Emory and Florence quietly played chess in the parlor after breakfast. She was a fairly skillful player, and if it was a different day, he would have enjoyed the game. However, he was distracted since that morning. If he wasn't checking the window and the open doorway, he would glance at the clock.

"They'll be back, my lord," said Florence with a smile.

"It has been two hours."

"You should know by now how they are."

"They went out to gather firewood. It shouldn't take them that long. But if they went deeper into the woods—"

"Lucy wouldn't. I know her."

"She can be a little careless."

"My cousin is impulsive, but never careless." She paused, gave her words some consideration, before adding, "Well, most of the time."

He shook his head and stood. "I'll have one of the guards search for them. They could have gotten hurt or lost."

He found Marius outside and ordered him to search for Lucy and Henry. Half an hour later, Florence also started to worry when Marius returned to report on his fruitless search.

Cursing under his breath, he said to Florence, "Please stay here, Your Highness," and then ordered Marius and two other guards to search specific parts of the woods. However, as he was shrugging into his coat to join the search, he heard their voices from outside.

It hadn't been long, but he was getting irritated. It wasn't their laughter that irked him so, but the way they disregarded everyone else. They did whatever they wanted simply because they thought it was a good idea. Like the chairs in the parlor.

He was already standing in the doorway as they approached, hands free of a single firewood. "Where in the hell have you been?"

***

Florence came to an abrupt stop, her mouth halfway open in the middle of a sentence. Henry did the same, and they both looked at each other, bemused.

"We went to get firewood," Henry answered.

"And where's the firewood?"

Florence blinked and looked down at Henry's hand. "You forgot the firewood."

Henry stared at her. "I thought you took them."

Florence frowned at him. "You offered to carry them!"

"I did?"

She let out a sigh. "I'll return for them—"

"No, I'll do it."

"Go inside," Emory ordered. "Both of you. Now."

"But we were just—" she started, but his gaze stopped her. "Very well. We can return for them tomorrow."

"You were gone too long."

"We bumped into Mr. Fitzwilliam," said Henry. "He invited us for tea."

"And we helped him with the tree house," added Florence. She grinned, eyes gleaming with excitement. "We're fixing it!"

"Yes. Not much work, actually."

"Watching me and Mr. Fitzwilliam work is certainly not much work."

"Now, Lucy, you're exaggerating. I helped—"

Emory's eyes snapped to Henry. "You're fixing the tree house with Mr. Fitzwilliam?"

Henry shrugged. "Why not? We—" His cousin stopped, threw Florence a quick look, before correcting himself. "I mean the king and I spent quite an amount of time in that tree house."

"I mentioned to Mr. Fitzwilliam that Eliza would love to have it rebuilt—"

"Go inside, my lady," he interjected, gaze firm and cold. "The princess has been worried about you." To Henry, he ordered, "Come with me."

Climbing upstairs to their bedchamber, Florence frowned. That wasn't the reaction she expected. Knowing he was best friends with Eliza, he should, at the very least, offered help. Was it because he was pretending to be someone else? Or was it because she was doing it with Henry and he was jealous?

Jealous. She scoffed to herself, shuddering at the thought.

No man would ever be jealous over me.

Upon entering, Lucy jumped away from the window and faced her with relief. "Oh, thank God. Are you all right?"

"Yes. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Emory—" She stopped, locked the door, and whispered, "The king was utterly worried."

"We're fine. Nothing bad happened," she said, taking off her coat. "But he made it so as if we did something bad."

"Well, of course! You were gone too long! We were all worried. He was ready to go out and search for you himself!"

"He was?"

"He couldn't keep still."

She shook her head. "No. It's not that," she said, deep in thought. By now, she was used to him being serious and easily irked, but just now he was cold and dismissive. She wasn't used to not being able to read a man. With a sigh, she smiled at Lucy. "No matter. I'm sorry. We won't make you worry again."

Her cousin sighed. "There I was telling him how you're not careless and you do this." Lucy stared at her with a sad smile. "If you want to get to his good side, Flo, you need to do your part. I can't tell him everything good about you while you prove the opposite at every chance."

She grinned. "Fine. I'm sorry."

Lucy shook her head. "I promised the king we'll help with supper. You should change and join us downstairs."

Later, dressed warmly, Florence stepped out of their bedroom and coincidentally saw Emory halfway down the stairs. "My lord," she called, catching up to him. When he didn't stop, she asked, "Do you have a problem with me?"

He kept climbing down the stairs without a word.

"I'm sorry we didn't tell you where we were. It didn't cross our mind you'd be worried."

He stopped. She did as well just before she bumped into him. He turned halfway and she could tell he had more to say other than what came out of his mouth. "It's nothing."

