Dearest William,

I do believe in love and childish fairy tales as what you would call them. I find them enchanting!

Perhaps it is because I have witnessed them come to life too many times to believe them to be true.

Mayhap, if you experience it, or merely witness it happen to those you hold dear, you will see the truth in my words.

Your friend,

Lady Weis

*****

Ysabella departed for Bertram with Lady Hayward, accompanied by two of the latter's trusted footmen.

Lady Alice had graciously given her consent. Emma, on the one hand, did not go out to bid Ysabella farewell. As a matter of fact, Ysabella had not seen Emma as much as she would have wanted to since their fight.

"Fix what you must, dear," Lady Alice had whispered when she gave her a kiss. And by the look her mother gave Ysabella before she left, she knew the woman was aware of the tension between her daughters.

She and Lady Hayward left a quiet, normal Wickhurst.

The Town Herald had been quiet that day. Mayhap her letters were still safe somewhere.

Or so she hoped.

*****

"I was afraid you are still angry over the lake incident," Aurora's gentle voice said from across the table. "You are over it, yes?" When Wakefield continued with his food without an answer, Aurora sighed. "You never came for a visit after that. And when you did after the opera, you were thinking far away that it seemed as though you are not here. If I honestly have to say, you have been quite different since the Theobald party. I wonder why. But I could not blame you, really, for everything seemed to have drastically changed after that. There is the matter about Lady Weis and worse, Ysabella started to pursue you further, even outside the usual gatherings of balls and parties. She came to the lake, she went out in the middle of the night to find you—"

Wakefield threw Aurora a look of warning.

Aurora sighed. "The lake incident was my fault. And I believe Ysabella did not deliberately provoke Adam Nimrod, William." She grabbed her glass of wine and took a small sip. As she set it back on the table, she said, "Although the incident with Adam does show that Ysabella is a child still. She does not have the experience to handle men."

"And you do, do you not?" he nearly snapped.

Aurora smiled. "Of course. You know that very well." She gave a wave of her hand. "It just bothers me that Ysabella's tiring obsession over you is not doing her any good. If you must know, she is being mocked by her friends. We were in the park the other day and they laughed at her expense in front of her. Poor girl, really."

Wakefield had the urge to ask who these friends were but stopped himself.

"And there is her avid desire to be Lady Weis. We all know Lady Weis is somewhere in hiding, yet she—"

"I do not wish to talk about this now," he said through gritted teeth.

"I am merely trying to say that I might consider finding a different circle. Ysabella would cause my reputation more damage should she continue to act like a stupid fool. I hate it when she does so and most especially when she insists she is Lady Weis."

"Remember, Aurora, that she is your friend," he pointed out, jaw clenched. "I would hate to risk everything simply because I warned her about you, one I am very much inclined to do at the moment. Tread well when you speak about anyone."

"Well, she is my friend and I adore her in most occasions! But she has a stalwart reputation while I have none! This might very well be my last chance to have at least a decent chance in society and yet I am stuck with a friend who thinks like a child! I truly wish her to be happy, but I wish her to realize that what she feels toward you is nothing close to love." She followed her statement with a low chuckle. "And you are someone who could not love someone like her."

Wakefield dropped his fork on the plate with a loud clutter, causing Aurora to flinch and shut her mouth.

With a voice so low, he said, "You seem to have grown quite a loud mouth since I found you bleeding and dying beside the street, Miss Randolph."

Aurora paled and swallowed. She blinked, lifted her chin and forced a smile. "Well, you merely have to tell me to shut up and I shall, my lord."

Wakefield gave her a mocking smile. "Then, please, Miss Randolph, do shut up."

She rolled her eyes and resumed her meal.

*****

Dear Son,

May this missive find you well.

I simply wrote to inform you that I have left for Bertram with dear Ysabella—

Wakefield's eyes widened as he glared at his mother's letter delivered to his estate.

"Morris!" he shouted at the top of his lungs as he read on:

—who has been so kind to accept my invitation to stay with me in Bertram for a fortnight.

A fortnight? He was told it was merely for one bloody week!

