A/N: So you can thank YoungSongstress for this if you like it, and then just hate me if you hate it. She asked very nicely for a oneshot of Constance getting married off and I thought it might be interesting. I started it after being assured I would not be pressured into a full length story and then the following has happened.

It will not be a full length story. However it is going to be longer than I had initially intended. Three parts, all probably around this length. The second part will be the shortest. The third most likely the longest.

It's a new style for me, but I am having a lot of fun with this so I hope everyone enjoys it. Let me know what you think. I will most likely be finishing this before working on Swaying in the Wind. Just because it will be shorter and has an easier ending.

I hope you like it. Please let me know what you think!

Enjoy!

Part One: Courtship

After sixteen years of isolation the news that a London Judge would be spending an entire fortnight at Wyndham hall in Durham sent a tremor of excitement through Lady Constance Wyndham. The three elder male sons of the Marquess and Marchioness of Bambreich had been to London, but the single daughter of a man with five sons was something to be cherished and sheltered. She had been lucky when her mother convinced her father to allow her to go with him to York on business but that had been three years ago now and she was dying for a little excitement in her life. Her interactions with men had been limited to servants, her brothers and the disappointing sons of small country gentleman. Within the blossoming young woman was a need for something more. This visit would allow for a little excitement, a difference from the norm.

She hung onto the words of her handsome young brother shared with her on his returns from London with both excitement and jealously. Now London was coming to her and she would be able to experience for herself what men were like south of York, in the capital city close to King, Court and Parliament. When her father had first called her and her siblings into his study to inform her of this development her eyes had gone alight with excitement. A Judge Francis Pemberton. George seemed unimpressed with the news. He had met lawyers and judges and lords while in London, but this was a chance for something new for Constance. She did not care nor did she ask how old he was or what he looked like. A Chancery Court judge was coming to stay a whole fortnight. Before leaving Scotland after a family funeral he had written to her father requesting a place to stay halfway to London. Always a friend to the courts he had given his consent and would arrive in a half week.

The day of his arrival the house was bustling in preparation and Constance was sorting through her attire for the day. She tried on nearly every gown she owned and settled on not her most beautiful, but best made and most mature. She did not want to appear the naïve young country girl she was. A man from the city, a man of law, a Judge would not be impressed with such a girl and she hoped to make her father as proud as could be. Her hair was curled and pulled back in a conservative but fashionable style and, though she was not allowed make up, she pinched her cheeks hard to bring about a pretty blush.

And as pleased as she was with her appearance when her father called for them to line up in preparation for their introductions to the new man, she was that disappointed and discouraged when he stepped through the front door and removed his dripping, wide brimmed hat. This was not an aged, plump man she hoped to impress with her maturity and intelligence, but a man in only his third decade, handsome and lean, dressed as fashionably as she had ever seen and wearing a trim, thin mustache on his upper lip and a neat vertical trip of hair underneath the lower. Suddenly her dress felt old and prudish, her hair too small and boring. She would have been better served wearing her blue gown and her hair down in curled ringlets around her face. In a heartbeat this Judge turned from an exciting learning experience, to the handsome ideal of a growing girl and she felt utterly inadequate before him. She cursed her stupidity for focusing more on her presentation than her attractiveness.

The friendliness in which her father greeted him surprised her also, though she had little time to think on that. It was of little importance compared to the new development. She'd been to small dances before but the boys there were just that… boys. Before her was a strapping, handsome, London Judge and just the sight of him had her face flushing a hot, bright red. She waited as Judge Pemberton bowed deeply before her mother and politely kissed her hand.

"As radiant as ever," Judge Pemberton said softly with a smile. Constance frown as he said this, for she had no memory of her mother going to London with her father on his trips to the House of Lords, though the two seemed to know each other. Her mother said something she missed and Constance brought her hands up to her cheeks to pinch them gently. She found her cheeks hot but did not think they might already be a pretty pink and pressed her fingers down. The moment before she was able to bring her hands back to rest clasped before her the Judge turned his head and caught her in the act. His lips curved and his eyes quickly darted along the line of children.

