So we've covered a year. In nine chapters. Thanks for sticking with it this far. And what's that? About freaking time? Fair enough. But it's a special treat posting: packed full of DRAMA. Something which my posts are generally, let's be honest, lacking. And when I say packed, I mean a bit. And when I say drama, I mean a little more emotional action than normal. Oh, and it's the end of part one. Because I love a story in parts.

Chapter Nine

"Let's take a moment to mark this auspicious occasion. Amy bested the train service to get here. Tessa is not on her Blackberry…"

"Yet."

"…Nancy and Maggie are both in dresses, and Ellis has emerged from beneath her desk."

"You make it sound like I was crouched there, cowed and shivering."

"You were," said Mari, grinning over a glass of champagne.

"Exactly," put in Charlotte. She, unfortunately, also had a glass, but, more unfortunately, it was combined with nerves and an empty stomach, hence, the occasion-marking.

Nancy scowled. "I don't see why we had to wear these dresses in the first place," she said. "The least you could do is let me drink some champagne."

"Uh, no."

Nancy's scowl darkened.

"But you look so lovely," put in Amy. "Like a princess."

"Oh, Amy," muttered Tessa. "Rookie error."

"I…what?"

Tessa turned to Nancy. "Nance, Calamity Jane wore a dress. You can suck it up."

Amy recovered quickly. A little too quickly. "You mean Doris Day?"

Charlotte, even in her slightly tipsy state, winced. "Amy…" she started, but Nancy's face was enough.

"She was a depressed alcoholic who died of pneumonia, aged just fifty-one!" thundered Nancy.

"I…uh…"

"Maggie," I said. "Could you and Nancy go and find something quietish to do in her room?"

Maggie pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows. It was a scary prospect. Nevertheless.

"Please? Plan an expedition to Kathmandu."

"We've done that," said Nancy, slowly recovering.

"Kilimanjaro?"

"Done," said Maggie, arms crossed.

"Kangchenjunga?" put in Mari. "What?" she asked as I turned to her. "I thought you were running with a theme."

"Fine," said Nancy, standing up and flouncing out of the room, Maggie following close behind.

The door closed, and Charlotte sighed, heavily, then took another sip of her champagne. "Thank goodness," she said. "I thought that they were about to revolt."

"They were," said Tessa, fishing out her Blackberry.

Charlotte grimaced at her. "Come on. No Blackberries." Then she glared at me.

"I'm getting out my lip-balm. Cool it."

She sat down on the window seat. "Fine," she said, "although you were much nicer last year when you weren't quite this bolshy."

I smiled blithely back at her. "This is what comes from being very nearly ready. And while I have emerged from my office…"

"And you were cowering," put in Mari.

"…I am going back tonight to check a few things over."

"Ellis! It's supposed to be a night off!"

I shrugged. "I can't do nights off. I get itchy."

"I've got some cream for that," muttered Tessa, and she shot me a grin over the email she was typing, one handed. Finally, she finished. "There," she said, at Charlotte's grimace. "I'm done. Happy?"

She sighed. "This is torturous. We should have got married first thing. None of this sitting around nonsense. It's making me nervous."

"As if he wouldn't come!" said Amy, incredulously. "He adores you."

"He does," I put in. "It was blatantly obvious right back in October."

Charlotte smiled, despite herself. "Well," she said slowly. "Maybe."

Tessa stood up, shoving her Blackberry in her handbag. "I say we end the torture," she said, peering out of the window.

"What are you talking about?"

With one experimental hand to her perfectly coiled and pinned hair, Tessa leaned further into the window. "Uh…yeah, he's here."

"WHAT?"

She straightened up. "Let's get this party started."

"You can't sit still for one day?"

Mari appeared at the bottom of the upper terrace steps and gave me a look of utter disbelief.

"I'm fine!"

She raised an eyebrow. Then she turned to Brandon, sitting next to me, tie already un-tied, hair already messed up. He, traitor that he was, nodded.

"She made a 'To Do' list on her order of service."

"Ellis!"

I shrugged, but sighed, resigned. "They were things that I had just thought of. It's better than running off to actually do them!"

Mari shook her head slowly. "Well," she said. "Knowing you as I do…" She handed me a glass.

"What is it?" I asked. Ice-cubes clinked. A suspicious smell of fruit rose from the liquid. It could almost have been labelled as healthy.

"Apple juice, cranberry juice…"

"Could you possibly add…" I started, interrupting, trying to hand it back to her.

"…and gin."

"Oh." I took a sip. "It's quite nice."

Brandon raised an eyebrow. "It's amazing what a bit of hard liquor can do for fruit juice."

"I may be tired," I said, slowly, "but I'm pretty sure that you're mocking me."

He smiled. "Really?"

I leaned back on the step. "Yes."

"I'm going to go and get myself one of those." He said, standing up. He flashed a smile at Mari. "It looks pretty good."

