[Helena Wriothesley (Aida)]

Lunch had been quite good, although perhaps she should ask Lady Jane to tell her cook that a bit more salt could not hurt, and the short nap had refreshed her a lot. None of these could compare to her pre-noon visit to the library though! Lord Parry... Henry... what a suitable name for a man of his stature! She was sure she had read something about a Henry the, hmm, was it Lionheart or simply Lion? No matter! Whoever he was, he must have been a great, handsome man... like Lord Parry... like...

"Ohh! I really shouldn't think about him so much!" Although her maid was walking at her side, if a little behind, Helena was in fact just speaking her thoughts aloud to increase their effect. "Who knows if he is a good man?" Lowering her voice, she rapidly turned towards her maid, "he might be an opportunist rake for all that I know! With no good intention in his mind!" She paused and moved her eyes to an unknown spot in front of her, "Lady Jane doesn't seem to like him much... I wonder... should I call him Harry?" But this time when she turned around to consult her maid, she found her a couple of steps away, trying to persuade Helena's King Charles Spaniel to leave a small dog which belonged to a couple alone.

"Oh! Give it to me, Angela!" Grabbing the dog's leash, Helena smiled brightly at the couple and taking the dog in her arms, she addressed him thus: "Croquembouche, mon petit chéri'! Mon chien adoré!" caressing his white paws, she kissed him affectionately on the soft curve of his head, "tu veux jouer avec tes amis? Hmm? Mon bébé est amoureux!?" And in this fashion she carried him away, resuming her stroll.

Now having forgotten Lord Parry, she tried to see if she could recognize a group of ladies and gentlemen who were picnicking nearby. Some of the faces were familiar, Lady Rosalind, Lord Foxford and Miss Staunton - at whose sight Helena wrinkled her nose, pursed her lips and rose her eyebrows - but the rest she could not remember having met...

With her sideways gaze lingering on a one of the gentlemen at the picnic, she failed to focus her attention on the pathway ahead and almost bumped into someone - had not Croquembouche prevented it by a sharp bark - who turned out to be no other than... "Lord Latimer!" Goodness! Lord Latimer! She had not seen him since last summer when she had sent him that letter! THE LETTER! "Good afternoon, my lord!" Smiling uncomfortably, she put Croquembouche on the ground and curtsied, leaving the decision on whether she should blush or turn pale for another time.

[Tristan Edgeworth (Francesca)]

Tristan couldn't quite remember what he and his sister had been arguing about. This was hardly surprising - it was, after all, a rather frequent outcome of their arguments. He defied anyone to keep track of his sister's sweeping statements and cheerful leaps in logic. This particular disagreement had ended in an impatient "Oh, don't be a fool Tristan!" Before he could make a suitably cutting rejoinder, the wind had seized Lady Cassandra's bonnet (aided, he suspected darkly, with a little assistance from Lady Cassandra's fingers) and he had been forced to pull over to the side of the track to dismount and embark in pursuit of the offending accessory.

Retrieving it hadn't proved to be particularly difficult but when he returned to the scene of the crime, it appeared that his sister had bolted. Without a chaperone in sight. It was really enough to set any responsible older brother's teeth on edge. He was preparing to walk over to his horse when a bark sounded in his ears, followed by a slightly breathless greeting. The voice was very familiar and he turned around to see who it was, paling as his suspicions were confirmed.

Flustered as he was, his opening gambit was typically incoherent. "Ah...heh. Miss Wriothesley. Good day", he managed to say, recollecting his manners. "It is very good to see you again", he continued, lying through his teeth. He would have been quite happy never to set his eyes again on the woman. His ears began to grow red as he started to recollect the impassioned terms in which her utterly imprudent letter had been couched, and he hoped fervently that he wasn't about to be subjected to a repetition of similar sentiments, declared this time - oh horror of horrors! - in Hyde Park.