"Your children are all a handsome lot," he said and went to George first. "How are you my young lord? Still losing at chess?"

"He has his father's skill I am afraid," her father added and looked to her mother. Her mother smiled warmly at her husband, but George flushed red at the insinuated insult.

"Tis a game easily learned, though not easily mastered," Pemberton said. "Keep at it. James, Hugh, how go your studies?"

Constance felt a sting of jealously as she realized her three brothers must have met this man in London. She glanced toward her father and then looked back as the new man conversed with her brothers. Her father came over slowly, prepared to introduce his friend to his other children. Her father introduced him first to the two youngest children. Pemberton gave Henry a deep bow, at which the boy giggled with excitement, and then pinched William's cheek gently. When his attention was brought back to Constance she felt her face flush again and her lips curved upward.

When he stepped forward to take her hand and deliver it to his waiting lips, she could feel her brother tense beside her but she paid him little mind. She lips were hot and soft against her skin and she felt the warm ghost of his breath against her knuckles as he exhaled softly. Regretfully he lowered her hand back to her side and she felt the loss in her tingling hand immediately.

"Tis truly a pleasure, my lady," he said politely. "I must say I had no idea you would be such a grand beauty. I thought one goddess was enough for one family."

He looked back at her mother as he said it with an almost reproachful look and Constance frowned. When she saw her mother smile she realized it was a compliment in the guise of a jest and she blushed. He stepped back as her father spoke and his attention was taken wholly from her. She felt slightly dejected as she realized the interest and then sudden lack of it he had shown her siblings was not at all different from his treatment of her. She was the daughter of his friend, nothing more, a little girl. He glanced over at her brother but found he too was looking dejected. She knew not why, but she remained silent and watched the Judge converse with her father.

"You must be exhausted," her father said and the Judge nodded.

"Utterly. Scotland is a tiresome place, and the roads coming from Glasgow to Durham are ghastly," he replied and Constance listened intently to his accent. It was not the handsome London accent she had accepted her would have, though she seemed to have created a fairly incorrect image of him before his arrival. He spoke with the vocabulary one would expect of the upper classes, but not the sounds. It was by no means low class but it was an accent she had heard the wealthy yeoman speak with. Common speak.

"I have had our best rooms prepared for you, my friend. Would you care to rest before the evening meal?"

"That would be heavenly, my lord. I haven't a good rest since I left London some five weeks previous," he answered and Constance frowned slightly as she heard a strange lilt in his accent she had never heard before, though to be sure, she had not heard all accents of England.

"I shall escort you myself," her father told him and gently gripped his bicep and led him toward the stairs. "I have been meaning to discuss the legality of a bill with you…"

She watched her father and the Judge climb up the main staircase with a feeling of utter confliction. She watched him walk up the stairs feeling slightly dejected. She should have known better, in fact she did know better, than think he would have come inside and fallen in love with her at first glance and whisk her away to a life of excitement in London, but she had been so excited and so taken with his striking figure when he walked into the home that she had forgotten herself slightly. His lack of interest in her left her dejected and confused. But, as he and her father turned the first landing and went to climb the stairs further he looked back toward her. After a quick dart of his eyes around the room at her dispersing family members he looked back at her and smiled. Just before he disappeared from her line of sight felt her heart beat quicken a bit and his closed and opened in a fast, but decidedly friendly wink.

Dinner was uneventful and once over the judge begged out of moving to the drawing room with them due to his exhaustion. He had rested well and comfortably after arriving, he told them politely, but he was still far too tired to be of any interesting conversation or good sport in either cards or chess. Constance felt her heart fall to her toes in disappointment and looked to her father, hoping he would give the judge a difficult means of escaping. Unfortunately her father responded with grace and kindness and ordered the judge to go rest and regain his energy so they could joust tomorrow evening. The judge smiled and nodded and said his goodnights before retiring.

