Subj: Quentin (II) and Daphne -- 1
Date: 2/16/99 4:55:21 PM Central Standard Time
From: DSRules

Author's Note:

Remember, Quentin II is actually Tad's grandson, not Quentin I & Daphne's!

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1881

It was nearly noon, and Quentin, a freshman in college, had just returned from spending Friday night (and most of Saturday morning) carousing with his friends. As he stepped through the front door of his boarding house, he bumped into a woman waiting in the entryway.

"I'm sorry! Were you looking for someone?" He asked in his most courteous tones.

"Yes, I was, Quentin. I was looking for you."

"How did you know my name?"

She turned her sparkling brown eyes up to him, smiled, and said, "Because you look just like your grandfather. His name was Quentin, also." Although she was far older than he, there was something about her eyes that held him transfixed as she stared up at him.

He finally shook his fixation long enough to ask, "And how did you know my grandfather?"

"I was married to him. I'm . . . your grandmother. Daphne Collins."

Quentin was struck speechless momentarily as memories of the family legends around Daphne Harridge Collins flashed through his mind. He had always scoffed at the family tales of how beautiful his grandmother was, how she had stolen his grandfather's heart the first time he saw her, and how he had to fend off other suitors, including his own best friend, to have her. But after meeting her, he no longer doubted a single word of those legends.

"I came to ask you to lunch, since it's not every day I meet my grandson for the first time. But you don't look ready to do much besides crawl into bed and go to sleep."

Quentin should have been shocked by a lady speaking so plainly, but somehow her bluntness suited her. He suspected that she never said anything she didn't mean, and, although he was very much guilty of saying things he didn't mean, and meaning things that he didn't say, he could respect integrity in other people. "Well, Grandmother," he replied. "Give me a few minutes to get cleaned up and I'll be all yours." He winced as he said this, fearing that she'd pick up on how attracted he felt towards her.

She looked at him, amusement evident in her brown eyes, and said, "Go on then. I'll be down here waiting for you."

Quentin practically flew up the stairs. He washed, shaved, changed into clean clothes and was back downstairs in record time.

"Well! That was quick!" Daphne said with a smile when he returned to her side.

Taking a gamble that a cross between his gallant and self-confident personas would be best received by his grandmother, he offered her his arm, and they left for lunch.

Quentin wasn't sure what he had expected from lunch with Daphne Harridge Collins, but what he got was a very pleasant surprise indeed. She was intelligent and personable, and he wanted to do whatever he could to make sure she invited him out to lunch more often.

As they left the restaurant, he heard himself saying, "I wish you were closer to my age." He had no idea what had prompted him to say such a thing, but he knew that it was the truth as soon as the words left his mouth, for if she were his own age, she wouldn't be his grandmother and, therefore, he could, and would, pursue her romantically.

Daphne was silent for a long moment, and then she said, "I'm not sure I understand what you mean."

He couldn't admit to his attraction to her, so he just blurted out the first thing that came into his head. "I just meant that you're so intelligent, the world's opening up for women. A few even attend college with me -- "

"Oh, so you *do* go to classes sometimes, then!" Daphne interrupted.

"Occasionally," he grinned at her. "But you could be nearly anything you want to be -- there are even a few women doctors these days."

"I know. I was friends with one once," she said, thinking of Julia Hoffman Collins.

When they arrived back at the college, Daphne said, "You're so intelligent, Quentin. I wish you'd spend more time in the classroom and less time down on the East End."

Quentin was very touched both that she felt that way, and that she'd bothered to say something to him about it. His suave, self-confident façade cracked for a moment. "Really?"

Daphne nodded. "Yes."

Then, just as quickly as the façade had disappeared, it was back in place. "Your wish is my command," he picked up her gloved hand, holding it just a tiny bit longer than he needed to, wishing he could hold it forever. Fearing that he'd never see her again, he memorized the warmth of her hand as it filtered through the glove and the sparkle in her eyes as she looked up at
him. Then he released her hand and mounted the steps of the boarding house.

