Hello! After an eternity, the next two chapters are finally up. So...I hope you like them!

Many thanks to Christine Writer, good guesses! Coco Puffs to you anyway for being the one person who actually guessed at all. The answer won't be revealed for a while, so keep trying!

By the way, those of you who're wondering about Ian - don't worry, he'll show up. I won't be fixing him up with Meghan though, wink wink. ;)

Shoot. Just when I think I'm gonna get the chance to talk to Daphne (even if it's through cheesy IMing), I am thwarted yet again.

Here's the thing. I, merrymeg727 (I put 727 in my screen name because 7 is my shoe size and 27 is the age I want to be when I get married. Daphne put 45 in hers because she has 45 guitar picks in her collection.), am in a predicament. Really.

Now, you may be wondering something: Why, during that speech, didn't I just run up to the podium, deck that hussy Gladys in the face, and shout, "Alas, alas, this woman is unworthy!!!". Well, here's my answer.

I am not insane.

I may end up that way, however, because this entire situation is CRAZY.

Why me? Why must I be in this position? I GO TO SCHOOL WITH DAPHNE'S EVIL STEPSISTER!!!!!!!

I still stand by what I said before. I still firmly believe that somebody needs to tell that poor man the truth, so that he can acknowledge the existence of a life he helped bring into this world - namely, my cousin, whom I've had the privilege to associate with throughout all my seventeen-some-odd years. It's a privilege that more people deserved to have.

And I also still firmly believe that it is only fair that Daphne get the chance to be a daughter not just to my scatterbrained aunt, but to someone else as well.

But I've said this before, and I'll say it again: What in all this world do I have to do with ANY OF THIS?! I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing! My cousin is now depending on me - but I don't know what to do.

If I just went to his mansion thingy, march right up like I promised Daphne we'd do together - what, exactly, would I be walking into? Faye says there's decency, but how much decency? Because if ANY of them were to reject Daphne, they too would be decked. I don't care who you are - you hurt my cousin, you get it from me ten times worse.

But for some strange reason, this guy does not strike me as being that way. I don't know. I've only seen him, like, twice, but sometimes it doesn't take much to tell something about a person.

And seventeen years have gone by, and only just now comes the prospect of marriage. Maybe, just maybe...for a certain blonde woman, this man waited.

The thing is, though, you can't expect a person to wait forever. And...I certainly can't expect Daphne to wait forever.

I'm just not sure I'm the one who should be doing this. I'm just lowly little Meghan Beatrice Reynolds. I'm nothing special, really. Just confused, and frankly, terrified.

But this is what Daphne wants. No, what she needs. And if I'm the one who's supposed to give it to her...well, okay then.

Meghan stretched, and let out a long sigh. Her feet hurt from walking all day in those clompy shoes. Thank goodness she'd brought her fluffy green St. Patrick's Day slippers with her - they sure felt good.

She was staring at the screen of the computer in Mr. Winthrop's home office. It was now seven o'clock, and she and Faye were alone in the house - save for Jacob and Uncle Wallace. After the big shopping spree, Emma had gone off to help out her husband at the restaurant, which she often did. Anthony had gotten Jacob from daycare, and had been watching him until the girls got home. Now, he was off at a friend's house, and it was Faye and Meghan's turn to look after the toddler. Uncle Wallace was watching a cricket match, as usual.

Meghan had landed on some website she was trying to decipher, but she was having a hard time concentrating on the text, and even the pictures (they were very interesting pictures, mind you) weren't holding her interest. Her mind was acting as it typically did - off on other things.

An amusing thought made her smile a bit. This day, she had been angry with math, and then politics - now, she realized, it was the internet that was her newest target of blame. For it was the internet, with all of its wonderful but terribly intrusive flashy boxes, that had lured her into a situation that was very much over her head. Actually, it was the media in general - television had played a part in things as well, what with those lovely British news programs.

But even with all of the adversaries she faced - so far, besides arithmetic, social issues, and the media, the list included: noisy nose-blowers, hard black shoes, crowds, a snotty blonde girl, spitty teachers with long beards, garnishes, more crowds armed with cameras, a giant Barbie in a business suit, possibly Shakespeare's evil twin, and a cat named Benjamin, who'd just hawked up a hairball on one of her fluffy slippers - Meghan still didn't feel complete regret, because she loved Daphne so much. And it felt special to be close enough with her that they could share anything with each other, and have complete trust.

She closed the Internet and opened WordPad. Lazily, she tapped some random keys...

"Meghan?"

