It's certainly been a while since I last updated (well over a year ago), I've graduated school and sat my exams, so I've been a bit busy. I didn't forget about the story though, and it was raining this afternoon, so I thought I'd give it another go. 

It's been a while since I've written anything outside English class, so I may be a bit out of the loop. If this chapter does seem a little different, be patient, hopefully I'll get back into the swing of things soon enough.

My foot taps rapidly against the side of the table, my eyes flickering between the doorway and the rest of the room. They are twenty minutes late. Families surround me. Some are sitting at tables, talking and laughing, others are swanning around the hall, greeting others with loud exclaims and kisses. The door to the garden is thrown open, and I see families standing around outside, mothers chattering to each other, fathers exchanging polite conversation, girls, followed subtly by discreet chaperones, parading their betrothed past their peers like prizes.

Felicity is at a table near me, both her parents seated on opposite ends of the bench, her between them. She is sitting quietly, a strained smile on her face as conversation passes between them, over her head, speaking only when a question is directed at her. She catches my eye and gives a small smile, rolling her eyes slightly. I respond mockingly and rise from my chair, unwilling to remain seated and waiting any longer. No one glances my way as I start towards the door, but I see Felicity excuse herself and I slow slightly to allow her to catch up with me.

'Still haven't arrived, then?' She halts by my side, and I don't answer her question. 'Lucky you. I wish mine hadn't bothered.' She glances back over at the table, where her parents are now facing away from each other, her mother in conversation with a lady I recognise only from my grandmother's social circles in London. 'Although it is the first time my father has actually ever come to one of these.' She gives a small, sharp laugh and turns to face me. 'Did you invite Simon?' She quirks her eyebrows, a small smile playing on her lips. I sigh and look towards the door again.

'Yes. He wrote back and said he would arrive with my family. Clearly not.'

'Well, I'm sure this is reason enough to call off the engagement. It's simply frightful that one can't be bothered to show up for his most beloved's Assembly Day at school. If he cannot be depended on for that, he is simply not marriage material.' She chuckles, delighted at her wit. I roll my eyes and glance away as her mother approaches.

'Felicity, dear, have you met Mrs. Gregory?' She glances back at the woman she was talking to, now chatting excitedly with the admiral. 'She has a son in the navy. He was commanded by your own father.' She inclines her head towards me. 'Ms. Doyle.'

'Good day, Mrs. Worthington.'

She touches Felicity's arm. 'Do come and say hello, darling.' She guides Felicity away from me with another cheerful smile in my direction. I watch them arrive back at their table, Mrs. Worthington introducing the two, Felicity standing beside her, a pout on her pretty lips.

I am crossing the hall towards the staircase when they arrive, in a flurry. My grandmother at the front, as always, and as she calls across the hall to me, I pause at the foot of the stairs.

'Gemma. Darling!' I turn around, false cheer ready my face. I was just getting my hopes up that they might never arrive. 'Sorry we're a little late, dear, there were a few things to attend to.' Tom is behind her, casting his haughty gaze around the room. Simon is there too, as promised, standing just a little behind him, a confident grin on his lips. My heart jumps slightly at the sight of him, my stomach twisting, not out of delight, but rather anxiety and something else that I can't quite put my finger on. There are none of the butterflies that I've heard of, no rush to the head, or giddy joy.

'Gemma.' He crosses the room swiftly, grabbing my hand from my side and kissing it fluidly. My grandmother beams at him. I smile shyly, pushing away my unenthusiastic thoughts. As we re-enter the hall and make our way towards a table, I do not enjoy the same low-key journey I did before. Simon attracts many glances, mothers watching him approvingly as he strolls past, stopping him occasionally to ask about his family, which he responds to politely. Some of the younger girls stare at him with outright admiration, turning to me with raised eyebrows and looks of slight resentment. Only Felicity looks as me shrewdly, daring me slightly with her eyes. I shake my head at her slightly and she gives me a wide smile.

Grandmama sits at the table with a sigh, settling her skirts. Simon takes the chair opposite her, beside me, and Tom sits down, preening slightly at the glances cast towards us, his eyes still examining the hall.

'Where's Father?' I ask, causing Tom's head to jerk up. Grandmama casts a look around the room and affects a high laugh. Simon looks away courteously, examining some paintings hanging on the wall.