Mari sat down in his place. Below us, Cliff announced in tones loud enough to carry for miles, that Tom and Charlotte were about to dance their first dance of wedded bliss. Their wedded bliss from where we sat looked more like raw embarrassment at having to waltz in front of one's family. It was all a little too much to watch.

"What's up with you and Brandon?" I asked.

Mari turned to me, and, after a few seconds pause, shrugged. "I don't know. He still likes me?"

I decided to not respond. I could either lie or make things awkward. Neither seemed terribly appealing.

She shrugged again. "It's a weird situation to be in, but he seems more…happy with it? I don't know."

"And what about Marc?"

She bit her lip, watching Tom sweep Charlotte around in a much better depiction of 'dance' than I had thought possible. Finally, she said, "I think that he's about to propose."

"What?"

"Yeah."

"Wow."

She nodded, drawing her knees up to her chin.

"Do you like him enough to…?" I asked, tentatively.

She turned her head, resting on her knees, and her smile was so brilliant to be nearly blinding. "I love him," she said simply.

"You'd say yes?"

She nodded.

"You've only known him for six months."

She gave me a shrewd look. "You saw Ed for less than two months, and yet…"

"Yet what?" I could hear the defensiveness in my voice. It wasn't terribly attractive.

She smiled, patronisingly. "I'm not blind. I think you're mad for not doing anything about it, especially ignoring him last October…"

"It was complicated," I put in.

She raised an eyebrow. "Right," she said. "And complicated makes it worth doing nothing?"

I swallowed. "I've been busy. It was too much right then."

"And what about now?"

"I thought we were talking about you."

She shrugged. "I changed topic."

At that moment, Brandon reappeared. "Tom looks pretty desperate down there," he said, with a glance back to the lower terrace where Tom and Charlotte were still stranded, alone, waltzing. "He made some pretty emphatic 'join-me' gestures."

"What are you going to do?"

He shrugged, and sat down. "I thought I'd probably sit here, drink my drink and watch him squirm."

"Brandon!" exclaimed Mari.

He grinned, for once. Then reluctantly, he turned to me. "Ellis, would you do me the honour of letting me drag you around the dance floor."

I squinted. I experimentally lifted my heeled feet from where they had rested. "No," I said. "I don't think I can walk."

He snorted with laughter. Then he took a deep draught of his drink. "Mari?" he asked. "You're the one who yelled at me."

"I…uh…"

"Unless, of course, Marc wouldn't approve."

He had her down. Instinctively, despite herself, she smiled. I, meanwhile, scraped my jaw off the floor.

"Sure," she said, and stood up. "Why not?"

The blissful silence of relative solitude did not last long. Without warning, Lucy appeared next to me.

"Mind if I sit down?" she asked, sitting regardless of my potential answer, next to me.

"Uh…no, sure," I said, sounding about as unwelcoming as it was possible. My impoliteness was shocking. Even to me. I winced, and smiled. "Sorry," I said, after a brief but stern chat with myself. "It's been a long day."

She nodded slowly. "Weddings are very emotional."

"Yeah," I said, nodding. "They are."

"I mean, I cried all the way through the ceremony."

I stopped myself from laughing at her just in time. "Really?"

She shrugged. "You know…" She lowered her voice. "It's hard seeing other people going through what you'd so like to be doing…have done…" She brushed a finger along her eye.

I took a deep breath. "Of course," I said, all the time silently repeating my mantra of 'she doesn't know about my feelings or about how annoying she is therefore do not maim her'.

"It would be easier," she said, now almost whispering, "if other people at least knew about it. I mean, I just worry that other girls are interested in him, and don't know that he's unavailable…"

She left it hanging. I nodded slowly until, suddenly, the meaning sunk in. She knew? She had known all along? I had to take another drink to stop myself from curling my fingers into fists.

"I mean," she went on, "I couldn't blame them. How could they know?"

I took another drink. She had a point, but still. All the comments. All of the pointed references. Now I thought of it, it was obvious that she knew at least something of it: she knew I had known Ed back at Norland; given the Middleton's predilection for match-making and gossip, the possibility of my secret love beginning with an 'E' having not been shared with Lucy was slim.

"Well," I said carefully, my throat tight. "He certainly never mentioned it to any of us."

She smiled a little. "That's what I thought." She paused for a long moment. "But what about you?" she asked. "Why have there been no wedding bells?"

"Uh…" I started, trying desperately to tamp down the rising anger. She knew. She had just all but told me that she knew, but now was inviting me to lay bare the rest of my romantic past. Such that it was. "You know," I said. "A busy work schedule and not many guys around…"

She smiled, soothingly. "I'm sure someone will come along." I refrained from slapping her. Just.

I nodded, mute, and turned to watch Brandon dancing with Mari.

"What about Brandon?" she asked. "He's pretty fine in a rugged, older kind of way."

"Yeah," I said, "but he's like my brother. I couldn't even consider it. It'd be too weird."

Lucy laughed. "I know what you mean. But what about Mari? I heard that he liked her."

