By Rhonda, the Chief Acolyte

Part Four

Henry, in full evening dress, entered the room from the other entrance, and greeted his wife with a bow. "Good evening, dearest. I was hoping that you would find your way here." He tilted his head and smiled, his still-damp hair flopping over to one side.

Catherine, with her arms full of flowers, grinned. "Oh, Henry, where did you get these?" she said, motioning to the flowers in her arms.

"I called on Sir Thomas on my way home, to discuss some parish business, and found him in his hothouse. I never realized that Sir Thomas was such a botanist. He has an extensive collection of rare and exotic plants, as well as native ones, in the hothouse, and quite the garden outside. The idea to bring home flowers for you that did not necessarily match, but had meaning, was formed while I was talking to him," Henry explained. "The weather was so bad that I was worried they would be ruined before you received them, but they did well."

He paused, looking at his wife intently. "This would look better here," he said as he placed forget-me-not in Catherine's hair. "Although, it looks rather pathetic and shabby when compared to you."

Catherine blushed. "I am afraid my dress does not do justice to the flowers- I am not dressed for dinner yet."

"Afternoon or evening, you still look beautiful. But, perhaps you might want to go dress," Henry said. "And when you return, madam, I would be honored if you would dance with me."

Catherine grinned, biting her lip, and consenting, ran off to dress herself.

The shock Henry Tilney received on the return of his wife was considerable. Her dress was maroon, complementing her dark hair, in which the flowers he gave her were arranged as a crown. Her cheeks were rosy with excitement, and her mouth was set with a little smile. He unconsciously straightened up, catching his breath.

"Oh, my, Catherine, you look stunning."

She gazed at him, not with her typical wide-eyed look of innocence, but with one that sparkled with expectation. "Thank you, Henry," she responded, absent-mindedly twirling a curl at the bast of her neck. "Or should I call you Prince Charming? Because I feel like royalty right now."

"I would rather be Prince Charming than the wolf that eats little goats, my dear," he teased, reminding Catherine of that afternoon's events. He smiled. "Are you ready for the ball, Cinderella?"

Henry took her hand and led her to the parlor, where Mrs. Herring, the housekeeper, was playing a waltz. There Catherine's day of enjoyment, and of stress, melted away as she danced a fairy tale dance within the arms of her handsome prince.

finis

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