'Your father took ill this morning, Gemma. He's being seen to by his nurses. He sends his well-wishes, and his apologies, of course.' Grandmama laughs once more, glancing nervously towards Simon.

This annoys me. She's very keen on me marrying Simon. If she wants him to become a member of the family, does she expect this to remain a secret? 'Ill in what way?'

'A touch of the flu, I expect.' Her voice adopts an irritated edge, masked with another titter. 'Nothing serious.'

'Yes.' I look away, frustrated. Clearly, she does expect it to remain a secret. Not that people do not already know, and although I suspect my grandmother is aware of this, she seems to assume that if she believes it is not true, it won't be. No one speaks for several moments, and Tom excuses himself, rising from his position.

'Shall we take a walk, Gemma?' I jerk at the sound of Simon's voice. My grandmamma has gathered herself, no longer flustered, and she smiles widely at him. 'What a simply splendid idea, Simon. It is such a beautiful day, and you can show him the gardens, Gemma. Tom can accompany you.' She looks around for him, but before she can call out, Simon has risen, placing his arm in mine.

'No need for that, Mrs. Doyle,' he says smoothly, flashing a charming smile towards my grandmother. 'Tom seems otherwise engaged, we shan't disturb him.' This, at least, is true. Tom is deep in conversation with a girl I recognise only vaguely. She is giggling prettily at his words, utterly charmed, while her chaperone stands beside her, a dour expression on her face.

'Yes.' My grandmother's face creases slightly. She is unwilling to disturb Tom, hoping, no doubt, that conversation at an Assembly Day over tea and biscuits will lead to something more.

'We shall have a teacher escort us through the gardens,' Simon says lightly, inclining his head towards the table of teachers without family visiting at the end of the hall. Some are laughing amongst each other, trading jokes and tea, others are observing the students beadily, or making conversation with parents or other chaperones. Grandmama sits back down, visibly relaxing.

'Yes, of course.' She smiles at him indulgently and I turn away. Simon leads me by the arm over the hall, smiling politely as we slip by tables and families, nodding his head briefly at the Worthingtons as we pass. Mrs. Worthington smiles brightly and Felicity shoots him a wide smirk, glancing at me with what she no doubt considers a wise, pensive expression. She takes great joy out of my discomfort.

We slip past the teachers table unnoticed and pass through the open doors of the garden. Simon slips my arm out of his and takes my hand instead, pulling me away from the school. 'Simon, we have no chaperone. We really shouldn't – '

He turns to me with a smile and I cut off, glancing over my shoulder. Other couples mill past, arm in arm, laughing gleefully, a stern looking companion following several steps behind.

'Gemma, Gemma,' he pulls my hand again, causing my body to move closer to his, a smile playing lightly on his lips. I blush, turning my face away from his. 'I promise not to let anything get you.' His fingers touch my face fleetingly, dropping back down, and he puts some distance between us as another couple pass by, chatting merrily. 'Do you trust me?'

I hesitate. Simon is well respected and charismatic. It is not a great threat to walk alone with him. Yet, still, to not be accompanied can lead to disreputable situations. However, we are into our third month of engagement, to walk alone would not be too discreditable...he is looking at me playfully, tugging my hand slightly. His smile is contagious and I consent, allowing him to slip my arm through his. We walk along at leisure, further down the path than other couples are venturing. As we go, Simon makes pleasant conversation, about the weather, the flowers. I'm not listening. We are walking towards the lake, leaving the school and people behind and I can see the woods rising up in front of us, dark and mysterious. Somewhere beyond the trees is the gypsy camp, the clearing with Kartik's horses, perhaps even Kartik himself is in the woods, masked by the trees...

We stop suddenly and I blush, ashamed to be walking with Simon yet thinking of Kartik. We are at the edge of the lake, where it meets the wood, water lapping towards us in gentle waves. The trees and shadows hide us from view of the school and the families wandering around the boathouse. Simon extracts his arm from mine and looks at me. He raises his hand to my face, gently tracing his finger along my jaw.

