanded, turning the full-force of her glare on me. I could tell she still wasn't forgiving me for storming out the other day.

"It happened after I walked out the other day. Mr. Pendragon accosted me in the parking lot and insisted I join him for coffee at eleven today. He wouldn't take 'no' for an answer." I explained.

I'd half-hoped she would tell me I couldn't go, give me an excuse to call the whole thing off, but Chantelle's expression lit up and she suddenly smiled. Clearly the man had left a rather powerful impression on her.

"Oh, I see. Well, I suppose you're a lucky one, Jeanette." she said.

What…?

WHAT?

"Mr. Pendragon is a rather handsome man, isn't he?" Chantelle mused, "You'll have to tell him the staff said hello to him when you meet up today."

I suppressed a shriek of anger and nodded stiffly, turning my back on the lot of them under the pretense of clocking in.

They were conspiring against me, all of them!

Eleven o'clock came much sooner than I'd expected, and I was standing outside my Starbucks, totally unprepared for whatever would occur. Despite my earlier desire to get out of this arrangement, I still caught myself glancing at my watch every thirty seconds or so as I watched the parking lot, waiting for Lancelot Pendragon to appear. What was more, I felt the need to turn and examine my hair in the window, as though he might somehow find it displeasing.

You're worrying too much, Jeanette! I snapped at myself, and with that reasoning, I managed to retain my dignity.

For all of two minutes.

Finally I couldn't stand it any longer, and I turned, squinting at my reflection in the window, fussing with my high ponytail. Why couldn't it lay the way I wanted it to?

"I find the natural lay of your locks rather appealing in its unattended state, if I may be so bold."

I stood up straight immediately, freezing at the sight of the reflection behind me in the window, and I spun on my heel to regard Lancelot Pendragon. Good lord, but he was still just as stunning as before!

"I wasn't aware I'd asked for your opinion, Mr. Pendragon." I said calmly.

"You didn't." he replied truthfully.

A lengthy and awkward silence stretched between us until he reached out and opened the door to the café behind me, gesturing inward.

"After you, milady." he murmured quietly, green eyes staring at me.

Well, whatever misgivings I was harboring about the man, I simply couldn't deny the fact that he'd been raised a proper gentleman, and I smiled in approval as I stepped forward into the café. He followed at a quick pace, as though worried I might slip away if he let me get too far ahead. Bradley was at the counter and waiting when we stepped in, and his eyes widened as he took us in, obviously surprised.

"Er…how can I help you, Mr. Pendragon, Miss Harker?" he asked, giving me the impression that the second he got his fingers on his cell phone he'd be text messaging everyone he knew to gossip.

"A venti mocha hazelnut latte if you please, Bradley." I answered with a sigh.

He tapped a few keys on his register before turning to Lancelot Pendragon. "And for you, sir?"

"I'll have the same. Oh, and I'll be picking up the tab, Bradley."

I spun, about to object, but he pressed two fingers against my lips and shook his head.

"No, don't start, Miss Harker. I told you this was going to be my treat, and I cannot very well hold up to that promise if you insist on paying for your own."

"And the rich wonder why common people get frustrated when you just toss your money around." I muttered.

"You assume I fall under the umbrella of rich stereotypes, Miss Harker."

"You aren't providing me a great deal of evidence to the contrary, Mr. Pendragon."

At this, he smiled and inclined his head, thrusting a twenty at Bradley. "Touché, milady."

"Uh, right. I'll have those right out to you, then." Bradley murmured, quickly turning to start preparing the lattes. There was silence for a few moments, and I started to feel uncomfortable. I didn't know what sort of conversation to start with Mr. Pendragon, but before I could open my mouth in the attempt, he saved me the trouble.

"What sort of books do you enjoy, Miss Harker?"

I wasn't about to just give him all the information he might have wanted, so I couldn't help but try to counter with another question. "What makes you assume that I enjoy books of any sort, Mr. Pendragon?"

"Your place of employment is a library, sweet woman. One can usually count on a woman becoming a librarian for one of two reasons. Either she can find no other employment and is desperate enough to settle for such a career, or she must, to some degree, be a bibliophile." he answered, arching an eyebrow.

Ah, he wasn't just a pretty rich boy without half a brain after all.

"A very astute deduction, sir." I commented, offering him a half-smile.

A corner of his mouth quirked upward and he inclined his head. "Thou art possessed of a flattering tongue, yet thou wouldst make an insistence of avoiding a question asked."

"Ah…why are you so curious in regards to my reading preferences?"