Watching them dance, you could have been forgiven for believing it, no matter how much Brandon had tried to move on. He was smiling, more than he ever really did, and Mari, too, looked happy, twirling under his arm, and submitting to dips.

I shrugged. I wasn't about to ship him, nor make things more complicated should it get back to Marc. Again.

"And Marc?" she asked.

I considered asking if she had a previous career with the SAS but decided against it. "He's head-over-heels for Mari. Anyone can see it."

"And she hasn't exactly hidden her feelings back towards him."

I shrugged again. "I suppose not. That's not how she is though."

Lucy smiled, sadly. "If only we could all wear our hearts on our sleeves."

"Yes," I said, briskly. "If only." Then I stood up. "Excuse me, Lucy. I think I need another drink."

"Ellis, darling, dance with me!"

Marc, in fine form, bounded up to me. I smiled, despite a) my desperate need for gin, and b) my still slight reserve about him. I think it was all tied up in resentment, on Brandon's behalf. Anyway. "I really could do with a drink."

He gave me a look. The kind of look which, if I wasn't convinced that he was in love with my sister, and she with him, probably would have made me agree to anything. "Come on," he cajoled. "Mari's off being romanced by Brandon which, I'll admit, is a joke…"

"Hey!"

"…so I'm incredibly lonely and depressed and need cheering up." He grinned. "Come on," he said again. "I'm irresistible!"

"Really? I seem to be resisting you just fine."

He rolled his eyes. "Fine," he said, passed me, slunk behind the bar, and poured a shot of vodka. "This do?"

"Marc, I…"

"Come on," he said once more. "Unless I get this down you and drag you out on the floor, I'll probably have to dance with Lucy." He dropped the smile, his face aghast. "Don't make me do it Ellis. She's incredibly boring."

"You think so too?"

He grinned, devilishly handsome. "Yes. Now, I need to make Mari jealous, just in case she's fulfilling her Kenneth Branagh older man thing with Brandon, and what better way than sweeping her older sister off her feet?"

I shook my head. Then, knowing it was a bad idea, I downed the shot. "You're incorrigible," I said, coughing a little.

He took my hand in his. "Ellis Dashwood, that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

"Shut up," I said, and followed him out onto the dance floor.

Sunday, after the wedding, was incredibly quiet. Everything extra that I had thought of during the day, I had sorted out before I went to bed. I woke to sunshine streaming in through the windows, and the smell of warm croissants in the air. It was, in short, idyllic. After the last wine glasses and napkins had been rescued from behind bushes and on top of masonry, Cliff declared that everything was absolutely perfect. Somehow, I agreed. It all felt very strange. I went to bed that night feeling calm. Weirdly, freakishly calm.

Monday, the official opening day of the gala week at Barton Park, dawned grey and misty. I watched the sun struggle up over the sea as I pausing midway through a run. By the time that I arrived at the boat-house, Brandon already had a few members of staff there.

"Coffee?" I asked hopefully at the door.

Clearly, the fun of the Saturday had worn off. He snarled at me. "We're baking."

I continued jogging on the spot. It kept me warm in the early, slightly chilly air, and, more importantly, it stopped me from noticing how jittery I had become since falling asleep the night before. "Please?"

He growled again. Finally, he barked, "Max? Make her a double shot Americano."

Max, cute in a he's-far-too-young-for-me kind of way, nodded, and started working the coffee machine expertly.

"Anything else, oh great leader?" asked Brandon, gruffly.

I gave him a blithe smile. "Nope. Unless you have any Danish pastries kicking around."

He gave me a long look. Then, muttering all the while, he faffed around with whatever was on the counter in front of him, wrapping it up in a napkin, and passing it to Max. "Give this to her too," he said. "Try not to kick her on her way out."

Max grinned, and seconds later handed me a take-away cup, emblazoned with the estate logo, and the warm, napkin-clad package.

"Fresh?" I asked, investigating. "You made fresh Danish pastries?"

"Why else would I have Max and Lorna here so early?"

I shrugged. "I thought you were like me and just were a vicious and pitiless taskmaster."

"Go away," he said and I, warm pastry and coffee in hand, made my way back to the flat.

Still dressed in my running clothes, I finished up the last few things that needed doing in the estate office and, just as I heard everyone else start to arrive, Lou burst in through the door.

"Oh, brilliant," she said. "I hoped you'd be here. Cliff wanted to remind you to have to wear your estate t-shirt today and actually be around to talk to people rather than, as he said, wallowing in your office and annoying people."

I groaned. "He's a delight, you know?"

She smiled right back. "He's right though. All of the staff need to be out and about and being personable and friendly."

"Seriously, Lou, at this point I'm not sure that I could be all that friendly to a baby."

She smiled again. "You'll be fine."

I grimaced. "Fine. Where is the t-shirt?"

"Here." She waved the plastic wrapped package. "Also, Cliff says that you're to wear a skirt."

"WHAT?"

