The hushed tones being murmured over open copies of Tuesday morning's Wall Street Journal and New York Times bespoke of generations of fine breeding, the fact that the Stock Market had yet to open, and the slippage of more than one dental bridge.

The Heritage Club of Grantham was a gentleman's club of long-standing. It had recently opened its membership to women when it begrudgingly recognized that the number of new initiates had been dwindling to less than a handful. There was also the pressing issue of plumbing that needed serious updating.

But if women could now claim the right to have well-done hamburgers on white bread with soggy coleslaw and a bread-and-butter pickle on the side, the genteelly shabby atmosphere remained ardently male. The oil paintings of fox hunting scenes and dark landscapes of Scottish fens and brooding skies, as well as the availability of members-only pipe tobacco, didn't hurt either.

J.C. and Liam had spent the rest of Monday hashing out the various options that the patriarch of the Borden family, Edward -- known as Ned, according to Liam -- might be willing to consider. The various scenarios all had certain elements in common, namely allowing him to reap the best possible financial and tax benefits, retaining some use of the property for the family if he so desired, and preventing developers from plowing under the fields and erecting a gated community with million-dollar mansions with a cutesy, Englishy-sounding names like Corgi-on-Thames and David Copper Fields Forever.

Afterwards, J.C. crunched the numbers while Liam went to schmooze some state land-preservation groups and arrange an appointment with Good Old Ned.

When they met the next morning in front of the heavy double doors to the Heritage Club -- J.C. with facts and figures weighing down her briefcase, Liam, wearing a smile -- they were ready to woo Ned Borden over a breakfast appointment.

Liam held open the door. "My, don't you look chipper. Your shoes match the rosy color in your cheeks."

"Yes, well, I decided on something traditional for the occasion." J.C. wore two-toned spectator pumps, but instead of the usual navy and white, hers were, what else, red and white.

She narrowed her eyes. "As for the coloring in my cheeks, I got that because the person I am looking at right now had parked in my usual space in the office lot. I ended up in some bitzy spot in the parking garage. And let me tell you if some half-comatose idiot, suffering from a big night at TGI-Friday's, makes too wide a turn with his Dodge Durango and dings the fender of my Beemer, I'm going to be totally pissed off-" Liam coughed at this point, but it didn't seem to slow down J.C.'s rhythm "-almost as pissed off as I was having to run to make this appointment, seeing as I was parked clear on the other side of town. So that's why I have color in my cheeks, as you so charmingly put it."

She passed through the door onto the carpeted entryway and waited for Liam to make some half-hearted excuse, along the lines of Baldy/Triple A assuring him he could park there.

"I'm sorry, Baldy assured me I could park there," he said from behind her shoulder.

See?

"Liam, I'd know you anywhere. You're the spitting image of your father." A lanky older man, his soft white curls set off by to his deep tan, sprang from one of the club's sagging leather couches. His posture was ramrod straight as he held out a steady hand on which J.C. noticed a Grantham University signet ring.

Liam shook hands. "Mr. Borden, it's been quite a while. Since Seldon's coming out party, I believe."

"That long ago, was it? Since then she managed to extend her college education for at least six years, then spent time finding herself in Bali. Now she teaches at the Waldorf School in Hanover, New Hampshire, where she's married to a lute player and has twin boys."

"Twin boys, you say?"

It was the lute player part that intrigued J.C.

"I don't know if you've met my colleague at Armstrong & Shreveton, J.C. Schubach?" Liam turned to J.C. "J.C., this is Edward Borden."

"Please, call me Ned. If we're going to break bread together, we might as well be on friendly terms." He guided J.C. by the elbow into the dining room, which, she had to admit, looked pretty nice with the sunshine pouring in through the multi-paned arched windows and bouncing off the snowy-white table linens.

Almost as soon as they were seated at a table by a window in the far corner -- "This way we won't be disturbed in case one of the other ancient members has a heart attack over his stewed prunes," Ned informed them with a wink -- a liveried waiter appeared bearing a sterling silver tray and items for coffee.

"Coffee, madam?" he inquired so discreetly that J.C. almost didn't hear him. She was bent over, arranging her briefcase at her feet.

"That would be great, thank you," she replied. Focused on pulling out her various manila folders, she didn't notice the waiter hesitate.

