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Chapter 7

Henry Tilney stopped by Edward's apartment early Sunday morning to do the necessary cat-feeding task. He was still out in the hallway, looking for the correct key, when he saw Edward's neighbors, Dr. and Mrs. Harris, coming out of their apartment. They were a well-to-do, elderly couple who were merely nodding acquaintances of Edward's. Henry realized he must look very suspicious, trying to force different keys into the lock so he could get into his friend's apartment. They couldn't help from staring at him.

Henry awkwardly waved and said, "Hello there."

Edward had not told him anything about his neighbors, mainly because Edward didn't know anything about them himself, so Henry hoped that he could just smile and let the neighbors see that he wasn't a criminal and then be able to get back to trying to remember which key on his key ring was Edward's.

"Hello," Dr. Harris said stiffly, still giving him suspicious looks. Obviously the wave was not sufficient to dispel all suspicions.

"Are you a friend of the couple who live there?" Mrs. Harris asked.

"The couple?" Henry repeated. He wondered if two very clean guys living in an apartment together qualified as a 'couple'. Edward's neighbors must be very liberally minded. "I'm friends with one of them, Edward."

"The young man?" Mrs. Harris asked. "I haven't seen the girl for a while. I was just telling my husband that the other day. Is she well?"

"The girl?" Henry said. But he was supposed to be a great friend of the couple's, not a bugler, so he smiled and said, "Edward's roommate, yeah. She's been away. Edward's off on vacation, too."

Edward Ferrars had a female roommate? He never told Henry, his good friend, his loyal companion from college, the guy who found him a job in New York...

"Oh, so you mean they aren't married?" Mrs. Harris asked, looking at her husband. Apparently that was another topic of speculation for them. This made the mysterious female roommate even more interesting. She could be mistaken for Edward's wife, so she must be around Edward's age and be reasonably attractive.

"Not yet," Henry said with a grin that implied, well, he wasn't certain what, but somehow he felt that was expected from him. He finally found the correct key and said good-bye to the neighbors and let himself inside the apartment.

A female roommate, of course. That was why the rooms were so clean. There were no pictures, no lipstick in the bathroom, no copies of fashion magazines on the couch, but everything screamed of a feminine touch. How could Henry have missed it?

Elinor! Of course! The mysterious Elinor, who Edward was always saying he was going to impress but when he was sober he pretended never to have heard of her. From the way he always energetically denied knowing anyone named Elinor, Henry knew that she had to be special to him. So Elinor must be his mysterious roommate, the one who the neighbors thought he was married to. It all made sense now.

Henry fed the cat and tried to read the newspaper. Edward required that he spend some time reading the newspaper so Lucy wouldn't feel too lonely. Henry noticed the subscription, to E. Dashwood. E for Elinor. It fit. Henry put the newspaper down and opened a cupboard at random. Plates. Another cupboard. Mugs and glasses. Another. Junk food! Edward hated junk food; Elinor had a sweet tooth.

Henry, still as the amateur detective, went into the very neat living room. Nothing was out of place; obviously Edward had tried to cover his tracks. The bookshelves had mostly Edward's books; English majors could never be expected to live in a house without a hundred cheap paperback copies of the classics. And some medical textbooks. Elinor must be a doctor or at least a medical student. Interesting.

The really interesting personal possessions must be in the bedrooms. Both doors were closed. Now Henry was torn. He couldn't possibly search some unknown women's bedroom for things that would show more of her character, but did the same apply to Edward's bedroom? The green door had to be his.

Henry had been Edward's roommate in college. He knew that Edward slept only in his boxers. Surely that meant he was allowed to quickly look into Edward's bedroom. One quick glance.

He walked over to the green door and had more philosophical doubts about privacy. Oh, what the heck. He opened the door, saw lots of clothes everywhere, felt like his was prying, and started to close the door again. But then the cat shot past his legs and went into Edward's room. That was bad.

"Lucy! Get out of there!"

Henry Tilney did not own a cat, or else he would know how stupid and na‹ve he was. Cats never come when they are called, especially when they had been left alone for over a day and were not very happy.

He cautiously stepped into the room, careful not to step on anything that looked clean or to disturb anything that would show that he had been in there. The cat jumped onto Edward's bed and laid down on the twisted pile of sheets. Henry finally made it to the bed and picked up the cat. Then he noticed a few photos taped up on Edward's wall.

First there was an old professional picture of Edward and Lucy, both looking very awkward and very young. The picture was from the summer after high school, so it had been the picture Edward had taken to college and it was the one that he produced whenever anyone asked him about his girlfriend back in Pennsylvania. She was pretty enough, but the main thing that bothered Henry about the picture was how uncomfortable they looked, how short Lucy looked next to Edward, how he didn't seem to want to be holding her the way the photographer had posed them.

Then there was a picture of the Ferrars clan, also taken from about the same time before Edward went away to college. All the Ferrars kids with their yellow-orange hair, Fanny scowling, Robert smiling benignly, Edward looking at something to the side, and Mrs. Ferrars trying to look like the happiest woman in the world. Henry liked that picture. It was exactly how he remembered the Ferrarses, too, whenever he had visited. Lucy was never around, but the Ferrarses were.

The length of the prior two paragraphs may make one think that Henry spent a long time feeling nostalgic about the pictures on Edward's wall, but it's not true. He hardly looked at the first two pictures at all. The only picture he really looked at was the last one, a 1" by 1" black and white picture that was obviously cut out from the strip of pictures from a photo booth. And it was of Edward and, without a doubt, the mysterious Elinor, crammed into the booth, not looking at the camera and laughing together.

So she was blond. She was also way more beautiful than the sort of women who usually went after Edward Ferrars, if you could say 'sort' since, as far as Henry knew, Lucy Steele was the only one to really pursue him. But the mysterious Elinor was laughing in the picture, she had been living with Edward for the last few months, the neighbors thought they were married-all signs pointed to her liking Edward at least as a friend. And just imagine how interesting it would be if she liked him as more than a friend...

Henry let the cat go and Lucy ran out of the room surprisingly obediently. He looked at the old picture of Edward and Lucy, then he looked at the recent picture of Edward and Elinor again. His old friend didn't stand a chance, especially with the way he was hiding Elinor's existence from everyone. He must be crazy about her.

Good thing Henry would be there to help him straighten these things out.

Sunday was a lovely day, and Marianne Dashwood believed that every lovely day had to be enjoyed by having a picnic in a pretty place. John and Fanny were gone in the morning, thank goodness, so the picnickers were only Elinor, Marianne, Mrs. Dashwood, Edward, and Christopher Brandon.

Then through some odd sequence of events, Edward Ferrars ended up in front on a canoe in the middle of the Potomac with Christopher Brandon in the back. The ladies stayed on shore and Edward was stuck wearing a silly orange life preserver and listening to Brandon, who was surprisingly athletic, bark orders.

"Put more muscle into it, Edward," Brandon ordered and Edward tried to do so. But the canoe still moved only when Brandon paddled. Edward could see that he was doing nothing at all useful and therefore didn't see why he had to put up with the inconvenience of having to twist his body around to paddle.

"Sorry, Brandon," he said, "but I should have warned you. I'm a complete weakling."

Brandon sort of scoffed. "It's not too well-guarded of a secret."

Wait, was Brandon really implying that Edward looked like a complete weakling? Edward wasn't self-conscious about his physique, but he didn't expect something like that from Brandon. Henry, yes; Elinor, yes; Fanny, certainly; but Christopher Brandon? In front of the Dashwoods, Brandon was always so polite.

"You're holding your paddle at the wrong angle," Brandon said critically.

"Oh. Sorry," Edward said, and he changed the angle he was holding the paddle.

"No, that's completely wrong, look at mine." Edward dutifully turned around and looked, and then tried to imitate Brandon's wonderful canoe-paddle form.

"Still wrong," Brandon muttered.

"Yes, I'm completely useless, I admit it," Edward said, more than a little annoyed. He was really trying, really, he just happened to be terrible at most physical activities. He sometimes played tennis with Elinor, but beyond that, he wasn't exactly the most athletic guy. "Should we go back?"

"No, not yet," Brandon said simply. From his tone, Edward could tell that he wasn't particularly enjoying himself. So that meant that there must be some purpose to the canoe trip beyond revealing more of Edward's inferiorities compared to Christopher Brandon.

Edward nearly got his paddle tangled in some seaweed and he heard Brandon scoffing again at him. "You are either the worst canoer in the world or you aren't trying very hard," Brandon declared. Edward laughed but then realized that Brandon wasn't kidding. He really was trying to scold him for his canoeing.

"Sorry, Brandon, perhaps you should have taken Elinor instead," Edward said lightly. "She's good at everything. Mrs. Dashwood would also be better than I am. In fact, just about anyone would be better."

"Do you take anything seriously?" Brandon thundered impatiently.

Taken by surprise by the burst of emotion over canoeing, Edward said, "Err... yes. Just not canoeing."

"Then what?" Brandon demanded.

Edward certainly didn't know what Brandon wanted to hear from him, and he noticed that they had gotten fairly far from the Dashwoods so there was no easy way to escape the interrogation. So the canoeing expedition was explained. He was being taken away from the Dashwoods so Brandon could yell at him.

He stammered, "I-I take my ... writing very, very seriously."

"What about people?"

"What do you mean?" Edward asked. What on earth was going through Christopher Brandon's mind right now, and how could Edward best get out of it? "I... I would never hurt anyone. Does that count as taking them seriously?"

"Would you ever try to mislead them?"

Edward nearly dropped his paddle into the river. Where did that question come from? What did Brandon know? He tried to sound calm and casual as he said, "For a joke, yes. But if it would ever end up hurting them, no, I wouldn't. Never. I always try to treat everyone with respect."

"Really?"

"You-you don't believe me?" Edward asked.

"To be honest, I think you're hiding something. Your sister made it clear that there was something she was holding over your head. And you're a terrible liar."

"She-she's my sister, you know. Little sisters are always making a nuisance of themselves," Edward said, talking too quickly. But Brandon was right; he was a terrible liar. "Fanny knows so much about me that she could easily make me look like a fool. Like the time in middle school when I tried to learn to play the electric guitar. My friends and I were going to form a rock band."

Brandon laughed, louder than Edward would have expected someone like him to laugh at a revelation like that. What was so hilarious about the image of Edward Ferrars playing the electric guitar?

"Good point," Brandon said, and Edward felt somewhat relieved.

"What about you?" Edward asked, eager to change the conversation topic to something else. "Do you have any siblings?"

"Yes," Brandon said in his usual, serious tone of voice. "I have one older brother and an adopted sister."

"Do they live in the area?" Edward asked. All he wanted was to have the conversation focused on Brandon rather than on himself.

"My brother works in the defense department in Washington. Eliza is missing." He said even the last remark in a completely level tone of voice.

"Missing?" Edward repeated.

"Yes." He was obviously not very eager to elaborate.

"I'm ... sorry."

After a few moments of silence, Brandon started talking again. "I feel responsible for the Dashwoods, in case you haven't noticed. They are the nicest people I know. And Marianne, well, she's so much like Eliza." He didn't need to mention the fact that he was also absolutely crazy about Marianne Dashwood. "I still don't trust you, but I don't think you're trying to be malicious. You're probably just doing something stupid that will make everyone laugh when they hear about it."

"Oh? Thanks, I think."

"You should hold your paddle with your right further down the neck," he ordered.

"Oh."

There would be no more personal conversations. Brandon turned around the canoe to go back to the dock. He had fulfilled his purpose in getting Edward away from the Dashwoods, and Edward was quite pleased to have passed Brandon's examination so well.

Catherine genuinely loved and respected her godparents, but she genuinely loathed bridge day, Sunday. When John Thorpe invited her to meet his sister Isabella, she was actually glad to hear from him and have an excuse to leave the house. Besides, Henry would be there, too.

