An Entertainment

Chapter 24

"To begin perfect happiness at the respective ages of twenty-six and eighteen,
is to do pretty well;
and professing myself moreover convinced,
that the General's unjust interference,
so far from being really injurious to their felicity,
was perhaps rather conducive to it,
by improving their knowledge of each other,
and adding strength to their attachment,
I leave it to be settled by whomsoever it may concern,
Whether the tendency of this work be altogether to recommend parental tyranny,
Or reward filial disobedience."

The house had been in an uproar for two days now. Often times, Clara and Greta made excuses for having to leave the house very early in the morning or coming back later than usual. They had even taken to hiding in inconspicuous places to avoid Mrs. Lynd and the various detectives that came over. By now, Mr. and Mrs. Lynd had figured out that their daughter had eloped with Mr. de Bourgh. First, Mary's friends with had told her that she was never supposed to visit. Second, they had found a hastily written note on her pillow. Mary had been quite wrong about her mother, the old bitty had been furious.

On a different note, this night was the night that Clara was to accompany the Goulds to anticipated ball. Greta did not notice that her friend was dressing with unusual care that evening as Myles Ingram was to come over to work out minute details concerning the wedding the next day. Clara thought it a bit odd that he should be over so close to the wedding, but she kept her mouth shut. The clock struck seven and Clara hastily grabbed her things. On the way down the staircase, she ran into the Captain.

"Oof!" She had the wind knocked out of her.

"Excuse me?" He said. "Have you seen Greta?" Apparently, he had not noticed her body smash into the back of his.

"No, I have not seen her." Clara said as she tried to rearrange a fallen lock of hair. "Pardon me, I've go to fix my hair." She ran back up to the room.

Her heart beat wildly with anticipation. The Goulds would be arriving any minute now and then she would see Mr. Wood. She had tried not to think of it, but she could not help it. The thought of seeing him stand up with Miss Darrow made her even more anxious.

Her hair was pinned in place and she hastily fled down the stairs once more. She ran into Greta and the Captain in the hall.

"Hello, Captain. I see you've found Miss Parker. Well, I'll be off then." Said Clara as she pulled on her long white dress gloves.

"Wait, where are you going? And all dressed up, what's more." Asked Greta suspiciously.

Clara looked slightly guilty and glanced up at her friend while saying, "I ran into some old friends of my mother the other day at a ball. The Gould family, you remember. You met Frank. Anyway, they invited me to attend a ball with them tonight. I figured that since you and Myles were going to be together this evening then I would just slip out. I guess I forgot to tell you." Which was true.

"Oh. Well, have a good time-Wait! Clara, you hate balls! You would never agree to go to one if you knew you could get out of it. Come out with it, where are you really going?"

"I'm telling you the gospel truth. I am going to a ball at the Abbey Hall, and with the Goulds." The doorbells chimed. "There, you see, that must be them now." Clara strode past her friend and the Captain with her head held high and her back straight.

"I'll bet you anything that she's heard that Wood is going to be there." Greta muttered.

"If he is," Ingram replied. "He'll get an eye opener and no mistake."

Clara had arrived at the ball with the Goulds. She did not wish to dance with anyone but one certain gentleman and it seemed that she would never get the opportunity with such a large crowd of people. Frank Gould was constantly at her side, which, for once, was a relief as it seemed to discourage other young men from asking her to dance.

She wandered around the ballroom trying to spy if Oliver Wood had come, as the rumor said he would. Clara did not find him and proceeded to look in the adjoining rooms. Discouraged, she turned around abruptly and crashed into Frank. They apologized profusely and laughed over their clumsiness. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the familiar form of Oliver Wood. He was standing in a corner with several other ladies and gentlemen, one of which, Clara recognized to be Miss Darrow. She turned to get a better glimpse and found that his eyes were unmistakably fixed on her. Frank followed her eyes and asked who the gentleman was. Clara blushed deeply and began to walk out of the room, Frank close behind. Her heart was pounding and blood rushed past her ears. Clara asked Frank to please fetch her something to drink as she felt too warm of a sudden. There was a small room that was closed off by a curtain, having an unusual fixation with all drapery, Clara entered the tiny refuge and planted herself in a chair. She had not been there long when two women came and stood just outside the room. In spite of her good breeding, Clara readily listened in.

"...Did you ever see such lace? I must say, Olivia certainly is taking extra pains to display herself. I doubt she could afford half of the things she wears lately." Said one.

"Of course she is, Camilla. She may say that she is only just three and twenty, but everyone knows that she is nearly eight and twenty." Said the other. "Surely, you've noticed the way she hangs on that Scottish fellow. She must be getting fairly desperate."

"Mr. Wood seems to be a decent enough gentleman, Lydia; I understand that he owns a considerable amount of property near Gretna Green." Said Camilla.

"Yes, the Griswald estate. He also has a very fetching income. If I were single still, then I would have set my cap at him as well."

"Olivia Darrow always did have a good eye for money."

Both of the ladies gave a short, stale laugh and moved on to another part of the ballroom.

Clara sat in her chair and seethed. So, he had come back to London to find women who were willing to throw themselves at his feet. All those things he had written in his first letter where a lie. All the things he said about his home, they were a lie as well. Clara jumped up from her chair and flung the curtain open. She stood there blinking in the candlelight and glared at the universe in general. Soon, Frank strode over to her side and presented her with a glass of water.

"I couldn't find you." He said apologetically.

Clara accepted the glass and thanked him, though she was no longer thirsty. Frank asked her if she would care to dance with him, she would rather not have but then saw that Wood had only just stepped onto the floor with Miss Darrow.

"Come on, Frank." Clara said as she grabbed his hand. "They can't be interested in each other, not with names like those." She muttered under her breath.

Clara was quite surprised at how well she danced just then. She scowled, though, as it must have something to do with Mr. Wood's help at the ball in Middleton. If it were not for her common sense, she would almost have certainly stepped on Frank's toes just to spite him. As the couple had gone down the line, Wood suddenly sprang up out of nowhere and bade Miss Granger and her companion good evening. Clara replied the same before she even knew what she had said. Frank looked rather puzzled and asked if he was a friend of hers, especially as the man had kept staring at her all evening.

"It depends on what you consider to be a friend." She told him, trying to avoid the subject.

"And what do you consider to be the qualifications, may I ask?" Said Frank jovially.

"Someone who is honest, trustworthy, and keeps promises." She told him. "Not to mention, a friend always answers his mail."

"Mail-I won't ask. So, do you consider that gentleman to be a friend?" Frank persisted.

"Oh him? No, he's a mere, rather unfortunate, acquaintance." She lied.

"He is a handsome chap." Frank muttered with a seemingly jealous look at Clara.

"What's that?" Clara asked distractedly.

"Nothing." He replied somberly.