"You are unlike most other women I've encountered, Miss Harker. I would know you better."

My face grew quite hot, and I averted my gaze, only to find Bradley frozen in the act of setting down our coffee, watching us with wide eyes. My irritation bubbled to the surface again and I snatched my coffee, spun on my heel, and turned to the condiment stand, barely maintaining my conduct. Setting my latte down, I pulled the lid off and proceeded to add a little extra half and half. I was just pausing in the act of grabbing a sugar packet, when I remembered why I rarely added my own sugar. It must have caught Pendragon's attention, because he was suddenly behind me, asking what was wrong.

"It's just that I can never seem to add the right amount of sugar," I replied. "Either it turns out to be too much or too little."

"If I may make a recommendation, try three sugars." he said calmly, adding to his own latte. "I find, when teaspoons are unavailable for measuring with, three packets of sugar always does the trick for me."

"Always three?" I challenged, raising my eyebrows at him.

"Always." he answered, the other corner of his mouth turning up to match as he stirred his drink. Now that I was able to get a good look at him, he was rather charming when he smiled. It made him look far less forbidding and distant. I pulled three sugars from the stand and added them to my latte, stirring as we turned and walked to an unoccupied table. He pulled out a chair for me, which was surprising. I'd figured out that he was polite to an extreme rarely seen in this day and age, but he continued to act more and more the gentleman.

I liked it.

Nodding my thanks, I settled into the chair, took my stirring stick out and replaced the lid on my latte, taking a wary sip. To my utter surprise, it was wonderful!

"Mm!" I nearly shrieked, "You're right! It's perfect! How did you know that?"

His lips curled slowly upward in a stunning smile as he considered me, and I chided myself for paying attention to his mouth of all things, because I almost missed his answer in the process.

"Hmm…that's a secret, Miss Harker."

"Oh?"

"And speaking of secrets, I'm keen on knowing a few of yours. Starting with my initial question."

Well, I certainly had to give him brownie points for persistence!

"My secrets, huh?" I chuckled, taking another sip of the latte.

"Yes. So. If thou art willing, 'twould please mine ears to be graced with a response forthcoming." He studied me carefully over the rim of his cup.

"Well, clearly you're a reader of Shakespeare." I began, arching an eyebrow at him again, and when he nodded, I felt a tad more bold. "I do admire his work extensively. Typically my fare tends to lean more in the direction of Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, Edgar Allen Poe, the Brontë sisters, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Alexandre Dumas, Oscar Wilde, Mary Shelley…"

Suddenly I realized I'd begun ranting and I cut myself off and ducked my head, feeling my face grow hot again. But to my surprise, he only chuckled good-naturedly.

"The classics," he remarked, "I thought so! And I am not at all surprised that you mentioned Jane Austen first. Your manner and bearing are both among the many traits you share with her heroines."

"You had me pegged for an Austen reader, did you?" I wasn't sure whether to be flattered or insulted, so I merely sipped at my latte again.

"Call it…instinct." he answered, leaning back in his chair. "I admire a woman who reads Austen."

Well now. That remark certainly made me feel like I was standing in a very large spotlight. What in the world does he mean, talking to me like that?

"And while we're on such topics, Miss Harker, what do you think of Austen's view of a relationship between a man and a woman? In the area of courtship in particular."

Oh, now it was getting to a place that made me really uncomfortable.

"Mr. Pendragon, I'm not sure—" I started, moving to vacate my chair, but faster than my eyes could follow, he reached out, gently placed a hand over mine and gave me a pleading look with his green eyes.

"Please, I meant not to offend thee. I merely wished to know your thoughts. I still do, if you are willing to bestow them to me. If not, say the word and I will withdraw my query."

My heart started hammering against my ribcage as lines of electric fire began to tingle along my hand and up my arm, and I lowered myself back into the seat without thinking. "No, I just…I wasn't expecting a question like that." I said slowly, and when he only continued to watch me as though he was worrying I would bolt again, I proceeded to answer, "I believe Austen lays out some very important ideas about courtship that have been abandoned and forgotten in this day and age. She says it without really saying it. A courtship plays upon the idea that women are supposed to be beautiful, yet mysterious. A woman is supposed to have secrets…and a man looking to discover what those secrets are must court her. He has to be willing to initiate a pursuit, and still be considerate and courteous. He must show her he is a gentleman, and make it known that he pursues her secrets, lightly. He is not prying in such a way that she might find it offensive, but will instead, bit by bit, indulge his curiosity without giving so much away that he loses interest in the chase. That, according to Jane Austen, is the proper means of initiating and executing courtship."

