Welcome to our board! Log In Create A New Profile
Use mobile view


An Even Path: Post 7

August 09, 2017 02:30AM
Chapter 10 Part 1

Darcy, Knightley and Wentworth had always bonded over a common interest in athletics. Will was a swift-footed footballer, a tactical runner, and a brutally efficient polo player. Wentworth favored sturdy sports: boxing, wrestling, swimming, hockey, rugby.

Knightley's passions were rowing, and long distance running. Both sports came naturally to the young physician. They suited his long, bony frame and his steady, cerebral temperament.

For three years straight, he'd been the best endurance runner at Eton. There was a time years back when he'd clocked sixteen kilometers in forty swift minutes. Of course, he'd been sixteen at the time, with teenage knees and a whip-thin frame. In the years since, he'd grown broader in the shoulders, and stronger in the body. Still, he'd come out here determined to prove a point. He could still run long, hard, and fast if he wanted to.

There comes a point, George decided, when determination turns to true idiocy.

A sixteen kilometer trail was an ambitious feat at 5 AM in February. There was snow on the ground, and the sharp scent of frost in the air. Halfway through the course, more snow fell.

A single wooden bench sat at a sharp turn in the snowy path. The bench marked the end of the woodland trail.

Knightley halted, puffing cold, hard air. Wentworth had reached the bench first.

The Navy man let out a great laugh. "The last half kilometer got to you both, did it?"

Will had arrived apace with Knightley. The barrister accepted a second-place tie with a stoic shrug. It was minus five Celsius and snowing. If he was going to lose to anyone, Will felt he could lose gracefully to a Royal Marine.

Knightley wasn't so easily mollified. Seeing Wentworth's grin, the physician scowled.

"In fairness, Wentworth," Will collapsed onto a nearby bench, "I think Knight's mourning the loss of his teenage marathon glory."

Will let his exhausted legs stretch out. His sore feet pushed against the Hyde Park running path. His head tilted toward the sky. The cloud cover was low this morning. The snow had morphed into rain during their last uphill ascent. The cold mist settled on his skin, and clung to his curls.

Wentworth rubbed his hands together. “You both did great.”

Knightley leaned against the bench, stretching his quadriceps. "I'm getting old. My knees aren't what they used to be. There was a time I could run a circuit that length in half that time."

"Yeah,” Will agreed, shutting his eyes, “back when you were Eton's high-minded, pencil thin, know-it-all..."

“He's outgrown the pencil thin thing, at least,” said Wentworth.

“It's form and physics, though.” Knightley cracked his knuckles. “The incline worked against us, but the force and velocity--”

“Here we go,” Will interjected with a tired laugh.

“You're lucky you were fast back in the day, Knightley,” said Wentworth. “The boys in my neighborhood would've knocked your block off if you lectured them about physics after beating them. And for the record, I'm closer to thirty than either of you. At any rate, Louisa makes me feel like I'm a million years old."

"Louisa Musgrove." Knightley said. It was so cold out here, his breath formed a cloud of frost between the raindrops. "How old is she again?"

"Too young,” Will spoke up. His eyes cracked open. "She barely looks old enough to be out of her college plaids.”

“Youth isn't always a barrier if she's mature.” Knightley flexed his elbow. “Think of Emma?”

“I wouldn't...” Frederick's cold fingers rubbed at his brow, “compare the two. We've been out a few times, Louisa and I. She's a nice girl, but in terms of maturity, she's not...well, she's not your girlfriend, George. Will's right. She's a young twenty.”

“And dating Louisa was your sister's brilliant idea?” frowned Knightley.

Wentworth grunted. “Sophia knew I was ready to get out there again. My sister has a baby now. Apparently Louisa Musgrove babysat for her a few times.”

Will winced. “She set you up with the babysitter?”

“She said Lou does it for a little extra money while she works through university. Anyway, tonight's my last night going out with her. She got an invite to some party at a place north of London. She asked if I'd come and it seemed rude to say no. It's a place called...Mansfield...something. Mansfield Tower? Mansfield Garden?”

“Mansfield Park?” Knightley's tone was flat. “You're taking her there?”

“By your tone,” Wentworth said dryly, “I take it that it's not a greenhouse?”

“No,” said Will. “It's the Bertram place. Lord Mansfield's home. The place will be swarming with aristocrats. Knowing your aversion to them, I think I can safely say you're going to hate it.”

