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Saturday, December 20th 1919

Nathaniel's heart pounded in his chest as he stared at his men in front of him, he was thankful god had blessed him with a brave facade, otherwise he would have been a quivering wreck before his Lancers, it wasn't that he was too proud to show his fear, but fear was contagious in warfare, everyone had it, but they suppressed it deep down, it was something they just had to do, to keep going. He glanced to his right and saw Major William Maxwell mounted beside him, he expression stoic and unreadable, although he knew him well enough to know deep down, his fear equalled that of his peers, Will had been with him from the start of their campaign in 1914, when they had first descended of France, that now seemed like a lifetime ago, so much had been lost since then, they were no longer the village boys marching of to war as 'Jerusalem' played by the churches brass band, they were hardened and scarred veterans of a war which had been raging for three years. They were broken.

His gaze returned to his men in front of him, very few faces he recognised from their training camp back in England, most of them were replacements, filling the gaps in the ranks of those who had been wounded, captured or killed. So few, so few of his men were left, something which weighed heavily on the young Lords heart, he had known after their first charge that this war would be the end of cavalry charges, times had changed, weaponry developed, his golden boys on horseback were no match for German machine gun fire. He had seen so many of his men, his friends mowed down in a hail of bullets, it was a little more than a miracle that his name was not, also etched onto a little white cross in a vast field. Nathan use to believe that every man was given equal portions of luck in life, he no longer believed this, he had more than his fair share during this war. At the beginning he did not feel that this war would take his life, now, he felt it was just a matter of time before that fatal bullet came, he no longer made promises to his younger sister Georgie that he would return, he couldn't even if it did spare their feelings.

Nathan was proud of his Lancers, he really was, they knew these charges they were sent on to try and startle the Germans into submission were suicide mission, yet still they polished their buckles, groomed their mounts and looked ever the true English gentlemen just before. He couldn't help but smile at them, Nathaniel looked quite the part himself, sat tall atop of his glorious thoroughbred stallion, Sunny, his green uniform neatly pressed, his sabre display proudly by his side, his hat pulled low over his forehead, nestled just high enough so that he could still see, his entire aura screaming a true born leader. He had stopped giving pre-battle speeches the previous year, his men did not need to hear of moral boosting topics, they saw passed the bullshit of 'you are making every difference to this war, your comrades will not die in vain' truth of the matter was they did very little, if they did manage to break line the infantry was often to far behind or too exhausted to remain in control of the gained territory. Instead they rejoiced in the hymn 'Jerusalem' it had been a favourite of his as a child, it unleashed a sense of patriotism and calmed his nerves, he liked to believe this happened to his men also.

"And did those feet in ancient times..." He began immediately revoking a response from his men "Walk upon England's mountains green..."

Before he knew it Nathaniel was in formation, staring at his pocket watch, a whistled pursed in his lips, waiting for the moment they would mount, the breath caught in his throat as the hand struck two and with all the breath which he could muster, Nathan blew, a high pitched whistle signalling it was time to mount. He swiftly put a foot in his stirrup and hoisted himself into the saddle, drawing his sword he held it in front of him, forward walk, forward march, forward canter...forward charge!

The pounding of hundreds of hooves were a deafening sound, it was near to a clasp of thunder, it could be terrifying, the sound haunted Nathan at night, he may have survived previous but that didn't boost his confidence, as they charged forward he was briefly taken back to a child, wanting nothing more than to cry out for his mother, then he heard it, the high whistle of bullets flying past his head, the metallic clanking of the firing guns, this was it...this was his end.

Nathaniel woke from the recurring nightmare with a sudden start, a cold sweat coating his hair and forehead, his breathing heavy as he looked around his childhood room, he was alive, he was home. As his breathing steadied Nathan ran a hand over his face trying to steady his nerves, he dreams had been plagued ever since he had returned from France the previous year, he still found it difficult to believe that a year of peacetime had passed, he had resided in the fact that he would not survive the war, he never thought he would see his family or his beloved Astley again, when the church belles sounded for the first time in four years on the 11th of November last year, signalling the end of the bloodshed he didn't know whether to be happy to be alive or sad that he didn't fall with his men, why should he get to live out the rest of his life, as men younger and better than him in everyway lay to rot in the ground? It was one of life's utter cruel mysteries, he had breath in his lungs and all he exchanged was sound sleep, it wasn't enough if you asked him.