I exhaled, feeling flushed and slightly worn from my speech. I hoped it would satisfy him, but that was only my interpretation of Austen's themes. Who knew how anyone would respond to that, let alone Lancelot Pendragon?

"I think your assessment is right on the mark, Miss Harker, and I agree with it most strongly."

Well, I wasn't entirely expecting that, but I guess it's not too surprising.

"If that's the case, Mr. Pendragon, would you explain to me the flowers you sent me the other day?" I challenged. "Flowers after one meeting? One might say typically that would imply you wish to court me."

"I can see you read me as easily as you do your books," he replied smoothly, squeezing my hand in an extremely familiar manner, "And you are quite right, Miss Harker. I wish to court you, if you would allow it."

"What?" I blurted out, withdrawing my hand at once, nearly spilling my coffee. "You what?"

"Miss Harker, if I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss." he pleaded.

"I-I-I won't be w-won over with Shakespeare quotes, M-Mr. P-Pendragon!" I stammered, flustered.

"I mean what I said," he insisted. "I wish to court you, if you would allow it."

I couldn't find an answer for that. He was handsome, and a gentleman, and clearly well-read, but…still…

Dear lord, I've lost my mind. First I attack the Joker and Colonel Rojas and now I cannot bring myself to allow an attractive man showing interest in me to pursue a courtship! I thought, my head spinning.

Darn it, Jeanette Marie Harker! my stubborn voice snapped back at that thought, For once in your life, do something that's right and won't make you a total loss in the area of dating!

"Well…Mr. Pendragon—"

"Please. Call me Lancelot." he said gently, brushing his lips against my knuckles. It was abruptly far more difficult to breathe, and for a moment I had to focus on inhaling deeply before I responded.

"Lancelot…" I started slowly, "I do hope you realize that I intend to keep this courtship as close as possible to what we've discussed."

"I would have it no other way," he said quickly, "May I assume then, that you agree to my request to court you?"

"Yes…I just…I find it most shocking to think that any man should take an interest in me in that manner." I murmured.

"I don't see why you'd think that." he said. "I find you irresistibly captivating."

Unable to think of a response, I stirred my latte, gently rotating my list and staring at the surface of the table. An awkward silence stretched between us, and Lancelot leaned back in his chair again, adjusting his collar as he watched me. I was still reeling from what he'd said, when he asked me a question.

"Sorry?" I said, looking back up at him again. "What did you say?"

"I was just asking if there were any other books besides classical literature that you enjoy." he said gently.

"Oh, plenty. I do tend to read a lot of fantasy, fairy tales, historical fiction…mystery in particular."

"Romance?"

"Not anything new. Most recent authors seem to confuse the category of romance with that of smut. I detest such trashy writing."

"Thank heavens. We might have had a problem if you'd said anything to the contrary."

"Oh, would we now?"

"What are you reading currently, if I may ask?"

I thought back to what I'd left lying in the passenger side seat of my car. The pile had grown a little since he'd last followed me and asked me to join him for coffee.

"The Lost Symbol, by Dan Brown…The Fires of Heaven, by Robert Jordan…The Mists of Avalon, by Marion Zimmer Bradley…Oh! And Cry Wolf, by Patricia Briggs!"

He'd been taking another sip of his latte when he paused, green eyes flicking up at me so fast I felt my heart skip a beat. He lowered his cup slowly, eyebrows raising.

"Cry Wolf, you say?" he asked. Something about his voice had changed, and I half-wondered if that was disapproval I was hearing.

"Urban fantasy," I clarified, wondering if he'd not heard of it, "Focused mostly on werewolves."

I knew it was stupid to tell anyone about what I read, but his eyebrows raised higher and his voice became frigid, making me feel more a fool than ever I had before in my entire life.

"Werewolves." he declared simply.

"Yes, werewolves," I answered, "Is there something wrong with the subject matter?"

"Urban legend," he stated before I even finished speaking, "One that circulated through Europe and America for centuries before finally becoming glorified by the modern-day society of the States. Used to be werewolves were considered no better than witches, back during the time of the Salem and witch-burning; enormous, flesh-eating men cursed by the changing face of the moon. Now, they're considered the mortal enemies of vampires, can transform at will, and live like pimps—" he spat the word out like it was dirt in his mouth, "—making love to whomever they wish with no one any the wiser. People like Patricia Briggs only further this thought. It's ridiculous."

