Ian and Betty Jo made their goodbyes, Betty Jo taking a bit longer as she plotted with Bobbie Jo with regard to Billie, then finally Ian whisked her off to....

She looked around. It wasn't the familiar and comfortable drawing room of his London townhouse. It was a far bigger drawing room, far more.. well, it wasn't ornate, but the ceiling was a masterpiece and the carpeting was plusher. The fireplace was far larger too, and more ornate, with marble pillars holding up the marble mantle. A wall of window doors looked out over rolling pastures. A folly sat at the bottom of the nearest one, a gazebo set on an island in the middle of a smallish lake. Well, perhaps it wasn't so small. It was late evening and the sun was setting. 

"Ah there you are," Ian was saying, as a uniformed woman came bustling into the room with an enormous silver tea tray, holding both a coffee pot and a tea pot, and a tray of sandwiches and small cakes.  "Thank you Mary."

Mary dropped a curtsey. "Anything else, milord?"

Ian winced. "No, that's fine, thank you. We'll ring if we need anything." 

Mary bustled off closing the door firmly behind herself.  "Coffee or tea?" Ian asked Betty Jo as he moved toward the tray.

"Tea, I think.  Is it the curtsey or the 'milord' that you're making a face over?"

"Both actually. I prefer just Edwards, you see, but this place is far too big not to have a staff."  He poured them both tea. "I was delighted to see everyone looking so well. Except, perhaps, for Billie Jo. I assume you plan to speak to her soon?  Would you rather go home tonight to do that?"

Betty Jo smiled her thanks for the tea and took a seat.  "Bobbie and I were thinking we'd talk to her tomorrow since we're getting together anyway and we can keep it a little more casual that way.  Less like an intervention if you know what I mean."

"Ah, I see. Yes, probably for the best then. I'm sorry to have brought you here. It's a bit pretentious, and not nearly so comfortable as the townhouse, but I'm promised to meet with the vicar and a few locals in the morning, and it's better I seem to, well, not just drop in for a meeting and swoop out again immediately. I don't spend nearly enough time here as it is."

"It's fine.  You don't need to apologize.  Though," she said, her mouth quivering, "the picture of you as the local lord is an intriguing one."

"Oh, you should see me in a Burberry and muddy riding boots. Or in a suitably worn and slightly tattered tweed jacket with a pipe in my mouth."

She gave in to her amusement.  "Oh please, you'll have to model them for me.  The archetypal British landowner."

"I'll dress for you in the morning then, shall I?" he replied with a laugh, finally beginning to loosen up a bit. "God this place depresses me. It wasn't so bad when Adele was living at home. She tended to liven the place up. And single men within 50 miles tended to turn up at all hours in droves."

"Rattling around in it all by yourself would be depressing.  Do you keep it from noblesse oblige?"

He looked around at the drawing room. "I'm not sure why.  Sentimental reasons I expect. I used to enjoy riding. I used to enjoy tending to the grounds.  Even a bit of shooting now and again. It's all gone rather out of fashion."

"You aren't a slave to fashion," she said.

He looked at her for a time.  "Perhaps not. Still, as you say, rattling around in here alone is rather depressing."

She studied him in return, then let her gaze drift out over the fields, hidden by the darkness. "It's easier to be alone in London I would imagine."  She kept her voice casual, the comment musing, leaving him all the room she could craft.  At moments like this, when he lifted the emotional curtain ever so slightly and the depth of his loneliness showed, the effort to hold still and just be there left her breathless.  The instinctive compassion she felt would only hasten his retreat back into stoicism if she let it show.

He shrugged and poured the both of them more tea. "So, how has work been? I'm sorry I haven't seen much of you this week. Our schedules do seem not to mesh quite often."

"I know.  I've missed you, in spite of being busy sorting through reports of unusual happenings."

He moved over to sit beside her on the chintz covered sofa, reaching out to push a curl away from her face. "Blackheath has been my bane this week. They're trying to convince me to become more involved."

"With Laz no longer available, you're even more valuable.  You could sic them on Baz and Tsura instead," she offered.

"I haven't the heart. I've not that much to distract me, and Baz certainly has. They're a lovely couple. Who would have thought Tsura could manage to hold London in the palm of her hand?"  He was smiling as he said it. "She has a gift for diplomacy, making every old world-weary Whitehaller feel young again. Or at least wish he were."

"He certainly saw far more there than anyone else did.  Do you need distracting?"

"Is that an offer?" he asked softly.

She set her teacup aside.  "It is," she said, caressing his face with her fingertips.

There was a knock at the drawing room door and a rather tottering fellow stuck his head through the door. "Dinner, milord. In the morning room as you instructed me."  He sounded as if he entirely disapproved of such an outlandish thing.  He withdrew before Ian could draw breath to respond.

"Damn and blast. Cook would never forgive me if I showed up and skipped dinner. I do hope you won't mind. Perhaps afterwards we can make an early night of it."  He stood and helped Betty Jo to her feet. "I have no idea why I keep them on.  Withers totters about and drinks my brandy and Cook orders me about. I've tried to pension him off three times but he won't go."