Still, even if he thought he should be buried in a field in France not warmly tucked in a bed in England, he had a duty to try and live a life worthy of the men he had lost, it was all he could do, his horrid memories towards the war would never go away but his bitterness clouding his happiness could. With a sigh Nathan, rose from his bed, walking directly for the ceramic wash bowl and jug set atop of his bureau, pouring the cool liquid into the bowl, he set the jug down and splashed the cool liquid onto his face, instantly feeling relief. The young Lord proceeded to dress, not bothering to ring for his valet, he wanted to suspend any social contact until as late as possible, with any look he would be the first to breakfast. Dressing in a light grey three piece suit, he tied a yellow tie around the collar of his white shirt, pulling the knot to his Adam's apple, lowering the stiff collar over the yellow material, he finally reached for his comb and with help of a little oil, he slicked his raven hair back. Finally he was ready for breakfast.

As he walked the corridors of Astley house, he was surprised at how quiet it still was, he had heard the grandfather clock on the landing strike nine a little while back, yet the usual sound of hustle and bustle was absent from the household. With his hand tucked loosely in his pockets he walked down the grand staircase and took the familiar route towards the morning room, where a breakfast buffet would no doubt be waiting for him. He entered the room and saw his mother sat nursing a cup of tea "good morning mother" he smiled, placing a quick kiss onto her cheek.

Clarissa smiled at her eldest sons light kiss "good morning, my darling" she greeted in return "Do you have any plans for William and his family today?" She asked.

Nathaniel shrugged from his position at the buffet, placing eggs and sausage onto his plate, carrying it back to the table and took a seat opposite his mother "I was going to ask William if he fancied a walk into the village with me, I said I would accompany Little G home" he replied casually, poring himself a cup of strong tea. "I'm sure Josephine wouldn't mind entertaining Jasper and Victoria in my absence, failing that I do not feel Magnolia would mind" he continued, reaching for the newspaper beside him, unfolding it to see what was recent in the news.

Clarissa nodded "I do worry about Maggie, she has been ever so low in spirits, it just wish their was something we could do" the older woman sighed.

"With any hope the ball tonight will raise them, mother. Try not to fret to much over our cousin, she is more resilient than she looks" he replied trying to ease his mothers fears, she had enough on her plate as it is, dealing with a house full of guests as the festive season quickly approached, but also had to deal with a reclusive husband, who very rarely showed his face anymore, let lane spoke to anyone.

Sayuri glared at the chef as he gave her a Cheshire grin. White flour covered her ink black hair and dusted over the shoulders of her dress. "Say, is it snowing, Sayuri?" She could only glare some more at him as she threw her towel down and carefully picked up an egg. "What- What are you doing? Oh, no... Oh no you don't! Sayuri! Sayuri don't!" Alas, it was too late. The fragile shell cracked against the swell of his pregnant belly, sending it's slimy contents down the front of his apron. "Brilliant." A small smile toyed with the corner of her mouth, but only slightly, as she picked up her rag and began to scrub the white powder from her dress. After she was finished, she pulled down her hair from the tight bun that it was in to shake the particles out of her onyx locks. Once her mane was once again completely black, she braided it down the left side of her neck. It was freezing outside, and the snow had not stopped falling since the previous day. The little warmth that her hair could offer would be appreciated once she stepped outside.

"What are you doing down here, anyway?" "Getting firewood," she answered, offering the cook a smile. "Oh, love... We're all out down here, you'll have to go to the shed." The shed. Sayuri looked out of the small window above the sink, out onto the grounds. The estate was completely covered in what had to be at least two feet of snow. "Alright," she sighed, walking over to the door and slipping out of her heels and into her tall back rain boots. "Be sure to bundle up," the chef warned over his shoulder, too busy kneading bread to look up from his task. "You could always go for me?" The chef laughed, shaking his head. "Lots to do here! Hurry back." She shook her head with a smile and went to grab her coat, but it wasn't there. Frustrated, and short on time, she decided to abandon the jacket idea, and just hurry through the cold. As she opened the kitchen door, a gust of wind nearly threw the wood into the wall but she managed to catch it in time. Taking a breath, she stepped outside and pulled the door closed behind her.