Constance in her disappointment went to bed early as well but she found no sleep. She tossed and turned thinking about the strangers sleeping under their roof. Anxiety filed her as she thought about the day tomorrow. She had her dress planned, her hair style planned, her schedule planned long before she ever fell asleep. She could not remember when sleep finally took over, but she w as far too tired when her servant flung the curtains to the side and let in the blinding sun. She frowned and squinted, let out a moan, and rolled over.

"It is late already, my lady," the maid told her and pulled the blanket from her body. "Which gown would you like to wear?"

"The blue please," she said as she sat up to get ready for the day.

When she stepped into the library she expected to find her mother and father but only the Judge was seated in the room. She stopped abruptly in the doorway in an entirely too graceless manner. He must have heard her for he looked up from the book he was reading with raised eyebrows and a stern expression, but his face softened when he spotted her.

"Good morning, my lady," he said and stood. "I trust you slept well?"

Hardly, she wanted to say, but settled with, "very well, Judge Cumberton, I hope you slept the same?"

"Remarkably so," he answered and held the book in front of him, his page marked by his forefinger in the pages. "I have not slept in a decent bed since I left home."

"Are my parents not here?" she asked him and he glanced around the room as if he would find himself surprised to see them there. He shook his head when he saw the room empty.

"It appears not," he teased and she blushed. "Will I be graced with your company in the meantime?"

"If I would not disturb you, sir," she said and he shook his head.

"Not at all," he said and his smile brightened his face, making his him even more handsome. "Admittedly I am poor conversation for a lady such as yourself. I hope you will not find yourself too bored with me."

"Certainly not," she replied and sat down on the settee by his chair. Once she was seated he took his own seat once again. He left his finger in the book but made no move to reopen it and instead left it resting on his knee. He wore simple black clothing and she found it odd he would wear grander clothes yesterday while he travelled, than today when he was being hosted by a Marquess. The breeches, stockings, shoes, waist coat and outer jacket were all black, threaded with white, and his cravat was a pretty cream color. Instead of a wig like he had worn yesterday the hair on his head was his own. "I have never spoken with a judge before."

"Then you do not know how boring we are," he joked and she smiled. "It might appear glorious but I deal most often with quite mundane financial matters."

"Have you met the King?" she asked him and he smiled softly.

"No," he replied simply. "I have seen him. I have been in the same room with him. But I did not speak to him nor did he speak to me and no introductions were made."

"It must have been amazing, seeing His Majesty," she said and he nodded.

"Indeed. Have you interest in law, Lady Constance?" he asked her.

"I think it very interesting, Judge Cumberton."

"Sir Francis will suffice I should think," he said and she blushed.

"Of course, Sir Francis," she said softly. "Is… is that book about the law?"

"No, no, this is pleasure, not work," he informed her and reopened it to gaze down at the pages. "Do you enjoy poetry?"

"Very very much," she said with excitement and he chuckled. Her brothers never wished to speak with her about poetry. "Shall we read from your book?"

"My book?" he asked and then looked at the one in his hand. A little smile crept over his lips and he appeared to read a line or two. "Oh, no I am afraid this is not the proper reading material for a lady."

Her face flushed in anger.

"I am not a little girl," she told him firmly and he looked from his book to her.

"Of that I do not protest," he replied. "But a lady need not… upset herself reading this," he held up the book now closed.

"You think me too immature for it," she asked sharply, embarrassed. She did not want the man before her to think of her as a child. She wanted him to look on her as a woman. His lips curved upward yet further and his chestnut brown eyes twinkled.

"I would rather not be thrown from the house," he responded and she frowned, glancing down at the black book.

"I shall not tell a soul," she told him. Now anxious to read what was in those pages he was trying to keep so secret she looked at him expectantly.