"Are you certain?" She followed him downstairs.

"Yes."

"Then there are no hard feelings?"

"None."

She broke into a big smile. "Splendid!" She jumped beside him and added, "I hope you can bring the king here soon so he can see the tree house. When Mr. Fitzwilliam told me how His Majesty spent many happy days playing there, it made me even more eager to fix it."

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked down at her with a curious frown. "Why would you do that?"

She shrugged. "We all like to be reminded of the brighter days." She paused, gave him a wan smile. "Before the real world introduced its darkness."

***

Emory mellowed down. He couldn't tell them why he was so worked up because even he didn't know why he reacted the why he did. Henry was doing what he told him to do, and Lucy was reacting as desired. If he could do the same with Florence, they'd be free of the women soon.

Thus, when Henry and Lucy informed them they were going to the Fitzwilliams the following day, he had to consent. He spent the first half of the day accompanying Florence in the parlor, where they talked about books, most of which she liked he had not heard of yet. They also tried to resume their game of chess.

As he watched Florence contemplate her next move, he asked, "Does your cousin enjoy this game as well?"

"No," she replied, then hastily added, "I'm not saying she isn't smart enough to win, but the game is too slow-paced for her." She smiled, shaking her head slightly. "She has to always be moving. Her father had trouble keeping her still when we were younger."

He nodded, a small smile curving the corner of his lips. "I had a friend like that."

"They bring a certain flavor."

Lifting a shoulder in a shrug, he nodded slowly. "They make a dire day interesting."

Her eyes were on him. "My cousin didn't have an easy life growing up, but it's her demeanor toward it that amazes me to this day."

"But isn't she part of the royal family?"

"I know what you're thinking. And no, she isn't poor. Quite the opposite. She had everything she could ask for." She paused for a moment, as if carefully thinking of her next words. "I cannot say more because her story is not mine to tell." Leaning over, she carefully hid her queen.

Emory smiled. "This is going to be a long game."

She grinned. "And I hope to see it to the end."

They didn't. One hour later, they were too drained and agreed to continue some other day. He tried to entice her more about Coulway, and she seemed interested, most particularly with the Artemis club. She had never heard of one and would love to see it one day.

As he prepared supper, he looked out the window. It was nearly dusk and Henry and Lucy had not yet returned from the Fitzwilliams. Not even for luncheon.

He enjoyed the quiet moment. The kitchen was clean and at his mercy. There was no distracting noise from outside. No one hovered over the dough he kneaded, no questions about how to smash the tomatoes. He smiled to himself, imagining the scene if Henry or Lucy or both were around.

Once done, he covered the dough with cheesecloth to rise. Wiping his hand, he absently looked out the window again. He stood there contemplating the idea for a while, letting the silence persuade him to stay. Of course, he was curious. He wanted to see how much work they did today.

Without giving himself time to think, Emory set out to the Fitzwilliams' cottage. Even before he emerged from the path, he could hear Henry saying, "Be careful."

"I'm fine," Lucy's sharp reply followed.

As he neared the tree house, Emory stopped dead in his tracks. Lucy was up on the tree house, hammering a plank of wood for the roofing. But the scary part was her standing on a small branch with a rope around her waist, the other end held by Henry.

And once more, the now familiar anger he could only associate with the woman surged up his throat. He took a step, opened his mouth, then stopped himself. He might surprise her and cause an accident. Instead, he carefully walked closer and stopped beside his cousin to hiss, "Why is she up there?"

Henry, startled by his presence, let go of the rope.

Emory cursed and caught the rope.

His cousin quickly recovered and snatched the rope back. "She insisted."

"And you're fool enough to let her?"

"She's small and light. I'd be dead if I do it."

"No. You'll be dead if she falls and breaks her neck."

"I warned her," his cousin whispered back. "But you know Lucy. She is stubborn."

"Lord Stanton!" Lucy greeted from above, finally seeing him. "What brings you here?"

Instead of answering, he said, "You left your unfinished laundry out in the cold."

"Oh," she said, blinking. "Right. I forgot."

"Step down from there, my lady," he said, containing his anger.

"I'm fine. I'm almost done."

"She's right. She's been doing well." Henry said, pushing him to the side. "Mrs. Fitzwilliam's been asking after you, by the by."

He seemed unconvinced at first, looking up at Lucy and imagining her with a broken neck and twisted limbs. But she just smiled and said, "Mrs. Fitzwilliam baked cookies. They're the best. We'll be done in no time. And oh—there are folded blankets on the table by the door. They're in a box. Please bring them out if you can."

If you can.

Her choice of words could challenge any man. And for some reason, it made one want to prove something. Emory was certain she worded her statement just the way she wanted.