She shrugged and dumped the t-shirt on the desk in front of me. "He said that you've got lovely legs and you should get them out more."

"Oh good grief…"

"And then Ruth added that it might score you a man."

I thumped my head on the desk. Thankfully, the t-shirt cushioned it.

"Sorry," said Lou. "It might be a good idea though. It's set to be boiling today."

I leaned back in my chair. "You know who signs your cheques, don't you, you sycophant?"

She grinned as she turned to leave. "You don't upset the boss. Even if it means upsetting the next one down."

By the time that I came out of the shower, Mum, Mari and Maggie were all up and around, offering me toast and telling me that I should eat or I'll not make it through the day. None of them, however, paused long enough to let me tell them that I had already extorted pastries out of Brandon, and it was faster just to agree so, required skirt on and coffee in hand, I sat down for five minutes.

"Your Dad would be really proud," said Mum, sitting down opposite me. "You know? He would, Ellie."

I paused, trying to drink coffee, send urgent texts and find an old email all at once. "Really?"

She reached out and patted my hand. "So proud. Exactly a year on, and look where we are."

Maggie sat down too, breaking the moment. "You've done good, El," she said, sloshing milk onto the Cheerios. "Everyone says so."

"Thanks," I said.

Mari paused, busy fishing in the toaster. "What?" she asked with a grin. "You want more adulation?"

I pulled a face at her. She threw a piece of charred toast at me. "You've done a really good job," she said, putting in a fresh piece of bread for herself. "I mean, it was at the expense of your emotional wellbeing and general ability to express anything other than mania, but it's good."

I stuck my tongue out at her, and put down my phone. They could wait for five minutes while I hung out with my girls.

At eleven o'clock, the gates opened. This first day, the anniversary of the accident, was a free viewing day, by invitation, for the local business men and women, and pillars of the community. They were the people who it was all for. They were the people who, if they did not approve, would ruin everything. As the old clock tower finished chiming, I lost my nerve.

"I just need to go and…" I started, standing with the rest of the welcoming committee in the front oval.

"No you don't," said Marc. He looped an arm, firmly, through mine. "Enjoy the moment."

"It's torturous. I think I might throw up."

He grinned. "Nonsense. Get your game face on."

"Marc…"

"No, he's right," said Cliff from behind me. "This is a moment to be savoured."

"It's your moment, Ellis," put in Diana, resplendent in her lady of the manor best. "You've earned it."

I groaned. Then I sighed. "Game face?"

Marc grinned again. "You've got it Dashwood. Don't crack now and show emotion. Stiff upper lip. Clenched buttocks."

I hit him. It felt cathartic.

"Ellis!" scolded Diana. "What will our guests think?"

I looked up from where we had been engaged in a minor scuffle to see a small crowd appearing. A small crowd which appeared to be growing. I took a deep breath, and smiled.

Having seen the large part of the crowd into the boat-house two full hours later, I took a second to breathe, and rather than follow them, I made my way around the deck. The doors were flung wide but, for ease of service and the appearance of a consistently fuller café, the outside chairs had been temporarily removed. Instead, I perched on the railing and watching from a distance as Brandon did his thing. He was at his most effusive on the subject of food. He talked pasta and cake, the importance of real butter and happy eggs, the perfect BLT and the even more perfect, if that was really possible, soup. Somehow, the awkward man who reserved smiles for special occasions and rarely showed any flashy flair was suddenly, inexplicably, the showman. He conjured up sighs and memories from his rapt audiences, rubbing rosemary leaves between his fingers to illustrate a point, crushing a clove of garlic and smelling it luxuriously before sharing a rare, blinding smile with his new adoring fans. Finally, with a few last poetic words, he served them lunch: braised peas and lettuce with gnocchi and parsley pesto was followed by estate reared venison burgers, in bread rolls still warm from the oven with a little carrot, cucumber and mint salad, and finally, if they hadn't burst, elderflower panna cotta with a gooseberry compote. It smelt incredible. Half way through, he escaped the adoring crowds and perched next to me, handing me a cereal bowl of the gnocchi and pesto, dusted with parmesan.

"Thought you might need some sustenance," he said, smiling tiredly.

I nodded, and shovelled in forkfuls of peppery pasta for a few minutes before, after my initial hunger was sated, I paused. "Thank you," I said. "It all looks amazing. From the adoring sounds, I think that you've gained quite the following."

He shrugged. "I had cooked for most of them before."

"Not here," I said, through another mouthful. "Not in connection with the estate. Not in this kitchen."

He smiled a little again. "Maybe."

"You've done good," I said, repeating Maggie's words to me. "Thank you." I took another mouthful. "Cliff's talking about having some massive take-away fest tonight. You want to join us?"

He looked thoughtful for a moment. "What if you came up here instead? There's tons of food left over. I'll grill up the rest of the burgers out on the deck."

"Are you sure? You look exhausted."

"Oh, I'm fine. I'll get second wind in a minute."

I gave him a sharp look. "That, and you can't stand the idea of our eating from Dante's."

