John guided the girl down the hall to the water closet his parents had commissioned. They were a few feet away from the door when Mrs. Watson came rushing towards them, nightcap askew and still in her nightclothes.

"May I be of assistance my Lord?" Without waiting for a reply, Mrs. Watson draped a pelisse around the girl's shoulders to cover her more appropriately.

Relief coursed through John as Mrs. Watson took over and helped the woman towards the privy. Earlier that evening, Mrs. Watson had returned home from her sister's and helped watch over their guest. From the looks of it, though, Watson's irate disposition from earlier was then directed at his wife, which explained her rushing over to help in her disheveled nightclothes. John shook his head. Watson's sensibilities were surely becoming a nuisance. John felt annoyed at the older man.

It was strange being back in his childhood home. He felt like the staff was watching his every move. Had they changed or had John just never noticed? Maybe he was not accustomed to being served any more, so it was more obvious.

He had been away for so long that at first he thought it natural for the staff to hover, but to keep watch over the girl like mother hens was out of character.

Do they not trust me? On second thought, he was almost sure that was probably it. As a youth John had caused scandals, but for the most part it was all rumor. He enjoyed how people exaggerated and turned the minor details into giant topics of gossip. In those days, he allowed rumors to circulate about him to get a rise out of his father. Not all of them were true, but it had been fun to cause mischief and speculation, all things hated by the Duke. At the same time, he didn't think that after eight years, the people working for him would assume those rumors were true and eye him warily. John acknowledged that trusting someone to do the right thing wasn't easy. So in retrospect, he suspected that his staff needed time to adjust and build trust in him. In the meantime, there was nothing he could do. He would just let them get to know him again.

Appeasing the older man was going to be challenging.

John sighed. The image of Watson's distress the first night and his continuing hovering brought a smile to John's lips.

He had been gone a long time, but to think that he was being protective of a stranger and his butler's reaction was this! Well, it was disconcerting—for both of them. They are taking too long, where are they? Realizing his impatience didn't help, John walked back to the ducal suite and stoked the fire in the grate. He needed more wood.

John pulled the bell summoning the footman.

A few minutes later a breathless younger man appeared, bowing his head, "Yes, my Lord?"

"Get more firewood," John stated and walked back out to the hall, this time leaning against the wall. What if something had happened in there? Just when he was about to head over to check for himself, they stepped out of the privy. John strode to their side, grasping her elbow, helping support the younger woman's weight.

"Are you all right?" He asked.

"I shall be fine, I think I took walking on my own feet for granted. That's all, I am afraid." Just as she said that, her stomach churned bringing attention to its plight.

They both laughed. "I am famished," she said sheepishly.

"I suppose we can remedy that. I hope you don't hold a grudge after seeing the meager fare. Cook was rather stingy with the ingredients. She sent broth and bread, and said some nonsense about starving a fever."

"Oh dear—Mabel is at it again. She will never listen to reason." Mrs. Watson mumbled.

John pushed the double doors open and guided the girl to the makeshift dining table, adjacent to the fireplace. He helped adjust her seat and grabbed a throw for her legs. Her face was flushed with the exertion from the walk. John could still make out the yellow and green markings around her face, although they were fading gradually. She closed her eyes and faced the fire, lingering for a moment while enjoying the heat.

"You just start with this broth miss, I will go and get you a proper supper sent up," said Mrs. Watson as she fluttered around the room putting things back in their places and propping the pillows and bedclothes.

"That won't be necessary. This will do. Thank you." Elizabeth said off-hand, her tone dismissing and in charge.

John looked at her with a quirked eyebrow, and watched the moment when she realized what she had done. Her cheeks flamed red, and she ducked her head to avoid his eyes.
"Mrs. Watson, thank you for coming to my aid. I can take over from here." John turned towards the door, guiding Mrs. Watson out. Outside the door, he reassured the woman that he could manage the rest.

Mrs. Watson lingered for a moment longer, "He means well, my Lord."

"Who does, Mrs. Watson?" John asked.

The older woman looked at him, her eyes filling with tears, "My husband, my Lord. He is worried, is all."

"I know," John said rubbing his palm against his neck. He wanted to reassure Mrs. Watson that he had nothing to do with what happened to the girl, and that he would protect her, but he couldn't exactly put those words to his own worries.

The older woman looked at him, her eyes filling with tears, "It's good to have you back my Lord. We have all missed you these years." She quickly patted his arm and walked away.

Thank you, Mrs. Watson. It is good to be back home.

At twenty, John had been stubborn, and in his arrogance he wanted to show that he could do things on his own, so much so that it had kept him away for this long. In retrospect, he regretted being gone, but not the experience. He would not trade that for anything. John laughed at himself, what would Watson think if he knew John had been so worried for the girl that he had forgotten she was one. John rubbed his neck with his hand. He really needed some sleep.

He returned to the bedroom and sat across from the girl. She must have been hungry, the bowl was nearly empty and half the loaf of bread was gone. He pushed the small plate filled with sweets over to her, "Do you want to try some of these? They were always my favorite."

Hmmm. Scones. She hesitated for a moment, and then reached for one.

John sat back, folding his arms across his chest and watching as she filled her mouth with a few more sweet morsels of scone. When he thought she had enough he asked her his first question again. "Do you remember anything?"

How should she answer? By now, Elizabeth had cleared her mind and remembered most of what happened at home. Nevertheless, she could not remember everything. Her last memory was in the study. She had tripped and soon the room had dimmed as Fredrick kept kicking her. The next thing she remembered was occasionally coming to consciousness while being carried on horseback. She vaguely remembered the warmth against her side, as she leaned into the rider. She had been in too much pain to remember anything about the road or how long she was on horseback, but she vaguely remembered this same man's voice, telling her that everything was well now, that she should just hang on until they found shelter. Since then she only had fragments of memories. Maybe time would clear them up, as the doctor had said.

Should she tell him about Fredrick? Would he send her back or—worse—summon her cousin? Could she offer him her inheritance in exchange for help? She had no idea where she was or how she had gotten here, but one thing was clear, she was safer if he didn't know all the details—at least for now. She didn't think she could risk it all yet.

John could see the woman's mind was churning behind her expressive eyes. She was deciding if he could be trusted enough for her to confide in him. She turned towards the fire, her vision out of focus as she stared into the embers. As much as he would have liked to press her for the answers, John was starting to feel the whispers of sleep creeping into his own mind, like a sirens sweet melody. He decided that he needed rest, and earning her trust could wait.

"See, I think you do remember." He raised his hand as he saw the moment where she wanted to refute his claim, "Hear me out. Considering what you have been through, I don't expect you to trust me, or tell me everything—yet. So, let's make a deal instead."

She was staring at him like a fox cornered by the hounds. He observed her features, especially her eyes and saw the moment she made her decision.

Elizabeth nodded once.

***

Author's Note: I hope everyone has been enjoying the story so far. If you haven't had a chance, take a moment to vote for the chapter's you have read so far. This author also loves and appreciates your delightful comments, encouragement and questions.  As you can see, Elizabeth has come to a crucial turning point. Does she trust her rescuer or does she wait and see what type of person she has come across. 

By the way, today (10/23/2017) this dear author is very excited to find her story made (#167) its highest ranking so far on Historical fiction. Thank you to all of you who read and support my endeavor. Happy reading!