He firmly pushed these dire possibilities away, striving to think of happier thoughts. Perhaps, he reflected hopefully, she had quite put the matter from her mind. After all, he himself had not given it a second thought until ...well until this morning. And then he had met her. It was to be hoped that the lady held similar feelings. In any case, he would have to find some way to return the letter to her (along with a polite assurance that the sentiments were NOT reciprocated) if only because the epistle constituted evidence that would be very incriminating to her reputation. Such matters however could hardly be brought up in such a public place. A modicum of small talk had to be made to preserve appearances. "I hope you are very well ma'am, and have passed a pleasant winter?" he inquired.

[Helena Wriothesley (Aida)]

Oh my! The letter! Oh! Goodness! Why on earth... Well, she knew why! The thing was... Ohhh... His opinion of her must be so low now! Disaster! Mama would kill her! Papa would be so disappointed... Then again, it was not such a horrible letter! Was it!? Hmm... She could not even remember what exactly she had written! It must not have been too awful though! Considering she had only praised him and written compliments about him, along with confessing her love... Her love! That was a very precious thing! Not any man could get it this easily!! He should, no, must feel very fortunate!!! Yet... Oh, she remembered now! There was something about his valor... Your valor, my lord, strikes me in the... Deepest where!? Heart? Soul? Well, something like that... It shouldn't have been so bad then! It might have been more of a patchwork quilt of phrases from a variety of novels than a genuine letter, but surely he shouldn't have minded... Those were very good novels! To think of all the time she had spent creating that letter...

"Oh, yes, thank you!" Lifting her eyes towards Lord Latimer, Helena blushed deeply as she observed his red ears. "Winter has been..." she began to fan herself profusely, "winter was quite..." how could one rephrase 'tedious' to make it sound more polite!? "...relaxing." Hmph, he didn't look terribly valiant with those red ears! Why was he blushing anyway!? He should be honoured! Perhaps he was merely shy!?

"Such a good weather today, don't you think?" Her statement had just finished though, when a sharp wind chose to wander in their direction and blow the ribbon of her bonnet into her face. "Oh!" Perhaps he was blushing because he hadn't answered her letter, she thought as frustratedly she removed the ribbon from her face. Yes, that must be... He hadn't made a reply to her letter! He... She could hardly restrain her wrath when the memory of the two days, eight hours and fourteen minutes that she had spent last year suffering from distress due to not having received a reply came back to her. She would have definitely rebuffed him had he written a reply, but that was no excuse! Ungrateful man! If only she could invite him to a duel... Perhaps cousin Thomas could! As annoying and wicked as he might be, he was certainly good at killing! He must be, he was a regimental, after all... A mischievous grin formed on her lips at the thought of a wounded, and truly regretful, Lord Latimer... Maybe she would forgive him then and show her generosity by nursing his wounds back to health...

"That's a very beautiful bonnet, my lord," she added, transforming the not so angelic grin into an utterly cherubic smile, as her attention was caught by the curious object in the gentleman's hands. Why on earth was he carrying a bonnet!? Did he have a companion!!?? Who was she!!!??? Could it be that he was... that he was in love with her?

[Tristan Edgeworth (Francesca)]

((OOC: Helena’s internal monologue pretty much made my day.))

Tristan favoured Miss Wriothesley with a bow. “I am very happy to hear it”, he said in response to her comment about a relaxing winter. He cast a doubtful look around at their surroundings as she exclaimed about how pleasant the weather was. He would not have used the epithet ‘good’ to describe it himself, but he could hardly disagree with a lady. “It is certainly dry”, he observed. “A fact that we have much to be grateful for. Rain would curtail this…delightful excursion.” He watched the wind flap Miss Wriothesley’s ribbons into her face. “Very windy though”, he stated, even more obviously.

While he could have waffled on indefinitely (the weather was one of those subjects on which everyone could always find a great deal to say), he was spared that necessity by Miss Wriothesley’s next observation. For some reason, being caught with a bonnet in hand (even though one had a perfectly good excuse for such an occurrence) was an excessively mortifying circumstance. Tristan’s immediate impulse was to hide it. He cast a horrified look at the offending object before hastily thrusting it behind his back, safely out of his companions view, offering her a weak smile.

He felt compelled to make some sort of explanation. “It’s not mine”, he assured her hastily before mentally kicking himself. There was no reason Miss Wriothesley could possibly have thought it was his. What use would he have for a lady’s bonnet anyway? “That is – what I meant to say was - it is my sister’s”, he elaborated before gesturing to his horse. “We were riding when it flew off. Very windy, you know!”