He quirked a smile. "I have no idea what you're talking about." He stood back up. "See you later?"

"Fine. Thanks for the lunch. And the breakfast."

"Anytime," he said as he walked back in, and I turned my attention back to lunch.

It was well after the official closing time when the gates actually closed. It had taken long enough to round people up, even longer for them to stop talking, shaking hands, clapping backs. It hadn't just gone well. It had been a blinder of a day. Cate was showered with praise until she blushed and escaped. Tom, still absent, was likewise commended. The work that I still had to do was somewhat hampered by the number of people who came and talked to me, told me how proud Dad would have been and what a memorial this was to him. I had never heard the words 'I'll be back' used so many times in such a short period, but almost everyone promised the same: that they would return, bringing friends and neighbours and family. They would tell everyone they knew, and would pass on the good work for the town that the folk up at Barton Park were doing. It was the last thing that made Cliff hug me, nearly breaking my ribs. "They saw it," he said, over and again. "They know I was doing it for them. I was so worried…" He waltzed off, twirling Diana around, singing as he went. The pride was evident. That and the exhaustion. I dropped off the last of my things at the office, made a list of things to remember, then walked across the stable yard to the book-shop. Laughter floated out of the open doors.

"You guys ready for dinner?" I asked, leaning in.

Mari was lying on the floor, her laptop at arm's length, her arms over her face. Marc was half way up the ladder, putting more books in. "Oh," groaned Mari. "I don't think I can walk."

"It went well?" I sat down in one of the armchairs. "You appear to have…" I glanced around. "A lot of books. Did you sell many?"

She moved an arm and cracked open an eye. "We sold a ton. Old flirty-face over there shifted I don't know how many."

I frowned. "Then how do you have so many…?"

"They brought more," said Marc. "For every book they bought, they brought three more to give to us. We've had to start storing duplicates in the back-room."

"Seriously?"

Mari groaned once more. "I've never been so tired."

"There are venison burgers being barbequed up at the boat-house as we speak."

Mari looked up. "What happened to pizza?"

"Brandon."

Marc rolled his eyes, and put the last books up on the shelf. Mari smiled. "Typical."

"Yeah."

Slowly, she sat up. "Fine."

"Oh so one dance at a wedding and you come running?"

She grinned up at Marc. "Yes. He's my new boyfriend."

He smirked. "Funny." He helped her up. "Come on," he said. "We can sort this later. I'm starving. Of course, I would have been happy with just a curry…"

"Quit your whining Willoughby," I said, standing up. "I happen to know that there's chocolate brownie ice-cream in the boat-house freezer."

We made our way out into the early evening sunshine. Marc made a face at me. "You Dashwoods are ruled by your stomachs. You notice that? It's all about the coffee and the cake and the burgers and the ice-cream."

"Well of course," I said, moving out of the way so that Mari could lock up. "If food be the music of love, eat on."

Marc grinned. "Hear that Ellis? Whit-bush, whit-bush. Know what that is? Shakespeare, spinning in his grave."

By the time that we reached the boat-house, Marc and I had pretty much scuffled it all out. We climbed the steps up to the open double doors, still bickering. Marc, in a rare gesture of gentlemanliness, moved to open the inner glass door and nearly got it smacked in his face as Brandon barrelled through it, the other way.

"Oh, sorry," he said, skidding to a halt. "You all right?"

Marc nodded, tersely. "Fine."

"Sorry," said Brandon again, and turned to go.

"Are you all right?" I asked and he spun around.

"Ellis! Sorry," he said again. "I…I've got to go."

"What?"

"It's an emergency. I'm sorry. Dad's here, manning the grill. He'll stay for tomorrow if I'm still not back…"

"Not back?" I repeated. "Brandon…"

"I know," he said, hands in his hair. "It's the worst possible time, but there's nothing I can do about it. Dad's here, he'll drag in anyone else he needs, he knows the menu, he knows how to run a kitchen." He paused, and breathed. "I'm sorry Ellis, really."

"It's fine," I said, pulling myself together. "Of course, go."

He smiled, briefly. "I'll make it up to you." Then he leaned in, kissed my cheek, and ran off down the stairs.

"You'd better," I called after him, and saw him wave as he ran out of sight. I turned back to see Mari looking after him as well.

"Wow," she said. "It's got to be something important to make him leave like that."

"Old workaholic Morland," muttered Marc and he ushered us into the restaurant.

"Don't be like that," I said, protectively.

Marc smirked. "Like you actually think there's an emergency? He's just unable to have any fun. Too old probably."

Mari smiled. "He seemed to be having fun at Charlotte and Tom's wedding."

Marc waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Oh yes? And I wonder why that was. Something to do with having his hands all over you." He grinned. "Not that I blame him…"

"All right," I said. "That's enough of you two. Now run along."

They grinned and, fingers entwined, they wandered off to the far end of the tables which had been pushed together into a long line. I watched after them for a moment, a twang of jealousy as he whispered something to her and she laughed. Then remembering that a) I was staring and b) Lucy might be about to pounce, I made my way over to the bar.