Liam stepped in. "She'll have black with three sugars," he informed him.

J.C. popped her head back up and rested the folders on the table next to her place setting. She turned to Liam. "Oh, thanks, I didn't see him there." There was a stray dog hair on the sleeve of his suit jacket, and she automatically picked it off.

Ned, watching this interaction with gimlet eyes, addressed the waiter, "George, just decaf for me, and I'll have All Bran with skim milk and dry whole wheat toast. My guests here are too young to suffer such indignities and might like something like eggs and bacon."

"I usually don't eat much for breakfast," J.C. protested politely, spreading her napkin on her lap. It was large enough to swaddle a sumo wrestler.

Ned leaned toward her. His hands rested on the barrel-shaped handles of his fork and knife. "Please, humor me. My wife doesn't allow me near nitrates, and just the smell of bacon will put me in a good mood."

How could they refuse, even Liam with his macrobiotic sensibilities? So they all tucked into the lukewarm food and performed the ritual of small talk before getting down to business.

"I was sorry to hear about your cousin Patch's problems," Ned said as he sipped his decaf sweetened with Equal with something less than relish.

Liam swallowed. The mouthful of scrambled eggs lodged against his epiglottis. "We all were."

J.C. stared between the two men, waiting for someone to elaborate on these cryptic comments, but none was forthcoming.

"So how are your folks enjoying having all their grandchild underfoot?" Ned asked, happy to change the subject.

"Actually, they're spending most of their time on the golf course at Scottsdale these days."

"Your father's knees not holding up for tennis anymore?"

"Exactly, but don't tell him that."

Ned nodded and turned to J.C. "Liam's father was club champion for five years running. Didn't he team with your mother in the mixed, as well?"

Liam nodded. "Yes, they won the mixed doubles four times. Mother always claimed she was the one carrying him."

Ned laughed and patted his mouth with his napkin. "That sounds like your mother. Always leading the charge. As I recall, she once rallied her fellow members of the Gardening Club to lie down in the middle of access road into Grantham, protesting its proposed expansion to four lanes, an expansion which would have endangered several stately elms. She won, of course. No one has the nerve to arrest women wearing double strands of pearls." Ned rested his napkin on the table and got that faraway grin that old people get when they recall pleasant memories.

Then he turned to J.C. "And do you come from around here, also?"

J.C. hedged with a shrug of her shoulder. "Yes and no. I grew up in Hightstown, on the other side of Route One. Clubs in our neck of the woods weren't so much into tennis and gardening, more like the Gruppo di Bocce and the German-American Gun Club."

Liam cleared his throat. "Actually, J.C.'s late mother was an avid gardener. You should see her daffodil collection."

"Really? More in common than you would have thought." Ned looked between the two of them. "And do you take after her? I mean, having an interest in gardening?"

"No, I leave that to Liam." She turned to her right. "Don't I?"

Their eyes locked. J.C. pictured him sweating and grunting - and that was only partially to do with planting the flowers. Liam pictured her watching intently, offering advice -- and none of it had to do with his gardening skills.

Ned coughed. "Yes, I see. Well, I suppose this meeting is about business, and as much as I'd like to put off divesting myself of the farm, I suppose we have to start somewhere."

Liam adjusted his tie. "Of course." The warmth he was feeling had nothing to do with the sun streaming in through the window. "J.C. and I have come up with several ways to preserve your property, and prevent future development."

He looked over his shoulder, cueing J.C. to bring out the first document.

Which was really a bummer since her hands had suddenly become all clammy. "Sticky little buggers," she said as she wrestled with the paper clip.

Ned reached for a pair of tortoise-shell reading glasses in the pocket of his blue blazer and studied the sheet J.C. had handed him.

"If you'll note," Liam went on, "we've put together several options. I know they might seem a little complicated, but once you get the hang of it, it's pretty straight forward."

He used his index finger to run down his own copy of the list. "The first is a conservation easement, where the landowner retains the property, but subdivision and development are prohibited. In the case of an easement, another agency acts as a steward for the property, monitoring the restrictions with all future owners, while you, the original owner, have the right to retain development rights for a portion of the property, such as around the house, or for farming."