"You seem rather opinionated on the topic, Lancelot." I remarked. This was certainly different; I hadn't expected to push the right button and get this side of him revealed so soon.

"…I detest the circulation of any sort of urban legend." he declared.

"And why is that, pray tell?" I asked, leaning forward.

"There is no solid evidence to prove any of them actually occurred," he said coldly, "Look at some of the urban legends concerning gruesome death. For instance that of Bloody Mary. What proof is there that she's nothing more than the addle-brained concoction of adolescents taking drugs and attempting to frighten their peers?"

"The legend of Bloody Mary isn't the same as those of werewolves." I shot back. "True, there may be no proof to most urban legends, but you might as well say that all fiction is detestable, simply because it's easier to prove it didn't happen than whether it might have or will."

"Written fiction is one thing," he answered, "Urban legends that are passed on by word of mouth, only growing more twisted and warped and fantastic with each retelling in an attempt to frighten those hearing them and develop a sense of paranoia? I despise them."

"Well then," I huffed, astonished at this change in his manner, "One can easily conclude you were the only boy at summer camp who had no tolerance for listening to ghost stories at the fire."

"I never went to summer camp." he said briskly.

"That would explain it." I chuckled. Frankly, given what I'd seen of him, I would have been in shock if he said he had gone to summer camp as a child. He merely smiled again, his warm personality back in place once more.

"I should like to see you sometime again soon, Miss Harker."

"Please, call me Jeanette…Lancelot."

"Very well then. Would an actual lunch sometime this weekend be feasible with you, Jeanette?"

I smirked, pretending to pull out my planner and flip through it. "Hmm…I'm not sure…"

"Friday, perhaps?" he suggested.

"Hmm, no. What about Sunday?" I answered, feeling like being difficult.

"Too long of a wait. Saturday, then?" he asked hopefully.

"I don't know…" I said coyly.

"If Sunday's the only day that can work for you," he said gently, leaning back again, "Then I can make that work and I'll deal with the wait."

"Excellent," I said, trying not to sound too pleased, "Sunday it is, then."

"And what would be the establishment we choose to dine at? Do you have a preference?" he asked, pulling a palm pilot out of his breast pocket and tapping at it with a stylus.

"I like Italian." I answered, shrugging.

"A wonderful choice." he offered me another of those dazzling smiles, and my stomach began flopping. I tried to look in another direction, worried I was making myself look too much the schoolgirl, when I saw the gray sky outside and grimaced.

"What is the matter, Jeanette?" he asked.

"Oh, it's raining." I answered. "Raining, perfectly good weather for a book, and I have to go back to work."

"Detestable," he nodded, sniffing. "And speaking of such, I won't be keeping you much longer. Doubtless you need to get back to the library, and I won't have you getting in trouble on my behalf."

"I'm not sure how much trouble I would get in," I sighed, "The girls were practically begging that I say "hello" to you from them. They were under the impression I was 'finally going on a date' and needed to barrage me with advice all morning."

"Ah." he said uncomfortably.

We stood and started to head out of the café, and to my surprise, before we got out in the rain, something heavy draped across my shoulders. I glanced up in surprise and saw him smiling at me.

"Take my coat, sweet Jeanette," he said gently, "I would despise myself ever after were I coarse enough not to offer thee shelter from the offending rain."

"But Mr. Pendragon—!"

"Lancelot," he corrected me, "And I would insist. Worry not, I have others. Keep it, if you please. It would make me happy."

Swallowing, I stepped toward my Neon, pulling out my key ring, and he stood by the driver side door, ready to open it for me.

"Your coach awaits, milady," he said in a voice he was clearly forcing himself to keep serious.

"You don't have to do that, you know," I muttered, sliding inside and situating myself. He offered me another smile, then his eyes slipped to my passenger seat and narrowed. I glanced over, and realized he was looking at my copy of 'Cry Wolf.'

"It's not as bad as you think, Lancelot." I said defensively. Those green eyes slipped back to me, and softened.

"Please, Miss Harker," he said in a sad voice, "Do us both a favor, and do not read that."

"It's Jeanette," I corrected, "And I read what I wish."

He looked crushed, but nodded and sighed. "Of course, milady. Thou art possessed of a strong will, and I am but powerless to convince thee otherwise. But please keep within mind it would please me greatly were you to set aside that novel in particular."

"I'll bear that in mind, but I make no promises to cease, Lancelot."

"As you wish, Jeanette. I bid thee farewell."

And with that, he shut my car door and stood watching me as I drove off, remaining where he was long after he disappeared from sight of my rearview mirror.