He shifted his weight from one foot to another, eager to steer the conversation away from bonnets, which appeared to him to be a peculiarly unpleasant topic of conversation. “Have you been long in town, Miss Wriothesley, or have you just arrived?” he inquired.

[Helena Wriothesley (Aida)]

((OOC: Glad you've liked it! lol ))

Helena giggled merrily at Lord Latimer's first explanation. Of course the bonnet couldn't have belonged to him! And she giggled even more when she was assured that the lady in question was his sister. True, she didn't care for the gentleman, but she couldn't tolerate a rival in any situation, especially if this particular rival had been the reason why her letter had remained unanswered... Well, perhaps she did care about him a little. After all, he was a funny man, and she liked men who could make her laugh!

"Your sister must have a very good taste," she said, smiling brightly while trying to locate the lady, a task in which she ended up unsuccessful. She could clearly see Lord Latimer's horse, but there was no sign of any sisters. Not that she minded, anyway, she rather have him all to herself. There were still some issues that needed to be discussed, in private.

"Oh, I have just arrived," Helena replied, batting her eyelashes once or twice as she returned her attention back to the gentleman, "today, to be precise. How about you, my lord?" She had added the latter question merely out of politeness, and since she was not truly interested in the present topic, she chose to change it almost immediately: "perhaps I could help you find your sister, my lord," and to emphasize on the fact that she was not going to give up this idea, she added: "I would like to ask her where she has bought this handsome bonnet... very much." Smiling prettily, she took a step towards Lord Latimer and stared at him with the sweetest and the most irresistible gaze.

[Tristan Edgeworth (Francesca)]

"I trust you had a smooth and comfortable journey?" Tristan inquired politely. "For my own part, I have been in town this past week and a half." He was not motivated to prolong their conversation by any personal inclination, but was hoping to make at least an oblique reference to the debacle that might very well have unfolded the previous season. He had already decided that the best thing to do would be to return the incriminating letter to the lady's possession, with the agreement of course that she was to destroy it immediately. In fact, he rather wondered now why he had not done it himself. It would have been much better for all concerned. Regardless, the task had yet to be accomplished, and the sooner the better.

Nevertheless, it was clearly a matter of some delicacy, not the sort of thing one brought up abruptly in conversation. He seized onto Miss Wriothesley's comments about Cassandra's bonnet as a temporary reprieve despite his utter lack of interest in women's fashions. "Yes, I suppose so", he agreed without a very clear idea of what he was saying. He did not really know what good taste constituted since it appeared to him that his sister looked very much like any other debutante, but it seemed best to go along with it. "She is certainly very fond of shopping", he added, with considerably more confidence and sincerity.

Miss Wriothesley was looking around, presumably wondering where the aforementioned sister had gone. It was true - the silly chit was nowhere to be found. It was all utterly exasperating. To add to his woes, his present companion had volunteered to aid him in his search. Anxious as he was to talk to Miss Wriothesley, he would really much rather do it as far away from his sister's scrutiny as possible. In fact, if he had his own way, he would prefer that Cass remain wholly ignorant of Miss Wriothesley's very existence. There was no telling what lengths she would go to in her interference if she so much as detected a sniff of a secret.

And yet, Miss Wriothesley was standing here, purporting to seek Cassandra's advice on matters of fashion. Oh Lord. With his luck, they would become bosom bows and his life would not know a moment's peace. Looking at her and detecting a very large smile on her face, Tristan began to feel rather as though he was being hunted. He did not think he was being fanciful in thinking that the sparkle in her eye bore a distinct resemblance to an alarmingly predatory gleam. Barely quelling the unchivalrous urge to take a step backward, he cleared his throat nervously. "Thank you for your kind offer", he lied, trying not to look too beleaguered. "But I would not wish to take you away from your other plans if you have them!"