The von Ridderbusch townhouse off Park Avenue was worth the trip to see. There were minor works of near-famous artists hanging on the walls, priceless antiques on every end table, marble floors, crystal chandeliers, style, class, wealth - and the Thorpes.

When Catherine arrived, late from trying to find the house in an area that she had never visited before, Isabella, Henry, and John were already all in the drawing room and looking elegantly bored. Henry and John were playing a very spiritless game of chess. John was constantly making invalid moves and Henry didn't particularly care how he did, so they just seemed to move pieces back and forth and sometimes capture a piece. Isabella was telling them about the party she had been to the night before, but she knew her audience wasn't very interested so she wasn't very enthusiastic about her descriptions of everyone's dresses.

But the moment Catherine arrived, everyone cheered up. They had to. Catherine couldn't believe that people could live in a place as beautiful as the von Riddersbusch townhouse. She wanted a tour and she wanted to know about everything. By the time they had all walked around the house and duly admired everything that deserved to be admired it was time for a very elegant dinner served by kitchen boys wearing white gloves.

Mrs. von Ridderbusch was dressed in a bright purple pantsuit that looked very expensive and designer-made, and Catherine couldn't help from noticing that it made her hostess look like a big grape. Mrs. von Ridderbusch ordered her staff of house servants around in a very feudal manner, and every time she gave an instruction Catherine half-expected the butler or the cook or the parlor maid to roll his or her eyes and say, "Oh, why don't you do that yourself." But at the same time, Catherine liked Isabella von Ridderbusch, maybe because of her phoniness. She had never met anyone quite like her.

Isabella knew when she had an appreciative audience, so during dinner she enthusiastically told Catherine about the previous night's party. Catherine asked question after question, and Isabella was more and more delighted with her new friend.

"Now tell me about yourself, Catherine," Isabella said over dessert. "You are also involved in the music business with John and Henry?"

"Yes, I'm a secretary," Catherine replied.

Isabella Thorpe grimaced. "A... secretary? You mean, you ... answer the telephone?" She shot John a disapproving look.

"Yes," Catherine said, not aware of the effect this revelation was having on her status with Isabella Thorpe. "And handle the mail and do a lot of scheduling. There's a lot to be coordinated at the shop."

"International business deals and everything, I can imagine," Isabella said, nodding her head.

Catherine paused, trying to think of what international business deals Isabella must be talking about, and she decided it would be safest to just say, "Yes." Noticing a lull in conversation, she added as support, "Just the other day we got a letter from Germany."

When they left, Catherine asked Henry, "Do you think Mrs. von Ridderbusch liked me? She didn't seem to like secretaries very much."

"You were perfect, Cathy."

"Perfect?"

"Perfectly yourself."

Catherine smiled, very pleased with that response from Henry Tilney, and happily bounced off to the nearest subway station to go home.

Monday morning Edward was packing his things in the Dashwood's guest room when there was a knock at the door. Elinor came in, barefoot and dressed in simply a T-shirt and pair of jeans. She was at home, comfortable, casual, and gorgeous. He missed seeing her like this around their apartment, and he missed being able to talk to her about whatever was on his mind for hours. He missed her.

He asked, "So you still aren't coming home yet?"

Elinor shook her head no. "Soon. I did ask Mother last night about when she could possibly spare me. Apparently Mrs. Jennings - she's related to Mother somehow, a distant cousin or something like that - is expected to visit next week, and she plans on going to New York City from here. When Mother heard of her travel plans, she immediately told her that she could go to New York with me and have me show her around. Now it would be bad if I ran off before I could meet her."

"Too bad. The apartment is getting a bit lonely."

Elinor smiled and said, "You'll always have Lucy."

Lucy! He was going to have to see her again. That evening. Edward looked at Elinor, who was now sitting Indian-style on the bed next to his luggage while he continued attempting to pack. She looked so happy and light-hearted. They were alone, he was going to be leaving soon anyway in case she took it the wrong way - now seemed as good as any other time to actually tell her who he had to visit when he was back in Pennsylvania.

He tried to look serious and failed. He tried to use a serous tone of voice but even that seemed too much for him. So he continued trying to stuff socks into his suitcase while he said, "I have a bit of a confession to make, Elinor."

"Let me guess," she said, tossing her long hair out of her face. "You want to confess that you're a terrible packer."

"No, that's not it." How was he going to get her to take him serious?

"Yes you are," she said, pulling his suitcase closer to her. "You put your shoes on top of your light-colored khakis."

"But I was going to confess something else," he said, or, more accurately, he whined.

"Let me help you pack. You'll get done much faster that way."

To heck with proper timing and tactfully introducing the subject. He couldn't keep silent any more. He blurted out: "I-know-another-Lucy-than-just-our-cat."

There. He said it.

"So do I," Elinor said, starting to take out everything that had already made its way into his suitcase. "Lucy Chen. She lived in the room next door to mine when I was a freshman in college. I didn't like her very much. Is that all you have to confess?"

"I-also-want-to-tell-you-something-else," he said, nervously once again blurting out the words without thought. He took a deep breath before continuing. "Something about ... Pennsylvania."

"Oh?" she said casually.

"And about my... education."

"In Pennsylvania?"

"You see, in high school..."

"Yes..."

"I took..."

"Yes..."

"Latin!"

Lucy's uncle was his Latin teacher. He was going to do it. He was going to tell Elinor about Lucy. It just would take him a while. But then he would have come clean and Elinor would know and she would laugh at him, especially at him not telling her for months.

Not realizing the importance of his revelation, Elinor asked, "What time is it? Eleven fifty-five? What time did you call the cab for?"

Drat. Twelve. So he wouldn't make his great confession today. But he had begun. Surely that was a step in the right direction. He stepped back to let Elinor pack - she really was much better than he was at that sort of thing - and was soon on his way to the airport.

Edward's mother wanted to know his financial situation. If there was a good living to be had tuning pianos, why bother with the writing? Mrs. Ferrars told him that Fanny was "on a road trip with some girls from school." At least that was a good thing. He didn't need Fanny around to give him significant looks and make awkward innuendos about things she should not know. His brother Robert was still being the diligent, hard-working son. He was now working on the wiring of the new house being built down Chestnut Street.

Edward wasn't home long before he understood from his mother's comments that he should go see Lucy. Lucy Steele was quite accomplished for a young woman her age. She had opened her own restaurant, Steele's, and she ran it with impressive efficiency and business acumen. Truth be known, Edward and Lucy could live off the restaurant alone, but Edward still insisted on the out-dated idea of being able to provide for his family before getting married. It sounded too wholesome to be true to Edward, but everyone else seemed willing to accept it.

Steele's was busy when Edward came in. Lucy was behind the cash register, as always, and the first thing she said was, "Shelby, get ready a table for one."

Then she recognized her fianc‚.

"Hi Lucy," Edward said bashfully.

"You've gotten new glasses," Lucy proclaimed. "And the haircut is recent too, right? And the watch. The clothes. You must be doing well." She pecked him on the cheek. "Ready to marry me yet?"

"The book should be out in another month."

Edward looked at her now, after seven months of being separated, and was surprised by how little she had changed. She was sort of pretty in a down-to-earth sort of way. She was a petite young woman with long curly brown hair that she could never get to stay pulled back out of her face and small brown eyes that seemed to constantly dart from object to object in the room. Nothing got by Lucy Steele. She was always full of life and energy when Edward saw her, running from place to place to make certain things were running as they ought to. Lucy was one of the most capable women Edward had ever met, that is, other than Elinor.

"Another month?" Lucy said. "You know, people around here tell me I'm crazy waiting for you to make money off your book. But I tell them that you're not just any hack writer - you're my hack writer and I'll stand by you. Don't I say that, Shelby? Your brother Robert would marry me at the drop of a hat."

Edward smiled and let her talk. This was her not-so-subtle way for yelling at him for neglecting her so much recently. He could only think of wishing his little brother the best, though he couldn't imagine what Robert would do with Lucy if he ever did steal her away. The idea of anyone taking Lucy away from him seemed impossible.

"So what are you doing still in New York now that you've gotten your book done?" Lucy asked. "Sight-seeing and partying?"

"Working. I'll come back to Pennsylvania..."

He never thought of that part of his future plans. First the book, then the future, but now the book was done. He had to leave New York City. He would really have to marry Lucy one of these days. The idea of actually being married to Lucy, after they had been engaged for four years, seemed so strange to Edward that he couldn't help from grinning. Then what would Lucy call the restaurant? Ferrars'? That didn't have the same ring to it.

Lucy conveniently misinterpreted the grin as a sign of his eagerness to be back home.

"Yeah, hon, I know you'll be back," she said affectionately. For a moment Edward felt like a complete snake, living with Elinor without ever telling Lucy about it, but then he remembered the reason why he never told her to begin with; Lucy would blow it all out of proportions. "Want something to eat? Breakfast? Lunch? Dinner? You never were very good at remembering when to eat. Did you eat breakfast?"

Edward smiled sheepishly and shook his head no. Lucy gave a look of false shock - she knew him well enough to know that he didn't eat breakfast beyond having a cup or two of tea and sometimes some fruit - and said, "I know you wanted to see me again, dearie, but some things must come first. Don't people in New York eat breakfast these days, or are they too hip for that sort of thing?"

"Elinor swears by pop-tarts, but I don't think that counts," Edward said, then wished he didn't say it.

Lucy was a very jealous creature. She repeated, "Elinor? Elinor who?"

"Elinor Dashwood," Edward said, hoping not to sound or look any more nervous at saying her name than he would at saying any other name. He really wished he was a better liar. "Elinor's a friend of mine in the city, and she always eats her breakfast. But she's from Maryland, so I don't suppose she counts as a true example of the eating habits of New Yorkers."

"Elinor Dashwood?" Lucy said again. "What part of Maryland is she from?"

"Outside Washington D.C.," Edward said, hopefully in a light, off-hand manner. It didn't seem to be working. "Just the suburbs. It's not that pretty of an area."

"Oh really? It didn't strike you as such?" Drat. He messed up again. He shouldn't have ever been to Maryland, especially right before he went to Pennsylvania.

"So I understand from Elinor, I mean. Of course I've never been there. I've just been in New York all that time. No-no trips at all," he said, hoping to recover from the mistake. Lucy still looked at him warily, then she proceeded to describe to him in detail all her plans for expanding the restaurant's clientele.

"The main thing I'll need is publicity. I need everyone to recognize the name Steele's. Perhaps when your book is big, I'll get some attention as being the great novelist's wife," Lucy said, though with the implied sentiment of, "When your book is big, ha, that would be the day."

But Edward pretended not to notice anything of the kind, and he listened to her then detail the finances of the restaurant and a comparison between it and its competitors. Lucy was a very competitive person.

It was dinner time at the Ferrarses, and Mrs. Ferrars had baked a ham in honor of Edward's visit home. Robert was there, as always, and Lucy, as always. Since Edward had left, Lucy had become a more frequent visitor to the Ferrars' house. Mrs. Ferrars did not ask why, but it seemed like Robert was the instigator. He always found some reason for Lucy to come over, and then for Lucy to stay for dinner, and then for Lucy to go out with him to a movie or something like that.

But now that Edward was come, Robert was silently pouting. Everyone knew that Robert was after Lucy, including Lucy and Edward. Mrs. Ferrars wondered if it would be for the best if Robert succeeded, but it wasn't for her to say. She liked Lucy more, now that she had seen more of her, but that didn't mean that she wanted Lucy to marry either one of her boys.

"We really ought to start making wedding plans, Ed," Lucy declared over the course of the meal. "Since we have your mother here, we should probably set some things. Like the date."