She jumped. Quickly she turned around to see someone standing in the doorway.

"Yes, Faye?"

The girl paused.

"May I come in?"

Meghan stared for a moment, a bit puzzled at Faye's tone.

"Of course!" she promptly answered.

Hesitantly, the questioner advanced. As Meghan turned in the swivel chair, something caught Faye's eye.

"Oh, what lovely slippers! But... why is one of them wet?"

"Your cat." Meghan said simply, thumbing over her shoulder to the corner of the office, where Benny looked to be hacking up yet another wad of fur.

"Oh, bother." Faye said with disdain. "We'll have to give him some more medicine tonight before he goes to sleep."

Meghan smirked. "Where's Jacob?"

"He's sleeping at the moment. I gave him mashed carrots. That always puts him out." She sat down in another chair as Meghan swiveled back to face the computer, resting her chin on her hand.

"Erm...Meghan?"

Still tapping on the keyboard, the brunette turned her head.

"Is...something wrong?" Faye asked.

Meghan thought.

"No, Faye, there's nothing wrong. Why do you ask?" she said calmly.

"Well...you just seemed a bit strange earlier, and I was wondering if you were feeling sick."

"Ha!" Meghan mused. "Trust me, Faye, if I were sick, you'd know it."

"Well, is something bothering you, then? Do you miss New York?"

"No, not quite yet."

"Then is there something else?"

Meghan smiled, and rolled her eyes.

"Faye." she said, "What nonsense is this? Don't you worry your genius head about me. I'm fine. Tough as nails, that's how I was raised. So let's be perky, okay?" Still wearing a smile, she gave Faye a soft, reassuring look.

Faye was temporarily distracted, thinking of how much, at this moment, Meghan looked like that smiling blonde in the blue photo album. Such a serene, soothing, radiant face. It was uncanny, really. But she soon came back to her senses.

"Alright, Meghan, if you're sure..." she said, unconvinced.

Meghan could tell that Faye was still worried, but for the time being, the questioning was over. She turned back to the garbled junk she'd typed on the monitor:

jrirtkrentuudgdjrb3tufhgsjeh5arbotadhhashoityrriuojjtjndbsgr8i7!$&(((!!

She smiled again, and held down the delete key. Faye stood up, and waltzed to the computer.

"Are you writing something?"

Such a short sentence for such a talkative girl. Meghan didn't like this version of Faye. Sure, she was hyper, but that was who Faye was. And strangely enough, the hyperness didn't annoy Meghan at all now, if it ever had. In fact, it kind of cheered her up. She had hardly been here two days, and already she'd grown used to the lighthearted chattering. She wanted some now.

"Actually...yes." Meghan replied. "I'm going to make a list, of all the best stores in London. Would you like to help me?"

Faye's eyes widened, along with an excited grin. "Oh, WOULDN'T I?!" And just like that, she was off.

Meghan beamed. She'd succeeded.

Here's some advice. If you want good food, eat at the Winthrops'. Seriously.

I mean, I know that the English have been stereotyped as being extremely picky eaters who survive on nothing but tea and watercress sandwiches, but I'm here to tell you: that is so not true. At least not for this family.

That night I had some very delicious roast chicken, with a side of carrots (the magic put-Jacob-to-sleep food, only these weren't mashed), and a dinner roll on the side. To drink, I got apple cider. Faye says that they have apple cider every Monday. Nice...something to look forward to on what's usually the worst day of the week.

"So, Meghan," Laurence quipped, "are you enjoying yourself so far?"

"Mmm-hmm." I answered. "Sure am."

He smiled.

"Very good. Glad to hear it."

I took another bite of my scrumptious food.

"I see you like the chicken." he said.

Looking up, I nodded. I did indeed like the chicken.

"I cooked it, you know." Mr. Winthrop stated, with a bit of pride in his voice. "Oh, hello, I just had a thought. How would you like to try some more of my cooking - at my restaurant?"

Faye practically shot out of her seat with excitement. "That's just what I was - "

"Calm down, Faye. Now, would you like that, Meghan?"

I smiled.

"I would like that very much."

Laurence seemed very much satisfied. "Good, then. How about this Friday night - it will be a special family dinner. What do you think, Emma?"

"Wonderful idea." replied the red head, a forkful of carrots near her mouth.

I concluded that this Friday night would be a very pleasant night, for me and others. Pleasantness - just what I needed. I took another bite of chicken.

"Awwck!"

Startled, I looked up. The noise had come from the den, where I saw crackers flying across the room. Yes, yes...

I was right at home.