He remembered that they still had matters of importance to discuss only after these words had fallen from his lips. It was a difficult dilemma to resolve but he decided after a moment's hesitation to concentrate on the matter at hand. Should just get it over with, he decided. "I would, of course, be delighted with an opportunity to talk to you at greater length", he said. "If you are not otherwise engaged, would you do me the honour of walking with me a little while?" He looked around and spotted a maid, a sight which caused him to heave a sigh of relief. Thank goodness for small mercies. She would have to be kept at a safe distance in order to ensure that she did not overhear anything - servants could be notoriously indiscreet - but it was just as well that Miss Wriothesley had some chaperonage.

[Helena Wriothesley (Aida)]

Helena puckered her lips as Lord Latimer most blatantly refused her offer, and she would have pouted if her mother had not informed her over and over again that pouting did not become a lady of good character. Silly Mama! she used to think in such occasions, Papa always surrenders to my wishes whenever I pout...

She was about to stoop, take Croquembouche in her arms and say farewell to the gentleman, when he addressed her again. Normally, she would have jumped with joy - mentally, of course - after hearing such a proposal; yet, Lord Latimer's request for a walk somehow made her anxious. She could feel the heat of a blush spreading on her face and her fingers began to grow cold. She might not care about the gentleman much, and she might have wished to speak to him about the letter only moments ago, but now that he had taken the first step, she found herself quite terrified. What if he was going to reproach her? She really didn't like to be reproached! And what if she couldn't prevent herself from crying!? It would be most embarrassing...

"I would be delighted to," she said in a somewhat trembling voice, trying to maintain a decent smile. While placing her hand round his arm, it seemed to her that he somehow looked taller and more serious... It was only when they had taken a few steps that she remembered his question about her journey, and she was about to reply when it occurred to her that if she had possessed the courage to write the letter in the first place, it would be quite silly to be scared of talking about it! Goodness, it was not as if she had committed a crime! Many people wrote many letters to many other people for many reasons! Besides, even if her mother was to disapprove now, she most certainly wouldn't have disapproved if the letter had been successful in finding her a husband!

"Lord Latimer," she turned towards him, her back straightened with a new-found confidence, "about the letter," she was determined that taking the upper hand by starting the inevitable discussion would be to her advantage, "you do remember, surely, the one I gave you last summer..." Pausing briefly, she examined the gentleman's eyes to see if he truly recalled, then continued: "I would like to inform your lordship that there is no need for concern. I know full well that my actions were not at all sensible. I do... I did find your lordship quite handsome and pleasant... not that you are not these things anymore! Just that, I do not find..." Oh my, this was really not going well! Turning her eyes away from Lord Latimer, she tried to concentrate on what she was about to say next: "what I mean is," she turned to face him once more, her eyebrows joined in a frown to restrain a flood of tears, "I know what I did was not correct, and I am most sorry for any inconveniences my actions might have caused. Furthermore, I accept your apology for not having responded to my letter!" Now that she had said it, she felt rather weak and clung to Lord Latimer's arm a bit more tightly. "I do hope we can remain friends," she added finally with a weak smile. He was after all an Earl, and it would not do good snubbing him altogether.

[Tristan Edgeworth (Francesca)]

Miss Wriothesley's tremulous smile did little to comfort Tristan. He led her onwards without a very clear idea of where they were going as he racked his brains, trying to think of a diplomatic way in which to broach the subject of the latter without giving undue offence. Heavens, what if she denied it all and flounced off in high dudgeon? What if - worse still - she burst into tears? The possibilities were myriad, and each grimmer than the other.

Thankfully, he was spared the necessity of having to bring it himself by Miss Wriothesley, who had proved to possess more intrepidity than he did himself. A small spark of hope blossomed in his chest; indeed this was going considerably better than he had expected it to. Of course, the sight of her palpable distress was discomfiting, especially since he had played a role in it, however unwitting it had been. "Oh pray do not discompose yourself, Madam!" he said hastily. "After all, no harm has been done-"

He found himself cut off by her magnificent forgiveness of his own remissness in omitting to send her a reply. "Oh I say", he said, quite nonplussed by this novel view of things. "But don't you see? Couldn't have replied at all! What if someone had got wind of the dashed thin-" He came to a quick stop. Bullying and hectoring the poor girl would be a most ungentlemanly thing to do under the present circumstances - even though she had very rum notions of what was what.