"Quentin!" Daphne called out behind him. When he turned around, she asked, "If you aren't doing anything this time next week, I was wondering if you'd be available for lunch next Saturday."

His heart skipped a beat. "I wouldn't miss it for the world," he replied. Feeling light-headed, Quentin opened the door to the house and disappeared inside.

* * * * *

The next week flew by -- mostly because Quentin attended classes and applied himself to his studies that week. The next thing he knew, it was Saturday, and he was on his way to Daphne's for lunch.

"So, how was the wine, women and song last night?" Daphne asked in a jovial yet still somehow disapproving tone.

"Actually, my friends went out without me last night. Midterms start on Monday, and I need all of the time I can get to prepare for them."

Daphne was very pleasantly surprised by this announcement. "You mean that you've decided to take your studies seriously?"

Quentin preened under Daphne's approval, but tried hard not to show it. "Well, I figure that I should at least give it a chance."

"Have you decided what you want to do with your life?" She asked.

"I'll probably go to work at the shipyard with my father and Edward," he sighed, "but -- I know you're going to laugh."

"I won't laugh."

"You won't be able to help it. It's silly."

"I'm *not* going to laugh."

"You sure?"

Daphne rolled her eyes. "If you keep this up, I'm going to start laughing from how silly you're being about telling me. Now tell me!"

He braced himself for her response. "I want to be a writer."

"Really?" She smiled at him, but there was no ridicule in it, merely delight. "I'll bet you're a wonderful writer."

"No. I'm not really any good. It's just a hobby."

"I'd love to read something you've written."

He was flattered by her request. "Really? I'll try to bring something with me next week."

* * * * *

Throughout the next four years, Quentin spent more and more time with Daphne. Their lunches stretched into dinners, and then they began meeting on Wednesday for dinner, which often ran into the small hours of the morning. He also became her official escort to any number of functions -- parties, balls, the opera and ballet. For people who had known Daphne's late husband, it was positively eerie, seeing her with a young man who was the very image of Quentin.

He basked in her closeness, cherishing every moment he had with her -- every smile, every laugh, every time he touched her hand while helping her out of a carriage. He knew that someday her glances and touches and laughter would be gone from his life, and he wanted to keep as much of her with him as he could.

And she derived a great deal of pleasure from their time together. She never dared examine her feelings, but she knew that without him, her life would be much poorer.

Then one day, far too soon, Daphne had to finally face the fact that her companion and best friend would be returning to Collinsport. His graduation was imminent. He was young and had a whole future ahead of him. As much as she wanted to, she couldn't ask him to stay.

* * * * *

The Wednesday before Quentin's college graduation, he brought an envelope with him. "Can you believe this!" He asked, throwing the envelope down onto the table between them.

"I know, Quentin. I got one, too."

"The nerve of my family --"

"To hold a wedding for Edward and -- what was her name again -- Laura? I think they're within their rights on that."

"Not to invite either one of us to it. Just send us, his brother and his grandmother, an announcement in the mail! This, my dear grandmother, is bullshit!"

"Watch your language, Quentin!"

"And what would you call it?"

She thought for a moment. "Bullshit." She conceded.

"Thank you."

She stood up and walked around behind him, placing her hands on his shoulders and massaging gently. "You're too tense, Quentin. Your graduation is Sunday, and you have your whole future ahead of you. A wife. Children. Possibly even fame and fortune." He shook his head, and she laughed. "It has happened, you know."

He relaxed and closed his eyes, cataloguing this experience among the thousands of private moments that he and Daphne had shared, preparing to lock them away, to be brought out and relived in the future, after he had gone back to Maine.

When Quentin finally left Daphne's house early Thursday morning, he walked home slowly, not wanting to let the evening end, for as soon as Wednesday night ended, he'd be that much closer to his graduation, and the end of his time with Daphne.

{I've got to do it on Saturday,} he decided. {I've got to tell her how I feel about her. Because if I don't, I'll regret it for the rest of my life.}