"I suppose you are a nearly a woman," he replied and held the book out to her. She reached for it with excitement but he pulled it back abruptly. "Not a soul. If you should be caught with it, my name must not be mentioned. Once you have read it I am sure the necessity of this will be made clear to you."

She nodded and he handed her the book. She made to open it but he held up his hand and she hesitated.

"Read it whilst I am gone. I am shooting with your father today," he told her and glanced toward the clock. "And I should be changing into my hunting clothing now. Take the book to your room and hide it. Read it only when you are alone."

He stood and she followed suit, tucking the book securely under her arm, feeling the excitement of it already. She had never done anything blatantly wrong before. That she was colluding with this man from London to do something forbidden sent a little trill of excitement up her spine. He took her hand in his as he had when they first met and brought it to his lips.

"I hope to see you very soon," he told her.

"Of course, Sir Francis," she told with a blush she could not help.

"Remember," he told her as he lowered her hand down. "Tis our little secret."

She nodded and he left the room. She took the book from under her arm and hugged it to her chest, before she too hurried for her bedroom.

She could hardly look at him as they sat at the dinner table and she did not say a word throughout the meal. Her father asked her multiple times if she was ill and she told him she was merely tired. Her mother asked her if she needed to retire and she shook her head. Only twice did she glance at Judge Cumberton but he did not appear mocking, dismissive, or judgmental toward her reaction. He was an intelligent man. He no doubt knew her discomfort was because of that sinful little book he had given her. She did not want him to think she was not mature enough to handle what was written in those pages. She was surprised then to find worry and regret shining in his eyes in the brief moments they made eye contact.

After dinner they retired to the drawing room and she was invited to play cards with her parents and the judge. George went to the fire with a huff, angered that he was not invited to play, and Constance sat down beside the judge with a flushed face. In the past the ability to sit and play cards with her father and a friend from London would have been the highest honor to her, but now she would rather be in her room… reading that dark little book.

Once her fingers touched his as they both reached for a card at the same time, and twice did their elbows touch. First it was her fault, the second it was his. She had to dab her forehead once as she suddenly felt extremely too warm. When she actually felt a bead of sweat drip down the back of her neck she excused herself from the next hand and walked over to the balcony. The air was cool and it did wonders to cool down her hot flesh, but once alone there were no distractions to keep her mind from the things written in the book.

"Lady Constance?"

She jumped when she heard the Judge's voice and turned to find him stepping through the open glass door. She could see her father at the card table through the open door and he glanced at her a moment before looking back to and smiling at her mother. She looked back to the Judge and smiled.

"Judge Pemberton," she greeted. The Judge frowned and looked off into the cool night air, the frown pulling his handsome mouth downward. She thought about what she had read about a man's mouth on a woman's body and turned her back to him to look out into the dark gardens.

"I acted rashly handing that book to you this morning," he said hesitantly. "I feel I have made an egregious mistake and a terrible insult upon your person. I fear you think me the worst type of leach or… or rake."

"You have not insulted me," she told him, fearful he would think she was a child. "I… What I read was not unenjoyable… merely… shocking."

The Judge came to stand beside her and gripped the railing, looking out into the evening.

"Do you think you will be reading from it again?" he asked softly and she felt the heat creep up from her breasts, up her neck and cover her cheeks. There was that strange tingle she had felt as she read it but with him so near it was even worse.

"If… if you do not think it would make me wanton," she replied and looked back at her father. He was still speaking to her mother but he had a perfect line of sight on them both and she had no doubt he was checking on them often.

"Tis only natural," he replied with a smile. "I am so very pleased to hear I had not offended you. I do hope you will return to the card game."

"Of course I… will return in a moment," she promised and touched the back of her neck. He bowed his head and departed, returning to the card game after pouring himself a glass of wine. She frowned as she looked in from the balcony to watch him do so. Often during dinner he had reached out and poured his own wine and retrieved his own food. It was odd for a man of his standing.