"The date?" Edward repeated, looking more like a deer caught in the headlights than usual. "The date for the wedding? But I don't know when I'm going to move away from New York or what I'll do once I'm here. Not for another ... six months."

"Six months? That makes it February. Fine," Lucy said. Edward looked even more terrified at that. Mrs. Ferrars tried not to notice.

"Of course we'll hold the ceremony here in Sussex. Do you have anyone special you want to invite, Edward?"

"Oh, Henry Tilney," Edward said. That was expected and approved. "Catherine Morland, too, she also works at the shop. She's a nice kid." A female name got Lucy's attention, so Edward further clarified, "She's eighteen and madly in love with Henry." That was an acceptable explanation. "It would look bad if I didn't invite John Thorpe, too. Another friend from work." Now Edward was looking more nervously at his dinner. There was someone else. "And my friend Elinor Dashwood."

"The pop-tart eater?" Lucy asked, obviously disapproving.

"Who's she?" Mrs. Ferrars asked. Eating pop-tarts did not make someone automatically objectionable, so there must be more to Elinor Dashwood than Edward had told his mother.

"She's my friend," Edward said simply. "A very good friend. She's a medical student." He looked like he was trying to avoid talking about her. But that didn't mean his mother wasn't still allowed to be curious.

"Then how do you know her?" Mrs. Ferrars said.

"We're friends," Edward said cryptically, looking very closely at his peas.

"If you're inviting her to your wedding, we're all going to meet her anyway. So stop being so mysterious about her," Robert said peevishly.

Mrs. Ferrars knew that he was still annoyed that Lucy was paying more attention to Edward than to him. Robert was too much the gentleman to actively interfere with Lucy and Edward's relationship, so he had to be content to stand on the sidelines and hope Lucy and Edward argue about something. Mrs. Ferrars pretended not to notice anything about Robert's feelings towards Lucy and let him deal with his problems himself.

"Any other friends you want to invite?" Lucy asked, just daring Edward to name another good female friend.

"No," Edward said quickly. Then, once he had regained his courage, he said, "Elinor is a really good friend of mine, so I was wondering..."

"Yes?"

"Well, I think she'd make a really beautiful-really great bridesmaid."

"Really beautiful?" Robert repeated, happy to point out anything else Lucy would be mad at Edward for.

"Forget I said anything, but it's just a little something that would probably make her happy," Edward said. "She has really helped make my stay in New York to be pleasanter."

"Elinor Dashwood?" Lucy said. "I'll have to meet her first, though, to see if I can stand her. She would be in my wedding party, you know."

Mrs. Ferrars shook her head and silently wondered how Edward could survive in the city. He still didn't have a clue about how to deal with women, at least. One should not describe other women as beautiful when planning one's wedding.

While Edward Ferrars may have made his escape to Pennsylvania for a long weekend, Henry Tilney and Catherine Morland were not forgetting about the Corleones. Mrs. Corleone called the shop on Tuesday.

"Is Eduardo back yet?" she asked.

Catherine didn't need to ask who it was. Who else would ask for Edward as 'Eduardo'. She said, "Sorry, he should be back tomorrow afternoon."

"Good. Then Thursday morning tell him to come to see us."

"You need more work on your piano? What can I tell him is wrong?"

"I just got some shirts that I want him to try. The tailor had Eduardo's measurements, of course, but I want to check the fit before we get him more."

"More?"

"Oh, they're lovely shirts. My dear son Sonny used to wear that style all the time. And my pianos, yes, I want Eduardo to look at them, too. So send Edward to us. 9:30 am. We'll all be expecting him."

"Yes, ma'am."

Catherine hung up and made the appropriate entry in Edward's schedule for Thursday. Henry Tilney took that moment to walk in from out front. It was a quiet day and John Thorpe was being particularly annoying, so talking to Catherine was a much more appealing way to pass the time.

"That was Mrs. Corleone again," Catherine said, pointing at the phone. "Edward is going to see them Thursday morning."

Henry shook his head and said, "The poor guy. I wish there was something I could do for him other than feed his cat."

"His cat?" Catherine asked. This sounded interesting. She hadn't heard this story yet.

"Lucy the cat," Henry said. "Isn't that an adorable name?"

Catherine laughed. "He named his cat after his fianc‚e?"

Henry leaned closer to her and said in an undertone, "But that's not all. Edward's actually living with another woman."

"What?" Catherine asked. She had to laugh at that revelation, too. Edward Ferrars was the sweetest, most harmless guy she had ever met. There was no way he could be deceiving Lucy Steele like that.

"He never talks about his roommate, he never even told me her name, but I sort of accidentally found out..."

Henry had to tell Catherine the complete story, and she was still torn between being terribly amused by the entire situation and being horrified by Edward's duplicity. Henry obviously was leaning towards being merely amused by it.

"So what are we supposed to do?" Catherine asked.

"Help him," Henry said.

Chapter 8

The last thing Edward Ferrars wanted to do when he returned to New York was to go back to the Corleones. Vito Corleone scared him, Carmella Corleone was still constantly sending for him even though the pianos were fine, and he was beginning to get alarmed at Constanzia. If she remained utterly indifferent towards him, he would have been all right, but she wouldn't be indifferent. She would actually talk to him. And he didn't know what he was supposed to do. She now scared him, too.

"I'm inviting you to dinner tonight," Carmella said when Edward came into the piano room. "It's a dinner party for some of Vito's colleagues. Vito says it would be good for you to meet them."

All Edward's anxiety about juggling the Lucy/Elinor situation was nothing compared to how much fear the idea of this dinner party immediately inspired. A dinner with the Don's thugs? Did that mean that the special project they've been waiting to use him in was actually coming up? Edward didn't want to get more mixed up with the Corleones. He just wanted to tune their pianos.

Carmella didn't notice Edward's look of terror, or else she found it amusing and continued anyway. "You don't have other plans, do you? I asked your little secretary this morning, but she said she didn't know. I talk to your secretary so much I feel as if I know her. Do you think she could come to dinner, too?"

"Catherine?" he asked.

"That's a beautiful name. Yes, Catherine. She'll come, won't she? I want to meet her."

Catherine would be terrified. Henry would kill him for getting sweet little Catherine involved with the Corleones. But the General wanted the Corleones happy, and Mrs. Corleone would never take no for an answer. "Sure," Edward said uneasily. "I'll ask her when I get back into the office."

"Oh, no need, I'll call her. I have her number, you know. Now you can look at the piano," she said, waving at the three pianos in the room.

"Which one?" Edward asked.

Carmella laughed and said, "Whichever one needs to be looked at. You're the piano tuner. You can figure it out." Edward smiled weakly and she left the room to call Catherine.

Edward sat down at the Steinway and played a few notes to see if it could possibly be out of tune since the last time he had tuned it, about two weeks ago. All the pitches sounded fine. The keys felt fine. The instrument sounded fine. The Steinway was fine.

He spiritlessly got up and moved to the B”sendorfer. The door opened and Connie came in. She looked as unenthusiastic to see him as ever. Probably Mrs. Corleone had sent her. At least Connie's presence would give him an excuse for not trying to find something wrong with the pianos.

"Hi Connie," he said as cheerfully as he could manage. It was always his job to sound happy to see her and her job to sound like it was a chore that she would go through for her mother's sake.

"Hello," she said, in her usual distant way. "You've been gone."

"Yes, I went back to see my family for a few days," Edward said. "By the way, do you have any idea what's wrong with any of these pianos? Your mother left me here to figure it out for myself."

Connie laughed, a rare show of emotion in Edward's presence, and said, "Mama doesn't care. I don't care. The pianos are fine."

"Yes, but she did call me over..."

Connie sat down on the B”sendorfer's bench next to him, sitting closer then she needed to be. Edward discreetly tried to scoot away to the edge of the bench to give her more room, but she didn't appear to be concerned. She seemed to hardly notice that he was there. She started to play a Chopin polonaise, not very accurately or artistically and completely devoid of any feeling. Her playing always amused Edward. When she entered a room Constanzia Corleone had the air of a very worldly, elegant young woman, but when she played the piano she sounded as awkward as a schoolgirl.

Once she had finished the short piece, she said, "I'm not very good, am I?" From the look she gave him as she asked the question, Edward could tell that this was a test. He always hated tests. He couldn't tell her his real opinion of her playing in case that would offend her and make her tell her mother. Then Mrs. Corleone would tell her husband who would tell the General or, even worse, take matters into his own hands. Edward was too young to die. But he was still one of the world's worst liars.

After taking too long of a pause to consider his response, he said, "You're certainly better than I am."

She smiled slightly, probably because she knew how horribly he played, and said, "Thank you." Apparently that was an acceptable response.

"The piano sounds fine," Edward added, ready to move the conversation away from her playing and into more neutral territory.

"Of course it does," Constanzia said shrugging. "They always sound fine. But Mama loves her piano tuners. She's concerned about your Elinor, though."

"What?" Edward asked. He hadn't mentioned Elinor since his very first visit, when Mrs. Corleone had surprised him with a barrage of questions about his personal life and had pronounced that he was in love with Elinor.

"She still thinks that I'd actually date you," Connie said, rolling her eyes. "But I always remind her that you already are living with a woman."

"Really?"

However, that was the end of the morning's conversation. Knowing that she had said enough to make Edward concerned, Connie got up from the bench and said, "The piano's fine, don't you agree? You could tune it anyway, though. Mama wouldn't mind. She wants you to feel like you're being useful."

She then left the room and Edward could fret alone. He didn't want Carmella Corleone trying to fix him up with Constanzia. He didn't want Mrs. Corleone worrying about Elinor. He didn't want them to remember the name Elinor at all. He didn't want to retune the B”sendorfer, either, but at least that would keep him occupied, so he started working.

Mrs. Corleone came into the room later with the promised shirts she wanted him to try on. After thoroughly inspecting the fit, she said, "You have the same build as my Sonny had. You must do a poor mother a favor and let me give you something of his. It would make me so much happier."

Edward would have protested had she not immediately left the room. He didn't need to have something belonging to her absent son. That something of Sonny's ended up to be a suit. "You'll wear it tonight, won't you?" she asked.

"Tonight?"

"Yes. It would make me so happy," Carmella said, with a beaming smile that made it hard for Edward to refuse. He couldn't refuse the shirts, either. Or the shoes that had to go with the suit. Or the hat that looked good with the suit and the shoes. The pianos were left in good condition and Edward left the Corleones with his arms full of presents.

First Catherine Morland had the shock of answering the phone at Northanger Pianos and having Carmella Corleone talk to her by name. Then Catherine had the shock of being invited to a dinner party hosted by the Corleones. And then Catherine had the shock of hearing herself agree to go there.

When she hung up the phone, Henry walked into the room. "Are you OK, Cathy?" he asked.

"I'm going to the Corleone's. I've been summoned. For dinner." She still looked scared senseless by the news. "You don't think that Edward made a mistake and that this may all be part of their retribution? Or do you think I took a time wrong? Oh, Henry, what should I do? I couldn't say no, because then what would happen, but I don't want to get killed..."

"Don't worry, Ed's going to be there. Heck, Ed couldn't get away from there if he wanted to. If anyone did anything wrong, it was that nutcase Edward. He's bound to do something wrong in all the time that he spends there. So think of it as a favor you're doing for your dear, dead friend."

"Dead?" Catherine repeated slowly. "So you think Edward's doomed, too?"

"I just think that if he keeps on associating with the Mafia, tuning their pianos all the time -"

"They're going to suck him in," Catherine gasped. "And now they want me."

"Don't worry, Cathy," Henry said. Though he took his friend's dismal fate very seriously, he still couldn't help himself from laughing at Catherine's reaction. "Once they meet you, they'll know not to waste their time with you."

"Why? I'm too young and na‹ve?"