She laughed and kissed him.  "I don't mind.  As they say, hunger makes the best sauce."

"Do they say that?" he asked as she showed her into a pleasant room that looked a bit less formal. A small table was set for the two of them, candlelit, Mary standing by to serve, smiling at them. Ian seated Betty Jo and then gave himself over to the formality of an old sort of manor dinner, even if it were in something less formal than a grand dining room. Wine with each course, easy conversation, dishes served on expensive and old dinnerware, the glassware equally impressive.

When pudding finally arrived, a light parfait thankfully, Ian sat back and sipped his dessert wine. "Next time we escape and run down to the local pub for bangers and mash."

"The phallic symbol of Britain with the bangers stuck upright into the mounds of mash, followed by spotted dick for dessert.  I can handle that."

"The publican would have a heart attack. The name of the place is the Red Lion, but not the usual sort of red lion, I'm afraid. The old sign showed a lion lying on a bloody field, his life's blood leaking out over his chest and making a ghastly red river.  The local little old lady society revived the bloody old sign and instead of a nice pleasant red lion rampant swinging in front of the pub, there's the dead one. The area has always been a hot bed of revolutionaries."

"I'm sure you fit right in with the revolutionaries while also managing quite well with the local Women's Institute teas and the village fete," she said.  She set her spoon aside, smiling at him across the expanse of creamy damask.   "Still you could cast a spell on the sign and change the river into something else."

"Are you finished? Let's walk outside for a bit. I'd like to stretch my legs a little."  She held out her hand and he pulled her to her feet, wrapping an arm around her and taking her out the French doors in the morning room out onto a rather forlorn looking stone patio that overlooked the grounds. They strolled toward the edge of the patio, where a low stone balustrade marked the edge of the patio, opening only for a set of stone stairs leading down to the garden.   "I do miss the fresh air here."

"It's lovely.  And even more so soon when it all blooms again."

"Sod all. I should sell the ruddy place," he replied. "This was a mistake."

Betty Jo didn't say anything for moment.  Instead she studied the shapes of the garden, shadows in the darkness waiting for light and the full appearance of spring.  Then she moved to stand facing him, close enough that her breasts just brushed his chest.  "Then forget it and kiss me instead," she said.

He did with passion.  When the kiss finally broke, he asked, "Bedroom?"

She nodded and pulled his mouth close again. He magicked them to the bedroom and was working on her clothes in a heartbeat. He seemed disinclined to use magic to remove them so she worked on his buttons and zipper as he worked on hers. They were laughing at themselves when they fell onto the bed.

After, the moon hung high and soft in the sky, lighting the room and glinting silver off her skin while she lay, content as a feline in sunshine, her legs tangled in his and the sheets.  She indulged herself, cataloging the changing feel of the textures and planes of his chest, listening to his heart beat, steady and slowing under her cheek.  If making love was what it took to snap him out of his melancholy she was happy to oblige. 

"Hmmm," he murmured, kissing the top of her head. "Don't stop."

"Okay," she said, kissing the nearest patch of skin.  She took a deep breath, filling herself with the smell of him, male and tangy all the way through with a tart middle note while she kissed him again and expanded her field of exploration, her hand drifting in widening arcs across his chest and abdomen.  "I love you," she said softly. 

"Yes, you most certainly just did. And quite thoroughly, I might add." He smiled down at her. "I do wish we could manage to see one another more often. I've no idea if that would be a good thing for you, but you are most assuredly a good thing for me."

"It would be wonderful," she said.  "I'm open to any and all suggestions since you are a very good thing indeed for me."

"With you working for the Zoo and me.. well it seems fairly impossible," he said with a sigh.

"I don't know.  Maybe it just requires creativity."

"Such as?" he asked, interested.

"Well first would you answer a question?  Honestly and without censoring your answer?"

"If I can. No, don't look at me like that. I'm not someone who thinks deeply about everything. If I've thought something through and know then I will tell you. That I will promise you."

"If every option in the world, every one conceivable were open to you -- to us -- so we could spend more time together, which one do you want the most?  Which one would make you happiest, no matter what it is or whether you think it's possible?  Even if it's one you're afraid to want because you think you can't have it."

"You being with me every night," he replied.

She sat up and looked down at him, marveling.  Someday she'd make him pay for how hard he made her work at this relationship.  "I can't move in tomorrow, but I could the day after."

"I .. ah... I thought... ah, are you sure?"

"Yes, as long as you're sure you want me here.  Sure that that will make you happy."

He met her eyes for an uncomfortably long time before saying, "We can't guarantee much in the world. We might hate living together. I've been on my own for a very long time. Edwards is bossy. But, yes, it is something I certainly would be interested in trying, if you can settle for that."

"Settle for?  As opposed to being married?" she asked carefully.

"It would seem to me," he replied neutrally, "that marriage is what you deserve. It is not something I can offer. Not now. Perhaps not ever. I'm not certain, feelings aside, that .. that this would be wise for you. I want you to be happy. Respected. Loved. Fulfilled. That last.. I'm not certain I can give that to you in a relationship."