The dance ended soon after and Clara retreated to a seat by one of the great windows, which was cracked open. Cool night air seeped through and played with the ringlets of hair at the nape of her neck. Frank and a collection of his friends joined her there. After seating himself, Frank chose to engage her in conversation about Middleton.

"Are there many young people in Middleton? Living in the city makes it almost impossible to not have friends your own age. In the country, I believe, the numbers young people are far more limited."

Clara thought the question a ridiculous one as it was very commonly used as a conversation initiator and not very important. However, she chose to amuse her host.

"To an extent, yes, we are limited, but I've never been in any want of company. There are five girls in particular with whom I am very close." She told him.

"What about young men? Surely, you have something to say about them."

"We have enough to satisfy the young ladies, I assume. However, I am not closely acquainted with any."

"Why not? Are they uncommonly insipid or hard-featured?" Frank asked jovially.

"I don't know, I've always been too shy of them to try and find out." Clara laughed.

"Too shy? But here you and I are, chatting like old friends, as comfortably as can be."

"That would be because we are old friends. Besides, you have a very relaxed, unassuming air about you. I am never afraid of what you might be thinking."

"What I am thinking?" He flirted. "Vanity, vanity."

"Oh hush." She said.

Frank's attention was suddenly averted by the presence of yet another one of his many friends.

"Oy! Percy, when did you get here?" Frank called. "You're late."

"As quickly as I could contrive it, old man. I've just had a letter from Newton asking me to send more money. I swear, if he sends me one more request then I'm going to take it to him myself. Honeymoon or no!" Said Percy.

"Say, how is that rascal? By George! Why didn't I think of it before?" Said Frank as he leapt from his seat. "Miss Granger, where is it you said you lived? Middleton, yes, I just wanted to make sure. Perce, that's were Eric's girl is from!"

Both Percy and Clara were rather confused and waited for some kind of explanation.

"Confound it, Perce, don't you get it? Miss Granger, were you acquainted at all with a young man named Newton?" Frank asked.

Clara's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Yes, he eloped with one of my dearest friends." There was a tinge of threat in her voice.

Frank and Percy exchanged cautious glances before speaking again. "So, you know the whole incident then?"

"I know a little, what Lotte wrote her parents. But is there something you would like to explain to me?"

"N-no, of course not." Frank stammered.

Percy seemed to think that somebody was beckoning him to the other side of the room and Frank decided that it was high time he danced with a certain redhead named Trudy. Clara was left by herself. She sat quietly for sometime and watched the dance, she saw that Wood was again dancing with Miss Darrow. Something very much like jealousy crept into her head and made her think several morbid thoughts.

"Just don't look," she muttered to herself. Hopefully, the night would end soon. She stubbornly fixed her gaze on the floor.

Presently, the song ended and the couples moved off the floor. A pair of very expensive, highly feminine shoes appeared before her and she curiously raised her eyes to see who was interrupting her reverie.

"Good evening, Miss Granger. I am Olivia Darrow. I am sure that you do not remember my name. Oliver Wood was so kind as to point you out to me and I remember being introduced last summer." She said haughtily.

"How do you do, Miss Darrow. I must admit that I remembered your face, though the name had quite escaped my mind." Clara replied coolly. "I do seem to recall, though, Mr. Wood mentioning that you were the ward of a good friend of his family."

"Funny, I don't ever recall hearing where he met you, exactly." Miss Darrow sneered.

Clara's temper was beginning to flare up and instead of making a scene, she made an excuse for removing from the spot to a place across the room. She was in the process of fleeing when she veritably ran into the culprit himself.

"Excuse me," she said without looking up. She began to walk away but he would not let her pass.

"I need to get through." She said.

"I see you've met, Olivia." He said.

"Oh, that's who it was. She's charming, isn't she?" Clara said scathingly. "And, the two of you on a first name basis, as well."

"Wait, what's that supposed to mean?" He asked condescendingly.

"Nothing, now if you'll excuse me-"

"I wanted to dance with you." Mr. Wood stated.

"Oh really." Clara sneered. "How very kind."

"I'm serious." He said. "I would have asked you earlier but that young dolt that's been hanging on you all night wouldn't leave."

"Frank Gould is a very sensible, affable, young man, not to mention a gentleman, and does not deserve your censure." Clara chided. "Surely, you were not afraid to approach me with someone like him around."

"And waste my time, I suppose. I never interrupt flirtations. It always results in a bloody nose, and I feared that it might prove humiliating for the lad." Wood said in a steely tone.

"You've said enough, sir. I most certainly will not stand by while you insult Frank." Clara fumed. "Good night, sir." And she stormed off toward Frank's group of friends and begged him to order the carriage. Frank, however, was not at all inclined to leave. What is more, his sisters could not be taken from all of their admirers so soon, it was quite unheard of. Not to mention that Frank's mother would quite agree that it was altogether too early to leave a ball.

Clara would not stay, however. No matter how shy she may be, she was certainly not a weak, obedient, and sweet girl of seventeen. No, she was nearly twenty and every bit as stubborn. Without saying good bye, Clara collected her cape and gloves from the handmaid and began to walk back to Waterloo Crescent alone. Had Clara felt less than she did, walking around the dark streets of London unattended would have been a frightening experience. Tonight, however, she could only think of how badly she wanted to say something dreadful rude to Mr. Wood. However, she commended herself for what she believed to be good sense and composure while dealing with that rake.

The chill January wind beat against her and her hands and feet were going numb, but she pushed on.

"Just who does he think he is? Men like him should not be allowed anywhere near French doors!" She grumbled to herself.

An hour later, and almost frozen, Clara was let into the house by a maid. She went to the kitchen to see if she could scrounge up a cup of tea. She found Greta, instead, sitting with Captain Ingram.

"You two got kicked out of the parlor, did you?" Clara said.

"Clara, you're back so early, and frozen stiff." Greta observed.

"Balls should be outlawed! I hate them!" Clara said bitterly. Greta and Myles shrugged questioningly at each other. Myles had the unfortunate nerve to ask if she by any chance saw Mr. Wood, as he understood the gentleman was in town.

"Did I see him? Yes, I saw him. He is the most detestable, odious, pig-headed, brainless man I have ever met! I never want to see him again!" Clara angrily set down a teacup onto the table, took a seat, put her head down in her arms and cried.

The lady and gentleman blinked with shock. The Captain mouthed that he believed that it was time for him to go and Greta nodded her head. They took their leave of each other and she returned to the kitchen.

"Come on, Clara, let's go upstairs, shall we." Said Greta.

"I'm going to kill him." Clara sobbed. "My heart is broken."

"Let's go Prima Dona, get up." Greta hoisted her friend up and dragged her up the stairs to their room.

