This is just a little something I've been tossing around for a while because I've always wanted to know more about Helen's mother. Had a bit of trouble with her name because all the online sources have her as Patrica Heathering while in SFN2 it was very clearly stated that her maiden name was Bancroft. I went with Bancroft because, while the webisodes are great, SFN2 was better :P

At this stage I don't think this will be anything more than what's here though if there's interest, I definitely have a few ideas as to how to continue it. Anywhoooo, I don't own this, so don't sue me (please and thank you) :)

Also, if you haven't already, head to my profile to get the low down on the fanfic4kids thing Emmy1512, LoveActuallyFan and myself are doing. It's for a good cause!

xx

She was tall. It was what had drawn his attention in the first place. Taller than most girls and certainly as tall as most of the men in the room. He wondered if heeled slippers had anything to do with it though he didn't really mind. To him her height was regal, it made her stand out. She was no simpering country girl, content to giggle and flutter her eyelashes until a man came to sweep her off her feet. She was sweet, yes but there was something in her eyes that spoke of an intelligence that made him wish he'd gotten to place his name on her dance card for he was certain that, by now her card would be we and truly full.

He suspected they knew each other, some strange family connection that meant they'd played together as children but never before had he noticed her like this. Part of him was certain that if he'd ever seen such a beauteous creature before, he'd have remembered.

It was the hair, he decided as he ducked his head to see around the crowds. Those golden tresses so artfully piled atop her head. What man could resist those curls? And the eyes too. Those piercing blue orbs that danced as she surveyed the room.

He longed to see her stand up again, to twirl around the room with the other women if only so he could see that carefree smile once more. She was smiling now but it was curbed, polite and lady like as opposed to the sheer joy that he knew would overcome her features when she was dancing.

"Who on earth are you staring at?" Albert asked, his voice low as he leaned over.

"The eldest Bancroft girl," Gregory admitted to his older brother. "The one in the lilac dress."

Albert chuckled knowingly, leaning back in his chair as he cast an eye over the woman in question.

"She'd be a handful Gregory," he warned, shaking his head as he took a sip of wine. "You don't want a strong willed wife, you want someone like my Emily. Sweet and pliable, unwilling to give you too much trouble."

"Please," Gregory snorted, tearing his eyes from the beautiful creature across the room to give his brother a disparaging look. "Where you see sweet, I see tiresome. What is the point of choosing a partner for life based on the degree of submission she appears to display? That woman has backbone."

"Ah, poor, sweet Gregory, so unlearned in marital affairs. Just you wait little brother, I guarantee that if you take a wife like her, you'll suffer from constant headaches," he advise with a grin, making Gregory snort once more.

"Al, you've been married for all of 11 months, I hardly think you are an expert on such matters."

"Eleven months and six days," Albert corrected, standing up and straightening his jacket. "With a baby on the way. Now, come on, up with you."

"That means you know how to bed a girl, not wed a girl," Gregory teased. "And where exactly are you going?"

Albert simply smiled before grabbing Gregory by the shoulder and hauling him to his feet.

"We are going to talk with Mr. Bancroft," Albert said, pushing at Gregory until he started to move. "Father's interested in his methods of propagation for some of the tenants."

"No!" Gregory hissed, grabbing his brother by the arm. "We can't!"

"Oh come on Gregory, you've been in London for years now and still haven't found a girl and you aren't getting any younger," Albert explained sadly, shaking his head at his younger brother's foolishness.

"I'm at least 8 years her senior," he replied, panicked. "We can't Al."

"And why not?" he retorted, still dragging Gregory across the room. "Both of you are approaching a certain age, her dowry, while not insignificant is of no matter to you considering your studies and you've already said you find her to be pleasing."

With that Albert shoved him those final few steps across the small dance hall. This was why he didn't often return home, Gregory thought somewhat sourly. At least in London if he had to attend a dance or two he could generally hide in the corner all night. Here everyone knew him or knew of him, thus obligating him to dance with girls he found bothersome, converse with men he found idiotic and feign an interest in matters he had no interest in. Some days he pitied Albert, stuck here with no hope of escape but his elder brother had always adored these kinds of gatherings, revelling in the familiarity that came with knowing everyone in a 15 mile radius.

"Mr. Bancroft," Albert greeted genially, extending his hand to the portly man now standing before them.

"Magnus," he nodded in assent, eyes flicking between the brothers.

"This is my brother, Gregory," Albert introduced warmly. "He's studying in London at the moment."