“Bertram,” Fred groaned. “Bertram Shipping? That Bertram?”

Will nodded.

Wentworth started rubbing his forehead. Rich families. They gave him a pounding headache. The bigger the wealth, the greater his migraine.

“They're top ten in terms of global shipping operations,” Wentworth muttered. “Bertram vessels clog up three hundred trade routes.”

“It's also worth noting,” Will added, “that the Earl also muscled his way into running the British Opera House.”

“I remember the name now,” Fred confirmed grimly. “He's also the dad of that prodigy. The kid composer. The one who dated Emma last summer. Tye.”

“They didn't date,” Knightley interjected frostily. “Not officially.”

Will shot him a look. “Not that the concept bothers you at all, Knightley.”

"If you're going to that party, keep an eye on Emma, will you?" said Knightley. "She's set on being there. I know she'll end up seeing Tye again, that young, smug, drunken libertine son of a--"

“So the man does have a jealous bone somewhere in that noble body.” Wentworth's blue gaze locked on the younger man. “I didn't know it was possible. Did you know it was possible, Will?”

“Only on very rare occasions, and only when the topic involves that Bertram guy and a certain curvaceous blonde,” Will confirmed calmly.

“I know,” George murmured. “I feel like a jealous idiot whenever she gets within ten feet of the guy."

“Emma's crazy about you. You're lucky," Wentworth confirmed. "I haven't seen anything like it since..."

Not since Anne, thought Wentworth. His friends didn't chime in. They'd been there years ago. They'd seen Fred and Anne's love. They all remembered it.

"You should go out tonight, Fred," Will said at last. "Mansfield Park's not your first choice, but it'll help distract you. Louisa's looking for a night out. Go have one."

"Yeah." Fred nodded. "Knight, I'll make sure Emme and I check in with each other as the night goes on. That woman can take care of herself, though. Maybe she's not quite as much of a spitfire as Will's green-eyed darling, but--"

Surprise flickered in George's eyes. His jaw loosened. "Will's green eyed--"

"She's not my anything. If she heard you calling her that, you'd see just what a spitfire she is." Will forced his sore muscles to stretch. He stood. "We've had our run and I'm freezing my ass off out here. I'll have to shower and change for work. Let's head inside and get some food."


Emma waltzed into the kitchen singing a sweet-tuned love song. It was a country ditty about a Texas Cinderella who danced until midnight with with a horse wrangler. This frost-covered February morning seemed meant for singing.

It was, after all, Valentine's Day.

Anne was already seated at the kitchen table. The teacher wore a prim blue suit and a pair of sensible, well worn loafers. She was halfway through a bowl of porridge.

“I hope you put something in there to spice that up a little,” Emma advised, drawing a box from the kitchen cabinet. The Texan's choice for the morning was decidedly less healthy. She reached for a box of toaster pastries. “You could add honey? Or nuts, or cinnamon or something?”

“Thank you, Emma, but I'm nearly done here. ”

The grim note in Anne's voice tugged at Emma's heart. “How about something really unhealthy for the road?” She plopped into the chair beside her friend. “My cousin Hattie mailed me this all the way from Texas. American specialty. Crammed full of sugar, and if that's not enough to satisfy you, we went and added frosting and sprinkles.”

At last, a small smile cracked out of Anne. “I really...”

“...shouldn't hesitate to eat it?” Emma finished, unwrapping the foil for her. “Honey, if there's one thing I've learned these last few months, it's that we only live once. You've got a whole work day ahead of you. Treat yourself and eat the pastry.”

Anne took the pastry with a laugh. “Very well. You won me over.”

Anne bite into the item. Instant sugar rush, thought Anne, tasting sweetness on her tongue. She kept eating. Truthfully, she was glad Emma was here to urge her to eat. Anne liked the weight she'd gained back. It would require some updates to her wardrobe---her trousers were snug, and her biggest bras were too small—but she knew she looked healthier. She certainly felt stronger.

The only disconcerting thing was the new male attention she was garnering. Just the other day, a driver had whistled at her when she crossed an intersection. She thought perhaps he'd been warning her about something. It was Elizabeth who'd told her with a laugh that the stranger was whistling at her because he fancied her. A few of the male teachers were doing double-takes when they saw her in the school yard, too.

She struggled to remember Frederick's reaction when he caught sight of her at the gym. Had he noticed the difference in her appearance these last few weeks? She couldn't say. The tough Navy man had never worn his heart on his sleeve.