As she stepped outside, she held out her hand, watching in awe as fat snowflakes delicately fell into her palm. The warmth of her skin melted the frosty design within moments, reminding her that if she stayed out too long she would be soaked to the bone. Sayuri hurried across the lawn to the shed at the mouth of the woods. She filled the wheel barrel with a large pile of already chopped wood and pushed it back across the estate. By the time she made it back inside her shoulders and hair were soaked, and she was shaking. Sayuri quickly slipped back into her heels to avoid tracking mud through the house. Then, she handed off some wood to the kitchen servants and then filled her apron as full as she could to take to the living and dining room. She entered into the dining room with her back to the room, having used her hips to open the swinging door.

As she turned around, she froze, caught completely off guard by the Mistress and her son eating breakfast already. Sayuri mentally cussed the chef for not warning her about the Lords and Ladies being up already, and dining at that. "Good morning, Mrs. Courtenay. Sir Courtenay," she said softly. A blush warmed her cheeks as she carefully made her way across the room. Please let this fire start quickly, Sayuri prayed, kneeling beside the fireplace at the back of the room. She unloaded her apron and set about starting a fire. Thankfully, within moments the wood sparked to life and began to burn. She stood, straightening her dress and apron, knowing that she must look terrible. Wet hair, wet dress, dirty apron. Just eat your eggs, she thought to herself as she kept her head down and scurried out of the room for more firewood to light the living room fireplace.

After Sayuri finished building the fire in the living room she decided to sit by it for a short while. Both of her wards were currently not in need of her, so she found herself finding odd jobs to do around the house to entertain herself. Currently, though, the fire was warm and she could feel her dress and hair becoming drier the longer she sat.

It could be said that, Lady Georgiana Courtenay-Hale, or Little G to her family, was a 'modern woman' she believed in women's rights, to vote, for workplace equality for greater social freedom, if men were the head then women were the neck, without which a head could not stand, so why was it that some men were still so insistent on keeping women ignorant? Of course a question which was rhetorical, she knew the answer. Men were possessive and dominant creatures and it was easier to control a caged animal than a wild one. Women without opinions were easier to control, a ancient chauvinistic ideal, one that was still very present in today's society, yet times were changing, Georgiana could feel that the 20s would bring much change and development to world, both socially and economically...she was positively giddy for the new era.

Although it could be said that Georgiana didn't have a true grasp on severity of women's struggles, something which she would freely admit, she was the youngest of a incredibly wealthy and aristocratic family, she had been sheltered and spoilt from the day she was born, but she had also been educated, not to the level of her brothers, but still her education suppressed many others in their town. She was an intelligent girl, she knew about the struggles of others, which made her feel somewhat guilty, she was raised with a silver spoon in her mouth whilst others worked day in and day out just to feed their families, it was one of the most cruelest injustice in this world. Yet, that was life and although she couldn't change it, she could help it.

However as generous and kindhearted as her help was, it wasn't received quite as well. Families didn't want the uppity Courtenay-Hale's charity, they could fend for themselves, this upset Georgie but she could also understand it, the poor may have very little but what they didn't have they made up for in pride. She felt the utter fool, she should have paid more attention, of course they would deem her help offensive, people in poor circumstances, didn't want freebies, they wanted better pay, safer work and better benefits, not a few coins and a loaf of bread from a Lady of Astley.