"So I've heard," the other man said, narrowing his eyes for a fraction of a second before turning to the woman by his side.

"This is my wife, Helen and my daughters, Patricia and Ethel."

"Charmed," Albert replied, taking his wife's hand and bowing smoothly over it, his lips brushing over the back of her hand with a grace Gregory did not possess. "I take in Benjamin and his new wife are still on their honeymoon to Bristol?"

"Aye," Bancroft nodded, seeming to relax. "They aren't due back for another week."

Albert slipped into an easy conversation with the man, discussing everything from town gossip to the propagation methods he had actually suspected were made up, leaving Gregory stuck by his side, trying his hardest not to look over to the young woman seated a few feet from him. From this new angle, he was better able to observe the delicate features of her face, the careful slant of her nose, the cupid's bow of her lips, even the way her cheeks were dusted ever so lightly with freckles, something he rarely saw on the women in London.

Her gown was simple but appeared of sturdy construction and the cotton gloves she wore were trimmed with the smallest amount of lace, the simplicity of it all endearing her to him. She wore no grand plumes of fanciful silken concoctions, instead she allowed her natural beauty to out shine any jewel she could have worn.

Just as he began his appraisal of her delicate looking ears, she turned her head, meeting his gaze straight on. Her blue eyes were magnificent, like the sky on the clearest of summer days and it set his heart beating at an almost dangerous rate, all but leaping out of his chest.

But then she smiled at him and what he thought was fast paled in comparison to the rapid pattern his heart began to beat out. Her sweet pink lips turned up at the corners slightly, not enough to be conspicuous but just enough that to let him know that he had been caught. She sat serene, smiling ever so slightly at him and Gregory new in that moment that never before had he met such a beautiful creature.

Clearing his throat slightly, he attempted to smile back but when she let out a sweet little giggle at his efforts, he knew his nerves had distorted the gesture. Looking down, he smiled somewhat sheepishly, alarmed when an elbow to his ribs caught his attention.

Turning his head reluctantly, he caught the tail end of what he supposed was a warning glance from Albert. He took in his brother's frame, the tension that was not usually present and he understood in a moment what the problem was. He was taking too long.

Fighting the urge to shove his meddling brother from the room and give him a good talking to, Gregory turned, mustering up every mote of courage he'd ever had and smiled warmly at Miss Bancroft. His feet felt like lead as he walked towards her, the small distance seeming to stretch forever.

"Miss Bancroft," he greeted with a shy smile, his voice squeaking somewhat.

"Dr. Magnus," she replied softly, her voice barely audible over the music of the lively country dance but more melodious to his ears than any opera singer.

He chuckled at her assumption, smiling down at her.

"Mister," he corrected warmly. "I've a few more months of study before I can claim the title of doctor."

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry. I should never have assumed," she said hurriedly, ducking her head and biting her lip in embarrassment.

"No," he blurted out, drawing her soft gaze once more. "No it's fine. I shouldn't have..." He trailed off, swallowing his words as she bit her lip and cast a nervous gaze around.

Suddenly the music changed and he decided it was now or never, after all, he could hardly make a worse impression.

"Miss Bancroft?" he asked, his voice once again squeaking. "I... uh... Would you happen to have any dances free this evening?"

She smiled sadly at him before shaking her head.

"Sadly I twisted my ankle this morning and cannot dance," she replied, sounding genuinely disappointed.

"Oh."

They were both silent for a moment, unsure of what to say at the music swelled around them. Albert was still in deep conversation with her father, her mother chatting away to her sister and another woman who had come to talk meaning that he essentially had her to himself. By her side was an empty seat and part of him longed to take it though he knew he mustn't be so forward.

"Although," she said after a moment, eyes trained on the handkerchief she was fiddling with in her lap. "I do believe I would be able to survive a turn around the room."

"Of course," he almost cried, stepping closer and offering her his hand. Raising her head she smiled warmly at him and he felt almost dizzy at it. Not many women would make such a suggestion and he couldn't help but beam as the woman that did took his arm.

"Thank you Mr. Magnus," she said softly, her small hand barely noticeable tucked in the crook of his arm.

"Please Miss Bancroft, call me Gregory," he insisted impulsively. The second the words were out he knew they were wrong but as she chuckled softly the tension that had built around his heart eased.

"On one condition Gregory," she replied, emphasising his name as her eyes twinkled in a way he wanted to see for the rest of his days. "You must call me Patricia."