Clara, sniffling, lay in a heap on her bed; cape, gloves, and all. She stared at the ceiling and entertained herself with thoughts of open flirtations with Frank Gould just to spite Wood. Of course, this plan was no good as she did not particularly like flirting, especially with Frank Gould who was little more than a friend. These thoughts proved only vexatious to herself as she reflected on what Mr. Wood had said about the two of them at the ball. Had they been flirting or was he simply saying that to nettle her? Frank, Clara admitted, seemed a bit more attentive than what was strictly necessary and yet Clara felt like she had never encouraged his attentions. She did not wish to make him believe that she regarded him as a particular friend, and certainly not as a lover.

"You know, Clara, the best thing to do would be to forget everything and make of with Mr. Wood." Greta suggested as if reading her friend's thoughts. "I'm sure it isn't as bad as it looks."

"How do you know?" Clara retorted. "He was positively wretched. I don't think that he ever behaves rationally."

Greta gave her a look as to say that the same thing could be said of her. "Clara, forgive me, but I can't help but think that maybe he has done little more than hurt your pride. And, accordingly, you are too stubborn to wave that hurt to better the situation. In short, to apologize."

"Apologize! Greta, you don't even know the situation!" Clara raged. "He was there with another woman!"

"You were there with Frank Gould."

"And his family!"

"He does not owe you anything, dearest, you were not engaged to Mr. Wood."

"Yes, we were. Well, no we weren't. But, he came with the intentions of marrying me! He entertained my affections and then left without a word to me. He didn't even write back."

"Maybe he decided that he didn't love you and assumed that you did not love him." Greta said.

That tiny suggestion came as quite a blow to Clara. Until then she had always assumed, at least subconsciously, that he loved her. Even when he was with Miss Darrow, she assumed that he still cared for her even a little bit. Had not he asked her to dance? Ah, but then she had danced with Frank and she did not especially like him. Clara said no more but got out of bed to change out of her things. It was depressing indeed to think about the subject and tried to turn her thoughts to other things. Tomorrow, she could accompany Greta and Captain Ingram to St. Paul's for church and afterwards, their small wedding. After that, she would go home in a mail cart.

"Clara?"

"Hmm."

"I forgot, this came for you after you left." Greta handed Clara a small letter that had been addressed to the Grange and then forwarded to Waterloo Crescent.

She read the contents and could not tell if the news cheered her or made her feel even more depressed than ever. "Cosette is coming home tomorrow." She said Greta. "With Eric Newton, of course. Would you like for me to give them your-" Greta lay fast asleep in her bed. "Never mind." Clara said to herself. As much as it gave Clara pain, she knew that she must be happy for her friend's marriage and wish her joy upon her return, even if it reminded her how terribly unmarried she still was.

The next morning, Sunday, Clara woke up with swollen eyes and a headache owing to her being wrought-up over her interview with Mr. Wood. Greta, on the other hand, never looked lovelier, as it was her wedding day. She did not order expensive wedding clothes and certainly no lace for the occasion. Instead, she wore her silk ball gown that was made out of white silk. Clara did not understand why she would wear such a think in the middle of January, but then, she thought, lovers are rarely reasonable and generally fanciful. Thankfully, she had never experienced such a phenomenon.

"Here, Greta, you had better wear this." Clara handed her friend a blue, ribbon choker and small earrings to match.

"What are these for? I have jewelry of my own." Greta told her.

"You need something borrowed and something blue, which means I'll need them back eventually." Clara said trying not to sound sentimental and succeeded. Greta merely rolled her eyes and looked into her glass to put the jewelry on.

The plan was that they, meaning Greta, Captain Ingram, Clara, Ingram's brother and his family, and the Lynd family, would attend the church service at St. Paul's and then the rector would perform a short wedding ceremony. After the event took place, the party would then assemble at Mr. Lance Ingram's home at Brooke Street for dinner. Though a letter had been sent to Mr. and Mrs. Parker about the forthcoming nuptials and begging for their attendance, Greta had heard no word from them and did not expect them to come at all. Clara and Greta had not yet discussed what would take place after that event. Like last night, Clara was fairly sure her destiny lay in a mail cart while Greta and her new husband would probably set off for Hull on a honeymoon. Apparently, Captain Ingram wanted to show his new wife the ship that he had last had commission of.

The time flew away rapidly and the carriages were ordered while the two young ladies were still fastening shoes or tying ribbons to their hair. Upon descending the stairs, they found Captain Ingram waiting at the bottom in his best blue coat, his usually wild brown hair was at least looking like it wanted to be tame. Greta took no notice and took her fiancé's hand as he led her to the door. Behind them, down the hall along the stairs, the three heard several sharp gasps. Greta's grandmother, aunt and another one of her cousins had all stopped dead in their tracks, their hands over their hearts.

"Greta, what is he doing here?" Her aunt demanded.

Greta looked exceedingly confused and slightly alarmed, "We're getting married today. Don't you remember?"

"Of course, I remember, child, that's precisely why he cannot be here. It's bad luck for a man to see his bride before the wedding."

"Aunt, I can assure you that such superstitions to do not bother me. Now, we had better leave or we will be late for the service."

They were slightly late, which resulted in their having to seat themselves in the back pews. The Lynds looked incensed at such a slight on their importance to society, Greta and Captain Ingram did not seem to notice where they sat. Clara was forced to sit on the end with several men about her age who did not look like they were accustomed to attend places of sobriety and piety. They smirked and gawked at her throughout the service and one even had the vulgarity of mind to slide closer to her. She blushed, whimpered and attempted to look straight ahead. Naturally, her eyes kept wandering toward the wretched ingrates next to her, her composure shattered.

At last, the closing benediction given, the bells tolling eleven o'clock, the worshipers filing out into the courtyard and Clara was finally rid of the rascals. She had turned toward her friends who were even now talking with the rector when someone came up from behind her and tapped on her shoulder. She spun around in fear that one of the jackanapes had returned. To her immense relief it was only Frank Gould.

"Good morning, Mr. Gould." She said breathlessly.

He was a little less civil, "I was a little surprised at your sudden disappearance last night, Miss Granger."

Clara did not like his tone of voice at all, who was he that she owed him an explanation? "I found that it was necessary for a hasty removal from the ball. I had tried to explain this to you last night. However, you seemed little inclined to leave and I doubt you heard a word I said."

"How did you get back to Mrs. Lynd's?" He asked patronizingly.

"I walked." She answered rebelliously. "By myself."

"Walked at night in London alone? Are you off your head? You could have been picked up by-by anybody." He rebuked her.

"Oh, stop trying to sound like a judge, I'm here in one piece, am I not?" She said with a flounce of her skirts, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a wedding to attend to."

"Wait!" He called. "I was wandering if you would like to come over for tea this afternoon? I could come back after the ceremony with my barouche, if you like."

Clara smiled, "You have a funny way of giving out invitations, Frank. One would think that you enjoy vexing your guests. Well, you had better come back at noon." She had completely forgot about the reception at the Ingram home on Brooke Street.

"Until then." He said with a bow.

