- May I beg your indulgence and request to speak alone with you?

- Alone, Tom Fowle?

What conversation could be so important it requires a private assignation?

(gentle music) - Well... - [Jane] Our once peaceful rectory has been consumed by such a riot of celebration, it is hard to find a quiet place in which to write.

(people chattering) (upbeat music) There is so much joy and delight about as to make me feel quite sick and wicked.

- Well, he'd never find a better peach to pick than you.

Such an accomplished young lady, as my eldest daughter, would be an asset to any man.

- But poor Jane.

We're not sure what's going to become of her.

- Mama!

Jane is in the room.

I knew it.

Your brother has not looked at me once, not since the moment we arrived.

- He's simply talking with friends.

- It's not entirely unreasonable of him to be sociable.

It is after all a social event.

- Mr.

Hobday is so clever, Aunt Jane.

- Is he now?

- He knows everything.

- Does he now?

- [Anna] Aunt Cassy drew a sketch of him.

- Did she now?

I have no intention of taking tea with Mrs.

Hobday or anyone for that matter.

I'm far too busy.

I have a chapter I must finish.

Perhaps he's hoping his reputation for hysteria will travel and drum up more gullible trade from out of town.

It was vulgar and excessive.

What did you think Mr.

Hobday?

- Jane, you cannot ask Mr.

Hobday of his opinion when you've been so sure of your own.

Do forgive my sister, Mr.

Hobday.

She's not usually quite so outspoken.

- I'm can assure you, she certainly is, Mr.

Hobday, - Was I delightful?

- No.

You were frightful.

- As frightful as I was to Mr.

Blackhall?

- Nobody in the history of social intercourse has been as frightful to anyone as you were to Mr.

Blackhall.

- Sorry.

I appear to have spoken in error.

Cassy has no suitor, especially no suitor by the name of Henry or Hobday.

- Come now.

You are making your sister uncomfortable.

Besides, I've seen no evidence of any such romance.

- That's because it's a deep secret known only to the whole of Sidmouth.

(both laugh) He is a man of excellent taste.

In fact, he appears to be the model of perfection, which, if I may say, is most infuriating.

For, you know, as a woman of many faults, I abhor faultlessness in others.

(bright music) (pen scratching)