She returned and took her spot beside him to resume the game. As the Judge dealt she glanced over at him and smiled.

Once the servants were gone and she was in bed s he lit the candle beside her bed and pulled the little book from underneath her mattress. She crawled back into bed, glanced toward the bedroom door and then opened the book. She licked her lips timidly and began to read.

Naked she lay, clasped in my longing arms,

It began and she bit her bottom lip and read on. As she read on the words made her face hot and she could not help but think of the handsome Judge that had given her the book. She imagined him holding onto it, reading the same poem she was reading now and her cheeks burned hot and her body tingled. She had never felt anything like it before in her life and as confused as she was, she did not hate it.

Her nimble tongue, love's lesser lightning, played within my mouth,

She wondered what the Judge's mouth would feel like on hers. She had seen her father kiss her mother often, mostly chaste, but once she entered a room and saw him kissing her as a man who loves a woman does. She wondered what the Judge's mouth would feel like. How his mustache would feel brushing against her. She finished the poem and turned the page, feeling her skin heat yet further.

She read well into the night unable to close the book. One page ended and she moved to the next. She flipped the pages with interest, her eyes scanning over the ink with excitement and arousal. It was a feeling she had never felt, one she could not explain, but it was something she liked. She slowly slid her hand to the source of her wonderful discomfort and he crinkled her face slightly. She bit on her lip hard and little moaned left her lips. Her breathing became hard and her face burned, her thoughts raced and her fingers became wet. When a feeling so beautiful overwhelmed her that she could never put words to it, but the entire time it wracked through her body, the Judge was the man she had on her mind.

Her father was in his study and her mother was lying down. She looked for the Judge first in the library where she had found him yesterday but he was not there. She checked the drawing rooms of both the east and west wing and found he was not there either. She sighed deeply when she found he was not in the east drawing room, which was situated on the north side of the house and went all the way back to the west drawing room, which was situated on the south side of the house. She looked out the windows, wondering if perhaps he was out in the gardens. She sighed again and cursed herself silently as she realized she had not searched the north gardens. She did find him there, out on the edge of the gardens, looking at a rose bush.

She hurried down the stairs and out the door, but the moment she knew he would be able to see her should he turn she stopped herself and walked calmly. She did not want to appear too eager, eager though she was. He was wearing a wig today and dressed in a decidedly London fashion. She had never been to London, but she had seen drawings, she heard stories, and she knew how it differed from the North. She bit her bottom lip as she approached him, unable to keep the smile from his face. She slowed significantly as she got to him, suddenly nervous to be too close to him.

"Judge Pemberton?" she asked and he turned, a rose in his fingers and he smiled.

"Lady Constance," he smiled. "I told you, call me Sir Francis."

"Sir Francis," she said and blushed, giggling against her will.

"How are you this glorious morning?" he asked and she looked up. It truly was glorious. Warm and not a cloud in the sky.

"Very well, sir, thank you. Did you sleep well?" she asked and he nodded, twirling the rose in his long, lean fingers. "Once I fell asleep. I fear my thoughts were filled to the brim and kept me awake most of the night."

"Thinking of what?" she asked and he looked at her, smiled and then looked back at the rose. She blushed and bit her bottom lip again, chewing on it as she thought. "I read more of the book."

"Oh?" he asked and tilted his head. She nodded.

"I… I thought I might ask you a question about it."

He gave her a lopsided smile and an off look but nodded. She motioned for him to come closer and he did. His eyes locked onto hers, intense, but when her response was only silence he seemed to know what she need and leant down so his ear was close to her mouth. He smiled and leaned back, looking at her for a long few moments.

"You've never heard that word before?" he asked and she shook her head. "Your father has kept you skillfully sheltered."

She blushed and felt a stab of anger and embarrassment.

"I know it is… Well I know it is a part of the body..."

His lips curved upward again and he looked to the rose in his fingers.