"Morris!" he shouted again when the butler failed to show. "Morris!"

I truly wish you could join us there, but should you choose to stay in Wickhurst, know that we shall be back soon!

Love,

Your mother

"Morris!"

The door swung open and Morris stumbled inside, heavily panting, eyes wide with alarm. The butler looked around the room as if expecting an enemy.

"When did this missive arrive?" Wakefield demanded, waving his mother's letter in the air.

Morris sighed with relief. "This morning, my lord."

"And why am I just reading it just now in the middle of the afternoon?" he demanded.

His butler blinked in confusion. "You just woke up, my lord. As a matter of fact, your breakfast has also gone cold."

He bared his upper teeth at the man.

Unmoved, Morris further added, "And there are three women sitting in your parlour today, my lord. They, of course, claim to have proof of being Lady Weis."

Wakefield closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. For a moment he forgot about his mother's letter.

Perhaps he ought to stop this foolish and pathetic search for Lady Weis. He knew she was never amongst those women. She was not the kind to beg for a minute of his time to prove who she was. If she did feel anything toward him, anything close to how she made him feel that night in the Cinderella ball, she would have burst into his doors without formal announcements. That was how he had imagined how she'd do it.

You have lost her, said one voice. Go to him, said another. Samuel Theobald. No, no. He had given his word that the man was untouchable.

Morris' voice pulled him back to the matter at hand.

"They are..." Morris said, voice trailing as he looked up the ceiling, mentally counting, "I believe, there are now over two-hundred ladies, over a hundred visits, five men—no, make that seven as two other gentlemen arrived yesterday evening to—"

"Get out, Morris. Now."

"But, my lord, your breakfast and the ladies in the parlour are—"

"Have you asked them the necessary questions?"

"Yes, my lord. They answered all perfectly. But you must know that the questions we prepared could very well now be a part of a journal on how to be Lady Weis. We must think of more tricky questions to—"

"I shall think of the questions, Morris, not you. Now, tell those ladies that they can return on the morrow."

"Yes, my lord."

"And order the valet to—"

"You fired your valet, my lord."

"When?"

"Months ago, my lord. We have not yet found a replacement."

"And why did I fire him, pray tell?"

Morris grimaced with discomfort.

"Morris, why did I bloody fire the valet?"

"Well, he—you saw him answer the door for Lady Ysabella during one of her Friday visits, my lord."

Ah, of course. He remembered it now. His face coloured when he saw Morris' amused smile. "I fired him because it was not his job to open doors, Morris."

"Of course, my lord, if that is what you believe."

He glared at the butler. "Then you do the task of packing my bags. I shall be leaving on the morrow."

"But you said to let the ladies downstairs return on the morrow, my lord."

He gave the butler a mocking smile. "Precisely, Morris. Precisely."

Understanding dawned on Morris' face. "Ah. Very good, my lord. How many days' worth of clothing should I pack?"

Wakefield stood up. "A fortnight."

*****

"Has the doctor visited today?" he asked Aurora that night.

"Yes." She looked away from him and finished her glass of wine. She was wearing one of her flimsy gowns which he suspected she wore with the intention to seduce him. But she had always been like that, mayhap because it was what she was used to. If there was anything else that had kept him from leaving her apart from the only reason why she landed in his care, it must be because she was a curious character. A complex kind who kept too many secrets, ones that any man would wish to discover. And mayhap ones that also led her to be where she was now.

She batted her blue eyes at him from across the table. "I saw the Herald article today."

He did not reply for he did not care about the bloody paper.

"It seems that Ysabella is on her way to Bertram with your mother." She let out a sigh. "It must be for the best of everyone that she stays away from Wickhurst for a while. But I do worry that your brother might take her presence there in not so a conventional manner. I believe he is not very much amiable?"

His jaw twitched. His brother may not be as amiable as he, but he had been quite vocal about his desire to consider Ysabella for a wife. And if his theory was not wrong, their mother might be a part of a conspiracy to help Thomas reach his goal by taking Ysabella to Bertram, ignorant of such plan. He merely hoped that he could arrive there in time to give the chit warning.