It had been so easy to fall into the soft rhythm they'd always enjoyed. She'd woken up thinking about him today. She couldn't help it.

“Today's an anniversary for me,” Anne confessed.

“A good one?” asked Emma gently.

“Complicated. I wondered when I woke this morning if Frederick might be thinking about it, too, but...” Anne shook her head, “I've decided...actually, I know...no matter the length of our separation...he remembers it, too. The memory ties us together. It always will. It was too big a day for either of us to forget.”

“I think,” Emma's hand reached for Anne's, “that you should come to the party at Mansfield Park tonight. Lizzie and I don't like the idea of you being alone.”

“As nice as that is, Emma, I don't believe that's necessary.”

“If you plan on spending the night thinking of Frederick and feeling miserable, it is.” A light knock on the door made Emma stand. “Think about it, Anne.”

“I have, thank you.”

Emma sighed. She pulled the door open.

There stood the love of her life. He held a bundle of roses.

“Morning, Emme.” A smile broke across the doctor's lean face. “I know that roses are a cliché, but--”

“You dear man,” Emma said, moving into the hallway and pulling him into a sound kiss. They lingered there, lips teasing, noses brushing, bodies warming each other. The roses were getting crushed.

It was only when she drew back that she noticed Will standing two feet away, leaning against the wall. Early morning light caught in his chestnut curls. Will wore a charcoal colored suit, Emma noted, one that only a man with his commanding height and build could pull off well. He'd accessorized with a tailored white shirt, silk tie, and an unstudied air of nonchalance.

She wondered if this was awkward for Will, standing idly by while his oldest pal snogged her in the hallway. She nearly asked this aloud until she noticed the dimple at the edge of Will's mouth. Amusement flickered in Will's eyes.

Will gave her a polite nod. “Emma.”

He approves of me and Knightley, Emma decided. He's amused because he likes seeing George happy. I knew there was a reason why I liked him so much.

“Um..” Emma hesitated, rearranging her rose bouquet in her arms. “Are you dropping Knightley at the hospital this morning?”

“Something like that,” said Will.

“Will, Fred and I had an early morning run,” said George.

“In this weather? There was snow and ice this morning.”

George shrugged. “It gave us a chance to catch up.”

An oblique answer. Knightley lived in stylish Notting Hill. Will's residence was in posh Mayfair, closer to Buckingham Palace and Westminster. The distance between the two points was short, but given how busy all three men were, they were more likely to meet for dinner than breakfast.

“There's nothing wrong, I hope?”


Emma's mouth pursed. It always irritated her when she wasn't informed of current events. The only way to move beyond that feeling was to pretend the boys had regrouped to discuss something dull like baseball, or basketball, or car racing, or whatever rough, sweaty sport they were into.

They might have been talking about Elizabeth. Maybe Will confessed his feelings about her. Maybe that's why Will tagged along with George this morning..

The idea perked her up again.

“You should both come in,” Emma said brightly. “Anne's finishing her breakfast, and there's a fresh pot of coffee on the counter. Come in, come in.”


There were many buildings in London that were trending up. The red brick Victorian on Dorit Lane wasn't one of them. It was an aging walk-up, six stories high. Inside were plaster walls, low ceilings, narrow stairwells. Each floor had a warren of hallways, most of which were drafty, many with water marks on the ceiling.

The residents that they'd passed on the journey up here looked like an eclectic mix: laborers, factory workers, starving artists, elderly pensioners. The windows were old and poorly insulated. Even now, Will could hear the honking traffic outside.

Forget the concept of a doormen. There was no security team. Elizabeth worked strange hours. Late hours. As far he knew, no friends were escorting her through the dark city streets at midnight or 1:00 AM, or any other awful hour. Who kept her safe when those hallways corridors were dark, and the stairwells turned dangerous?

He could imagine Elizabeth's answer to that question: I can keep my own self safe, if it's all the same to you, Will Darcy.

Inside the apartment, there were hints of her everywhere. A pair of practical lace-up trainers caught Will's eye. They were muddy shoes, worn from long-distance walking. Elizabeth's shoes,t. She didn't care what her shoes looked like. She cared about reaching her destination without hurting her feet.

Other items scattered about were hers. Her heavy woolen mittens were drying atop the radiator. The fisherman's coat hanging on a coat peg was hers, too. It was made of tough, forest green fabric, with a sturdy row of brass buttons down the front, and countless pockets on either side.