"Something like that. And you'd blurt out every secret they entrusted you with the moment anyone asked. Omerta or not, you couldn't hide thing with those eyes of yours."

She tried to smile, but she was still terrified. "What- what should I wear? What do you wear when you're going to the Corleone's."

Henry took a moment to thoroughly consider the problem and said, "You look nice in dark blue."

"Really? You think? I love that color. I have a navy blue dress, spaghetti straps -"

"The most important question: how are the shoes?"

"I would need to get new ones, you're right," Catherine said, thoughtfully. Her opinion of Henry Tilney became even more favorable, if that were at all possible, after hearing his advice on the best shoe stores in the area.

The Sicilian butler immediately recognized Edward when he arrived in the new-to-him suit. Edward had to admit that it was a very nice suit, Italian, of course. Very sleek, it made him look even taller and skinnier than ever - very candle-ish, he had to admit. Why did he have to have orange hair?

"Hi Candles," Michael Corleone, the youngest son, said when Edward was shown into the parlor, the room with all the Italian knick-knacks. "Nice suit. Sonny's."

Edward didn't know anything about Sonny beyond he was rarely called anything other than "poor Sonny" and he was referred to solely in the past tense. Dead, no doubt, a hit from another big mafia family, perhaps. At least that was Catherine and Henry's explanation; Edward didn't know nearly as much about the workings of the Mafia as his friends did. And now Edward was in Sonny's suit.

"I knew it would fit you well, Eduardo," Carmella said, coming into the room. She kissed him on the cheek and gestured for him to sit down. "I am so glad you got here early. You've never gotten a chance to know my son Michael. Michael hears about you, though."

"From how much Mama and Papa talk about you, I should be jealous," Michael said in support, with a menacing look that Edward hoped he just imagined. He instantly knew that he didn't want Michael Corleone to ever be jealous of him.

"Your parents are charming people," Edward said. Carmella smiled and left the room, probably to give them time to bond.

"Papa says you've got potential," Michael said, inspecting his own fingernails with unusual interest. "I don't think you're cut out for our business, myself."

"You're right, I mean - I guess that I'm trying -"

"You have a novel, right?" Michael asked. "I told Papa that we don't need novelists, but he says we need people of all kinds. What do you do now?"

"I just tune pianos."

"That's all? Well, with clients like us I guess it must pay the bills. We must have three of the most well tuned pianos in the city based on how often you come. Mama and her piano tuners. I commend you for your endurance." Michael raised his glass in a sort of toast and took a sip. "Fine red wine," he said, gesturing with his glass to the decanter on a side table with a few other glasses. "Pour yourself a glass. My father has excellent taste in wines."

Just to give himself something to do, Edward nervously fumbled with the glasses and decanter until, by some minor miracle, he had a glass of wine and no broken glassware. From Michael's grin, Edward could tell that he was similarly impressed. How could the Corleones succeed in being so scary?

"You like your job now? Piano tuner who comes at anyone's beck and call?" Michael asked.

"Yes, I do like it," Edward said. "Of course, it's only temporary. My novel is coming out in about a month, though I doubt very many people will actually read it."

Michael carelessly waved his hand and said, "You're a friend of the Corleones. We'll see that your book is read, if Papa likes it, of course. We look after our friends, and you're a friend now, Candles. One of these days you'll become more than our piano tuner - perhaps you'll become one of us."

Edward nearly dropped his glass, a move that did not go unnoticed by the other man. "But you're a novelist now, right?" Michael continued. "Then we'll speak no more of it. But Papa likes you. We'll always be waiting for you to come back."

"Come back?" Edward repeated. "But I'm hardly part of, you know, your father's establishment."

Michael laughed. "Papa's establishment, I like that one. You novelists. No need to gloss it up, Candles. We all know what Papa's establishment, and my establishment and Clemenza's establishment and Rocco's establishment and Al Neri's establishment and all the others, really is. Sonny didn't like the establishment all that much, and see where it got him?"

"Sonny had very good taste in clothes," Edward offered.

Michael laughed. "Yes, a man without a fault. Except his temper. Sonny's temper was always bad. You didn't make Sonny mad." Unspoken completion of the thought: You don't make any Corleone mad.

Edward nodded, taking his first sip of the wine. It was very good, Michael was right. But he still had to force himself to drink it, thinking of where he was. He really wished that Sonny had been short and fat; he didn't like the idea that he was wearing Sonny's clothes. And Michael could compete with his father in the scariness category.

The door opened and Edward immediately turned around, happy to have any interruption in their conversation. Unfortunately, as far as Edward was concerned, the interruption only brought Vito Corleone into the room.

"Carmella said I would find both of you here. Michael talking about the business, Candles? He can't keep his mind off it for even an evening, can you, son?" The Don patted Michael on his shoulder in a small movement that told of true affection. "We won't discuss work tonight. No. I wanted to talk to you about something different, Candles."

Edward waited, knowing that there was no other option than to hear the Don and tell him whatever he wants to hear.

"Constanzia, she is a pretty girl, my only girl," Vito said, pouring himself a glass of wine and turning to face Edward again. "Carmella says you'll look after her. Will you?"

What was he trying to imply? Edward nervously replied, "I hope I can be a good friend, but beyond that, I think your daughter can look after herself, wouldn't you say? Constanzia is a very capable young woman."

"I am an old-fashioned man, and I have been around for too long to update myself. It gives me great comfort to know there are extra pairs of eyes looking out for my daughter. If Sonny were still around, I would know that Constanzia would be looked after well. Sonny and Constanzia were very close. Now Sonny's gone, Fredo's in L.A., Michael here is all business and I, too, have my worries."

"But no one would ever say you neglect Constanzia," Edward said, nervously.

The Don smiled and said, "Look after her, Candles." He said it with a friendly expression, but there was an edge to it - it was an order. Edward nodded and took another sip of wine.

Carmella entered the room, followed by Catherine looking terrified though good in blue. She looked even younger than usual as she immediately sat down next to Edward, obviously clinging to a familiar face in the midst of strangers. Another couple came in behind them, Mr. and Mrs. Berke. Both Edward and Catherine watched the newcomers very carefully, and both were surprised to see that Mrs. Berke, a middle-aged, perfectly harmless-looking woman, was the one involved in "business".

"What do you think of Candles there?" Vito asked the Berkes. "He's a novelist."

"Is he in the industry?" Mrs. Berke asked.

Edward and Catherine both immediately denied it, shaking their heads empathetically. Edward didn't know what sort of industry racketeering would fall under, but he certainly wasn't part of it.

"Not yet," Vito said, smiling. "You know how novelists are, always so idealistic. First let Candles try to change the world. Then he'll be more than ready to join us."

"Not to sound ungrateful, Mr. Corleone, but I really don't think -" Edward began.

Everyone in the room laughed, with the exception of Catherine, who just edged a bit closer to Edward. They wanted Edward to become one of them. Edward was also terrified.

Constanzia came into the room and smiled at everyone as she took a seat on the other side of Edward. He noticed Vito's smile and Michael's nod of approval. Constanzia understood as well; she was Edward's responsibility.

Three other couples materialized over the next half hour of small talk, with frequent references to "the business" or "the industry" which were thankfully never elaborated upon in front of the guests.

Before they went into the dining room for dinner, Carmella announced to the room, "Eduardo is wearing one of Sonny's suits, doesn't it look good on him? If Sonny were still here today," she dramatically wiped an imaginary tear from an eye, "I could only wish he were someone as genuine and sincere as Eduardo Ferrars."

Michael patted Edward on the back in a very unnatural gesture, hitting too hard for him to be in the habit of often doing so. Edward tried to smile, but he was scared. Catherine saw too; Edward was being accepted as part of the family, a replacement Sonny to look after Constanzia and to become Carmella's newest pride and joy. And he didn't like it.

"When did pianos get so complicated?" Catherine whispered.

Edward shook his head; he had no idea, and he had even less of an idea for how he was going to get out of it all.

The next morning during breakfast Edward got a phone call. It was a bit earlier than Elinor's usual time for calling, but who else would call?

He hurried to pick it up and cheerfully said, "Hi!"

"Edward Ferrars?" a non-Elinor-Dashwood voice asked.

"Yes," he said, much less enthusiastically.

"This is Christopher Brandon. I am sorry to call at such an early hour but I was wondering if you could do me a favor."

What sort of favor would Brandon want from Edward, especially since he more or less told Edward a few days ago that he thought Edward was lying to everyone? But of course Edward would never refuse to do a favor for a friend, and Brandon was, for better or for worse, a friend.

"Sure, what?"

"I want you to go to Mount Sinai Hospital. My-I don't know if you remember, but I told you my sister Eliza has been missing. Well, she's been found. And she's there."

Edward had never heard Brandon sound so nervous. If Brandon was concerned, then it had to be very serious. "Of course I'll go," Edward said. "But don't you have relatives here, your grandparents didn't you say?"

"Actually, I don't. I stayed at a hotel. I didn't want Elinor to think she would have to accommodate me in your apartment. A white lie. So you will go?"

"Of course," Edward said. He couldn't help feeling flattered by the fact that Christopher Brandon really did call him, Elinor's screwy roommate, when he needed help. Edward would show him that he had more uses than hiding secrets with his little sister. He would show Brandon that he really was a dependable friend in difficult situations. "Do you want me to call you back when I see her?"

"Yes, call my cell phone," he said and gave Edward the number. He already was beginning to sound more relieved that he knew that someone would be looking after Eliza. "I'm going to the airport in a few minutes. I should be in the city by lunch. I'll just stop by a hotel and then be at the hospital by early afternoon."

If he was going to be a true friend to Brandon, he couldn't expect the guy to stay in a hotel when he had plenty of room in the apartment. "Stay with me," Edward said. "Elinor's still gone and I'm sure you don't want to worry about hotel reservations."

Brandon paused, probably going through the logic himself, and finally said, "OK, one night."

"As long as you need to stay," Edward said. "I could use the company. Elinor's been gone for a while." Brandon sort of agreed, so that was enough for Edward to be pleased. The apartment really was too quiet without Elinor. Getting back to the task at hand, Edward said, "So Mount Sinai Hospital. Eliza Brandon? Do you no what happened?"

"No, we have no idea. There was simply a message on my parents' answering machine and the hospital has told us that she was admitted to the emergency ward late last night. They wouldn't give us any details over the phone, at her request."

"Don't worry, I'll find out what's going on."

"Thank you, Edward."

"No problem."

Edward called up the shop to explain his unavoidable absence, and went off, not even waiting for Elinor's morning call. He may not always have been Brandon's closest friend, but he knew Brandon would do anything to help him out, too, if he asked.

"And then the Don said, 'You know how novelists are,' in a really sarcastic way, and then said how Edward was going to join them-oh, what did he say? Something like 'Let him try to change the world, then he'll join us.' It was scary, really."

It was another quiet morning at the shop, so Catherine was telling Henry all the highlights of their evening with the Corleones. She was still terrified just thinking of it, and Henry was terrified for her while he heard what horrors she went through. She thought even more highly of him for his overflowing sympathy for her.

The phone rang, so Catherine had to put her story on hold in order to do her job.

"Northanger Pianos," she said.

"Hi, is Edward there?"

It was Lucy Steele, right on time. It was the first time Lucy had called since Edward got back, and the first time Lucy had called since Catherine had found out about Edward's roommate Elinor Dashwood. Henry was so certain that Edward was in love with Elinor instead of Lucy that Catherine was divided between feeling bad for Lucy Steele and feeling frustrated that the girl wouldn't just break her engagement with Edward and let him marry Elinor Dashwood instead.

"No, Ed's not here," Catherine said. "He's not coming in until later today. He has to visit a friend in the hospital."