With another shove from Henry, Emory entered the Fitzwilliams' cottage and found Mrs. Fitzwilliam drinking tea with her husband. Charles' eyes immediately lit up. "Ah, there is our Daniel Stanton, dear."

His wife chuckled, shaking her head. Emory grinned, taking the man's hand. "You heard of my little secret."

"Naughty secret," said Isabel, pouring him a cup of tea. "When are you going to tell the ladies that the king they're waiting for is already here?"

"Until I'm safe. Apparently, there are some people trying to get to me. I can't just go around telling everyone who I am." His words caused concern, which he immediately brushed off by saying, "There are people taking care of it. Need not fret." He picked a cookie and sipped his tea. "But say, old man, you never let me fix that tree house. You hurt my pride today."

Charles laughed. "Dear Florence can be pretty convincing."

"You must mean Lucy," said Isabel.

The pair shared a look before Charles nodded. "My bad. Lucy. Lucy convinced me to fix the tree house."

"Then can I convince you to make her come down?"

"Why?"

"If you have not noticed, she's up there fixing the roof while standing on close to nothing. Worse, the only person who can stop her fall will either freeze or let go of that rope."

The couple laughed. Isabel stood and peeked through the window. "She's almost done." She went to a corner and picked up a large box. "Bring these out to Lucy. You can come back to finish your tea."

He frowned at the blankets folded inside. "These are Eliza's."

Isabel smiled. "I lost count of how many times I had to wash these blankets. You children soiled it in that tree house at every chance you can get. I've been keeping them for years and now they're going back to where they should be. Maybe it's just me, but I can still sometimes sniff a hint of her in them."

Emory nodded. He couldn't smell what she claimed, but the distant memory of Eliza and the days they spent together was fresh in his mind, causing a pang in his chest, longing for the days gone and stolen, and the beautiful soul taken too early. He could still clearly see the smile she wore as she stood on top of that tree house, much like the one Lucy gave him earlier.

The last thought gave him pause. Maybe that's why she irritated him so. She reminded him so much of Eliza.

He brought the box outside and laid it on a tree stump nearby. He looked up at Lucy, her face filled with concentration, and shook his head. Without saying a word, he went back inside the cottage.

***

Florence noticed Emory's departure from the corner of her eyes. Giving the last nail one last punch, she stopped and looked at his departing frame and wondered how he felt seeing the tree house. The Fitzwilliams told her a lot about Eliza, and how Emory and Henry took her passing hard.

"Done?" Henry asked from below.

She blinked and smiled at him. "Done. Get the ladder."

Later, as Henry and Mr. Fitzwilliam worked on the rope ladder, she shared tea with Mrs. Fitzwilliam. "Charles slipped earlier and said your name."

She stiffened. "Oh, no."

"Fret not. I corrected him and blamed his age. It's an advantage, I suppose."

She chuckled. "Thank you, Mrs. Fitzwilliam. For keeping my secret."

There was a glimmer of a knowing look in the woman's eyes as she shook her head. "I understand your situation, Florence. You're only protecting yourself. But I assure you that he is a good man."

"If he is, he wouldn't be Daniel Stanton."

"He has his reasons for deceiving you."

"And you know his reasons." Mrs. Fitzwilliam just smiled. "I know it. What is it? He doesn't want to marry me? Is that it?"

"Why don't you ask him?"

"And reveal my deception? He'll cut my head."

"He will understand."

"All I see in him is a cold man, Mrs. Fitzwilliam. Not an understanding one."

"Trust me, I know him better than his mother."

"You know the boy he was, not the man he became."

Mrs. Fitzwilliam stared at her for a while. "That boy is still inside somewhere."

She sighed. "Well, I hope he is. I can't marry a cold statue."

Henry's entry cut their conversation short, but Lucy continued to muse over Emory's coldness. How much could a person change?

***

That night, snow started falling heavily. By tomorrow, everything would be covered in white. There was something about snowstorms that kept him agitated, which made sleep impossible. And whenever he couldn't sleep, Emory would find solace in the kitchen. That's where he found himself that night, heating milk to go with the cookies Mrs. Fitzwilliam packed for him that afternoon.

He was lost in his own thoughts, absently watching the corner of the pan start to simmer, when Marius entered and approached him.

"Sir, she snuck out."

"Who?"

"Lady Lucy, Sir."

His eyes darted to the window. "What in the bloody hell is she up to now?"

"Should I follow?"

His jaw tightened. Florence was wrong about her cousin. She was not only careless; she was also apparently stupid. "I know the path better. If I don't return in an hour, you get the others and start a search."

Marius hesitated, but seeing his stern expression, nodded and stepped aside.

Cursing under his breath, Emory snatched his coat to find Lucy.