"My lord, the vicar, Mr. Shaw, is here," Watson said as he closed the door behind him.

John looked up from his task. "What does he want? and why does it sound like you disapprove?"

Watson's nose wrinkled and his lips pulled up before his features cleared to his usual unaffected manner. "He has a propensity for gossip, my lord."

"Ah, I see." John could understand why Watson would abhor gossip. "I suppose we can't disappoint the man now, can we?"

"I am afraid not, my lord."

"I can manage, Watson. Usher him to the study."

Watson hesitated another moment before turning towards the door.

"What is it Watson?"

"Perhaps it would be best to meet Mr. Shaw in the drawing room?"

"Watson, summon him to the study, and be sure to wait with him." John dismissed the servant.

***

"His lordship would like you to join him in the study."

The stretched smile that touched the vicar's lips churned Watson's stomach. How could a man of the cloth be this transparent with his thoughts? Wasn't being a gossip monger a sin? He paused for the vicar to step into the hallway before closing the door behind them. Without waiting for the man to follow him, Watson led the way to the study.

"You must be busy now that his lordship is back in residence. There are so many new people about. Does the Duke know his son has returned?"

Watson found the vicar's curiosity and desire to feed the rumor mill repulsive. The man was supposed to keep the confidence of his parishioners. He is no better than a gossiping maid—perhaps no one is without sin.

"Does his lordship plan to join the festivities next month? The whole parish is quite excited at the prospect. I am told that when her grace was in residence, she would join the matrons as they planned the festival and would wrap up the festivities by hosting a grand masquerade ball. How wonderful it would be—"

Watson turned to face the man. "You will not be discussing the Duchess with his lordship, nor any of what she used to do." There were some things that did not need to be dredged up by this man. Watson watched as the vicar's eyes widened.

Mr. Shaw's nostrils flared with his indignation, but just as quickly his shoulders dropped, his head lowered. The man must have realized his own folly. "Yes, of course, it would be quite inappropriate to mention the Duchess. I should have realized that."

Watson turned on his heel and continued forward. At the study, he rapped his knuckles on the door then opened the double doors and allowed the vicar to enter.

The study was an imposing room with its towering shelves and grand desk. Watson watched as the vicar, like most men, felt its effect. The man quietly approached the desk, and waited for John, his lordship, to greet him. Watson stepped inside, closed the door and waited to see what transpired next.

"Welcome, Mr. Shaw. I am told you are the new local vicar."

"Yes, thank you."

John then resumed writing on the ledger in front of him, while the vicar sat. The man rubbed his hands together, gradually becoming impatient with the wait. Just then, his lordship looked up again, "What brings you here today?"

"Well, the whole parish is in quite a titter, your lordship. With so many people coming and going, that is. They are all excited. You see, it's been quite a long time since anyone has been in residence." The vicar eased back into his seat, and looked around the room. He grasped the arms of the chair, forcing himself to sit still. "Will the Duke be returning as well?"

"My father?" John looked at Watson. "Have you notified the Duke of my return?"

"Yes, my lord," Watson replied, his head bowed, not meeting John's eyes.

"I am certain he will be returning shortly," John stated, returning his gaze at the vicar's eyes instead.

"The matrons in particular are excited to hear of your return. As you must know the country dance is approaching and they are counting on your attendance. Between you and me, the mothers are most excited to introduce you to their daughters—"

"Mr. Shaw—I am a very busy man. I was eager to meet you, as you were not yet in your position when I left. However, I have more pressing tasks to complete than sit here and gossip about the mamas, their charges or the pastime activities of the local gentry. We can arrange a later visit at a more opportune time, perhaps when the Duke returns? I will have Watson send you a proper invitation of course." John looked back down at the ledger in front of him. "Yes, I shall look forward to it. Watson, see to it that Mr. Shaw finds his way out."

"Yes, my lord." Watson couldn't believe the efficiency with which John dismissed the vicar. "Mr. Shaw," Watson held the door open.

The vicar's face flushed in what Watson could only imagine to be mortification. He opened his mouth to delay the parting, but then must have thought better of it. "Yes, of course. I will leave you to it, my lord."

***

Once the door closed behind the vicar, John slumped into the leather chair, sighing in relief. He could see why Watson didn't like the man. It was perilous to have gossips underfoot, and too exhausting to pretend otherwise. John lifted himself out of the cushioned seat, heading for the bay windows behind his desk. His legs could use the stretch as could his shoulders. He had hunched over the desk all afternoon. From the window bay, he could see the edge of the estate grounds, all the way to the sentinels. Long ago, one of the previous dukes had commissioned a number of small clusters of cypress trees. Each grouping stood tall and majestic, like guardians protecting the edge of the cliffs.

The sentinels, as John thought of them, actually marked the entrances of numerous paths that zigzagged along the cliff's face. It was rumored among the locals that the duke who commissioned them used the trees to mark the vastness of his property, but in truth the family knew that these trees served a different purpose. The number of trees in each cluster was significant by marking the type of path one would discover. Some paths led to sheer drops, while others wound into a small cave. John counted each grouping until his eyes rested on the cluster with four trees. Only the family members and a few of the trusted staff knew that this particular cluster led to a series of interconnected caves which eventually reached the bottom of the cliffs where a hidden cavern held a small private dock. According to his father, this particular ancestor, the black sheep of the family, used the caverns to run a successful, albeit small, smuggling operation during the reign of King George II. By all accounts the Ashbourne market always was laden with the finest wool, silk, tea and even forbidden French Brandy. Of course, John knew that particular ancestor did not need the income from such an enterprise. He could only surmise that his former relative enjoyed the clandestine thrill of smuggling as a means to entertain himself. He wondered if he would ever be so bored living here. Looking back at the stack of correspondence on his desk, he doubted it. Maybe he could take Elizabeth to visit the caves one afternoon. She has probably explored them already, the minx.