When the war began, Georgiana was only sixteen and in the space of a few weeks, both her father and her elder brother, Nathaniel had left for the war, along with those men young enough in her fathers service. She had cried for days after that, her sister and mother had comforted her, telling her things wouldn't be too different, that they would come home. As much as she wanted to believe this, she read her fathers papers, she understood the gravity of this war and she had read enough History encyclopaedias to know that wars were bloody affairs and young men always paid the ultimate price. It was her honest opinion that she would never see her father and brother again, it had been a long four years of just waiting for that telegram. To keep her mind from wondering into such ghastly thoughts, Georgie helped her mother with her charities, but these did not fill enough hours, when she turned eighteen she marched straight to the hospital, which was serving as a rehabilitation centre for critically injured soldiers and demanded that the Doctor let her volunteer. He had laughed in her face, saying, as gently as he could, that she was far too sheltered to deal with the casualties he saw. Defiantly, Georgie had protested and the Doctor the reluctantly agreed to give her a trail run. True, the first time Georgie has seen some of the injuries she nearly heaved, but that stubborn Courtenay-Hale streak ran through her, she would prove this doctor wrong. Naturally her duties were limited at first, changing bed sheets, serving cups of tea and reading to the wounded were all daily occurrences and after a few months of that, the doctor and other nurses began train her, she learnt everything from rehabilitation to changing bandages, she thrived in such an environment, she felt worthwhile and needed, it was difficult and exhausting work, both mentally and physically but the thought of being to able help jut one person on the road to recovery made it all worth while.

The war ended in the November of 1918, she still recalls fondly the ringing of the church bells, the sound echoed though the town, drawing people from shops and houses, rejoicing gaily about the end of the blood shed, it was a memory that Georgie would take to her grave. After the celebrations had ended, the true cost of the war once again brought a dark cloud over them, it was a bittersweet moment, so many young village boys had lost their lives in France, too many, a constant reminder of their sacrifice now etched on a monument in the town square, just like so many other townships and villages in Britain. Her father returned first, followed by Nathaniel a few months later, although they seemed relatively spared of any physical wounds, it was quite obvious that their emotional wounds ran deep. Georgie continued her work at the hospital, so many soldiers still needed help, it would be a sin to abandon them now.

That's where she was on that cold December morning. Rising before dawn Georgiana had quickly dressed and with the help of Sayuri, pinned her long, raven clack hair into a pretty braid, such a sharp contrast to the paleness of her skin. Wrapping her fur warp around her shoulders and placing the hat delicately over her head, Georgie hurried down stairs to meet her cousin, Magnolia in the foyer. She had caught Little G by surprise by asking if she could accompany her to the hospital that morning, in all honesty she had been slightly apprehensive about the matter, her cousins grief over loosing her fiancé, Roman was still so rife, she feared that seeing the men, lying wounded in the bed would stir more emotions within her, however she had ultimately agreed to it, still she supposed she would have to work through the pain if she wanted to complete her training. Not wanting to disturb Alan, the chauffeur at such an ungodly hour, the girl had opted to take the twenty minute walk to town instead.

Once they arrived, Georgie removed her hat, wrap and jacket hanging them neatly on a peg in the nurses break room before slipping her arms into a white, cotton apron and tied it at the back. She found one for Maggie and directed her towards the doctor she would be shadowing, wishing her a quick good luck before begging with her own duties. Usually, she would spend her mornings chatting and reading to the, she had found that the men treaty enjoyed a chatter over the breakfast and Georgie always did what she could to keep them in good spirits. However this morning, she had promise Doctor Samuels to help with helping a former soldier who had recently had his leg amputated, the story of Private Frank Pepper was one that pulled on her heart strings. The boy was only nineteen, the same age as herself and had enlisted on the day of his eighteenth birthday, he was unknowingly sent to the frontline just a few weeks until victory would be declared, but also when the fighting was at some of its worst points. A day before November the 11th a piece of shrapnel embedded itself within the young privates leg, the regiment doctor pulled it out, bandaged him up and sent him on his way, all seemed well for a while afterwards, until he became violently ill on his way home to England, he was taken to a hospital where it was discovered that an infection had set in, they tried to fight it with antibiotics but it didn't work, so the decision was made to remove his leg. He came to their hospital a few months ago, missing one leg, yet still the boy surprised her at his optimism for life, he had come such a long way and everytime Georgie looked at the boy, she couldn't help but feel a sense of pride, this man would not give up.

Today was the day he would try and walk for the first time with his wooden limb, with Georgie on one side of him and Dr Samuels on the other, he took his steps one at a time, small and slow ones but it was a start and Georgie beamed with joy, it was still a long road ahead of him but Georgie had every faith in the man. After a little while, she helped him back into bed, removing the wooden limb for his own comfort "you did remarkably well today Frank" she smiled warmly at the man as she poured him a cup of tea.

Frank beamed also "I did, didn't I?" He smirked, once again subtlety hinting his youth.