George had moved ahead into the kitchen. Emma hung behind.

“Her brother's coat,” Emma said softly, noticing where Will's eyes landed. “He gave it to her before she left Ireland. It makes her feel close to her family.”

The women he'd known before her had preferred tailored wool or fashionable tweed. Not Elizabeth. Her coat was meant for deep sea fishing, and icy, uneven waves.

“Elizabeth's still asleep,” Emma added, answering a question he hadn't managed to ask yet. There was sympathy in her dark blue eyes. For once, he didn't feel compelled to fight it. “She works late every night. She's never home before midnight.”

“I've never...” Will faltered, struggling to put words to the feelings brewing in him. “I haven't met anyone like her.”

“I know,” she whispered. “Come to the kitchen. There are some pictures of her there that I think you'll like.”

Anne and George were seated at the kitchen table, talking quietly. Emma nodded him toward the fridge. Come look, her gesture said.

The refrigerator door was a collage of images, a handful for each flatmate. He saw a watercolor: lavender fields and a broad, blue sky. Texas, he surmised. Emma's artwork. Her paintings are better than good. They're incredible. He could practically feel the kick of the breeze in the image, and the heat of the sun.

There were other items here: a shopping list compiled in Anne's tidy handwriting. Two poems in Spanish, one from Miguel de Cervantes, another from San Juan de la Cruz. His Etonian Latin was little use deciphering either.

Further up the fridge were images of the woman who filled his mind. One photo showed Elizabeth on a rocky beach, a steel gray sky behind her. Ireland, he thought. No other spot in the UK could look so wild, or so hidden. It was an apt description of the woman, too. She wore jeans and an oversized sweater. She stood on the sandy beach, leaning against a sailboat pontoon. The wind was catching her hair. A man stood with her, as dark haired as Elizabeth, and possessing a similar wild beauty. One of her brothers.

The next photo was recent: Elizabeth at MacClaren's pub. She wore a headband with brown cat ears, a reddish-brown v-neck shirt, and matching brown leggings. She'd used stage paint to draw whiskers on her face. Cat? He guessed before his mind swiftly corrected him. Not a cat. A fox. She was giggling in the photo.

His thumb brushed the image. She'd written something at the base of the photo: Halloween, last year's date.

He wished he'd been with her that night. He wished he'd wandered out of pricey Mayfair, his comfort zone, and found MacClaren's. He imagined planting himself at the bar, ordering a beer, and catching a glimpse of a dark haired waitress wearing that costume and that smile.

He would have noticed her immediately. He would have rolled up his sleeves and tried his hardest to earn a smile from her. Will, who never flirted, would have flirted shamelessly with her. By the end of the night, he would have asked her out.

He should have paid more attention whenever Knightley casually mentioned Emma's roommate. He should have been curious enough to learn about her. He should have discovered her sweet smile, her joyous laugh, her beautiful, intelligent eyes months ago. How could I have moved through this city not knowing you were here?

Emma and George were now talking quietly. He'd missed more than half of their conversation.

“Friendship,” Emma interjected softly. She was seated on his lap. “That's my reason. It's his father's house. I can't go there without seeing him.”

George rubbed the bones of his cheeks. “He'll try to chat you up.”

“Tye or his father?”

“Pick one.”

Emma shrugged. The gesture was clear. I've managed countless men since I was thirteen, it said.

“It'll give me the chance to tell Tye that you and I are together.” Emma's fingers linked with George's. “I'll see you this evening. Your place.”

“She'll be fine, George,” Will added calmly.

Hearing Knightley sigh, Will shot a look to his old friend. Time to wipe that jealous look off your face, pal.

Will was sympathetic, of course. Will had been subjected to Knightley's stories about Tye last summer, back when Knightley and Emma were still circling around each other. Sure, this Tye kid was brilliant. Yes, he was the first composer in generations to match Bach's brilliance. He probably was the shameless flirt that Knightley described, and a drunkard to boot, but Emma was more than capable of putting Tye in his place if she wanted to.

Emma, grateful for Will's subtle support, nodded. “What about you, Will? Are you going to Mansfield Park tonight?”

“No.” Will brushed the idea off. “I wouldn't.”

Will, too, had received an invitation to Mansfield Park's glittering Valentine's Day party. He knew what kind of evening it would be. It would require a suit and tie from him, plus conversation with a room full of socialites. Torture, thought Will. And on Valentine's Day, no less.

