Byron looked around the crowd of glittering jewels and he secretly smiled to himself.

The people aboveground were no different from those below. They cared about status and they gossiped about trivial things.

Of the many years he had been traveling back and forth above and belowground, Byron was convinced that society were all similar in nature. The only few things different here were the natural elements these people enjoyed. And the technology.

And perhaps better gowns, he noted to himself as his gaze fell upon one woman—the star of the night. The owner of the mansion he was currently standing in.

The famous actress Ellie McPhee.

"Beautiful, isn't she?" asked the stranger standing beside him. Byron did not know who he was, but he was a trusted individual who had worked with the League on a number of cases. "I believe she is one strong-willed woman."

He looked at the striking beauty clad in a tight, full-length red dress that bared her back. As she turned her head toward friends, her shoulder-length brown hair curled to perfection teased her skin.

Byron smiled. "She will be easy."

-Above and Below

*****

"What is this?" asked Wynne, glaring at the book that landed on his desk.

Samuel managed a mocking begging look. "Please, do deliver it with care. My footman struggled the entire day finding that last copy."

Wynne sighed. "This ought to be the last time, Samuel. I do have other plans other than delivering gifts and letters to your fiancée."

"I do hope this will be the last," Samuel said, suddenly excited. "Because I might just be on to something that will completely ruin Noah Trilby. Everything will be over soon!"

Wynne frowned. "And what might that be?"

"You know me. I do not give away any leads during a work on progress. All you have to know, my friend, is that I've met a man who can give me many secrets." Samuel blinked, walked away and without looking over his shoulder shouted, "Do tell Emma I will see her at the play! I will suffer through the entire bloody show, but I will be there!"

Wynne stared at the book and frowned. Had Samuel not given Emma the same copy a year ago? He remembered clearly for he was with the man when he procured it.

"Bloody bastard," he murmured as he threw the book aside to continue his article.

*****

Emma did not think much of the situation when Jefferson announced Wynne's arrival that afternoon. Samuel must still feel a tad guilty for having missed their walk to the park a few days ago and he had once more sent his friend to deliver a gift.

This time, she did not give Jefferson instructions to interrupt her and Wynne because anytime soon, her sister Maggie and her children shall be arriving for dinner. She could almost see Lord Hastings flying out the front doors at her family's arrival.

She silently entered the parlor and found him standing before the portrait of her father. He was too focused studying the painting that he did not notice her take a few steps nearer.

Emma saw that his expression was unreadable and that his shoulder did not stoop as they always did. In fact, Wynne looked comfortable, standing tall and proud with his hands behind him.

She cleared her throat and was surprised when he jumped, startled at her presence. Yet he did not react in a way she thought he would as well. She saw him jump and clearly heard the words, "Bloody tarnation, woman!"

Emma's brows rose but as Wynne resumed his awkward mien and stoop posture, she realized he was acting.

What the bloody hell was wrong with this man?

Suspicion clouded her mind and a series of explanation and possibilities raced through her.

This man could not be trusted.

Dismissing her thoughts for a while for later, Emma collected herself and proceeded to the settee as though she did not hear him curse, as though she did not suspect he was here to cause her and her family harm like many other people had attempted to do before.

If he thought she was too naïve and stupid, then she would not give him any more reason to believe otherwise.

"I believe Samuel has sent you again?" she asked, assuming an amused tone.

"Yes," Wynne replied, giving her an apologetic look. "I am sorry, my lady. I was simply startled."

"Never mind, Wynne," she said with a wave of her hand. "You have not heard me curse," she added with a wink.

He chuckled and slid the book on the table toward her. "Again, my apologies. I believe you already have a copy."

"Yes, I do." She frowned. "How did you know?"

"I was with him when he procured the first one a year ago."

"Ah, yes, of course," she wryly said, picking up the book. "I have not finished reading that one."

"Truly?"

Emma rolled her eyes. "It is about insects."

"Yes," Wynne said, fighting a smile.

"He must think that I am curious about all things. I am merely curious about many things. Insects were never amongst them." She paused and gave him a warning look. "Dare not tell him. He would merely want to find something else to compensate."

"I will not."