The double doors opened once more. This time it was Rob who sauntered into the study, followed by three footmen, each balancing a tower of boxes.

"Ah, splendid. Are those the items I requested?" John joined Rob around the cluster of chairs nearest the hearth. The footmen placed the boxes on the chaise. John nodded to them, and reached for the lid on the nearest box. The box was slightly smaller than all the rest. Inside lay a number of gloves and hair accessories. He was about to say this wasn't on his list, when Rob dropped a large missive on the table, sighed dramatically, before lowering himself into the leather seat.

"I hope this is worth the grief it caused me."

"How did it cause you grief?" John moved on to search the next container, without waiting for an answer. His hand passed over two sheer white shifts, one neatly folded atop another, a third made of muslin, slightly less see through. What would Elizabeth look like in these? An item with a thicker fabric piece lay beneath the material. Reaching inside, John tugged on the corner almost dislodging the whole box in the process.

"Stop searching, everything is there and then some. She may not appreciate you fondling every piece," Robert snickered.

Realizing too late, that what he was holding was a pair of woman's stays, John shoved them back under the shifts. An image of Elizabeth as she bent over the desk to retrieve a book came to mind. Stop imagining her. He readjusted the shifts the best he could while trying to dislodge his errant thoughts. A surge of possessiveness went through him. He fumbled the lid before sliding it back into place, post haste.

"If you are done ogling the undergarments, I have something interesting to show you."

It annoyed to hear the amusement in Rob's voice, but when another jab did not follow, John turned to face his friend. Rob was lazing in his chair, one ankle languidly resting on his other knee with a frown on his face.

"Who dared cause you grief, my friend?" John asked, forcing himself to stop woolgathering about the minx. Stop it.

Rob let out a deep sigh, "The Countess. There is no one who would dare otherwise. She is like a hound who has gotten a whiff of a buried bone—"

"Ah, what bone did she find?"

"She discovered my purpose in visiting Bond Street, and so here we are," Rob waved at the number of the boxes. "You should be happy to know that she insisted on visiting Oxford Street and a number of other shops in Mayfair to more or less purchase a trousseau for your lady."

"Did you tell her about the dressmaker?"

"Indeed, she selected one personally and instructed me to assist you in financing it."

"It sounds like I owe your countess a great boon. Having her around is quite handy."

"You mean a handful." Rob slumped deeper into the cushions. "And stop calling her that. She is not my countess."

"Does she know that?" John teased.

Rob sat up, all business-like. "If you are finished, I would like to show you something."

"You are no fun."

"I am a desperate man. Now then, look at this," Rob retrieved the missive and pulled two sheets of paper. "Here."

"What am I looking at?"

"A list of Fredrick's debts, which are now solely held by a Mr. Barnaby of the firm named Putnam and Barnaby."

"Interesting. Since when did firms collect debts?"

"I am not certain they do, but I have asked the runner to look further at this particular firm. It piqued my interest since their name appeared as the sole collector from Richard's estate three years ago. The estate manager did pay Richard's debts, but no one questioned them considering Richard's penchant for gambling and excess. I was on the continent at the time and only discovered the debts after the books were officially handed to me."

John could see that the information was bothersome to his friend. He just wasn't sure if Robert's frown was a reaction to the knowledge of his brothers' demise while he was away or the fact that he was not notified of the unusual manner in which the debts were collected. Deciding that it was perhaps better to move on with the subject he inquired, "What else did you discover?"

Robert handed the remainder of papers to John. "This is the Bow Street runner's report. It basically gives you most of what we already knew: Fredrick's new title, the details of the will and the debts. There was one other unusual point. The runner had a few too many encounters with your father's man of affairs, who happens to be making private inquiries into Fredrick's affairs and Elizabeth's whereabouts."

"What?!?"

"I thought that would get your full attention. Apparently, your father has been trying to put pressure on Fredrick. He has visited their estate multiple times and been turned away. The excuses are different each time but suffice it to say that most of the old staff have been dismissed and those remaining are not saying anything."

John glanced at the boxes. "That explains why my father has not shown up here. He has been busy."

"It does explain the delay, that's for certain. Have you made any progress? How is my patient doing?"

"She has recovered, more or less."

"Oh, how so?"

John sat forward, leaning on his knees. After some time, he stood and walked over to the windows. Realizing that he was hesitating to put words to his observations, he gazed at the sentinels. If not Rob, who could I share this with? "She is physically recovered, but there are still fragments of what has been done to her. Most often she is everything one would expect from a lady of her upbringing," John rubbed his nape, before continuing. "She has nightmares, and jumps at shadows, I know this takes time. In the past week she has trekked out with Mei on small jaunts across the estate, visiting some of what I assume used to be her old haunts. She is brave and yet scarred in ways I can't heal, at least for now."

Rob was standing beside him, "These things take time, but she will overcome them."

John nodded, affirming the sentiment. "On the morrow I am starting her self-defense instructions, I plan to teach her quick and effective ways to escape from an assailant. She wants to protect herself. My thought is that it will give her something to focus her energy on, and in the end it may come in handy."

Rob let out a sigh. "You expect it to go in that direction?"

"The wind sweeping through the tower heralds a rising storm in the mountain," John replied, repeating a proverb Tan favored.

"Is that your way of saying forewarned is forearmed? You think he will seek her out?"

John fisted his hands. "I hope he doesn't, or else you may have to see me off at Dead Man's Walk. Can you imagine the crowd if another peer were to hang at Newgate?"

"Let's hope it does not come to that."