Georgie chuckled, shaking her head slightly, she had known him long enough to know that this man was a character, cocky and playful, he was a definite favourite amongst the nurses "yes well, don't go getting to far ahead of yourself, you shan't be running by the end of the week. You need to go slowly and gradually build up your strength" she warned, not wanting to quell his spirits but to supply a sense of realism to his situation, she didn't want him to become disillusioned.

"I know, I know" he rolled his eyes in a playful manner.

Georgie shook her head in mock disapproval "I have to go and do my rounds, I'll be back to check n you later" she smiled before leaving the privates bedside. Leaving the ward, Georgie walked back towards where she had left Maggie, seeing her just finishing up with a patient, smiling warmly she walked over to her cousin "how are you finding Doctor Cartwright, dear? Is he being his usual sociable self" she asked chuckling slightly at the reference, Doctor Cartwright was anything but a sociable man, she really felt for Maggie having to put up with that brute this morning.

((Crud...I have no idea how this got here. Ugh...this is what I get from late-night roleplaying))

The cold, winter snow swirled through the grounds of Astley Park and landed in a large, white blanket that coated everything living and non-living. Each unique snowflake tumbled against another and stuck together as it hit the ground. William Maxwell sat by the window in the room that had been provided for him at the estate. His forehead pressed against the glass and his lips hovered only a few centimeters from the surface of the window. Each time he breathed, it fogged up lightly, clearing up slightly when he inhaled again. The cycle repeated again and again as Will focused on the simplicity of the task, willing his mind to focus on such a trifle thing. It was better than focusing on other things, at least.

This Christmas was to be the first one spent without his mother or his father. Their untimely deaths, so soon after his return from war, had plunged him into a depression so unlike any he'd ever felt before. The young man, not even in his thirties, was a broken soul. What purpose did he serve in life anymore besides protecting his younger siblings. In fact, perhaps it was only his siblings that kept him from pointing a gun down his throat. As more snow gathered on the grounds, William groped around for the rosary on the windowsill while his eyes still focused on the view. His fingers fastened around the familiar cross and he pulled it close to his lips. Pressing it against the slightly chapped skin, he closed his eyes and winced lightly as if the memories of the rosary brought by memories too painful to handle.

"You would love the snow here, Mother," he murmured, his voice on the edge of cracking. He could keep a strong front for his siblings and for Nathan...but, on his own, he was nothing more than a miserable wreck of a man. "The grounds glisten with so many little snowflak-." His voice caught in his throat and he stopped, pressing his lips together. What had become of him, damn it? Was he not Major William Maxwell of the 21st Lancer Division? Had he and his stallion not chased the damned Germans back behind their lines? He could almost hear his father, a rough, outspoken man, scold him for his childish behavior. Stiffen that upper lip, William, he'd snap, silencing Will almost instantly.

He dropped the rosary and slowly stood up, legs weak from what must have been hours of sitting at the window. He walked to his nightstand and turned on the lamp there before sitting on the bed. Face in his hands, he shook his head slowly and sighed. He couldn't go out like this...he couldn't let Nathan or Jasper or Victoria see him so upset. The young lawyer looked up and reached for the flask that sat on his bed stand. Flipping open the top, he tipped his head back and poured a decent amount of the sharp whiskey into his mouth. He swallowed the liquid and sighed again, this time in relief, as it slid down his throat. That should do for now, hopefully. Will stood and stretched his arms above his head. He'd already dressed for the day in a blue suit with a white dress shirt and light blue tie underneath. William stuffed the flask into a pocket in his trousers, keeping it on him should he need it later.

The lawyer turned off the light and moved across the room to open the door, which creaked lightly. In turn, he suddenly heard paws against the floor and turned to look down at two of his dogs. He couldn't bear to leave all of his dogs behind and, despite Jasper's dislike of them, he'd brought along a greyhound named Duke and a beagle named Teddy after one of the first casualties he'd seen on the battlefield. The dogs stopped in front of him, tails wagging expectantly as if hoping he'd let them outside.