"Ellis, petal, you want a drink?" asked Michael Morland, as garrulous as his sons were not.

"Do I ever? What have you got?"

He grinned, flipping a tea towel over his shoulder. "Fruit juice, a good red, a potent cocktail of various spirits and pineapple juice that Catie put together…"

"That sounds promising."

He grinned again. "Good girl. How has your day been?"

I accepted an obscenely large glass, complete with tinkling ice and chunks of pineapple. "Long," I said, "but good. Very good."

"That's pretty much what Brand said. I'm glad."

"And relieved."

His face crinkled into another smile. "So," he said, pouring himself a glass of wine, "to your father." He raised his glass. "That he raised such a wonderful daughter who has been so great to all of my children."

"Michael…" I started, but he shook his head.

"Your father," he said determinedly, glass raised and held out to me.

I sighed, then tinged my glass against his. "To Dad," I said. "That we came here and met you all."

He grinned. "Well then. Good. Now I hear that you're one of those faddy vegetarians who just hasn't had meat cooked right…"

I sighed, but smiled.

Later, after getting back to the stable-yard, after going our separate ways to sort out things for the next day, and after getting ourselves organised I emerged into the light gloom to see Marc and Mari disappearing off, hand in hand, in the direction of the car park. I watched them go, apprehensive and, despite my best efforts, a little jealous. I liked him, and she loved him, and there wasn't a lot more to say on the matter. I sighed, wrapped my scarf around my neck a few times, and then locked up and headed for the flat. It was weirdly quiet, Mum and Maggie already in bed and Mari away. I lay awake for a while, thinking it all over until eventually, my exhaustion overtook me. I sighed, burrowed deeper into my bedding, and fell blissfully asleep.

It was at breakfast, the next morning, when Mum finally dropped her bombshell.

"You know how Cliff wanted today to be the family day?" she began, cautiously.

"Sorry?" I asked, from behind a massive stack of toast that she had pushed towards me.

"Family day," she said. "Everyone inviting their family and friends to come and see the work we've done here."

"Right," I said, slowly, "except we don't have any family around here, and all our friends work here and…" I trailed off at her extremely guilty expression. "What did you do?"

She winced. "I may, possibly, have invited John."

I dropped my toast. "Sorry?" I asked, more measured than I felt. "John? John and Fifi?"

"And maybe her family as well…"

"MUM!"

"I know," she said, cringing. "I'm sorry. I just…we're all the family that he has now, and I know that Fi was wretched to you last year…"

"Yeah!"

"…but I'm the nearest thing that John has to a mother."

I rested my head against my palms, elbows on what table was not covered in food, and groaned.

"I'm sorry," she began, "but I since I sent it and then couldn't exactly uninvited them, it seemed silly to tell you until now. I think," she said with a little less distress and a little more determination, "that it'll be good for us. Seeing them. Them seeing us here. Like the end of a chapter."

I squinted at her, unsure whether anyone would blame me for killing her. "Good for us?" I repeated. "I'd think that what would be best for us would be to not have to endure FI AND JOHN!"

Maggie trailed in, her face sleep smudged. "What?" she asked. "Fi and John? Where?"

Mum, to her credit, groaned. "Here," she said from behind her hands. "I invited them."

Maggie stared at her, uncomprehending for a second then, taking a deep breath, shrugged. "Oh well," she said and went to get the Cheerios.

Mum turned back to me, wide eyed. "Well," she started, bemused, "anyway. It's not even definite that they will come. I just thought you should know."

"Yeah," I breathed out. "In that case…" I rubbed my hands over my face, feeling suddenly weary, and suddenly in the need for coffee. I poured another mammoth mug for myself. "I'll need this," I said, and sat back down.

Mum smiled sheepishly. "Sure," she said. "Just not too much. Caffeine is a drug after all…" She trailed off. "On the other hand," she said, eyeing my murderous expression, "drink as much as you want, sweetheart."

I nodded. "Good."

Cliff had insisted that we greet arrivals from the front lawn again.

"Just this week," he had said, "but it's so important. We are the friendly, welcoming face of Barton Park."

"Some of us more welcoming than others," I put in, eyeing Marc's haggard expression. Thankfully for my own imagination, Mari had woken me up, crawling into her bed in the early hours of the morning. Whatever they had been doing, and I didn't want to think about it, it had ended by two in the morning. The late turn-in followed by the early rise however had clearly not affected Marc well, especially since Michael had had a small accident with the coffee machine and hadn't been able to provide him with his morning espresso. Marc barely registered my comment. He just scowled.

Mari smirked, propping him up. "He'll cheer up soon," she said, soothingly.

It was quite comforting to know that he wasn't on his A game, twenty-four-seven.

Mari frowned. "Actually," she continued, "you can't have been all that late to bed. You dropped me off here at midnight."

"Midnight? You didn't get to bed until two!"