"So, with this option, you or your heirs could still live on or work part of the farm," J.C. picked up the explanation. "The other options, though, involve an actual shift in ownership for the entire property. For instance, the second option is called a fee simple acquisition, which transfers the deed of ownership through a sale or gift to another entity, such as a land-preservation group, and they then make sure that the land use is restricted. The third option is a reserved life estate, where you deed the property to another group again, but this time you retain use of the land during your lifetime. And the last alternative is an outright bequest, where the property deed is transferred only at the time of your death."

"It's important to note that all these options are financially viable, while at the same time protecting against future development," Liam stressed. "Each, to a greater or lesser degree will allow you to reap substantial savings in property taxes, get the usual tax savings for making a charitable gift, as well as saving hugely on estate and inheritance taxes."

Ned removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "This is all a little technical for someone like myself. I may have a degree from Grantham University, but business and numbers were never my strong suit. I majored in Greek, not exactly the best preparation in the world for managing money. Luckily, I had other people to do that for me."

J.C. didn't want to argue, but she got the distinct impression that if push came to shove, he could probably balance his checkbook. It was more a question of why bother when it was always going to be in the black?

"Which is why I went to Baldy in the first place. Now what I want to know is what exactly do you recommend I do."

Liam rested his forearms on the edge of the table. "As we understand it, no one has lived or worked on the farm in quite some time."

Ned nodded. "That's right. We've moved to an apartment in town on Heritage Square, over the Lindt chocolate shop. I go there for free samples when my wife is at the supermarket."

Liam bit back a smile. "And none of your heirs are interested in living on the farm property in the future, correct?"

Ned fiddled with his glasses. "Times change. What is the line from the old song? How are you going to keep them down on the farm once they've seen Par--ee?"

"Or Bal-ee," J.C. responded.

Ned sighed a smile. "Exactly."

"That being the case, Mr. Borden, sorry, Ned," she continued, "we recommend option two -- a fee simple acquisition, shifting the ownership immediately to a non-profit agency or public park system."

She pulled another sheaf of documents from her briefcase. "I know you've mentioned your preference not to deal with numbers, but you might find them interesting, nonetheless. I ran a bunch of spread sheets, breaking down the costs versus various gains if you took this option." She passed around the documents, and for J.C.'s sake, Ned put his glasses back on.

"While you look at that, why don't I just mention that I've already looked into a number of non-profit land preservation agencies in the state that handle this type of transaction," Liam said. Ned had a glazed expression on his face as he studied the numbers.

J.C. sat back in her chair and leaned her head sideways. "You didn't tell me you'd done all that?"

"I didn't want to bother you. You were pretty tied up running the numbers. I thought the smartest thing I could do was to lay low. By the way, did you get the take-out Chinese I left on your desk? It looked like you'd stepped out when I stopped by."

"Oh, yeah. I'd gone to get more coffee. The stuff in the office is undrinkable." She chewed off some of her red lipstick - actually Phoebe's Chanel red lipstick. "The moo shoo pork really hit the spot, by the way. Especially the extra pancakes."

He shrugged. "I'm glad."

"In case you're interested, I saved my fortune cookies for you. I figured it was the least I could do."

He smiled. She smiled back tentatively. Under other circumstances, he would have reached for her hand under the table, leant over and whispered into her ear the various things they could do for each other...

Ned cleared his throat. J.C. and Liam snapped their heads to attention. And Liam noticed that Ned had the same kind of smile his own father had displayed when he'd walked Becca down the aisle of the Grantham Presbyterian Church.

Oh, my God. He coughed into his hand. "Yes, about the land preservation agencies. One in particular is a group that has mainly focused on the Sourland Mountains, but it's interested in expanding its network. It has a very good track record at putting together these types of deals, in terms of obtaining the necessary funding from state and local organizations and then monitoring the proper use of the properties afterwards," he went on. J.C. he noticed had taken a sudden interest in a particular column of figures. "Anyway, I talked with the director of the group on the phone at length yesterday, and he seemed very excited. As a Grantham alum-"

Ned's interest visibly picked up. He immediately abandoned the document. "Really, what class?"

"Seventy-six, I think."

"That'd be the same as my nephew Kirby. I wonder if they knew each other. If he rowed crew, they definitely know each other."