Will's cousin Richard claimed that Will was allergic to sentiment. That seemed true historically, though recent events were challenging the claim. His trip here had pushed him toward one obvious conclusion. It was past time for him to ask Elizabeth out on a date. Every moment he spent with her made him think he was an idiot for waiting one more minute to say the words. He would do it today.

Where would she want to spend Valentine's Day? Where would she consent to go with him? A tougher question. A visit to a small gourmet chocolate shop? Followed up by a quiet walk along the Thames, maybe? He reached for the coffee pot, ready to pour himself a cup. Somewhere they could talk low and close. Somewhere he could discover the story of her life.

“As fond as I am of the lot of you...” a drowsy woman with an Irish lilt was entering the kitchen, “you should all know that civilized folk stay asleep until ten o'clock.”

Elizabeth Bennet knew only one thing on this early Valentine's Day morning: she knew she had an empty stomach, a nagging headache, a sleep deprived body, and a kitchen full of people.

She'd been serving at MacClaren's until last call. She had an early costume fitting at the opera house. She'd averaged six short hours of sleep and wouldn't feel human until she'd managed to eat something.

Anne was here somewhere. She'd heard Emma, too. Elizabeth noticed the backside of a man standing by the coffee pot. Has to be Knightley .He's wearing a suit? Bleary eyed, she didn't bother to look higher than his shoulders. That was far enough. Gracious, the man has good shoulders. And an amazing bottom.

The instant she noticed that detail, she desperately wished she hadn't. Sleep deprivation was muddling her mind. George was like a brother to her. She had no wish to start admiring his body.

Coffee, she decided, and food. That's all I need.

She also needed her favorite mug. She opened the cabinet, yawned and stretched.

“How was your night, Lizzie?” Emma asked behind her.

“Fine enough,” Elizabeth said, setting her coffee mug on the counter. “Though I'd wager every dale in Ireland for a few more hours of sleep.”

He'd heard her coming. He looked left, prepared to greet her with a smile.

Will nearly dropped the coffee pot. She wore the smallest, snuggest pair of cotton shorts he'd ever seen anyone wear. It's still February, isn't it? thought Will. A gray-blue sweat shirt slid off her shoulder. She raised her arms and stretched. Her raven hair fell loose and wild. He knew her hair was long; he'd never noticed how long. It stretched past her middle back, brushing the curve of her lower spine.

He imagined standing behind her, breathing in the scent of her hair, letting his mouth touch the gentle curve of her neck. He imagined feeling her body soften against his. He imagined her sigh when his hands traced up her back, and the way her spine would arch against his chest.

That was when Will overshot his mug, splashing hot coffee on his hand. A curse escaped him.

“Will?” Tired, blurry, beautiful eyes finally noticed him.“I didn't—I thought—I saw a man standing here, but I thought--”

I thought you were Knightley.

Knightley was like a brother to her. Will wasn't. Instantly, shyness slipped into her. She wasn't even wearing a bra and here Will was in a suit and tie. Even now, half awake and stunned to see him, Elizabeth could feel the strength of his gaze. When Will looked at her, he really looked.

He's burnt his hand, her mind chided. He doesn't care one bit about your bra. Get the lad a towel. She reached for the nearest tea towel, pressing it to his hand, skin against skin. “Have you burnt yourself terribly?”


A small smile played on her mouth. “There's usually more eloquence in you,” she teased softly. Perhaps he wasn't awake yet, either. “Is it too early for London's greatest orator?”

“The coffee.” He pushed the tea towel aside, turning her hand up to examine it. “Did I splash you?”

“Mercy, Will, you're the one who poured half a cup of coffee on yourself.” She looked up in time to catch him licking his lips. He had a firm, beautiful mouth. She couldn't explain the goosebumps dancing up her arm. “No, I—I'm fine.”

“Lizzie, you're up early,” Anne noted.

They had an audience. Anne was finishing a pastry and a bowl of oatmeal. There was George, planted in a neighboring kitchen chair. Emma was perched on George's lap.

“Hmm? Oh, I—I have an early call time.” Elizabeth's fingers slipped free from Will's. Both of her hands reached for her thick mane of hair, dragging her fingers through it. “I need to eat. Something that'll...” bring back my sanity, “stick to my bones. Anyone hungry for an Irish breakfast? Eggs and bacon and sausage?”

“I've eaten. As for Will...” Knightley's gaze landed on his friend. He looked sorely tempted to answer that question on Will's behalf. “How long can you stay?”