"Good-bye, Mr. Gould." Clara turned her attention back toward the wedding and found that her party had added yet another person to their group. She moved toward a small circle that consisted of the stranger, Greta, Myles, and Lance Ingram. Upon closer inspection, she found that, to her devastation, it was Mr. Wood. The four of them were conversing together comfortably and in no obvious hurry. Myles spotter her and called her over to greet their latest addition.

"Look who we have here, Miss Granger, our old friend Oliver Wood." Said Captain Ingram with relish.

"Good morning, Miss Granger." Wood said with a self-satisfied, derisive grin. She could tell that he had not quite forgiven her for last night. Just as well, for she most certainly had not forgiven him either. It made it all the easier to despise him.

Clara craned her neck around as if to look for someone, "But where is Miss Darrow? Surely, she has not cast you off so soon?" She said acrimoniously and sailed past the group. Fortunately, the rector called for their attention and the ceremony began. Greta stood resolutely beside her Captain who also looked very proud and handsome.

The Rector began to chant the familiar words of the Form of Solemnization of Marriage... "O MERCIFUL Lord, and heavenly Father, by whose gracious gift mankind is increased...."

It was a beautiful ceremony despite the tension in the air,. The couple steadfastly made their declarations of unwavering fidelity and ardor; the rings were given; the couple shared their first kiss as husband and wife. They walked down the isle as the wedding march was played.

Once outside, the party dissembled into their respective gigs and prepared to be off. Mrs. Myles Igram called on her friend while her husband and the others moved ahead. As customary, the bride threw her bouquet as the unattached female; however, this was done with an uncustomary amount of energy. The bouquet came crashing down on the head of her friend, causing many of the flowers to become bereft of their petals.

Clara was shocked at the blow, at first, but then began to perceive why it had come, "I suppose I deserved that." She murmured as she dusted off her head.

"You better believe it. How could you humiliate Mr. Wood like that, and at my wedding?" Greta hissed, "It was badly done, Clara." Greta ruffled her dress and stood up straight as if she had regained her composure. "Now, which coach are you riding in. There is room in Myles and mine, but then Mr. Wood is invited and I know there will be more than enough room in his. I suggest you make up with him as soon as possible. Or, rather, pretend to be agreeable."

"Oh no!" Clara said with shock and alarm. "I quite forgot, actually, I am waiting for Frank Gould. He is to come for me. Oh bother." Clara said in a rather louder than was strictly necessary. She had the satisfaction of seeing Mr. Wood look over with a grim expression on his face.

"Clara, stop this foolishness. You are becoming an absolute baby. Well, wait for the gentleman, and then you had better come straight over to Lance's." With that, Greta Ingram marched toward her carriage, beaming at her new husband.

Clara retraced her steps up to the doors of the Cathedral and stood in the shadow of a pillar. The wind that day was little more than a wisp and did not bother her. She watched as the carriages moved away from the Cathedral and toward St. Brutes Street Square. There she stood for quite some time. She took out her pocket watch, noting as ten, twenty, twenty-five minutes elapsed. Frank would not forget about her, she was sure. Maybe, he had expected it to be a long service. He would be here soon. But then, maybe he was still angry about last night. Oh, don't be silly. Clara thought to herself. Frank would never leave her stranded over such a silly thing as that. Well, it would not do her any good to stand around waiting for night to fall as it would in only a few hours. She decided to walk about the exterior of the building and see if maybe he was waiting on the other side. However, she had not gone far when she was stopped by the very coxcombs that had made her feel so uncomfortable during church. She attempted to sidestep them and make for the crowded streets but was unfortunately outnumbered four to one.

"Good afternoon, Miss." Said one. He had blond hair that stuck out like straw under a bowler cocked to one side. "Ain't this a beautiful day? Perfect day for a stroll, I allus say."

"Excuse me, please." She mumbled. They, however, showed no sign of moving.

"Would you like to try one of these?" Said one as he held up a cigarette. "Good stuff, these."
"Come on, miss. Won't you have a spot of tea with me and my lads." Said a dark-haired man. "We'll show you a good time."

"No thank you, sir. I'll just be going." Clara said tremulously. They continued to bate and embarrass her for several minutes as she tried to get away.

"Excuse me, gentlemen." She heard someone say. "If you don't mind, I have explicit instructions to take this particular young lady to a wedding reception." It was Wood.

The young men seemed to shrink under Mr. Wood's malevolent stare. However, none of them moved. "Come, Miss Granger."

"Now wait a bloomin' minute, gov'." Said one rather clumsily. "We were just ‘avin' a nice little chat wiv' the lady. No ‘arm done, I ‘ope."

"I see." Said Wood menacingly. Clara looked at no one and said nothing. She could imagine by the sound of his voice that he was bristling all over. "Let's go, Clara."

"And what if Miss Granger don't want to go with you?" Said another lamely.

"Don't be ridiculous." Wood retorted. "Clearly, Miss Granger, these are not the sort of gentlemen you want to spend the day (or night) with." Wood said dangerously. "I suppose their mothers wear trousers or they would have noticed from the start that you are not the sort of girl to be trifled with."

"What's that?" Asked one.

"Why don't you go find yourself a brothel, I'm sure your sisters will be happy to introduce you to her friends there."

One of them took a step toward Wood and looked like he was going to strike him. Wood, however, stopped him from advancing with his walking stick.

"Please, don't bore me. It's really not worth getting yourself bloodied over. Come alone, Clara." He said condescendingly. "Good day, sir." He rudely dragged Clara alongside of him to where his curricle was waiting. He helped her, or shoved her rather, into her seat. He jumped stepped in and sat beside her. Had she looked back, she would have seen a very surprised and rather angry Frank Gould shove his cap on his head and drive his own gig in the opposite direction.

"I see that oaf neglected to remember his engagement with you. It was rather kind of him to leave you to the mercy of those lecherous chaps."

"How's that, sir?" Clara asked shortly.

"Because, my dear, it allowed me to play the part of a hero rescuing the damsel in distress. Women love being put into such romantic situations."

"This is not the way to Mr. Ingram's residence." Clara commented, ignoring his last statement, especially as it was not romantic in the least.

"We are not going to Mr. Ingram's home." He said nonchalantly.

"But, you said that you were instructed to bring me there."

"I did say that, but I lied."

"Where are we going, then?" She asked.

"To my home." He said deadpan.

Clara gasped sharply. "I cannot go home with you! It isn't proper!" She declared shrilly.

"No one will notice." Wood noted.

"Greta will notice." She said impatiently.

"Do you honestly think that Greta Ingram is wasting her thoughts on you on her wedding day? Come, Miss Granger, you're brighter than that."

"But you said-"

"I lied again."

"You are very mean, sir." Clara chided.

"Sorry." He repented.

"You are not." She retorted under her breath.

Oliver smirked secretly to himself. Suddenly, he bolted upright in his seat and exclaimed, "Great Scott! What is she doing here?"