"It's a vulgar word," he informed her and then asked, "Know you the word cunny?"

Her horrified blush and widening of her eyes was enough of an answer for her it seemed.

"Oh," she said softly and looked at the rose bush.

"I am very pleased you are not cross with me," he told her. "I truly was not thinking when I allowed you to read it. I… a face like yours is not one so easily refused."

"Thank you, Sir Francis," she said softly. He held out the rose and she took it, holding it in her hands and smiling.

"Walk with me?" he asked and she nodded. He did not offer her his arm. It bothered her, but she pushed it to the back of her mind.

"Do you live in London year round, sir?" she asked and he shook his head.

"Only whilst court is in session. Then I retire to Dorsetshire," he answered.

"Dorsetshire?" she asked. "That is very far south."

"Very far south," he agreed. "So far away from the pretty maidens with pretty northern accents."

She blushed and looked at the rose.

"Have you a lady you are courting?" she asked him, surprised with own forwardness. The book seemed to have done away with some of her inhibition… at least with her.

"No," he answered. "Not as yet."

She bit her lip and looked at the rose.

"I am sure you have plenty of young men knocking on your door," he said and she pursed her lips.

"They are boring," she answered. "And father says they are beneath me. Yeomen most of them."

His jaw clenched and he nodded. She paused as he stepped off the trail of the gardens, over a small hedge and sat down at the base of tree. He smiled and motioned for her to join him.

"Please, sit with me," he told her. "This heat is too much for me at present. Let the tree shade us and we shall converse in comfort."

She nodded and obeyed, sitting down next to him, brushing arms on purpose, but trying her very best to make it appeared accidental. He looked down at the rose in her hand and smiled.

"Please, Lady Constance, tell me all about yourself," he asked her and she nodded. She had always been told she spoke too much for a woman. Once she began it was difficult for her to stop, but he had told her to tell him all about herself. She was only eager to please him. She let the floodgates open and he was all too content to listen.

She did not know how long they spoke. The sun moved across the sky as they sat under the tree so much so that they were no longer in the sun when she spotted one of her brother's run down the staircase of the front of the house and begin running into the grass. She looked away and back toward the Judge as he spoke, admiring his profile. He had a little smile on his face, the little lilt of his lips, and she watched it as he spoke, once again imagining it in the context of that little book.

The Judge was cut off from his joke by the arrival of her little brother Hugh and she felt a flush of anger course through her. The Judge greeted the plump little boy with a smile and a halloo, but the little boy was too out of breath to answer right away. He bent over, cheeks red, and huffed. Constance, filled with annoyance, wanted to snap at her little brother and tell him to leave them alone, but the Judge was smiling and she did not want to appear easy to anger.

"What is it lad?" he asked when the boy straightened and stared at them.

"Father is looking for Constance," he said and Constance let out a little frustrated sigh.

"I am only just here. I will return later," she said and the little boy's widened at the prospect of returning to their father without his charge.

"Constance," the little boy whined.

"Worry not, Master Hugh," Judge Pemberton said. "We shall be with you shortly. I shall escort her myself. You run back to your father and tell him she is just behind."

The little boy nodded relieved and turned to run back to the house. He had an awkward run, he had rickets when he was young and they had only just begun to recover. Her mother believed he might be able to walk and run normally in a few years time.

The Judge stood and helped her to her feet. She felt the sting of disappointment as they began to walk back to the home.

"You have not finished the joke, sir," she reminded him and he nodded as he looked at his feet.

"This is true, but I feel it is for the best. Should I tell you all my jokes now, you will have no use of me later," he said.

"Not so, sir, I do not think I could ever find a lack of interest in you," she told him and blushed when he turned to smile at her.

"I enjoy your company very much," he told her as they came to enter the main entrance of the house. "But I must inform you that I am the first baronet in my family. My father was a very wealthy and influential yeoman, but a yeoman. In many ways my family is an upstart."