"Fortunately I don't expect you to," she said, lightly.  Then she sighed, lapsing into silence.  "I know," she said each word chosen and deliberate, pulling her eyes back from the window and herself from the middle distance, "have known almost as long as we've been seeing each other that I could get badly hurt.  That the time may come when I have to make a choice between you and things like marriage and children of my own.  It's a risk I've accepted for myself.  But I can't accept it for you."

"Marriage, and children..." he said, staring out into the night himself now. "You deserve both. So I don't understand why.. why you risk not having them and tying yourself to someone who isn't at all certain he wants either. Again."

She thought again, longer this time.  "To tell you that it's because of who you are and what I think we share together is to both explain it and to explain nothing, so let me try this... All those things that go into you not knowing if you'll ever want marriage or children again are part of the things that make you you -- and it's you I love, not some hypothetical person you might become or that I might make you into.  I can only love you the way I want to love you, the way you deserve to be loved and in a way that chooses to want the best there is for you, if I love all of you, exactly as you are."

"Darling.. Betty Jo. I truly do not deserve you. But, as I love you, then by all means, move in when you can. I'll break the news to Edwards tomorrow when I return to London. Prepare for effusive rejoicing."

"Tell him I'll try not to be any trouble at all and if I am all he has to do is tell me," she said, controlling her voice with an effort.

"He adores trouble. Watch him, or he'll be giving you wardrobe advice," Ian warned her, with a straight face.

"I'm sure it will be exactly what I need."

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Ian laughed and then wrapped her up in his arms.

"I won't," she promised, hugging him tightly.  "Who's telling daddy?"

Billie Jo turned her key in the lock of her apartment and went in, flicking the lights on as she went by.  "Thanks for bringing me, I appreciate it," she said to Leroy.  "I just need to grab a few things, so make yourself comfortable.  Want some coffee or a drink or something?"

"Uhm, wait a minute," Leroy said. "I'm going to be heading to London first thing so I'm not going back to New Orleans tonight. I already told Mama, so she won't worry. You'll have to call Joe. Sorry. Don't have his cell number with me."

"When did London come up and what's it about?" she asked.

"Well, I was chatting with Betty Jo and Ian happened to be standing there too. I mentioned how we haven't been able to get anything on Alec and he suggested maybe Alec isn't a Frenchman at all, that maybe he was working for either the Brits or the Americans. I figured you could work the American angle and I'd head on over to London and delve into the Brit side of things."

"Oh, you figured.  And that's all this is, is you having to go to London?"

"It's all what is?" Leroy asked sauntering over to her refrigerator and extracting a beer. He popped the lid off the longneck.

"You not going back to New Orleans tonight.  This doesn't have anything to do with you not approving of me seeing Joe?" she asked, her expression skeptical.

"It's beside the point," Leroy replied.

"Really," she said.  "I think you're glad of the excuse."

He colored. "And if I am?"

"I don't know," she said.  "I just don't understand what you have against him.  I mean just because she was his student doesn't make him a bad guy."

"I don't know if he is a bad guy, Billie.  But what if he is? It's not professional for one thing to .. I mean, I can understand it if you .. I'm not perfect, but... but I screwed up and .. and... It's just not a good idea, okay?"

"You're right," she snapped, "we're not supposed to get involved with people associated with an ongoing investigation.  But it happens all the time.  And it's not as if I'll be around after it's all over and can just wait 'til then to date him."

"And when you aren't around to date him? It's gotta end eventually."

"We'll figure something out," she said, her arms folded defensively.   "At least I know there's something that needs to be figured out.  I don't have to wonder about a what if."

"Whaddaya mean? Don't have to wonder what if what?"

"If I'd never taken the risk, never dated him and just left New Orleans when the job was done I'd never know that I...that he...that we might have something worth making an effort for," she finished, her face flushed.

"Oh honey," he said miserably. "You're in love with him."

"Maybe, I don't know, but what if I am?  Is it a crime?"

He collapsed down into one of her chairs, staring at his bottle. "No. So long as he's clear of all this, then no, it's ... I want you to be happy, sweetie. I just think, you know... you ought to take it a bit slower is all. Maybe give it some thought?"

"It's not like I'm trying on wedding dresses, Leroy.  So I don't see why you can't take me back to New Orleans and leave from there for London."

"Yeah, well, I've got a date tonight myself." With a bottle, is what he added in his head.

"Well then don't let me keep you," she said.  "I wouldn't want you to be late for your date on my account."

"Okay. You... Will you be okay?"

"Yes, I'll be fine."  She walked over and held the door for him.  "Let me know what happens in London."

"Okay.  Night," he said and walked away. He jumped when she slammed the door shut.

She glared at the other side of it and then went to call Joe, telling him she wouldn't be back in New Orleans tonight and maybe, she warned him, not tomorrow either.  She didn't for a minute believe Leroy had a date or that this was about being in London tomorrow.  He didn't approve, his protectiveness was in full spate and he was interfering.  It made her want to grind her teeth.  Instead she got a beer out of the fridge and went downstairs to Bobbie's apartment, seeking sympathy and understanding.  When she went back upstairs to go to bed she realized that she'd gotten neither.  It was a point she was still pondering when she fell asleep.