Clara looked out the glass to spot whoever it was he had seen. All she saw, however, were carriages belonging to people she did not know. By now they had made their way to Grosvenor Square and she waited in nervous anticipation to catch a first glimpse of his house. Her father had described it as a large, limestone building with a Grecian temple design. Unfortunately, that described over half the buildings in that part of town. They traveled in a comfortable silence. Eventually, the carriage pulled to a stop before a large townhouse. A servant came out from the house, opened the carriage door, and lowered the steps. He helped Clara down and waited for Mr. Wood to follow.

"Good afternoon, Busby." Wood said. "This is Miss Granger."

Busby bowed to the young lady and said, "Good afternoon, ma'am." Obviously, Mr. Wood did not follow the customs of other fashionable families when it came to his relationships with his servants.

"Miss Darrow left her card, Sir, only a moment ago." Busby said stiffly. Clara thought she saw his nose wrinkle distastefully.

"That reminds me, Busby. I am not at home." Said Wood. "Show Miss Granger into the drawing room."

"Very good, Sir."

"Oh, and, Busby, I think I shall take up red carnations for my button holes; though, I do think white still becomes you. You may have white if you choose."

"Thank you, Sir." Busby bowed.

"No, thank you, Busby." Wood strode up the long winding staircase to his boudoir. The butler turned to Clara and bade her to follow him. The interior was fashionably masculine in most aspects. A few articles of furniture and the paper on the walls, she believed, must have been remnants of his mother's own decorations. The drawing room was spacious and grandly attired, though not gaudy. An anteroom served as a billiard, equipped with a pool table, card table, and a bar. Her greatest pleasure, though, was in the elegant draperies that hung so invitingly over the windows.

Busby offered her some refreshment, which she declined and left her alone in the room. She sat down rather awkwardly and awaited the return of the master. How long it had been since she last saw him in -shire, and how different they both were. She smiled to herself when she remembered the ball at the Cambridge Inn where they had danced together. Though she did not dance very well that night, she could honestly say that it was the most enjoyable time she had ever spent. The small store of memories came back to her and eased the animosity she felt for him of late. "I suppose we must make up, then. Now is as good a time as ever." It occurred to her that maybe that was why he had brought her to his home, amongst other things.

Her reverie was broken by Wood's entrance in a freshly cleaned, rather casual suit of clothes and his dark brown hair ruffled. Clara felt rather ridiculous in her fancy Sunday dress.

"Didn't Busby offer you any refreshments?" He asked as he closed the doors behind him.

"He did, but I did not need any." She answered. Her stomach growled in disagreement.

"Oh," was all he said.

"There have been a number of changes since last you were in Middleton, Mr. Wood. Harriet Lawton, then, married Dr. Dixon not too much later. Cosette ran off with her friend, or lover, named Sir Eric Newton. And, Sophia has only just married Captain Croft. How much you have missed." Clara tried to fill in the awkward silence.

"Is your father at home?" He asked absently.

"No, he is still in Bristol. He comes and goes as he chooses and it suites me just fine." She sighed.

"Does he know you are in London, then?" Wood looked toward her.

"I sent him a letter telling him of the scheme, not that he cares much." She lied blandly.

"You left early last night." He commented.

"Left what early?" She asked, the ball had temporarily slipped her mind.

"At the ball, last night, you went with the Goulds." Wood said. He had turned his back to her and appeared to be toying with some object on the mantelpiece.

"Oh yes, I left early. I did not care for the atmosphere. London balls are dreadfully crowded." She commented.

"Frank Gould drove you home, I suppose."

"No, I walked home alone." Clara confessed, though she did not know what he was driving at.

"Walked, and alone in London, no less! Miss Granger, this is not the country!" He turned the full weight of his stare on her. "A lady does not simply traipse about at night like it was her own back yard because she happened to think of it! Anything could have happened. Really, what's gotten into you. You've grown positively wild since I saw you last." He was pacing across the room much like her father did when he would reprimand her.

"Mr. Wood, I hope that you did not drag me over here to be lectured at. I may not have street smarts, but nothing did happen to me and I am sure that there will not be occasion for it to happen again. That is, if you do not give me a reason." She stated.

"Are you insinuating that it was my fault you were fatuous enough to do such a rash thing?" He asked.

"I was exceedingly angry with you. So much, in fact, that the thought of being in the same room with you was more than I could bear." She did not notice Mr. Wood's slight grimace as she uttered the sentence.

"I haven't the pleasure of understanding you, madam. Pray, what did I do?" He asked contemptuously

"The things you said about Frank and the way treated me yesterday and today were inexcusable." Clara said haughtily.

"Had I felt less I may have been more civil. But, a man half mad with love and jealousy rarely thinks rationally."

"Half mad in love in Miss Darrow, I suspect. I do not see how I come into all this." She said.

"You mean you were jealous. After all, you had come all the way to London just to see me again. It's really rather flattering." Wood said egotistically.

"You're impossible." Clara huffed in embarrassment. "I didn't just come to see you, that is, I-I wanted to see why you hadn't answered the letter I sent you. I thought that it might have been a mistake. But, now I see that it wasn't."

"You sent me a letter?" He asked bewilderedly, an odd sort of light came into his eyes. "I have received none."

"You didn't?" An understanding formed between them. "Are you sure. You wouldn't lie-"

"Don't be silly, I never lie." He interrupted. Clara's eyebrows furrowed in response and he smirked like a schoolboy.

"I think that there has been some mischief afoot of late. Hmm. All's well that ends well, though." He said.

"You mean we-" She asked.

"Of course, we'll have to go about it properly. Your father isn't here but he's already given his consent, really."

Clara whimpered with nervous embarrassment and fiddled with a sofa pillow that was on her lap. It was very strange how the whole air in the room had gone from extremely tense to almost as comfortable as it had been under the willow at home. However, Clara's observation was upset by something quite disturbing.

Mr. Wood had gotten down on one knee and was about to declare, in profusion, his ardent love for her. Clara knew that she could not handle (properly) such a mawkish address and pushed the poor Casanova onto his hindquarters. She jumped up and quickly fled to the other side of the sofa. Wood got up and started to chase her around the room, and eventually started to back her into a corner. Of course, that was after they had run around the couch several times and Clara threw a candlestick at him. And, it was after she crawled under the pool table to escape out a door that led to someplace she did not know.

"Oh-oh-oh-oh dear!" Clara muttered in a panic. She bumped into the wall and had no where to go and had to look into his face.

Wood had reached her and whispered, "Will you marry me?"

"What?" she asked loudly, as she could not hear his whisper.

"Marry me." He repeated.

"I can't hear you, stop mumbling." She demanded nervously.

Wood rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and raised his arms in exasperation. How many times did he have to do this? Wasn't it bad enough that a man had to propose once? There was too much sentimentality for one day.