"A friend?" Lucy asked, not sounding too thrilled at the idea. If she were a good fianc‚e she would feel glad that Edward was showing such compassion. Based solely on the tone of voice Lucy had used in that one phrase, Catherine decided she didn't like Lucy Steele. She was happy to be no longer divided in her feelings towards Lucy. Lucy asked, "Did he say which friend?"

"Oh, El-something," Catherine said, not wanting to have a lengthy conversation with a woman she had so recently decided she disliked.

"Elinor?" Lucy asked suspiciously.

"No, no, she's fine, she's out of town," Catherine said quickly. Then she realized her mistake. According to Henry's theory, Lucy wasn't supposed to know about Elinor. No one was supposed to know about Elinor, including Catherine and Henry, for that matter. "You know Elinor Schmidt, Edward's very elderly neighbor? She's in ... Florida. Like all old people like to be. But she's fine. It was ... oh, I remember who the girl in the hospital is. Eliza Brandon."

"Eliza? He never told me about her."

"He never told me about her either," Catherine said. "She's his friend's sister."

"Oh. Which friend?"

Catherine was pleased with the good judgment she had shown by not liking Lucy Steele. If she were a good fianc‚e she would wait until Edward came back and told her everything instead of trying to pry all the details from Catherine.

"I don't know him. I don't remember his name. Something Brandon," Catherine said. "But do you have a message?"

"You said Elinor's out of town," Lucy said.

"Elinor Schmidt is." If Catherine was going to tell a bad lie, she was going to stick to it.

"Not Elinor Dashwood?"

"I don't know that Elinor. I just know the really old one. Do you have a message?" Catherine asked, now beginning to get uneasy. The longer the conversation, the longer she had to mess up with her lies.

"Tell Edward that I'm going away for a little bit and may end up in New York when it's all over," Lucy said. That wasn't very good news. In fact, that was awful news. If Lucy came to New York, she would see his apartment and find out about Elinor.

"Oh, you don't want to go to New York," Catherine said, trying to quickly think of good excuses. "It's a very... dirty city. And there's tons of crime here. Lots of murders. You're much better where you are now, in Pennsylvania. Edward always talks about how much he wants to go back to Pennsylvania."

"Really?" Lucy asked. That last comment got her attention. But apparently it wasn't enough to make her actually take Catherine's warnings seriously, "Well, tell him I'm visiting a relative of mine, Mrs. Jennings, and we're actually going to meet some friends of his, the Dashwoods, and we may all go up to New York."

"The Dashwoods?" Catherine repeated. "Elinor's family?" This was going from bad to worse. Even Henry looked concerned.

Unfortunately, Catherine had said the wrong thing. Lucy said, "You said you didn't know Elinor Dashwood."

"I don't," Catherine immediately said, and that wasn't a lie. She really didn't know a thing about Elinor Dashwood beyond the few things that Henry had found out about her. "I... just... know her by reputation. She's a terrible person. Awful, terrible, vicious person. You don't want to meet her. Her family's worse."

"Really?" Lucy asked, sounding more interested now that Catherine was saying nasty things about the mysterious Elinor. "She's friends with Edward, though."

"Oh, you know Edward. He's such a sweetie that he'll like everyone. Even someone as terrible and vicious as Elinor Dashwood. But he doesn't like Elinor Dashwood very much. Not very much at all."

Henry was still standing there, listening to her half of the conversation while now trying not to laugh. He tapped Catherine on the shoulder and whispered, "That's probably enough."

Catherine nodded obediently and said abruptly, "Anyway, I'll tell Edward your message. Bye."

She looked up at Henry and said, "You didn't think I was good? I was just hoping to help Edward. Lucy says she's going to visit Elinor and then she's going to come here and then she'll know everything."

Henry shook his head and said, "Well, you did your best. Hopefully she won't be too suspicious now."

"You think I sounded suspicious?" Catherine asked. "I-I didn't mean to. I hope Edward won't be mad. You're not mad at me, are you? I really didn't mean to cause anyone any problems. It's just that I'm really bad with lying. Really, really bad."

"No, no..." Henry said supportively. "You did fine under pressure. Really. Anyway, what else happened at the Corleones?"

Catherine resumed her story with a detailed description of the meal, interrupted only when the General came out to yell at them to both go to work.

Edward went first to the main receptionist in the hospital. "My friend's sister was admitted here yesterday and I wanted to visit her, if it's at all possible," he began. "Her name is Eliza Brandon. She went to the emergency room, we don't know why."

The receptionist said, "You're the fourth person this morning to come here looking for her. Are you expected?"

"Err, no, I've never met in my life. My friend, her brother, Christopher Brandon, sent me. He wanted me to see that she's all right."

The receptionist gave him a skeptical as-if-I-hadn't-heard-that-one-before sort of look and told him the room number.

Edward had some vague expectation that Eliza Brandon would be a poor, pale, sickly waif, showing signs of neglect from a hard life after running off from the Brandons. And he was completely and utterly wrong. Even before Edward entered the room, he could hear a loud woman's voice from inside proclaim, "Of course I'll be back doing my set next week. Do you think a mere bump on the head will keep me away for long?"

He hesitantly knocked on the door and a middle-aged man in a suit opened it. The man said, "Hello, are you looking for Ms. Brandon?"

Edward hadn't expected Eliza to be so well looked after that her visitors would be screened. "Well, yes," he said. "I'm a friend of her brother Christopher."

"Good lord, so they did call my parents," the same woman's voice from before said. "Oh, let him in."

The man in the doorway stepped aside and Edward was permitted to enter the room. There were two beds in the room, and only one was occupied. The room still was full, with at least a dozen flower arrangements and a half dozen visitors. There were two middle-aged businessmen, one older woman sitting right by the bed looking concerned at the patient, two beautiful young women, and a younger man, who looked vaguely familiar to Edward. But he didn't dwell long on where he had seen him before; Edward then looked at the patient herself, Eliza Brandon.

With everyone hovering around her, hanging upon every word she said, she looked like quite a formidable individual. She was probably in her late twenties, and she was very striking, if not quite beautiful. She looked like she expected all her orders to be followed and everyone to do what he or she could do keep her happy.

"So who are you?" she asked Edward

"Edward Ferrars," he said awkwardly. He didn't belong there, and now that he could see that she was fine, he didn't really know what his role was supposed to be. "Chris is flying up here this afternoon. He's been, well, concerned for you. So, um, what happened?"

Eliza didn't look very pleased at the news of her brother's planned arrival. "Someone else explain, I'm tired of the story," she said, waving to her entourage for someone to tell Edward everything.

The younger man was the chosen spokesman. He seemed to be very nervous talking to Edward for some reason. Edward looked at him more closely and still could not recall who on earth he was, but from the way he was sort of looking down at his feet, the man seemed afraid that Edward would recognize him. Was he a particularly disagreeable old client? Someone who owed Northanger Pianos money?

"Eliza was in a car accident," he said. Edward looked at his shoes, too, and did not find them as interesting as the other man apparently did. "She collided with another car and hit her head on her steering wheel and was taken to the hospital unconscious. I suppose they must have looked at her wallet and found the Brandons' number. She's fine now. They say she'll be released tomorrow morning."

"That's the most direct I've ever heard you tell a story, John," Eliza said. "He's usually a good story teller and will tell you all the irrelevant details, like the color of the cars involved and the life story of everyone's grandmothers. Go ahead, John, tell Edward about the other person."

John? Edward looked at him again and his eyes widened. "John... Willoughby?"

All the people in the room now looked at Edward with more interest. Eliza, of course, was still the one governing the conversation, so she was the one who said, "You know him, John?"

"Yes, we met a few weeks ago," John said.

Edward really thought he didn't need to linger much longer. Let Brandon handle John Willoughby. Edward would much rather tune some pianos. "As I said, Chris Brandon will be around this afternoon," he said, edging towards the door.

"Eliza, dear, I should probably get going, too," John Willoughby said. Edward watched John give Eliza a quick kiss and move to join him at the door. So John Willoughby and Eliza Brandon had something going on between them? That complicated things. What would Christopher Brandon do?

"It was nice meeting you, Eliza," Edward added. "I'm glad you're doing so well."

She unenthusiastically thanked him for his concern, and Edward made his exit followed by John Willoughby. When they were alone in the hallway, Willoughby stopped and said, "You won't tell Marianne were to find me, will you?"

"What?" Edward asked, completely confused. Why would John Willoughby still go out of his way to avoid Marianne Dashwood? He had another girlfriend. So what? That didn't mean he had to enter the witness protection program to prevent an old love interest from finding him.

"She's a nice kid but, well, Eliza and I've been together for ages. So sometimes we have our falling outs, like when I met you guys, but we've been together for ages. We've been married the last eleven months. Eliza doesn't care about Marianne, she knew it was nothing, but it would hurt Marianne if she knew." John Willoughby was looking at his shoes again, not exactly like the charming smooth-talker that Marianne Dashwood was still idealizing. This did complicate things.

"OK, fine, I won't tell her," Edward said. He wouldn't know how he would tell her that, anyway. "But Marianne Dashwood is, well, persistent."

"I know, I know. I'm terrified that she'll turn up one of these days at Allenham and tell me that there's still a chance for us," John said, now smiling. He obviously thought he was just kidding.

"Actually, she is planning another visit some time soon."

"Damn," John Willoughby said, taking out a business card from his pocket. "Well, here's my number. Call me if she's going to be at the club that night. I'll just make certain I'm not there."

Edward took his card and sort of agreed. That was enough for John Willoughby and he disappeared again. And, of course, Edward immediately forgot what he looked like again. But what was he supposed to tell Marianne when he saw her next?

Edward stopped by the piano shop to get his schedule for the day. Catherine jumped up in her seat when he came in. "Edward! Bad news! Awful news!"

"What?" he asked. Catherine did tend towards melodrama, but there were too many possibilities for bad news these days for him to completely disregard her warnings. What did the Corleones do now?

"It's Lucy, she left a message," Catherine said.

"Oh? What did she say?" Edward asked. At least with Lucy it wouldn't be a matter of dead bodies.

"She's going away to visit a relative of hers, Mrs. Jennings," Catherine began.

"Mrs. Jennings?" Edward repeated. Elinor's visiting distant relative was Mrs. Jennings. It had to be a coincidence. There were many Jenningses in the world. Elinor's Mrs. Jennings didn't have to be Lucy's Mrs. Jennings.

"Yes, and then they're going to visit the Dashwoods."

"The Dashwoods?" Edward asked. There had to be other Dashwoods. Those other Dashwoods could possibly know other Jenningses.

"Elinor Dashwood's family," Catherine added.

"What?" Edward said, now not being able to hide his panic. "Did-did Lucy say that specifically? Did she really say that she was going to visit Elinor Dashwood's family?"

"She said she's visiting - how did she phrase it? - 'your friends the Dashwoods'."

That did sound incriminating. Not good. "And wait, what do you know about Elinor Dashwood?"

"Nothing, Henry just heard the name and told me," Catherine quickly said. "Don't blame him for telling me. We really don't know anything."

She was actually a worse liar than Edward. OK, so Henry did find out after all. This was bad. With Catherine and Henry in on his secret, it wasn't going to be secret for very long. They may both mean well, but they weren't ones to just sit back and let things take their course.

"OK," Edward said. "But is that all?"

"No, it gets worse," Catherine said. How was that possible? "Lucy's going to come to New York with them."

"Oh god." She was right. That was worse.

What else was there to say? Lucy was probably on her way to Mrs. Jennings or the Dashwoods, so it was too late to talk to her, not as if talking to her would do much good. It sounded like she was determined to meet Elinor Dashwood, and she wanted Edward to know it. What he really needed to do was to talk with Elinor. But he didn't even have her home phone number; Elinor and Edward always joked together about how he never called anyone, so it hadn't seemed necessary. He was no great user of e-mail. Letters weren't fast enough. What else was there?