The sound of the carriage outside made them both turn their heads to the direction of the large window. The driveway was not in view, but Emma knew who had arrived.

Wynne, as expected, stood up with an awkward smile. "I believe this is my cue to leave—again."

Emma chuckled. "You could stay if you wish. It is my sister, Margaret, and her children."

He shook his head. "I have better things to do—" he cut himself before offering an apologetic smile. "I mean I have matters of import to attend to."

"Of course, my lord," Emma said, rising to her feet. "Please, do forgive the inconveniences Samuel throws your way. I will have a word with him about these requests of his—"

"No, please, it is of no consequence," he interjected, awkwardly fixing his large coat. She would not be surprised if the man was hiding a boar inside that coat for it was too large for him, Emma thought as she led the way to the door and into the hallway.

*****

Wynne tried his best to keep up his character. He had been slipping in and out of it inside the parlor earlier for reasons unknown to him. Perhaps it was Emma's way of looking at him as if she was reading him like she did many of her books. Or mayhap it was the many unnecessary thoughts that would come by every now and then as he would watch her speak.

She could be the Leaguer, he thought. But something also told him she could not be a Leaguer. She merely had the qualities of one.

She was dangerous, he reminded himself. As Samuel had always expressed, the woman was not like many others.

Not even like her sister, Lady Margaret, who was striding toward them with four children running about in different directions. The two little children, one boy and one girl, were already making their way above the butler who seemed to think he was looking down at the cause of his early demise.

Two grown girls were running toward Emma to give their aunt a kiss each. One was slightly older than the other, probably fifteen. Like Margaret and Emma, she had dark hair, but her eyes were not emerald green. They were a lighter shade of blue, almost grey. She was not Lady Margaret's daughter, he assumed, not just because of the eyes, but the entire features of her face.

The other one he was certain was thirteen years of age. She had black hair and deep blue eyes. There was no question who the younger girl was in Wynne's mind.

"...my sister, Lady Margaret Devitt..." Emma was saying, introducing him to her sister. "Maggie, this is Samuel's dear friend, Lord Wynne Hastings."

Wynne snapped his eyes away from the girls who were also staring back at him with interest, both with laughter in their eyes. He turned to Margaret and offered a bow. "It is my pleasure to finally be properly introduced, my lady. I greatly admire your husband."

Margaret smiled. "Well, it is good to hear a writer from the Herald sing praises for Cole," she said to Emma with a laugh. She looked around and said, "These are my children. The two there are Harold and Katie—children, leave Jefferson alone, please—and these two well-behaved ones are Faye and Fiona."

The two girls giggled at their mother's term for them and curtsied.

"Girls, escort our two gofers to the playroom, please," Margaret said to Faye and Fiona who immediately obliged, pulling Emma along with them.

"I shall follow suit," Emma promised, letting go of their hands.

"It was very nice meeting you, my lord," Margaret said with an apologetic look, "but I am quite in a rush."

"Tori is in their chamber," Emma provided her sister. "She has been awaiting your arrival."

Margaret offered Wynne a small curtsy before sauntering away.

Now left alone, Emma started to lead Wynne to the front doors Jefferson held open.

"You must be curious," she said, looking at him.

"Of?" he asked.

"About Faye and Fiona. They do not look like any of the Everards."

"Ah. Yes."

"They were taken in by Maggie and Cole seven years past."

Wynne simply nodded. He knew the story too well. He was told that his uncle nearly killed one of his footmen for having lost Fiona to the Everards.

"Well, the bigger the family, the better," was all he could say as he put on his bowler hat.

Emma nodded. "Yes. We love the girls as much as our own."

"As you ought to," was the only comment he could come up with. He took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. "Very well, farewell, my lady. Until the next gift, I assume?"

"Oh, please," she said, rolling her eyes. Wynne allowed a chuckle as he bounded down the stairs.

His smile immediately died as he reached his horse.

Perhaps his aunt and uncle were not merely interested in finding the Leaguer amongst the Everards. Perhaps they had more things planned than they let on, he thought, as the image of young Fiona came back to him.

*****

It was not truly a theatre for it was a circus tent erected right in the middle of the open rock field of Ulric, a famous site for duels and other games. Located between Wickhurst and Willowfair, the Ulric rock field was the best place for the tent.