"I have always sensed him to be arrogant and obnoxious. He and Ysabella would clash should he provoke her childish nature."

Wakefield dropped his fork, blood rushing to his ears. "I do not wish to discuss Ysabella Everard, my mother or my brother, Aurora. I wish to discuss what the doctor said."

Aurora laughed, eyes averting his. Her pale, slender hand reached for her glass only for her to realize it was empty. She rang for the maid who immediately refilled it. "I am quite well, my lord. The doctor said I am near recovery. The bruises on my legs have disappeared, although the wound is yet to be examined again. I am waiting for the day the doctor can safely remove the stitches."

With a curt nod, William wiped his mouth with the napkin and stood.

Aurora stared at him, surprised. "Are you leaving? But you just arrived. You barely touched your food!"

"I have somewhere to go on the morrow," he replied.

"Where?"

He smiled. "Good night, Aurora. Rest well."

*****

"Go on, dear," Lady Hayward said from the chaise.

Ysabella stared down, quite terrified.

"Mayhap on another day?" asked Thomas from where he was standing behind his mother, eyes closely studying her discomfort.

"No," she said, shaking her head and clearing her throat. "I shall do it, since you both have so graciously asked and it happens to be my first night here in Bertram." She positioned her fingers on the keys, shoulders squared. "But know that I have not had a good respite since our arrival yesterday and I spent the entire day around the plantation," she added, causing both mother and son to smile at her. Thomas' was quite disturbing, but she ignored it.

She closed her eyes and scoffed at how silly she must appear, sitting in front of the pianoforte as though she had lived all her life practicing. If Emma was here, her sister would have already excused herself from the music room to find the farthest room available.

Yet Ysabella believed in her skill. Well, at least she was the one person in the world who thought that.

She cleared her throat once more and pressed the keys as she knew how, letting the sound transform to music in her ears. Her fingers remembered the keys and they danced along with the music. Sooner than she had thought, Ysabella found herself lost, along with it the worries that she took with her.

A small smile curved her lips. Mayhap coming here was the finest idea after all.

As her fingers pressed the last remaining keys, Ysabella opened her eyes with a wide grin. And then the music smoothly faded. She motioned her head to turn an expectant look at her companions.

They seemed stupefied, frozen in their spot, before they both smiled and clapped their hands.

Ysabella chuckled, stood up and graced them with an extravagant curtsy of gratitude.

"Let me be the honest person in this room and say that you do not have the talent, little one."

Ysabella froze and so did Lady Hayward and Thomas. But the latter two managed to break away from their surprise faster than she and had turned around to see Wakefield slowly walking into the room with a somewhat darkly amused look on his face.

Ysabella's wide eyes blinked a few times to check if she was merely facing an illusion. She counted the days since she had left Wickhurst. They spent a two days on the road and already a night here. If Wakefield left Wickhurst immediately after they did, then it was possible that he was here and he was not a mere illusion.

"I believe what you had in mind did not connect with your fingers and ears," he said, eyes glimmering with silent mirth. Oh, Sweet Mr. Jones he was truly here! Surely an illusion would not insult her twice, yes?

"William! That is not how you—"

Ysabella's laughter stopped the rest of Lady Hayward's words. "I believe I must concur with Lord Wakefield, my lady. I know I do not have the talent." Having finally recovered from her shock that he was here and truly here, she turned to face him, "But it ought not to stop me from thinking I am good enough, yes?"

Wakefield arched his brow and opened his mouth to reply, but Thomas' deep voice asked, "Why are you here, William?"

Ysabella turned to see Thomas frowning at his brother, his blonde hair almost the same as Thomas' only darker, eyes as blue but...again, merely darker. For a moment Ysabella thought she was looking at both the angel and the devil on both sides of a coin.

"Yes, son," Lady Hayward innocently asked, perhaps realizing too late that it was rather peculiar this specific son was here, "Whatever made you decide to grace us with your presence?"

Wakefield's expression suddenly turned wry.

"Yes, my lord," Ysabella could not help but tease, "Whyever are you here?"