'You're blushing, Gemma.' I am, though not for the reasons he thinks. I push Kartik out of my mind, determined too instead enjoy my time with the man I am to marry, even if I have to force myself. I look up at him. His eyes are dark, his pupils dilated. I can see his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, a muscle twitching steadily in his jaw. He reaches out a hand and intertwines it with mine, pulling me towards him. We are much to close now, and I can feel his breath on my face, sweet and suffocating. He lowers his face gently towards mine, following the trail of his finger with his lips. He brushes them over my cheek, tracing down towards my lips and pauses at the corner of my mouth. I falter, uncomfortable. His breath mingles with mine, his fingers tapping out a rhythm as they move from my hand up my arm, and back down again. Then, his mouth is on my lips, pushing against them softly. I stand still, ignoring the overwhelming scorching in my throat, the feeling that this is all wrong—wrong time, wrong place...wrong boy...Simon leans in towards me, the pressure heightening, becoming more forceful, and I lean away, unwilling to return the kiss. His hands move up my arms, tracing my neck, his fingers locking behind it, pulling me closer, mistaking my reluctance for shyness. He sighs slightly against my lips, saying my name, but I want him to stop. I don't want this. Not with him. His lips on mine feels wrong, my name on his lips is wrong, his hands in my hands, my face, my neck is all wrong. He's gentle—as gentle as Kartik, and for a fleeting moment, I respond, remembering how his lips felt under mine, remembering my dream of us in the woods, the way his eyes locked on mine—the dark, wanting look in them, but as Simon reacts to me, it does not grow into the same passion and excitement as Kartik's, but rather he clutches at me with greedy eagerness. He tilts towards me further, but unwilling, I stumble backwards, gasping as Simon breaks away, a slight expression of concern on his face as I overturn and tumble onto the soft floor of the woods.

'Gemma.' He is breathing heavily, holding his hand out. He smile is wide, affectionate and I groan slightly. No doubt he thinks my falling is to do with being driven dizzy by enthuasiasm or yearning, rather than reluctance and unwillingness. I accept his hand and he pulls me up, still laughing. 'You have moss in your hair, Gemma.' His hands go to my hair but I don't pull away, tired and disheartened. What am I going to do? Grandmama will not take kindly to a broken engagement, nor will the rest of London. Especially if the broken engagement is with Simon Middleton. You don't break betrothals to perfect men. My head jerks up at a sound in the wood, the sound of a twig snapping as someone moves in the shadows, and before either of us has a chance to react, Kartik steps out from behind a tree. His eyes widen when he sees me, and his eyes flicker to Simon's hand in my hair. He cheeks darken and he looks away, tipping his head in my direction. 'Miss.'

'Hello.' I look away, certain that the deep blush in my cheeks will give me away. Simon flattens my hair and discards a leaf on the ground, slipping his hand around my waist, pulling me away from the woods. His protective stance is not unnoticed and Kartik's eyes harden slightly as he bows towards Simon. Simon regards him coolly, raising an eyebrow at the horses behind him, something I hadn't noticed, and I can feel the awkwardness in the air, fluttering between Kartik and I silently. 'Can we help you?' Simon speaks briskly, speaking as though he would a servant.

Kartik's eyes flicker upwards towards him, a slight contempt in his face. Although I'm sure this has more to do with Simon's tone than it does his hand on my waist. I shrug him off, instead putting my arm through his. 'I bring the horses to the lake to allow them to drink.' He glances towards the school, barely visible through the thickness of the trees. 'I forgot about this—' he waves his arms '—family day. My apologies.'

'Indeed.' Simon is still observing him with a disdainful expression, his nose crinkled slightly at the slight odour of the horses, his eyes travelling towards the mud patches on Kartik's breeches. He puts as much superiority into that one word as he can. I keep my eyes trained on the ground, unwilling to meet Kartik's accusing gaze, slightly ashamed at Simon's condescending tone. I hear Kartik move slightly and I look up. He is driving the horses backwards with quiet commands and whispers, moving further into the dark of the forest. I clear my throat.

'No, please, use the lake. The horses are thirsty, no doubt. We were on our way back as it was.' Kartik looks towards me and I offer a small smile, hoping he will accept my menial apology, though why I feel the need to apologise, or what I am apologising for, I am not sure. 'We came to...admire the scenery.' Simon glances at me, then back to Kartik.

'As the lady wishes. Come along then, Gemma.' He crinkles his nose once more at the horses and their groomer, before leading me away from the trees. I glance back at Kartik quickly, my smile still in place, but his face is thunderous. He casts me a quick look, darkening his expression further, and I turn around quickly, a feeling of distress and hurt deep in my stomach. I suddenly want to cry, to throw Simon's arm off me and scream, but I don't. I can't. I'm a lady.

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