"It was not my intention to cause you any distress Miss Wriothesley", he said in a more diplomatic manner. "But you must see that it would have been quite impossible for me to send you a response! Someone would very likely have found out! I would not have willingly jeopardised your reputation for anything." There. That all sounded proper enough. Now to return to the matter of the actual letter itself - the one that had been written and sent. "I still have your epistle in my safekeeping", he said with a discreet cough. "I imagine that you would like it to be restored to your possession?"

[Helena Wriothesley (Aida)]

Helena was too busy reviewing her own statements to listen to Lord Latimer's response to her forgiveness, at first, but her ears did manage to capture the 'dashed thin-' and that would have been enough to fill her with an uncontrollable fury, had she not possessed the patience to listen to the rest of his words, which almost melted her heart. He had been trying to save her reputation! How chivalrous! How... Placing her free hand on her chest, she sighed softly and stared in front of them with an absentminded gaze... He had kept her letter!

"Lord Latimer, I..." she began in a dreamy tone, but was soon dragged out of the realm of cavaliers and princesses when the gentleman informed her that he intended to give the letter back to her. "Oh yes, I would be very grateful if you would be kind enough to return it to me, my lord," she replied seriously, raising an eyebrow, "you could perhaps send it to my residence by post? That is... if the prospect of a correspondence between our houses will not..." she was about to say 'terrify your lordship', when she checked her tongue. It would have been too vicious a thing to say. After all, the gentleman was thinking about her reputation. "Or I could send my maid to your apartments tomorrow! Would that be convenient for you, my lord?"

Well, now that the letter was not going to be an issue anymore, Helena wondered if she should cross out Lord Latimer's name from the last page of her diary, or let it remain there for a while yet... It would be quite regretful if she had to remove him from the list of potential husbands for good. He was very gentlemanly, and funny, and handsome, and Lady Latimer had a rather nice rhyme to it; but perhaps it was for the best... She recalled when she had crossed out Lord Linley's name from the same page, once his engagement had been announced, and how sad it had made her. But had he not proved to be an engagement breaker? A good gentleman, he was, but to think that it might have been her that could have ended up with a broken engagement was utterly horrifying! Yes, perhaps it was for the best... Who knew how Lord Latimer would turn out one day? Papa always said she should never trust the chivalrous sort. They rarely turned out to be practical enough to know, hmm, whatever he had said that she could not remember now...

[Tristan Edgeworth (Francesca)]

With a palpable effort, Tristan set his mind to practical matters. When he really started thinking about them, it had to be said that he was not wholly lacking in common sense. Indeed, he had developed a very nice sense of proprieties over the years, and while these skills were being tested by an unprecedented situation, he had no doubt but that he would hit upon a solution. "Not the post", he said firmly. "It might be remarked by your guardians and that would not do at all." Who the devil ARE her guardians? he wondered to himself. Must be a ramshackle lot, letting their ward run around writing letters of all things..

However, these uncharitable thoughts were too alien to his good nature for him to dwell on them for too long. Ah well, she's a pleasant enough girl, he decided surveying Miss Wriothesley's bright and not unprepossessing countenance. He shook his head doubtfully when she suggested that he might hand it over to her maid. If his mother was to be believed, maids invariably listened at keyholes and gossiped about their discoveries with maids from other households. The girl was very likely unlettered, but what if she were actually to fish out something? It would never do.

"Can you vouch for the absolute trustworthiness of your maid?" he queried dubiously. "I must confess that I would not be easy in my mind unless I were utterly sure that the letter was safely in your possession and that no one else had been privy to its contents. Indeed, I am of the opinion that the best thing for me to do would be to hand it to you myself." He furrowed his brow briefly as he considered how best to do this. They would have to be exceedingly discreet of course for the greatest scandal would ensue if someone were to find out. However, it did seem wisest not to involve any intermediaries in a matter of such delicacy. "If you will do me the honour of allowing me to call on you, I would be able to restore it to you with my own hands", he suggested. I can conceal it in a bouquet or a whatnot, he decided to himself.