The short pause was long enough for Clara to attempt a bolt for the other side of the room. However, Oliver was quicker than she was. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her back toward him, but she tripped and fell backward so that he had to catch her.

"This happens often, I think." Said he. "You never could resist falling into my arms."

Clara blushed profusely, "Oh, shut up." she said as she flailed around. She bit his hand and he dropped her. While he was wringing his hand and trying not to curse, she crawled toward the door. He soon got over his wound and grabbed her foot.

"Now, hold on, I'm not done talking." He said.

As far as she was concerned he was, she used her free leg to kick in the backside of his knees which made him nearly fall on top of her.

"Marry me-ouch- dammit!" Oliver yelled as she bit him again. He struggled to stand up while Clara was about to take another bite. However, she stopped and looked at him with wonder.

"What did you say?" She asked aggressively.

"Marry me, dammit." He replied so impatiently that he threw his fist down on the pool table.

Clara's eyes were wide and her mouth gaped open. Then, the unthinkable happened. She got up and pounced on him while kissing him quite freely. It was his turn to be shocked. However, it wasn't long before he got the hang of it.

A soft knock on the door went unheard and Busby let himself in. He looked around the room at first because he was certain that the master and his lady friend had not left. When he finally spotted the happy couple under the pool table he turned brick red and left the room unnoticed.

"I'm sorry, Miss Darrow," he said. "Mr. Wood is being taken advantage of by a young lady at present and cannot escape. Would you like to leave your card?"

Miss Darrow huffed and puffed furiously. She rudely thrust the card at Busby, who almost dropped it. She turned abruptly and stomped out of the house. Busby then turned down the passage and into the kitchen where he promptly deposited the card into the stove.

The two had quickly, if reluctantly, gotten control of themselves. Mr. Wood was playing a game of pool while Clara looked on. A blush stained her cheeks and her hair was slightly rumpled, but she was tidy and considerably calmer. However, there was something on her mind.

"Mr. Wood, I was wondering-"

"Why don't you call me Oliver?" He asked as he hit one the eight ball into a hole. Clara blinked rather blankly and said deadpan,

"Because I call you Mr. Wood." She was a little flustered by her blunder and by his deep, throaty chuckle; but she went on. "I was wondering, um, if or how-I mean, well, I don't want to go home in a mail cart." She eventually blurted out. Mr. Wood had stopped his game and was laughing at her.

"It took you long enough." He chortled. "You are wondering if I would be so kind as to make use of my equipage by conveying you home to Middleton."

"Yes," she said shyly. "You see, Greta said that once we go to London, we wouldn't need to take the cart, but-"

"Wait, you want to go home?" He asked. "Why don't you just stay here?" Clara nearly fell off her seat. At least, she turned pink and uttered something unintelligible. "Oh, stop blushing. After all, you are not the prudish little girl I met in Middleton anymore. I recall being molested right under this very pool table by yours truly."

"I wouldn't use that word, it was only a little kiss." Clara replied sheepishly.

"Stop worrying. I was only teasing." He said. "But you could stay here, you know."

"But-but-it wouldn't be-it's not-proper." She stammered.

"You have developed a most annoying habit of not being able to spit words out. You shall have to try to change that. Anyway, you won't staying in my room, you know." He said rather bluntly. "I can assure you that this house is full of empty, spare rooms-all equipped with locks-which you could stay in, quite alone. Surely you don't want to go back to the Lynd place..."

Clara did not know how she was going to spend the rest of her life with this man. He was always saying something to fluster her. But then, her own thoughts were quite capable of doing the same.

"...Besides, they won't ever notice you're gone. Why, I've got this big house all to myself and Busby, well-there is a maid somewhere. But, you ought to stay here! There's more room!" He started to play pool again.

"I don't think that I'll be staying here tonight, Oliver." She said softly, "But, perhaps I could see the house a little bit?"

"Oh, like a tour or something?" He asked. "Certainly, we can go now if you like. Are you hungry?"

"A little," she said. "But, let's see the house first!" She was very excited about exploring it.

"...It was built in 1774..." Oliver said as he led her down the hallway. However, she was hardly paying attention. Clara was spellbound by the splendor of the house and could hardly believe she was inside of it. Even in the glory days of her youth, before their fortune had failed, the Grange had never bee so grand. Then, her eyes fell on a door that was half-open. She lifted the candle she was holding to brighten up the view. What she saw completely captivated her. She stood with her mouth wide open and her eyes unblinking. Oliver stopped speaking in mid-sentence to find out what it was that had stolen her attention.

"Clara, what are you looking at?" He asked. "Oh, that's my library." Oliver was nonchalant and hardly seemed to think much of the room, but Clara did not budge.

"The library." Clara breathed slowly. Oliver took an uncertain step toward her and asked if she would like to see it. She nodded as if under a spell and he led her through the door.

She was overwhelmed by what she saw. Every wall was lined with beautifully bound books. The bookcases themselves were worth looking at alone. They were mahogany made with beautiful Celtic knots and artwork. Directly across from the door, two windows extended from floor to ceiling, covered in the purest green drapes. Clara was in ecstasy. There were chairs, a long table, miniature statues, and a small spinet by the window on the left.

"It's really rather modest." Oliver said humbly. "Of course, the library at Griswald-well, this one doesn't hold a candle to it, really."

"It's perfect." Clara whispered. "Green drapes!"

Oliver chuckled, "There used to be white ones hanging up, but I had new ones made last summer."

"I could stay in here forever!" Clara exclaimed impetuously. Oliver looked both startled and pleased. "Don't you love the smell of books?"

He wrinkled his nose to show his feelings of distaste; "They smell musty." Clara ignored him.

Eventually, Oliver was able to tear Clara away from book-shelves and lead her through the second and third floor as well. One other room that caught Clara's interest was the nursery. It was very tidy and had been dusted that day. However, there were two little beds and several articles of clothes and toys tucked it unusual places about the room. Clara thought it unusual that these articles had not been packed u p and put in the attic. Why, there was even a perambulator in the corner.

"Do you often have little children come stay with you?" She asked.

"No," Oliver replied. "These things belonged to my brother and me. My mother wanted this room left it the way it always was. You know, for the-um-future."

"Oh." Clara said. "It's a very nice nursery."

There were several spacious bedrooms and guestrooms that Wood had not redecorated and Clara noticed that his mother preferred to use fabrics with solid colors or stripes as opposed to patterns and prints. The woodwork, however, like the wood in the library, was very intricately hewn. She was also thrilled to find that each room had a color scheme, like the novels she had read. Rodrigo had murdered Clayton in the Scarlet room, etc. The third floor consisted of some servant's quarters and a large ballroom.

"Is this where you learned to dance," she asked lightly.

"No." He said. "I learned at Griswald. A very spirited Scott tutored me. He was pretty near foxed for each lesson."

"Oh, dear." Clara gasped.