She rolled her eyes at me. "All right. Who invited the bed-time police?"

"That sounds like a good picture-book," murmured Cate.

"I got a bit caught up on facebook," said Mari, defensively.

"And I got caught by my aunt," croaked Marc. "She talked to me for… a while."

"Ooh…someone's in trouble!" I tried not to crow. After such bad news from Mum over breakfast, any small victories were amplified. Unfortunately, I think I failed. He scowled some more.

"Yes," he said curtly. "Pretty much."

Mari frowned. "What's going on?"

He winced, briefly. "Nothing, really. She's old and crabby. She just doesn't approve of me."

"Well none of us do," I put in, enjoying it all a little too much.

"When's Brandon back?" he asked, swiftly changing tack. "You could go and annoy him."

I shrugged. "Don't know. Michael's still here this morning."

"Yeah, breaking the coffee machine," said Marc, darkly.

"For pity's sake," exclaimed Lou and, excellent PA that she was, she disappeared into the house. A few awkward moments of wandering whether Lou in a fit of rage had gone to smash all of the priceless antiques later, she reappeared with one of the old kitchen mugs full of coffee. "Get that down you, you moaning woman."

Mari and I both laughed. Marc was far too busy downing the scalding drink to care. Diana murmured something indignant about using 'woman' as an insult. Cliff clapped Lou on the back.

"You," he boomed, "are indispensible. Never leave."

She grinned. "Why, thank you. And my staying or leaving will all depend on whether my pay hikes at any time."

Cliff laughed loudly.

Marc frowned suddenly, reaching the bottom of the mug. "Wait," he said, suddenly indignant, "did you just call me a woman?"

"Oh come on Marc," I said. "Savour the moment."

He scowled at me.

"Game face, Marc. Game face."

He elbowed me in the ribs. I, in turn, stole the rest of his coffee.

"Children," said Diana, wearily. "Must we do this every morning?"

I looked up. The gates had opened. People had appeared. I squinted. There was no John. No Fifi. Neither her parents, nor Robbie, nor Izzy. I sighed a great gushing sigh of relief. Cate sidled up beside me.

"You look relieved," she said in a low tone. "Who's here?"

I smiled at her feeling suddenly as light as air. "It's rather, who isn't here…" I began, turning back to do my bit as Estate Manager. It was only then that I saw him. As was becoming customary, my stomach heaved.

"Ellis?" said Cate, concerned. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Mari turned from her ministrations to Marc to follow my gaze. "Oh," she said. "Ed. How nice to see you."

"Don't you dare leave me," I whispered furiously to Cate.

"Mari! How are you?" Ed was saying, a little removed from me and yet his gaze flicked across.

"Ed?" asked Marc, suddenly looking more awake. "You're Ed?" He held out a hand. "I've heard all about you."

I winced.

"From Maggie," he added, just too late. "She's nuts about you." He gave me a throw-away smirk, then, having smarmed it up something rotten, suddenly dropped the act. "Harry!" He turned to the man next to Ed, taller, ganglier, and effortlessly less uncomfortable. "What the hell are you doing here?"

He grinned and held out a hand. "I kind of assumed that when you said 'hey come and see this amazing house on Tuesday', that you actually meant it."

Marc had the grace to look a little embarrassed. "You know that I was slightly drunk?"

"And I know that 'slightly' is somewhat short of the mark, but Dad had heard about it, and Ed was thinking about coming, so, you know…"

Marc's face of shame turned to teasing. "You saw the Lord's work in it and thought you should check it out in case of massive flooding and a need to pair up all the animals again?"

"Yeah, that's exactly what happened," he said, and, in hugging Marc, whacked him over the back of the head. "Introduce me to your friends," he demanded. "You've been rude enough already."

Marc smiled again. "Fine. You should be warned though," he added for everyone else's benefit, hands held out in warning, "that Harry is a vicar…"

"…of sorts…" put in Ed, smirking behind the awkwardness.

"…and is apt to try and bring God into the conversation at the most inopportune times."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You mean that time when you said 'Harry, what's the meaning of life'?"

"Yeah, and…plenty of others." Marc shrugged. "Fine," he said, "Harry, Mari." He snorted.

"Come on…"

Marc beamed down at Mari. "I'm a poet," he said, in high spirits. "Anyway. This is Ellis. She's generally angry with me. I'd avoid her."

"Hey!"

"Fair enough," said Harry, shaking my hand and grinning.

"Cate. She doesn't know me well enough to hate me yet."

Harry leaned over and shook her hand. "Good luck with that."

"Uh…and a bunch of other people…"

"Helpful."

Marc held out his hands, as if helpless to the fates. "They're not very interesting. One of them owns the place. One makes very good coffee."

"I'm sure Lou would be thrilled to know that that was how you summed up her work here."

Marc grimaced at me. Then he turned to Ed. Regret filled my every part. My heart sunk with a thud.

"Ed!" he started, genially. "I assumed you know everyone."