He had only one chance: Elinor's next phone call. Next morning. He would have to be ready with his excuses and explanations, or else he would be at the mercy of how well and accurately Lucy would choose to explain things. And that was a risk he was not interested in taking.

Brandon had arrived and established himself in Edward's living room. He did not explain what had passed between Eliza and him, but Edward could see that he wasn't very happy with the situation. Edward was glad that his little sister was just dating Elinor's half-brother John. It's better than marrying John Willoughby.

Brandon was up early and was reading the business section and eating a muffin when the phone rang. He automatically moved to answer it, but Edward was faster. It was Elinor's daily phone call. The phone call.

"Hi Edward," Elinor said. "I don't have much time - distant relative Mrs. Jennings is lurking and her distant relative Lucy is expected. It's a sudden thing, I don't really know why distant relative of distant relative Lucy Steele must come, but I guess Mrs. Jennings must have told her what great distant relatives we Dashwoods are. Apparently she's dying to meet me."

Now was when he was supposed to give his calm, rational, well-thought out explanation. Here he was supposed to tell Elinor the whole and complete truth. Here he ... oh dear, he completely forgot what he was planning to tell her. This was bad.

"Elinor, about Lucy-"

"What happened to her?" Elinor asked, immediately concerned. Their cat's name really did confuse things.

"Our Lucy's fine, but distant relative of distant relative Lucy, well, I-"

"Oh no, the doorbell. I'd better run. That's probably her now."

"Wait! Elinor! Listen!" Edward hollered into the phone, but it was too late. She had hung up.

This was bad. This was incredibly bad. Majorly incredibly bad. Edward put the phone back on the receiver and sat down at the table to think. But what could he do? He didn't have Elinor's home phone number to call her back. He could just wait and ... see how things turned out. See how she took the news. See how long it would be before she would ever speak to him again.

After a few minutes had passed in silence, Brandon finally asked, "What's wrong?" He barely looked up from the newspaper and the muffin.

"Nothing. Nothing at all. I just really messed up my personal life."

"Oh really?" Brandon asked, looking up from the paper briefly.

Edward nodded.

"Too bad."

Edward nodded again.

Chapter 9

It was the weekend and Edward Ferrars was alone in his apartment. His charming houseguest, Christopher Brandon, was visiting his sister and Edward knew he was not invited to tag along. Edward could tell that Brandon was happy to see that Eliza was all right, but he still had plenty of questions to ask her about the last few years of her life. Let Brandon deal with that, and the whole John Willoughby/Marianne Dashwood aspect of it; Edward had his own problems.

Like how it was Sunday morning and Elinor didn't call. Edward stayed in his apartment all day, hoping that she would call later. She didn't. She didn't want to talk to him.

He couldn't really blame her. By now Lucy must have told her everything. Of course the situation was totally and completely his own fault, but he was still hoping that maybe she wouldn't hate him for keeping his engagement to Lucy a secret. Maybe she would laugh it off. Maybe she would like Lucy and even be happy for him.

Edward tried to imagine Lucy and Elinor talking together. He was a writer, so that meant he was supposed to have a very good imagination. So what would the scene look like?

They'd be in the drawing room at Barton Cottage. The rest of the family wouldn't be there. Mrs. Dashwood would be talking to Mrs. Jennings somewhere, and Marianne Dashwood would be pining for John Willoughby or writing melancholy poetry or brushing her hair or whatever she did when she was by herself. If it was hard for Edward to imagine Elinor and Lucy talking, it was impossible for Lucy and Marianne to have anything to say to each other. At least Elinor would try to be polite and talk to their guest. Marianne would see in a moment that Lucy Steele did not belong there and want nothing more to do with her-and she'd be right. Lucy Steele did not belong in Barton Cottage. But Edward was still determined to try to picture the scene, so he put his fianc‚e mentally in the drawing room and had Elinor sit down across the coffee table.

How would Lucy bring up the topic of their engagement? Probably something like: "I'm so glad to finally meet you, Elinor. I've heard nothing but good things about you."

Elinor would have no idea what Lucy was talking about, so she'd make herself smile and say something like: "I hope Mrs. Jennings hasn't told you too many lies about me. I'm sure you'll be disappointed with me."

Lucy would smile in some knowing way and say, "No, it was from someone else completely that I heard you praised, and he rarely exaggerates."

This would take Elinor by surprise, but it wouldn't be a very big surprise because she really wouldn't care all that much about what Lucy Steele had heard about her. Edward tried to picture Elinor really liking Lucy and being really interested in what Lucy said, but that was impossible. Elinor would know just as well as Marianne that Lucy Steele did not belong in their little world.

But she would still try to make conversation. She would know that Lucy is trying to get her to ask who it was that complimented her, but Elinor never liked to be maneuvered into asking certain questions. Instead, Edward would expect that she'd try to change the conversation topic. "Mrs. Jennings said you're from Pennsylvania, right? What part?" That was precisely the sort of question Elinor would ask, and that was precisely the sort of question Edward would not want her to ask in that context.

That would give Lucy Steele the perfect opportunity to say the truth: "A small town in western Pennsylvania, Sussex. No one has ever heard of it."

Of course Elinor would not realize that that was a great test. She'd just smile and said, "Actually, I have heard of it. One of my friends comes from there. Maybe you know him. Edward Ferrars."

And then it would all come out. Lucy would see just how little Elinor knows about Edward's engagement, if she hadn't found that already by then. She would see that Elinor thought of Edward as a good friend, and she'd see that Edward had hidden Lucy and his engagement's existence from Elinor. And that would make Lucy mad. When Lucy was mad, she liked to make life as unpleasant for everyone else as possible.

In the afternoon, the phone finally did ring. Edward leaped up to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Edward? This is Christopher Brandon. I just talked to Marianne. What are you doing?"

So the proverbial cat was out of the proverbial bag, and Elinor didn't call him to congratulate him or yell at him. Either reaction would be acceptable. Having Marianne call Brandon to yell at him wasn't something Elinor would do. So that meant that Elinor was ignoring him and trying to ignore the issue completely. That wasn't good.

From Brandon's tone, it was safe to assume that Marianne Dashwood, at least, was not taking the news of Edward's engagement well. If Marianne were upset, then Brandon would be mad at him, too. Now if Marianne were upset, would that imply that Elinor was upset? Would Elinor not calling him imply that she didn't want to talk to him? Or did the news so completely not surprise her that she didn't think it would be worthwhile to go out of her way to call, and she was merely too busy with their guests to talk to him? Or maybe she was calling right now, but she was getting a busy signal because Brandon was on the phone with him?

Edward sighed and said, "I told you yesterday. I'm completely destroying my personal life. What do you think I'm doing?"

"So it's true? Are you really engaged to a girl from your home town?" Brandon asked. He actually sounded interested in the gossip. No doubt Marianne asked Brandon to question Edward, and Brandon was now gathering facts to report back to Marianne, who would then report those facts to the rest of the Dashwood family. But what use was there to lie or try to make excuses? The Dashwoods knew the truth, so there was no reason why Edward should try to deny anything.

"Yes. She's Lucy Steele. We've been engaged since I was still in college."

"Then... what about Elinor?"

That was a very good question. What about Elinor? Where did she really sit in all of this? He just told the simple truth again: "I live with her. She's a good friend."

"Oh." After a pause, he added, "That's really all?"

Edward thought that Brandon sounded a bit disappointed by that idea. No doubt he's been listening to Marianne Dashwood too much, and she had already blatantly told Edward that she was glad he was going to marry Elinor. She must have told Brandon the same. For that matter, she must have told Elinor, too. Elinor must really hate him now.

"Well, maybe we're not going to be such great friends now," Edward said. "But did Marianne say anything else? Anything about Elinor? I always talk to Elinor in the morning but she didn't call today."

"Marianne said-no, I shouldn't tell you, Marianne wouldn't want me to," Brandon said, actually uncertain what to say. Brandon always knew the responsible, reasonable thing to say in any situation. If the circumstances weren't so serious for Edward, Edward would have found it amusing.

"Do you have the Dashwoods' number?" Edward asked. He didn't know what he would say to Elinor, but he felt that he needed to try to talk to her, as an acknowledgment that he knew he had screwed up.

"Elinor never gave it to you?" Brandon asked. "Then I don't know if I should..."

"Fine," Edward said. "Don't do anything that you don't want to do. I just want to know how Elinor is. This all isn't exactly how I wanted things to turn out. And you can tell Marianne that I said that, too, when you talk to her again."

"OK, I'll give you their number," Brandon said. "Do you have a pen?"

After Edward hung up, he had a new problem. What do you say to your best friend after you've completely lied to her for over seven months?

Henry! Of course! He should ask Henry Tilney for advice! Edward had been lying to Henry for the last seven months, too, and based on his conversation with Catherine Morland, Edward knew that Henry knew about Elinor. And Henry didn't seem to hate Edward forever.

Edward called Henry's cell phone.

"Henry, there's a problem."

"Hi Ed. Bad time, could I talk to you later? We're at the FBI hearing scene in 'The Godfather part II.'"

"It's sort of more important than that."

"But it's the scene where Pentangeli is going to give his evidence and you see Michael Corleone walking in with Pentangeli's brother. It's a great scene. Pentangeli turns and looks at Michael, and you have to see the look Michael gives him..."

"That's great, Henry, but it's about Elinor."

That was enough to get Henry's attention away from his movie. There was a pause while Henry put his movie on pause and told someone else in the room, "It's Ed. He says it's about Elinor."

His companion said something, then Henry was back on the phone. "What about Elinor?" he asked.

Under most circumstances Edward was not too private or secretive of a guy, but he still preferred that Henry Tilney did not tell all his friends about Edward's personal life, so he had to ask: "Who's there with you?"

"Just Cathy. We were trying to look into the background of our dear friends the Corleones but, well, it's really hard to find incriminating stuff about people who happen to have the same names as the most famous crime family ever. So we started watching part two of the 'Godfather' trilogy. Cathy thinks it's the best. I say the first part was the best."

Edward had to be glad that Catherine and Henry were trying to help him out with his Corleone problem, but that wasn't the matter at hand. He still had to worry about Elinor. In one breath, he said, "Catherine says you know about Elinor and I know you know about Lucy and I'm sure Catherine has told you that Lucy met Elinor yesterday and I haven't heard a word from Elinor since. So what do I do?"

"That depends. What do you think Elinor will do when she finds out about your engagement? She doesn't know, does she?"

Edward thought for a moment. He didn't get that far in his visualization of the scene. But he still knew Elinor. "Nothing. I think she'll do absolutely nothing. She'll be surprised, then she'll make some comment about the weather or dinner or whatever else that's perfectly meaningless to everyone. So how do I make her hate me less?"

"Why are you so sure that she's going to hate you?"

Now that was complicated. Henry hadn't met Elinor, and now Edward regretted keeping her such a secret all this time. Elinor always treated him with complete honesty, from the very first time they met. She never tried to hide unpleasant truths from him. She would tell him whatever was on his mind. And he hadn't treated her with the same respect.

"I lied to her. I didn't tell her about Lucy. And we always tell each other everything."

"Then call her now. Tell her."

"But she knows already."

"Tell her anyway. Sorry, but we need to finish this movie before it gets too late so I can get Cathy home before dinner, so, well..."

"Sure, sure, watch your movie. Thanks for listening to me."

Edward hung up, even more uncertain about his choice of action. Maybe Henry was right. He should tell her everything. Sure, she may know it all, but maybe she didn't. At the very least, he could tell her why he hadn't told her about Lucy before.

But he needed to be certain he knew what to say. The wrong words could make him sound even more like an insensitive cretin than he currently seemed. He put the phone down and went into his living room. He needed a really good explanation. He picked up a pad of paper from his desk and sat down on the couch and tried to think.