She frowned, not because of the content of his words but the tone in which he said it. He looked at her, brown eyes searching, darting over her face rapidly. He had the most beautiful brown eyes and she found herself forgetting where she was as she gazed into them.

"Do you understand?" he asked and she nodded.

"Of course, sir," she said though she did not. He nodded slowly and looked down regretfully.

"I find it… very unfortunate," he said and smiled softly. She was about to admit her confusion and ask him to be more clear, despite it revealing her ignorance to him, but he looked up toward the staircase. "Go on now, my Lady Constance. Your father is waiting for you and we must prove little Lord Hugh to be a competent messenger."

She nodded and climbed the steps, though she felt a little pit in her stomach. When she entered her father's study he smiled and placed his quill down on his desk.

"There is my princess," he smiled and she smiled in return. She took her seat before him and waited nervously.

"Have I done something wrong, papa?" she asked him and he shook his head.

"No, of course not, my darling. I merely wish to ask you that if you converse alone with Judge Pemberton it is not outside. I have no doubt that it was all completely proper, however, should a field worker or a townsmen come to visit they might find the impropriety offensive. Remain inside with a servant nearby or bring one of your brother's to chaperone," he smiled. "Understand?"

"Of course, father," she replied, feeling her face turn pink.

"That is all," he dismissed her. As she walked to the door he stopped her again and touched the white feather of the quill. "Constance. He is here only a fortnight. Then he will return to London."

She nodded but did not understand why he felt the need to remind her of that. She already knew the length of his stay. She left the room feeling dejected about the reminder of the lack of time she would have with the handsome Judge. She would need to make the most of it. Perhaps if he came to care for her, he might propose his father for her hand before he left. She felt her skin turn red as she thought of it and set off to find to Judge once again, a smile on her lips.

By the time the first week mark passed Constance fancied herself utterly in love. Her mornings were spent in the drawing room speaking with Sir Francis about a manner of things, languages, history, politics, his life in London, his home, his family, her memories and more. He was as good a listener as he was interesting to listen to. He was attentive and kind, invested in their conversations and was thoughtful. She liked the way he would pause when she posed a question and mull it over a few moments before answering slowly, with measured words. She imagined him in his split white wig and black robes, white color, sitting high above the plaintiffs, defendants and lawyers on the bench, as he passed down his judgment. No doubt he sounded just like that, and she had grown to love it.

The Afternoons they spent walking around the duck ponds and gardens. Sometimes they would stop and sit and Constance would draw something for him. He complimented her artwork, told her she had a steady hand, and told her he must have a self portrait of her before he went. To that she felt her heart soar and nodded, but quickly asked if she could sketch a portrait of him for herself to keep after he had left. There was just a moment of sadness in his eyes before he nodded slowly. These walks were easiest when the brother they were able to compel as chaperone was Hugh. The younger boy would run ahead and behind, pick flowers and bring them to his sister, and then off again. He missed the most important parts of conversation, and the questionable things that the Judge would say to her went high over the boy's head. Just a week ago Constance might have been confused as well, but that little book had taught her wonders.

In the evenings the Judge worked, wrote letters, or read. Constance would ready herself for dinner, and read a page or two from her favorite passages. After dinner they would play cards while her parents played chess, or sometimes she would play the piano for him. She found he had a lovely singing voice, and together they could play quite a lovely duet. Her nights were spent reading from the book with her hands trying to ease the aching it caused, and softly whispering "Francis" into the night.

On the one week mark since his arrival they were seated in the library reading silently with each other when she looked up and found his brown eyes fixed on her, a smile on his lips. She blushed and looked back at her book, but almost immediately looked back up at him. They looked at each other a few moments, both smiling, her widely, him softly, before his eyes left her to glance around the room. Finding no servants he looked back at her.

"You are very beautiful," he told her quietly and she giggled and reached up to pinch her earlobe.

"Thank you, Sir Francis," she practically whispered.