"Yes, well, I'm sure I can find out. Anyway, he's excited about preserving your farm not only because of its proximity to the university, but because it turns out he's about to step down, and he would like to think he had a hand in preserving an important piece of New Jersey heritage, a kind of crowning achievement before retiring. With your permission, then, I was going to go up and meet him."

"That won't be necessary," Ned replied.

Liam paused. "Pardon me?" J.C., he noticed, looked up sharply at this news.

Ned motioned to the waiter for the bill. "I said that won't be necessary. When I spoke to Baldy about selling off the place last week, he suggested using this particular group. Said they could handle something called a bargain sale?" He looked back and forth between Liam and J.C. "I'm sorry, did I catch you off guard with this information?"

Liam turned to J.C., but she shook her head. He looked back at Ned. "Not to worry, it means we're simply a step ahead of where we thought we were."

"And the idea of having a bargain sale is a good one," J.C. added. "It simply means you'd sell the property at less than fair market value. This assures a lower capital gains tax, and the difference qualifies you for a tax deduction, which you can spread over six years -- not to mention the saving in estate taxes, as well."

She held up her paper. "In fact, if you look at column six on the spreadsheet, you'll see it's something I had already planned to discuss with you."

Liam tapped a finger to his lips. "Hold up a minute." He saw J.C. raise a questioning eyebrow. "We'll get back to the number in a moment." He lowered his hand to the table and squinted at Ned. "I'd just like to clear up one thing first. This agency Baldy happened to suggest to you."

"Agency?" Ned asked, signing the bill with his membership number and handing it back to the waiter, who glided away with an understated grace.

"Yeah, the outfit that would handle the property after the sale? You wouldn't happen to remember its name, would you?"

Ned placed his folded napkin on the table. "Something along the lines of Land for Generations, I think. I'm not quite sure. Baldy would have the details, of course."

"Of course." Liam nodded and looked over to J.C., ready for her to continue. Only she was caught up in the numbers again. "J.C.? You wanted to discuss the spreadsheet with Ned?" He tapped her on her sleeve.

J.C. startled at his touch. Lifting her head, she saw him focusing intently on her.

Yeah. She sat up straighter. "Right. The numbers." She glanced down at the sheet, then back to Ned. "I was just wondering, the amount here, for the bargain sale price-" she pointed to the right place on Ned's copy "-- did you suggest it to Baldy -- I don't know -- based on your own tax records or certain bank documents or maybe an idea you may have had already?"

Ned rubbed his chin and peered at the column of numbers. Then he lowered the paper. "Heavens no. I wouldn't go near numbers that large. My wife always refuses to let me hold the paddle at an auction because she knows I have no concept of more than one zero in a row."

"So maybe this group you mentioned, Land for Generations or some other appraiser, supplied the evaluation figures of the property, both the actual value and the suggested bargain sale price?" she asked.

"I suppose that's possible. I can only presume that Baldy had them worked up by either this group or someone else with that kind of knowledge. That's not going to be a problem, is it?"

Liam shook his head reassuringly. "Nothing that should concern you. I think J.C. is merely attempting to confirm the origin of the numbers, you know, crossing all the Ts and dotting all the Is, as she likes to say."

J.C. swiveled her neck toward Liam and didn't blink. "You think?"

Liam lowered his forehead and looked over his eyebrows. "I think I know your penchant for numbers."

"Penchant?" She raised her eyebrows. "And you, such a way with words."

Ned removed his reading glasses and placed them on the table. He looked back and forth between the two of them. "As interesting as this all is, I'm afraid I have another appointment that I have to go to -- my urologist. Old age is nothing but a series of indignities."

He rose, and Liam and Phoebe followed suit. Ned smiled on them both. "It's been a real pleasure talking with you. I have just one request before I leave. I'm afraid I'm a terrible throwback. I told you I majored in Greek, didn't I?"

They nodded. And stared politely, waiting.

"Oh, yes," Ned refocused his train of thought. "I was just wondering when you two have set the date?"

"We're shooting for next Monday," J.C. answered. She saw he'd left his spectacles on the table. "Your glasses," pointed out.

"Oh, thank you." He slipped them in his pocket. "But won't that be horribly inconvenient?"

J.C. looked to Liam, confused.

Liam looked to Ned for enlightenment. "I'm not sure what you're getting at, sir?"

Ned straightened his bow tie. "I would have thought your wedding plans would interfere with the property closing?"