"Well, it made for a lively lesson." He laughed. Clara stepped onto the floor and tapped her foot. The sound echoed through the room and then died away. Honestly, Clara was a little spooked. It was dark outside and the only light came from the lamppost on the street. She dared not look at the paintings of old masters and matrons on the walls for fear that one of them should wink or something.

"Care to dance?" Oliver asked. "You still owe me one."

"No, I would rather not, this room is rather creepy. Besides, I still do not care for dancing." She replied with a wink. "Lets do back down stairs. I think I could use something to eat."

Oliver led her carefully back down through the halls and stairs in the dark and down into the dinning room. They were halfway through dinner when there came a harsh pounding on the front door. Busby quickly went to answer it and Clara could hear him insisting that the master was not available. However, a man's heavy footsteps could be heard striding down the hall. The man appeared in a long black overcoat and a heavy, weather-beaten black hat.

"What is the meaning of this-Clara Granger-explain yourself at once!" To her complete dismay and astonishment, the man was her own father returned from Bristol.

"F-father?" She stammered. "She dared not meet Oliver's gaze.

"Mr. Granger, won't you sit down?" Wood said sedately. Clara did notice, however, that he sounded as if he was restraining himself.

"I will not sit down! How dare you! Both of you!" Mr. Granger bellowed with rage. "Running off without a word and living with this man unmarried! And you! I invited you to my home and treated you better than a guest while all the time you were plotting out my disgrace! I have been humiliated twice before, but you-Clara-will most certainly feel my displeasure!" Clara had never seen her father in such a passion as this. She sat in awkward silence as Wood rose to his feet. His face remained politely blank, but his eyes took on the steely glint that could pierce anything.

"Perhaps there is something you and I need to discuss in my office, Mr. Granger." He said.

"I most certainly will not-"

"I insist." Wood's voice had such a violent finality about it, that Mr. Granger gave in. "Wait in the drawing room." He said to Clara as the left.

Clara blinked back tears as she stumbled out of the dining room and into the room across the hall. She was completely unnerved by her father's reckless anger, for he had never directed it at her before. On top of that, she knew that she had lied to Oliver about the supposed letter she had written her father. She could already hear the suspicion in his voice when he spoke to her. But how had her father found out about her? The Parkers knew that she was staying at the Lynd home. How had he come to think that she was living with him...or other things? Oh! What was going on in that office? If only she could explain everything in a calm, sensible manner. Perhaps she could sneak out the door?

"No, you ninnyhammer, that'll make things worse." She muttered to herself. There was nothing to do but sit and feel nervous. Clara tried to compose her feelings but nothing worked. It was not until she had worked herself up so much that she was completely exhausted and almost fell asleep on the couch. But, her little nap was interrupted by the voices of her father and Mr. Wood returning down the hallway decidedly calmer. Clara had tried to shake herself awake as much as possible.

"Clara, I would like a word with you." Her father stated. Quickly, she stood up and followed him to the study where he and Wood had talked. Honestly, Clara felt quite uncomfortable in that room with her father. Whatever he had to say was sure to be discomfiting. At last, however, he began.

"Mr. Wood and I have talked through the matter and have come to an understanding. However, I should like his statement to be verified by yours. To begin with, I received this letter on my return to the Grange three days ago." He held up an envelope with flowery writing on it. "I was, at first, loathe to believe its contents, but after considering the fact that you had gone without a word, I accepted it as truth..."

Clara was a little confused, especially wince she did not know what it was about.

"...Mr. Wood has informed me that the author of this letter is someone that cannot be trusted and that your behavior together has been honorable, though slightly forward (Clara blushed). What's more, you have been under the care of a Mrs. Lynd, who is from a genteel family connected with the Parkers. Well," He said. "I can see that you will not contradict any of the things Mr. Wood has said. I am going to go back to my hotel room. Oh-congratulations, my dear, on your upcoming marriage." Mr. Granger patted her shoulder. "I had always counted on you not to turn out like your mother and sister." With that, he left the house.

Clara was just as befuddled as before, since her father had not really explained, exactly, what had been the problem. All she could piece together is that some unpleasant person had said something untoward and that she was marrying Oliver. Well, she knew the latter already.

Eventually, Oliver entered the study and sat in one of the red, winged chairs next to her.

"You look thoroughly baffled." He commented.

"That makes sense, considering that I am." She said. "Perhaps you can explain, unless my father was equally vague with you."

"No, he was rather specific." Wood said as he winced.

"Would you like to continue?" She asked. Oliver combed his fingers through his hair, an act that Clara seldom caught him at.

"He received a letter." Wood said and then stopped off. Clara, after a minute of silence, prompted him.

"He received a letter?"

"Yes."

"Right. I knew that."

"Oh, good." He muttered.

"Oliver! Would you kindly tell me what he said! I swear, you are driving my insane!" She reprimanded fiercely.

"I like it when you get rankled." He flirted. Clara rolled her eyes in a most unladylike fashion.

"Which novel did you get that catchy little phrase out of?" She said caustically; she was in no mood to flirt. "What did you and my father say?"

"You are stubborn. Anyway, it turns out that your father did not get your little message informing him that you were taking a little trip to London. Furthermore, he did receive a letter from a friend of ours who had twisted some facts around in a most distressing manner."

"And what were those distressing facts?" Clara asked.

"Oh, that you had willing come to London to be-um-shall we say, my mistress." He told her. Clara's mouth fell open and her face turned scarlet. "Shut your mouth, my dear, gaping isn't becoming of a lady."

Clara clamped her mouth shut then asked, "What else did that letter say?"

"Oh, something about a triangle involving Frank Gould." Oliver said tritely.

"What? A triangle? Humph! Who wrote the letter, I wonder?" She said quite lividly.

"Who else? Who but Olivia Darrow would have a reason to spread frightful rumors?" He said.

"But what have we done to-oh." She whispered meekly.

"Exactly."

"How did you get father to change his mind?"

"I told him the facts, straight. I told him that Olivia was a deceitful libertine who had long desired to get her paws on my fortune. I also told him that if he needed more verification, to refer to Mr. and Mrs. Parker, Mrs. Lynd, and any of the Ingrams. Knowing that the Parkers where involved seemed to calm him considerably. Well, that and the fact that I told him that we were going to be married."

"I wonder how that horrible woman got my address." Clara wondered aloud.

"Oh, it's simple enough the regular way. But, I have a theory." He had Clara's undivided attention on this point. "Remember you told me this afternoon that you had written to me sometime in the last few months? But, I assured you that I had received none? Well, it is just a theory, but I believe that Olivia has something to do with it."

"But how could she have done that? Did she bribe the post master?" Clara asked. "Did she bribe Busby?"

"Oh, probably nothing that complicated!" He laughed. "And you don't know my butler very well do you? He wouldn't have taken a so much as a farthing from her. No, she probably just did some snooping of her own while I wasn't watching. Of course, it is just a theory. I have no real way of proving it."