It was dinnertime at the Ferrars' back in Sussex, PA. There was only Mrs. Ferrars, Fanny, and Robert there that evening, and Mrs. Ferrars had to admit that she missed Lucy Steele. But Lucy was visiting relatives. Lucy's parents died when she was young, so she had been shuffled from relative to relative all her life. She had been living with her uncle in Sussex since she was in high school, but she still had to visit all her other relatives who had shown her some kindness over the years.

Fanny was back from her trip and, finding home to be as boring as ever, she was already planning another one. Robert didn't have Lucy around to try to impress, so he was being particularly lifeless. What was the use of wasting charm on his family? Even Mrs. Ferrars wasn't in the best of moods. She was still worried about Edward. He was acting even less like a dutiful fianc‚ than ever. He was hiding something about his life in New York City, and somehow it involved Elinor Dashwood. Mrs. Ferrars couldn't pry herself, but she knew that Robert and Lucy were just as curious about the mysterious Elinor.

"So Edward and Lucy really have picked a date for the wedding?" Fanny asked. "Are you sure Edward's heart was really in it?"

Mrs. Ferrars had thought that her daughter had reluctantly accepted Edward and Lucy's engagement a few years ago, but since she got back from her trip Fanny seemed to be treating it as less definite. Mrs. Ferrars wondered what extra information Fanny knew that the rest of the family did not.

"Lucy is happy about it," Robert said, staring at his peas.

"Of course Lucy would be," Fanny said impatiently. "Who else would she marry in this boring town? I want to know what you thought about Edward when he was here. He really does want to marry her?"

"Why wouldn't he?" Mrs. Ferrars asked.

"Because he's in love with someone else," Fanny said, rolling her eyes. Seeing the surprised expressions on her brother and mother's faces, she said, "I meant that would be a reason why he wouldn't want to marry her."

"Francine Angela Ferrars, what are you hiding?" Mrs. Ferrars demanded. "What has Edward told you?" Robert was also waiting for an explanation.

It was now Fanny's turn to look at her peas. "Well," she began, "he has mentioned a certain girl in New York a few times." Mrs. Ferrars couldn't think of how often Edward and Fanny could have spoken on the phone together, but that was another question for another time.

"Who?" Robert asked, instantly excited and alerted by this fresh information. "Elinor Dashwood? I bet it is."

Fanny looked surprised at Robert's response. "Yes," she said slowly, "that's exactly who. Elinor Dashwood." A slow smile was appearing on her face. "But don't tell him I told you what I thought."

"He did talk about her. He said she's beautiful," Robert said. Mrs. Ferrars remembered that, too.

"Yeah, she is," Fanny said. That also was information she should not know, so she had to elaborate: "I've never met her, but one of my friends from school knows her family. He says they're all really rich and pretty."

"Oh really?" Mrs. Ferrars said, now somewhat disappointed. A rich and pretty girl wasn't going to be pursuing her silly boy Edward. Maybe Edward would be foolish enough to fall in love with her and maybe they could be good friends, but she knew the limits of her son's charms.

Robert did not appear to share Mrs. Ferrars' thoughts. He listened attentively to what Fanny said, no doubt imagining how Edward was on the brink of breaking his engagement with Lucy so he could marry the beautiful Elinor. "What did Edward say about Elinor? Specifically?" Robert asked eagerly.

Fanny shrugged and said, "I don't know. But I still think Edward's in love with her."

"Does Lucy know about Elinor Dashwood?" Robert asked. "I bet she doesn't. She only knows what we know. Maybe someone should tell her that maybe Edward's..."

"You'll do it?" Fanny asked, giving her brother an encouraging smile.

Robert still didn't seem to notice that he was merely following Fanny's plan. Mrs. Ferrars didn't like the plan, though. All that she could see that would come out of it was either that Lucy would break Robert's heart and stick with Edward, or else that Edward would be the one left alone in the end. But Edward couldn't be alone; somehow that idea disturbed Mrs. Ferrars more than Edward marrying Lucy. He was living with a roommate now, but roommates always came and went. For all her faults, you couldn't find someone more stable than Lucy Steele. She had been waiting for the last four years to marry him, and she would stick by him until the end.

But speculation about Edward not marrying Lucy was absurd at this stage. Mrs. Ferrars had been hinting to Edward for years that he should look around for someone else, but Edward seemed as convinced as Lucy was that they should get married. Fanny was trying to make Robert think that Edward had found someone else, but Mrs. Ferrars would not be convinced by Fanny's hints and half-truths.

"Lucy's in Washington now," Robert said, mentally counting the days until she would be back in town and he could talk to her.

"Wait, Washington, as in Washington DC?" Fanny repeated. "What part?"

"She's visiting relatives, I already told you that," Robert said. Of course he knew all the personal details of Lucy Steele's life. "Mrs. Jennings and the... wow, I didn't realize that before, but she said she's visiting the Dashwoods. You don't think they're the same ones, do you?"

Mrs. Ferrars coughed discretely to hide her chuckle. No, there was no chance that Lucy was going to let Edward get away from her any time soon. Mrs. Ferrars had seen Lucy go after other women she thought were after Edward, and it was never a very pretty sight. Edward called Elinor beautiful- by accident, but he still did say it-so that meant that Lucy would think Elinor was competition. And when she was with competition, she became much less pleasant to be around. She'd meet Elinor's family and see what they knew about Edward and Elinor's relationship, and then she'd find some way to go after Elinor herself.

"How long is she there for?" Fanny asked, no doubt thinking the same sort of thing.

"They're staying in DC until Wednesday, and then are going to see New York. So I guess Lucy will get to meet the infamous Elinor Dashwood," Robert said. The gears in his head seemed to be moving, too, plotting something. "Mom, I want to go to New York, too."

Fanny looked pleased, but Mrs. Ferrars was not. Mrs. Ferrars asked, "What do you think you'll do there?"

"I haven't seen where Edward lives. It could be fun."

"You want to see Lucy meet Elinor, I bet," Fanny said. "Well, you'll miss it. Elinor's in Washington with her family."

Mrs. Ferrars' children were full of surprises. She didn't think that Edward would be telling his little sister details like that about his life.

"Then maybe Lucy would want to see me even more," Robert declared. The boy had finally made up his mind: he really was going to go get Lucy Steele for himself. Mrs. Ferrars shook her head and said to herself that no good was going to come out of this. No good at all.

Edward was still sitting in the living room with his pad of paper, trying to think of what to say to Elinor, when Christopher Brandon came home that evening. Edward was actually pleased that Brandon was back; at least talking to Brandon would give him a break from his failure to think of the right thing to say.

Brandon gave him a disapproving look and said, "Have you called the Dashwoods yet?"

Edward shook his head no. "I can't figure out what to say. Maybe I'll wait and see if Elinor calls tomorrow morning. If not, I'll definitely call. Did you talk to Marianne again?"

"No."

Brandon still seemed determined not to get on the bad side of the Dashwoods by telling Edward too much about what he knew. Edward tried a different conversation topic that Brandon had not been very interested in elaborating on the days before: "How's Eliza doing?"

"She's perfectly fine now. I'm a much bigger problem to her than her injuries from the car accident," Brandon said. He sat down on the chair adjacent to Edward's couch. He seemed to actually want to talk to Edward. Edward had no complaints; he really was curious about Brandon's sister.

"I liked her," Edward said. "I didn't stay to talk to everyone long, but still. She seemed to be a really interesting person."

"She is," Brandon said. "She's a jazz singer now. Eliza B. Marianne has been playing her CD for the past few weeks, ever since John took her to hear Eliza sing. She's really good."

Edward thought of her manner dealing with all the people in her hospital bed, ordering everyone around as if she were a very powerful and important person. So it turned out that she really was an important and powerful person. She was a successful artist.

"She always wanted to be a singer but my parents wanted her to go to college," Brandon said. "So she went to New York and met our friend Mr. Willoughby. John owns two night clubs in the city, Combe Magna and Allenham."

"Strange names," Edward mumbled and he noticed that Brandon nodded in agreement. Apparently Brandon was not all that pleased with his newly discovered brother-in-law.

"Anyway, Eliza got him to listen to her sing," Brandon said, continuing his story. "I don't know if you noticed, but she can be rather, well, forceful when she's determined to get her way."

Edward nodded. He could easily imagine Eliza Brandon doing whatever it took to get her way, and if she wanted John Willoughby to hear her sing, he would hear her sing.

"And, well, they started working together, she has recordings, she sings at the two clubs regularly, they got married..." Brandon shook his head and said, "It's all fine, except for Marianne. She's going to be crushed. I haven't told her yet."

"Hmm," Edward said. He had no idea how he would tell Marianne something like that, but luckily it wasn't his problem.

"I told Eliza I'd go see her show Tuesday night at Allenham." Brandon paused, waiting for Edward to say something, then reluctantly added, "So how about it? Will you come with me?"

Edward had to smile at that invitation. Brandon didn't want to go alone, so he was stuck with asking Edward. "Oh, Brandon, I'd love to go out with you," Edward said. "You're such a nice boy."

Edward saw that Brandon was trying not to smile. He grumbled in a low voice, "Don't make me take back the invitation, Edward."

"No, no, I really do want to see Eliza perform. She seems to be quite the character."

"Yes."

Seeing as they were almost joking together like friends, Edward decided to be bold and see what Brandon felt on other topics, like Marianne. "And you said that Marianne Dashwood is like Eliza? Can she sing?"

That question got a greater reaction from Brandon than Edward had expected. Brandon smiled, an actual guy-in-love smile, and said, "Like an angel." Thinking about Marianne Dashwood made Brandon even speak in clich‚s. It was sweet.

"Elinor can't," Edward added.

"I know," Brandon responded. The lovesick smile was quickly replaced by his usual unreadable expression. Edward could tell that he was joking, but that still wasn't the reply Edward had been expecting. He never expected Brandon to be sarcastic.

"Really? How?" Edward asked. "Elinor won't sing in front of anyone. You have to trick her to get her to sing, like if someone mentions a song that everyone knows and you say you can't remember it, sometimes you can get her to sing the first few seconds before she realizes that she can't sing."

"If you get her to sing with a group of people she will, but if you stand close to her you can hear her."

"No voice at all," Edward said, though he was somewhat bothered that Brandon also knew that little personality quirk of Elinor's. As an additional challenge, he added, "She can't play the piano at all. She can't even find the middle C."

"I know."

Really? He shouldn't know that. Next thing that people shouldn't know about Elinor Dashwood: "Her drawings are great." She always had a sketchbook that she rarely shared with the rest of the world. It had taken Edward months of coaxing before she would actually give him one. It was just a quick sketch of their cat, but Edward still made a point of framing it and hanging it on the wall, just so she would see that he thought she was great.

"She was drawing a lot in Maryland. She said it helped to pass the time. She showed me some of her work."

What? Elinor showed him her sketches? He was just their neighbor who happened to be in love with Marianne. She shouldn't be showing Brandon her sketches. Edward asked, "Just how much time did you spend with Elinor, anyway?" He didn't try to hide how little pleased he was by the idea.

Brandon just gave him a slight smile and said, "Quite a lot, actually. We wanted to get to know each other better. She is really an interesting person." Edward now pictured Elinor and Brandon in the drawing room at Barton Cottage, and he pictured the two of them talking and laughing together, and he didn't like it.

"She's the best," Edward said, just daring Brandon to agree with him.

And he had the audacity to say, "Yes. She's very funny."

What did he know about how funny Elinor was? Edward was supposed to be the one who appreciated her sense of humor the most. He wouldn't let Brandon get away with complimenting Elinor without complimenting her more highly. "And wonderful."

"Yes."

Wasn't Brandon supposed to be in love with Elinor's little sister? He couldn't say that Elinor was the best and wonderful and funny if he thought that Marianne Dashwood was superior. Edward's next compliment: "And lovely."