Many men and women enjoyed the other events happening around the tent, ones offered by traveling showmen.

It was a feast, really, and Emma could have never been more amazed.

This was the first in the Town as far as she was aware. And it was marvelous! It was beautiful!

"Where is he, Emma?" asked Margaret as they were led down the line of people who were also there to see the play. A flash of the camera from the right got Emma's attention and she chuckled with amazement as two women posed in front of a large painting of the play's handsome actor, Jordan Smith.

She was reminded of her sister's question as she remembered how Smith's participation in the play was amongst the many reasons Samuel hated it without having seen it. Obviously, reputation preceded the man in Samuel's taste of art. "He must be here," she absently replied to Margaret who was serving as her companion tonight.

She would have wanted to roam around the open field and see more of the different shows going on, but they had been told that their seats might be stolen by someone else if they did not proceed to claim them immediately.

As they waited their turn and with their tickets at the ready, Emma thought of something else and leaned closer to her sister. "Maggie, who do you ken own the Hastings estate?"

"I do not know, Emma. There are quite a lot of estates in the Town, a lot of them—big and small—are named Hastings. Which Hastings are we talking about?"

"Oh, Wynne. The man coming toward us as a matter of fact," she whispered hastily before straightening her back.

Margaret followed her gaze. "Samuel's friend?"

"Yes."

"And why can you not ask him instead?" asked Margaret. "Are his coats always that huge?"

She was not able to reply as Wynne had by now reached them. Clad still in his large coat and his bowler hat, he bowed at Emma and Margaret. "Wynne, please, do not tell me Samuel sent you. Again."

Wynne shook his head. "No, of course not. I was hoping he would be with you, as a matter-of-fact."

"Well, he must still be on his way."

He looked about and said, "I am here with another acquaintance. And I have lost him." He bowed once more and said, "I should be going. I hope you enjoy the play, my ladies. Perhaps I will come and find Samuel later as I have matters to discuss with him for the morrow."

"Yes, of course," Emma said with a small curtsy. "And we shall enjoy the play."

Wynne awkwardly gave them another bow and left in a hurry, disappearing into the crowd of people that surrounded a tall juggler.

"He is rather odd," said Margaret, losing interest at Wynne almost immediately. Emma wanted to ask her sister if she was curious with Wynne, but she chose not to. For all she knew, it was merely her overly imaginative mind working.

*****

Wynne chose a spot near the entrance of the tent, one that was dark and underneath the bleachers.

What he liked about the play was its perfect atmosphere. Everyone was too preoccupied with the many things that were going on around them.

"She gave instructions," said the man beside Wynne.

"She always does," he murmured, his eyes on one target—the dark-haired woman standing in line outside the tent. "Did she ask you to remind me to play my best? And that I ought to give her a name soon, uncle?" He smiled and faced his uncle, David Trilby, the Lord of Thorne. Although the man was merely a few years older than him, Wynne still liked the sound of the word uncle where Thorne was concerned. For one, the man despised it. "We cannot have dear Noah be dethroned as we are just beginning our rule, can we?" he asked under his breath.

Thorne ignored him, his dark eyes somewhere else.

"Are you also tasked to watch over someone, uncle?" Wynne asked with a mocking jolly tone.

"Yes."

That took Wynne by surprise. The Lord of Thorne taking orders from Amelia Trilby? This must be the end of the entire bloody Town! "Who gave the orders?"

"You," Thorne wryly replied.

"Me?"

"You asked me to have a talk with the boy."

"You mean Eddie."

"Yes."

Wynne was confused for a while before he sighed in frustration. "He is here."

Thorne finally moved his head to look at Wynne. His lips twitched ever so slightly into a very minute smile. "Yes."

"Bloody hell! The Everards are—"

"I thought it best you talk to him yourself. I do not deal with unnecessary tasks," Thorne said, turning away.

"You can't—"

"Good night," was his uncle's farewell.

And as though he was merely waiting for Thorne to disappear, Edmund Trilby appeared from behind Wynne.

"Peter," his young cousin murmured.

And all the while he had thought his night was going to be perfect, Wynne thought as he faced his cousin.