"I hope she hasn't spread such rumors anywhere else." Clara said.

"I doubt she would have." Wood assured her.

"You have more faith in that woman than I do." Clara replied. "I-" The bell tolled twelve and Clara informed her companion that it was time for her departure. Wood reluctantly agreed and had the carriage order round.

The days moved slowly along as Clara and Oliver waited for April to come. It did, however, and they were married by Charles Bennett in the Middleton church. Mr. and Mrs. Wood quickly climbed into the awaiting carriage and sped off for their honeymoon in Scotland. Clara innocently reflected back on the ceremony and mentioned to her husband that the ceremony had seemed so short, much shorter than Sophia's or Greta's. Oliver looked guilty and changed the subject. In all honesty, he had paid Charles to cut down the ceremony considerably.

As they flew past the scenery, Clara spotted two forlorn looking creatures staggering along the side of the road. She was quite startled by their appearance, as she realized that the objects where human beings. They were each covered in muck and even had bits and pieces of vegetation hanging from them. Clara quickly averted her eyes as they passed and focused, instead, on her new husband.

"Cosette? Is-is that you?" Sophia asked with astonishment. The mud figure burst into tears and plopped down on the grass. Sophia, Greta, Agnes, and Harriet each gave the others a look of astonishment. They had not seen their friend since November, since their supposed plan to return in January never took place; the women did not expect her to return in this fashion.

"Um, what happened to you?" Harriet asked kindly. Cosette wailed even louder.

"I-am-covered-in -MUD! I have insect bites in places I did not know bugs could get! I was devoured by snakes and horrible creatures! And, all he did was chide me!" Cosette rudely pointed at her equally disheveled husband.

"As I recall, my dear, I killed the insects for you, carried you through the muck, fought off the snakes and chased off the rats that you thought you saw." He replied gravely monotone voice.

"But what happened?" Agnes asked (though she should have been in confinement with her condition, but had come for Clara's wedding).

"That gentleman!" Cosette spat angrily, "decided to take a short cut! Well, I hope the rats enjoy their new home as we'll never be able to get the barouche out of the mire!"

Greta stifled a laugh as she listened to the couple bickering. She asked, "Have you been home yet?"

"Oh, yes!" Eric said bitterly. "We were very warmly received by her family. Mr. Frazer recently purchased a pistol and couldn't wait to show me."

"He was only joking, Eric! Don't take yourself so seriously." Cosette chided.

"Easy for you to say! You weren't staring down the barrel of a gun...."

Eric and Cosette continued to bicker amongst themselves while the other ladies turned their attention toward their approaching husbands. Charles Bennett, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief, walked with Dr. Dixon as they discussed the physical and spiritual state of the community to which they had devoted their lives.

Ingram and Croft had just reached their wives in the courtyard. John unrepentantly stole a kiss from his bride as he led her away to the carriage bound for Sanford.

Greta and Myles were staying at Norcross Inn, but the Dixons had invited them over for dinner at Clifton. Things had not yet been patched up between Mr. Parker and the renegade marriage between his daughter and the Captain. Therefore, Captain and Mrs. Ingram steered clear of the Parker house for a while.

Agnes waited patiently for Charles to help her to their home. In the mean time, she suggested that the Newtons wash up at the parsonage before tea. This calmed Cosette and Eric considerably, and they were finally able to laugh over their disheveled appearance. Eric noted that sometimes mud actually helped to clear up complexions. Cosette admitted that the barouche was a bit out of mode, anyway.

The six friends rarely met in Middleton after the last of them were married. It marked the dawning of the rest of young women's adult lives. Little did they realize that the very thing they so desired (since they were five) would break up their close knit circle. Happily, however, their new husbands and families did not prove an ill replacement.

Agnes Bennett, the first to be married, lived in Middleton with her family for the remainder of her life. It was, however, cut short at the age of thirty-four. She had brought up three daughters; each was very much like their mother in appearance and manner. They were named Arabella, Nicole, and Catherine. Charles did not remarry, but continued to serve as a curate in the church.

Harriet Dixon spent much of her life rearing children and trying to keep Clifton House tidy. For indeed, after the twins were born, Phineas finally hired an architect to build onto the Cottage. The Dixon family was excessively large: George, Andrew, William, Walter and Stanley (the twins), Basil, and Dora. There was little space left between the children and the encyclopedias.

Cosette's dream of marrying a baronet came true. She was Lady Newton at last after the decease of Eric's inauspicious mother. However, the title was not as glamorous as she had imagined. What was a baronet compared to a duke, earl, or marquise? Well, she quickly recovered from the set back, especially since she realized that she could not be married to a marquise and Sir Eric at the same time; she preferred the latter infinitely more. Their union produced one daughter, Maria, and Cosette decided (rather firmly) that one delivery was enough for her lifetime. The Newton's were well off and most of their time was spent in and about the city of London where they resided. Eric devoted much of his money and some of his time to the restoration of London's older buildings and architecture.

Sophia was not settled so near her family as she could wish. She, however, was blessed with two sons, Ernst and Peter, as well as a daughter named Emily. The manor in Dover was an excellent location to raise their children as there were woods, fields, brooks, and room enough for the children to play in. John had received a wound and retired from the Navy shortly after. Like their father, both Ernst and Peter entered into the Royal Navy, while Emily married a writer. No one was kidnapped.

Greta Ingram lived on the sea. Myles, like his friend, retired from the Navy and returned to work with his brother. This time, however, there was no argument over what he would be doing. He became the captain of the first passenger ship built for the Ingram Shipping and Ocean Liner Company. When the Ingrams were not "put to sea," they were renting homes throughout the English countryside. Mr. Casey Earl of Dorset, who had a remarkable understanding in English Literature, tutored their only son, Jack. Later, Jack Ingram would go on to become a distinguished writer and publisher. He married Emily Croft.

Clara went on to be a writer, mother, and maker of fine kilts (much to Oliver's chagrin). Together they had brought up four boys without one single death amongst them. Oliver's brother, Colin, and his wife sold the plantation in Antigua and returned with an independent fortune to England after struggling with homesickness for their native shores. They settled near Griswald, which was the last element to completing Oliver's happiness. Later in her life, Clara wrote a novel entitled An Entertainment, which she dedicated to her five friends, of whom she saw only once more in her lifetime. Though it was slightly inaccurate, lighthearted, and pocked fun at their antics, it was written with utmost sincerity and affection. Fortunately, she did complete the novel in time for Agnes to see it published.

Clara was buried in Scotland and her friends in various places throughout Britain, but their simple story continued, as well as their memory.

Sonnet XVIII

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Though art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer's lease hath all too short a date:

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;

And every fair from fair sometimes declines,

By chance or nature's changing course untrimmed'd

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;

Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st:

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

~ William Shakespeare

The End

© 2003 Copyright held by the author.

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