“Not long enough.” Will's words sounded tight.

“You'll both miss a fine dish.” Elizabeth pulled open the refrigerator door. “I use my mum's recipe. Loads of butter. You're probably sick of eating eggs with me, though. We ate the same at your fancy flat.” She grabbed pan, bowl, whisk and butter, leaning her hip against the oven as she started to cook. “I promise you, Darcy, there's more to Irish cooking than cracking a few eggs over a pan.”

She didn't look up to see the man beside her. If she had, she would've seen how absorbed Will was with her. He couldn't keep his next thought inside him any longer.

“What are you doing tonight?”

“Hmm?” Butter sizzled in her pan. She cracked one egg against her bowl, letting the yoke drop in. “I'm working, to be sure.”

“Tonight?” Will frowned. “Valentine's Day?”

“Aye. Contractual obligation. Company members are forced to attend the Earl's of Mansfield's grand ball. That means it's Mansfield Park for me, in all it's Gothic glory.”

Emma patted George's thigh. “It's seven-thirty,” she whispered to him. He nodded. It was time for him to go. If Will and George didn't leave now, they'd both be late for work.

“Anne,” said George as he stood, “has Emma managed to talk you into going to this Mansfield Park event?”

“No,” Anne said. “I plan to have a quiet night here.”

“If that's what makes you happy,” said Emma. The look on Anne's face made Emma gnaw her lip. She would work on Anne. “Well, I'll be at Mansfield with Lizzie assisting her with the hoards of smitten suitors.”

Elizabeth snorted.

“You'll see that I'm right,” Emma said. “I'll only shove away the unwanted ones. We Texas girls have strong elbows. The men you like will be allowed to approach you.”

“Oh, like I'm queen of the castle, instead of a lowly country girl?” Elizabeth bent in a graceful curtsey. When she straightened, she was laughing. “And me surrounded by dukes and duchesses? I expect they'll think I'm the waitress.”

“If any man considers you lowly, Elizabeth,” said Will, “he's London's largest fool. No duchess there will be your equal in character.”

Her misty green eyes met his. She'd been joking. Will wasn't. The realization left her stunned to silence.

“We should head out,” George announced. “Emma, I'll see you tonight. Will?”

Will found himself bowing his head. “Happy Valentine's Day, Elizabeth.”

“You too,” she whispered.


Once the two men were out of the flat, they headed for the stairwell. Neither spoke. For some time, the only sound between them was the rhythm of their feet on the stairs.

It was Will, uncharacteristically, who felt the need to fill up the silence.

“Elizabeth's become a friend,” Will said.

Knightley said nothing. His hands hung in his pockets. They continued down another stairwell, and then another.

“I have the highest regard for her,” Will added.


More silence. Will pushed one stairwell door open. “I admire her work ethic,” he added.


When they reached the ground floor, Knightley paused. The physician's intelligent eyes met Will's. “One question.”

One? Will wanted a hundred questions from his oldest friend. He wanted to sort out what in the world was going on in his head, his body, his heart whenever he got within a foot of Elizabeth Bennet. Impatient for Knightley's feedback, he said, “What?”

“How hot was that coffee?”

“Hot enough. Knightley,” Will burst out, “that woman would have me fantasizing about a paper bag. It's not just her body, George. If this were just...physical...it would—it would be a distraction, but it would be manageable. It's not just Elizabeth's face, or her voice, or her eyes that affect me. It's her mind. It's her. She's bright, George. She's so damned intelligent. Every argument I make, she can match. And then there's her independence. She floats through a crowd, never asking for my attention, never making demands, never needing one thing from me, and I can't look away. She was standing at the stove talking about her mother, and breakfast, and Ireland, and---and every thought that comes out of her enchants me.”

“Will...” a slow smile spread across George Knightley's face, “you're in so much trouble.”

“Yeah.” Will sighed. “I'm beginning to notice that.”

An Even Path: Post 7

BernadetteEAugust 09, 2017 02:30AM

Re: An Even Path: Post 7

KateBAugust 10, 2017 06:42PM

Re: An Even Path: Post 7

IszybAugust 13, 2017 05:03PM

Re: An Even Path: Post 7

KarenteaAugust 09, 2017 06:59PM


Your Email:


Spam prevention:
Please, solve the mathematical question and enter the answer in the input field below. This is for blocking bots that try to post this form automatically.
Question: how much is 7 plus 17?