"Have you ever been kissed, before Lady Constance?" he asked and she shook her head. Suddenly her mouth was tingling and she looked at his lips. She leaned forward on the couch, glancing back at the door, and then looked at him. "I must admit I have been thinking often on what it would be like to kiss you."

She moved further to sit on the edge of the couch and parted her lips slightly. His lips curved upward and he stood. She nearly jumped to her feet and stepped toward him. He glanced around the room again before gently gripping her chin with his thumb and forefinger.

"You will not regret it? Once I leave?" he asked softly and she shook her head frantically. Before she could change her mind he leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers. His lips were warm and soft and she felt her entire body tingle. Tremors ran through her and she tilted her head upward toward him. His mouth left hers and he let out a shaky breath. "Thank you," he whispered.

"One more?" she asked softly and he smiled. His thumb brushed over her lips and he nodded, lowering his mouth back to her. Her lips parted slightly and she felt his tongue touch hers. She jumped slightly but his hands moved to grip her forearms gently and she remained in place as his tongue moved against hers. She remembered the words from the book and coyly moved her tongue against his. He pulled back abruptly and stepped back, smoothing out the front of his waist coat.

"I am sorry," she said when she believed she had done something wrong but he shook his head.

"No, no," he breathed. "I am sorry. I overstepped. I must retire to my rooms for an hour or two."

"Please do not go," she pleaded as he collected his belongings. She came to stand over him as he hunched down to collect his book and he looked up. A small smile came to his lips and he stood. His palm reached up to touch her cheek and she smiled back at him.

"Do not fret," he told her. "I shall return. Where will you be at two o'clock?"

"Here," she told him and he nodded.

"And so shall I," he promised and he stepped away. She watched him leave the room.

The next four days passed as the others had, but more glorious. The sight of him had her heart singing. The sound of his voice brought a smile to her lips and his words had her falling more and more in love with him with each moment that had passed. He brought her flowers from the gardens in the morning, had given her a pin he liked to wear when he was in London, and gave her another book of poems. This book of poems were not of the erotic sort as the other's were, but love poems. She'd read both books and think of her handsome Judge and dream about their life together.

It was all ruined when she came down stairs one morning to find him in travelling clothes, overseeing the packing of his belongings. She hurried down the steps towards him, uncomprehending. His eyes found her's, his face pained, and he looked away, barking for a servant to hurry up with his items.

"We have… you have three more days," she said and he could not meet her eye.

"Tis best if I leave today I feel," he told her and she shook her head.

"No, no, you must stay," she said, panic gripping her pounding heart. He watched the last of his chests being carried outside and she grabbed onto his lapels and forced him to look at her. "Francis, what is happening?"

"I hope you do not come to regret the kiss you have given me," he said softly. "I shall cherish it the rest of my days."

"Rest of your days?" she whispered and shook her head. "No, I will give you more, but you must stay."

He was supposed to propose. They were supposed to get married. That was how this was supposed to end. He was not supposed to leave early. She felt tears come to her eyes.

"Your father thinks it best I go," he told her.

"Go?" she asked, her misery palpable. He paused and wiped away a tear, trying to quiet her.

"Shh," he said softly. "You will marry a good lord and live in a grand castle."

She shook her head.

"I do not understand," she said, lower lip trembling.

"I must be going," he said and stepped away from her. He grabbed his cloak from a servant and put it on before placing his hat on his head. She followed heart in her throat. She grabbed onto his arm as he tried to walk out the door.

"Please, Francis, tell me what is happening," she begged but he brushed her off of him.

"Keep the poem books," he said as he opened the door himself. "Or do not. Perhaps… perhaps it is best you think on me no longer."

"Francis –"

"Good bye, my Lady," he said and bowed stiffly. "I wish you the best of luck in life. My prayers are with you."

He stepped outside and shut the door, leaving the girl to cry.

A/N: Please review?