"Not now," he murmured, voice staying low. "After breakfast." They couldn't understand him, and he knew it fully well. Yet, he still seemed to get some sort of satisfaction from speaking with his dogs. Closing the door carefully behind him, William started down the stairs to the dining room, buttoning his suit jacket up slightly as he'd had it open while sitting down. By then, the whiskey seemed to have cheered him up and he turned into the morning room with a smile upon his countenance. "Good morning, Countess. And, good morning Nathan." He stopped by the breakfast bar and placed some sausage on to his plate along with eggs and a slice of toast before heading back to the group. Will slid out the chair beside Nathan and sat himself down before he began to eat a bite of his toast. "So...how did the two of you sleep last night?"

This time of year, Adam was used to waking in absolute darkness. It took him a moment to identify the otherworldly half-light that glowed dimly in the window of his cottage. He never drew the curtains, preferring to wake and sleep with the world's natural rhythms. Pre-dawn light on a blanket of snow, he realised as he swung his feet onto the cold stone floor. So the flurry that had fallen on his walk home from the village had settled, thickened. There would be no gallop for the horses today.

The cottage had retained some of the warmth from last night's fire. Indeed, Adam could see a dull orange glow in the hearth, earthy, almost malevolent, in the ghostly silver coming in the window. His head a little muggy from the night before, Adam dragged open the front door and flung his naked, sinewy body into the nearest drift. He gasped as shock coursed through his body; his blood pounded, electrified, and he sucked in lungfuls of cold, fresh air. Hangover gone.

"Shut that bloody door, you bloody Taff maniac," came a muffled yell. Browne, the veteran stablemaster, wouldn't drag his bulk from his bed for a few hours yet. Flakes of snow still clinging to the wiry hair on his legs, groin and torso, Adam dragged on his work trousers, a clean undershirt, a rough woollen jumper, and hardy workboots. "Warm up that water before you give it the beasts," Browne grunted at him as he left. "And get that Chinee to bring me some grub."

Browne could wait for his breakfast. Adam didn't like the way he spoke about Sayuri. For a start, he was almost sure the pretty little maid wasn't Chinese. Somewhere in the Orient, for sure, but Chef had mentioned it and it wasn't China. Besides, 'Chinee' didn't seem like a nice thing to say. She seemed a little too meek and gentle to be fully to Adam's tastes - not like Betty, the village publican's daughter, who'd sat on his knee by the roaring fire last night - but her mysterious half-smile and shadowy eyes were intriguing. But indoor and outdoor staff didn't cross each other's paths much.

And besides, thought Adam as he pushed open the stable door and inhaled the warm musk of the horses, there was another filly on the estate he'd much rather saddle and ride, though it would get him whipped all the way back to Wales. The heavy snowfall meant the lords and ladies would most likely be sequestered inside all day, reading their letters and playing their games. But maybe they'd brave a small walk to the stables. Maybe the Lady Josephine would shake her headstrong locks at her stern but embattled father and come to the stables alone to see her favourite animal. Adam flashed a dark, sharp-toothed grin in the gloom of the stable.

"Harry, me boyo," he called out to the stableboy, and a startled horse whickered in its stall. "Come on, up about ya!" The boy's tousled head popped out from the loft, a clump of straw sticking out wildly. "Has Jack the fire lit? Ah, good lad. Now go on, get out there and help him." Adam grinned as the younger stableboy scampered down the ladder and out to the stone outhouse attached to the stable. Both boys had lost their fathers in the Great War; Lord Courtney-Hale had shown great foresight in taking them in, Adam thought. They could earn a living for their families, saving them from the poor house, and the two boys would still learn from the company of men. He'd already had to warn Jack, the elder by two years: "You plant that stalk in a girl's garden, she'll grow you a big surprise." The boy had blushed a deep red, then his eyes had grown wide in surprise when Adam continued: "And you bring it out near the high-born ladies, they'll snip it right off ya!"

Adam fervently hoped this wasn't the case, at least not with the ladies. The Lord of the house, and his eldest son, would probably try it, but Adam knew he would still risk it. He liked all kinds of women - big ones, small ones, old and young, and not just for their bodies but also for their company, their knowing amusement at the follies of men, their different ways - this one, well, she was beginning to trouble his sleep. She wasn't just ladylike, she was almost lordly in her bearing. She had a power and a confidence Adam found almost overwhelming. He felt like getting down on his knees and worshipping her, in more ways than one.