"I didn't, but I do now." He smiled, slowly.

"Right. Sorry about that." Marc didn't look in the least apologetic. Somehow no one seemed to mind. I, however, would have quite liked to kick him in the groin at that precise moment. He was saved from an inopportune injury by Cliff announcing a tour of the house. This first week general practice had gone out of the window. It was all five star treatment and tea with Sir Radcliffe. It meant more work. I would hopefully mean a better impression. It also, however, meant that I couldn't escape.

Marc, with a few last quips, disappeared off with Mari to open up the book-shop. Lou, files tucked under her arm, headed off in the direction of the office. Cliff and Diana were shepherding people up the stairs to the entrance hall. Harry glanced at Ed, then at me, then turned to Cate. "Are you coming round the house?"

She too flicked a gaze at us. "Uh…sure."

They fell in step, talking about something and somehow, hideously, Ed and I were left. Alone. On the front lawn.

"Ellis…"

I pressed my lips together in an all-out attempt to not say something stupid. I winced.

"I'm sorry about last time I was here. Back in October. It was weird and awkward, and I didn't mean to be so…difficult."

"Difficult?" It fell out before I could stop it. "You weren't."

He rubbed a hand over the back of his head. "Yeah…I was. It was weird, wasn't it? It wasn't just me?"

"No, it was," I said, ruefully. "It was really weird."

"It was never like that at Norland."

I shrugged. "Things have changed since then."

He looked ineffably sad. "Yeah."

"How long are you here?" I asked after a long, very quiet pause, anything to break the silence.

"Just the day. Harry's scouting for his Dad or something. We had a day off. It seemed like a good idea at the time," he said, trailing off.

Automatically, I put a hand on his arm. "It was a good idea. I'm glad you came."

He smiled.

I swallowed. And blinked.

He glanced up at the house, then back at me. "Can I see round it?" he asked, eventually.

I felt myself smile and I didn't even know how it happened. Something had shifted again, like one of those puzzles of cogs. Suddenly everything was racing. "Sure," I said. "We'll catch them up."

He grinned. Actually grinned, conspiratorially. "OK. Or you could just show me around."

Everything raced faster. What was he saying? Was he suggesting some kind of tryst behind a Ming vase? Was I out of my mind? "Uh…sure," I said again, quickly losing the rest of my vocabulary. Slowly, I started up the steps. "This way."

He smiled again, lighting up his whole face, and I wondered how I had ever found Marc attractive. He was all cheek bones and expensive haircut next to Ed with his kind eyes and smile. Slowly, Once I Had A Secret Love rose in a crescendo in my ears. I tried to ignore it. He walked close behind me. A hand brushed mine a few times. I paused in the entrance hall, and knowing that everyone would have gone left, slowly, deliberately turned right.

"Oh, Ellis, there you are. I wanted to ask about tomorrow…"

I stopped dead. Ed all but crashed into me. He steadied himself, a hand on my shoulder. Except then, a second later, he whipped it away as if he had been burned.

I turned, feeling sick. Reality had, painfully, come crashing in. All thoughts of secret moments and hidden smiles disappeared. "Ed," I said. "I think you already know Lucy."

He glanced between us like a startled animal, eyes wide. "Uh…" he began, awkward beyond awkward.

Lucy smiled, coyly. I considered smacking the whole look of coquettish delight off her face, once and for all. I balled my fist, tamping it down for the moment. "Yes," she said.

"Well," I said, my voice strained, "I'll leave you in Lucy's capable hands."

"Ellis, I…"

I didn't stop walking. I heard him, but I didn't stop. I made it all the way past the office before the gasping, wrenching sobs made their way close to the surface. I leaned against the sun-warmed wall and closed my eyes, dredging my being for any last scraps of self-respect and decency. "Stupid, stupid, you knew he couldn't," I murmured, chanting against the coils of embarrassment and disappointment, currently unfurling up my throat. "You knew, you knew and you would have done it, you…"

"Ellis?"

My eyes flew open. Anything to not be caught like this. In this state. Except with my eyes open, I looked straight up into Brandon's face. His look of pure concern was my undoing. To my utmost shame, tears rolled down my cheeks, and before I could lie and explain them away, he pulled me to him, wrapped me in his arms, and murmured comforting nonsense while I wept.

I heard scrunching footsteps in the gravel while we were stood there, my face buried in his shirt, but I didn't look up. I didn't know who it was. I only hoped that it wasn't him.

End of Part I

Thank you, once more, to all who read and all who review. You are invaluable. If you haven't favourite this or alerted it (and this was not my subtle way of telling you to) then fair warning: the next part is going to be on the Northanger Abbey wall. Yes. We're leaving Sense and Sensibility for a little bit. So long weeping. Hello high-gothic-high-jinks. I love Northanger Abbey. Please follow me there.

As ever, the basic story and bones of the characters are not mine. That's all on Jane Austen. I'd like to think that Brandon's raging hotness is something to do with me though. That'd be nice.