"Yes."

"And... and really great."

"Right."

Brandon wasn't supposed to know that Elinor was really great, too. That was supposed to be something that only people who really knew her could know.

And then Edward realized something. He was jealous. He was actually jealous that Brandon was friends with Elinor. He was being possessive of a girl who wouldn't even call him up to talk to him.

And then it all made sense. He knew why he couldn't get himself to call Elinor and just talk to her about how much of an idiot he was being. He was terrified because, wonder of wonders, he was completely, totally, madly in love with her.

He made some lame excuse to Brandon and ran out the door. He was in love with Elinor Dashwood. He loved his best friend. He loved his roommate. He walked down the hall and waited for the elevator. She was wonderful. She was beautiful. She was graceful. She was smart. She was funny. She liked him, too, as a friend.

The elevator doors opened and Edward stepped in. Luckily no one was there, or else he'd have to attempt to hide his smile. He couldn't help being happy. He knew exactly what he wanted in life now. He wanted nothing more than to be with Elinor Dashwood.

But then there was Lucy... Easy solution: He wouldn't marry her. He wasn't in love with her. So where was the problem there? People fall out of love all the time; just look at the divorce statistics. He had once been in love with Lucy, he supposed, but it was nothing like what he now felt for Elinor.

Sure, Lucy had been standing by him since he was just an above average Latin student. Sure, she had been waiting for him in Sussex, PA, for years, joking with everyone in their hometown about how Edward would be worth the wait. Sure, she had been there for him through all his hard times during and after college. Sure, they were tentatively planning to get married in six months after four years of being engaged. Sure, he would never be able to show his face in Sussex again. His mother would kill him. Fanny and Robert would be pleased, at least.

But Lucy... She would be the laughingstock of the town. She had moved to Sussex to live with her uncle when Edward was sixteen, so that meant that they had spent a decade of their lives together. She wasn't like other people. She wouldn't just happily bounce back into the social circuit. She never was part of the social scene. She was always Edward Ferrars' girlfriend, then Edward's fianc‚e.

By the time he was in the lobby, Edward was no longer smiling. He couldn't do this. He couldn't ruin Lucy's life like that. He would have to marry her. It wasn't like he didn't like her. She was a nice girl. They could be happy together. She would have the restaurant, he would have his writing...

And it wasn't like Elinor would ever marry him. He knew from the first time they met that he had no chance with her. He still had no chance with her. Her mother and her sister were somehow convinced that he did have a chance, but they were wrong. He didn't. Elinor was too good for him. She would never think of him in that way. She thought he was just a friend she could relax around and harass when he forgot to buy milk. She would tell her family he was her boyfriend if it made them stop prying into her personal life, but she would never actually feel anything more than friendship for him. And he wouldn't give up their friendship. Ever. It was far too important to him.

But he was in love with Elinor. He wasn't in love with Lucy. He couldn't marry Lucy. He wouldn't marry Lucy. He wouldn't marry Elinor, either, but he certainly wasn't going to marry Lucy. But how could he get out of his engagement without making everyone's life miserable?

It was a Monday morning, so Catherine was back at work at Northanger Pianos. She was still too happy because she got to spend Sunday with Henry watching her favorite movie of all time. After they failed to find interesting information about their clients the Corleones, Henry and Catherine had spent an enjoyable afternoon trading obscure trivia about the movies they both adored. Henry had listened to her, he had laughed at her jokes, he had really enjoyed spending time in her company. Catherine was sure of it.

So maybe he wasn't madly in love with her. But they were friends, and that was definitely a step in the right direction. He dedicated too much of his life to Northanger Pianos, and she dedicated too much of her life to her music, so Catherine knew that they needed each other as an excuse to take a break. He had almost as few friends outside the piano shop as she had. He needed her as a friend, and maybe, some day, those six years, four months, and eleven days won't seem like quite a barrier to something more.

She was smiling while she posted the schedule for Edward and Hugh Palmer. She was smiling while she arranged the phone call messages for the General. She beamed at Edward when he walked in, though he did not look like he shared her current outlook on life. The phone started ringing and she smiled and cheerfully answered it.

Then she stopped smiling and looked up at Edward. "It's for you. It's Lucy."

Edward looked like he had spent the better part of the night not sleeping and the better part of the morning not caring about getting dressed. Catherine hoped he would fix himself up before he went to see the Corleones that afternoon, or else Mrs. Corleone may think twice before getting him more nice clothes that he could let get wrinkled.

He now looked terrified at the phone receiver Catherine was offering him. He tentatively took it and said, "Hi, Lucy? ... So how do you like Washington? ... Oh, yeah, say hi to everyone for me. ... That's good. ... That's good. ... Don't make any big effort. I'll talk to Elinor later. ... That's good. ... That's fine. ... OK. ... You, too. Bye."

He listlessly gave the telephone back to Catherine. Catherine waited for him to say something about what Lucy had told him.

"Well?" she finally asked. "What did she say?"

"She likes Washington. She likes Elinor. Everyone's great. They've having fun. They'll be here Wednesday. Elinor's staying with them at their hotel while they're in the city," Edward reported. "In other words, she's met the Dashwoods, she's told Elinor everything, she knows that Elinor doesn't want to see me again, and she's really happy about it."

At this point, Henry Tilney would be expected to come in to add to their conversation, but instead it was John Thorpe from the showroom, at work uncharacteristically early. Catherine wanted to say something supportive to Edward, but she knew that she shouldn't talk about private matters in front of John Thorpe.

"You look pretty f------ awful today, Edward," John observed, quite accurately. "The General's out there, talking to Henry, so he's coming back here soon. Button your shirt right, at least."

Catherine giggled at Edward's confused reaction. Half his buttons weren't buttoned at all, and the ones that were weren't lined up very well, adding to the just-got-out-of-bed look of the rest of him. He began to unbutton his shirt to fix it, then stopped and said, "Elinor must hate me."

"For buttoning your f------ shirt wrong?" John asked. "Why should she care? Is she your f------grandmother?" John Thorpe was not known for his eloquence.

"Maybe you should take the morning off, Edward," Catherine suggested. She couldn't imagine him actually being able to fix anything in his current mental and physical state. "Go back to sleep."

"That's the problem, I can't sleep," Edward said, now slowly unbuttoning his shirt. He stopped again and looked at the phone.

"You idiot," John Thorpe said. "You look like you slept on the streets."

"Why don't you call Elinor?" Catherine suggested.

"Why should he call his grandmother? I never call my grandmother when I'm at work."

"She's not my grandmother," Edward said, "she's my best friend." He did pick up the phone and, most surprising to Catherine, actually dialed the number from memory. Edward could never remember phone numbers. She did not know how long he had spent staring at the numbers the night before, trying to motivate himself to call.

"Hi, is Elinor there? ... Really? ... Tell her, err, never mind. No message. No, wait, tell her that I called. Edward Ferrars. Thanks. ... Bye."

The General came in, obviously not in a very good mood. He looked at the three of them, gave an additional glare at Edward for his appearance, but then surprised them all by not saying a word and just going into his office. John Thorpe quickly went into the main showroom in case the General was going to come out soon, and Edward still stood staring at the phone.

"Do you think she'll call me back?" he asked, but he didn't look like he was really interested in Catherine's feelings on the issue.

"Edward, button your shirt right," Catherine said. "And tie your shoes. And go to work."

He smiled weakly and said, "You're right."

He disappeared in the bathroom and came out nearly respectable. Before he went out the door, Henry came into the back room. Catherine beamed, but Henry didn't grin like he usually did when he saw her.

"Is my dad still around?" he asked.

"He's in his office," Catherine said, pointing to the closed door.

Henry nodded and motioned for Edward to come closer. He said in a low voice, "My dad was just talking about our favorite Cosa nostra, the Corleones. Apparently they're looking for another piano, their fourth. At a generous discount on account of their business. Did they tell you about that, Ed?"

"Actually, no," Edward said, rather confused. "Do you think they're getting a new piano tuner?" Very comforting thought.

"Or perhaps they just want another piano to get out of tune to get you over there more," Catherine suggested.

"Perhaps this is the special project they're keeping me around for," Edward said, still determined to be optimistic.

"What do you think they'd want with a piano for a special project? You're going to push it off a building onto some guy walking by?" Henry asked.

None of them laughed at the idea.

Catherine looked at the schedule for the day and said, "You'll be able to ask the Corleones this afternoon, Edward."

Edward didn't look very thrilled at the idea.

That afternoon Edward dutifully reported to the Corleones' so he could make more adjustments to the Yamaha. He was convinced that Carmella Corleone was going out of her way to break her piano in order to have more excuses to get him to come over. She was still full of praises for Catherine, and she was more than willing to throw Constanzia into the music room with him and leave them alone together.

Constanzia sat at the bench of the Steinway and said, "I'm actually glad that Mama has convinced Papa and Michael that you're interested in me."

Edward tried to look more intently focused on his work that before. "Oh, really?" he said. That at least explained why her father and brother expected him to be able to look after her. Hopefully they won't be too disappointed once they find out that he was already engaged to someone else and in love with yet another girl.

"I hope you don't mind, but I want to ask you a favor," Connie said.

This got Edward's attention. Connie never asked him to do anything for her beyond vague instructions for the piano.

"I have a boyfriend already, Carlos, but Michael doesn't like him. You know how big brothers are. No one is good enough for his little sister. Michael doesn't like anyone anyway. And Papa always agrees with Michael. Papa hasn't even met Carlos or even given him a chance. So I was thinking..."

"Oh?" Edward said, not looking up from his work but still ready for the request that he wouldn't be able to say no to because it was coming from a Corleone.

"What if you met Carlos, and what if you told Papa about him and about how much you like him."

"What?" Edward said, dropping his screwdriver into the back of the piano. He turned around and said, "And argue with Michael? What if I don't like Carlos?"

"You will, don't worry. He knows about you and he wants to meet you. He goes to Columbia and he's going to be a doctor," Constanzia said with a dreamy look in her eyes that Edward had never seen before in her. He was such a sucker for people in love.

"OK, I'll do it," he said. "When?"

"Tomorrow," Constanzia said, jumping up from the Steinway and immediately hugging Edward. He nearly fell over as the door opened, showing Carmella peeking in with a smile, seeing the two of them in each other's arms.

Edward spent another evening in front of the phone waiting. Elinor must have gotten his message, but she still didn't call. She really didn't want to talk to him.

Tomorrow he had lunch with Constanzia Corleone and her unacceptable boyfriend. Tomorrow night he had his date with Christopher Brandon to see Eliza. On Wednesday Elinor, Marianne, and Lucy would be in town. What a mess.

Then, finally, the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Hey Edward, it's Robert."

"What?"

"Nice to talk to you, too. I'm at the airport."

"What?"

"LaGuardia. I'm going to take a cab to your place, OK? What's the address again? Mom gave it to me but it's somewhere in my bags."

"You're coming here? But I just saw you last week. Why are you here? Don't you have work to do?"

"Do you have room for a person to sleep on your floor in your apartment?"

"Sure, I just have my friend Brandon staying right now. But how long are you staying? Why are you here?"

"Can't I see my big brother in the city? And when's Lucy going to be in town? Still Wednesday?"

"Yes, Wednesday. You mean you came all this way just to see Lucy? But you always see Lucy."

"No, I'm here to see you. What's your address?"

"Fine," Edward said and gave it to him. That's exactly what he needed to make things better. Another houseguest to worry about. Robert was just going to make things even more complicated with Lucy somehow, wasn't he?

Edward hung up and sat back down at the kitchen table, waiting for the phone to ring. Maybe next time it would be Elinor. And then he would finally get to tell her the truth about everything. OK, maybe not the entire truth about absolutely everything, but at least the truth about Lucy.