“Has she gone mad?” Lady Shelton whispered to her husband for what would be the third time this morning. The couple sat on a low cream colored sofa in their daughter's sitting room, so close that their knees touched. Their closeness had always been admired. Since their first meeting thirty years ago the two were madly love with each other, and it was a love that even challenged the brilliant stars in the sky. Lord Shelton patted his wife's smooth hand and smiled.

“I think this is a good change.”

“Yes, but Charles, she doesn’t seem quite herself-”, Lady Shelton protested, gripping her husbands hand.

“And is that a bad thing, my dear?” He inquired. His charming features even at the age of fifty-five were alluring. Charles Shelton still had a firm grasp on his thick mane of black hair, with only a few streaks of gray at his brow. His skin was strangely tan, even though he had not been strictly in the sun for quite a few years now, and the color only lessened any soft wrinkles at his eyes. Which were just like his youngest daughters. A vibrant amber. Margaret, or Lady Shelton, stared into those entrancing eyes and found herself getting lost in them. It was always like this, after so many years together, he was still the most handsomest man she had ever met. With her face still pinched in worry she watched the maid, Anna, scuttle across the marble flooring and do a clumsy bow to both of them before dashing off back upstairs. The girl had her arms burdened with fabrics of puce and other vibrant hues. New gowns, no doubt, that Jacqueline had ordered. Wait, no, “Jack” ordered. Why her daughter preferred this new nickname was beyond Margaret. But, with a tilt of her head to the side, if she thought about this clearly. This now persona of Jacqueline's was quite a change. An amazing change from the shy daughter she had raised.

It was quite some time later, when the air outside began to grow warmer in this February month, and tea had been served to the Lord and Lady that their daughter finally came down to meet them. Margaret heard Charles long intake of breath and it was at his startled noise that she looked up towards the doorway, her teacup suddenly landing with a surprise snap back into its tiny saucer. For surely this creature in her visage could not be her youngest daughter, her shy and pretty Jacqueline. No, this was a woman before them and in all of her glorious beauty she looked the part of a Duchess.

Now or never, Jack thought to herself. She walked into the sunlight sitting room to catch the eye of her “father”. From what she had known of Charles Shelton this past week, he was a fine man. Kind and considerate it seemed he was far more level-headed than his beautiful charming wife. Margaret looked up next and Jack could see the genuine shock in the woman’s face. She had been right then to assume that Jacqueline Braxton had never, ever worn anything like what Jack had on.

Today, instead of the demure plain gray dresses, formless and better suited for a governess, the Duchess was adorned in a lovely robin's egg blue sitting gown. The bodice was not daringly low, but squarely cut and allowed for her collar bone and chest to show. The skin around her overly generous chest was the same color as her face. Ivory, shimmering, and even flushed with a light pink of health. The rest of the gown's cut was simple but so shockingly revealing to her curvaceous form. It made her even appear taller than the tiny five feet five inches that her white laced boots allowed her to be. Her golden girls were perfectly pinned up in a loose style that allowed for a few ringlets to fall and tickle her long elegant neck.

Reaching out a gloved hand she greeted Margaret in the way she learned quickly from Anna was custom. Clasping her mother's hand she bent low and kissed the smooth cheek of the older woman.

“Mar-, mama, thank you for waiting. I have the most wonderful news.” She said cheerfully, a pleasant smile gifted her already lovely features. Jack bent low to kiss Charles cheek as well. He was looking at her with pride in his eyes, which Jack was certain, was far better than she had hoped for.
Lady Shelton sputtered some but the color came rushing back to her face after she took a rather large gulp off her tea. Charles took the upper hand of the conversation by being the first to question Jacqueline.

“What news, my dear?”

“Well, Papa, I have decided..well we. Lady Averly and I came to the conclusion it is about time to rejoin polite society. Besides all this dreary time in the manor has done not a thing for my health.” Jack rushed on. Walking about the room as she spoke, talking with her hands which was another thing Anna had said she never used to do before. But Kathleen Murphy talked with her hands, and even though the strange occurrence happened and Kat Murphy no longer existed...she still had some of her own quirks.

“Lady Averly as you know is holding a ball tonight at her home in celebration of coming back to society after the birthing of her first child. Lily and I both agree this is going to be the perfect time for the Ton to properly meet me for the first time as the Duchess of Devonshire.”

It was at that moment that Lady Shelton did something that she had not done in over thirty years. She lost composure and stood up so suddenly the low sofa moved back half an inch. Waltzing over to Jack who almost flinched when the woman's arms came up, Margaret wrapped them around her daughter and squeezed her tightly.

“Oh thank goodness.” She cried out joyfully, tears shining in her eyes. From over Margaret's shoulder she watched Charles slap his knee and let out a round of laughter. They were happy. And Jack could only hope she wouldn't embarrass them to much when she came out into polite society, because this Season was about to meet a whole different Jacqueline Braxton.

Katherine eyes fluttered open and she found herself on the porch steps of a massive mansion, She looked around..feeling a little bit dizzy. ''Where...Where..Am i?'' Katherine whispered to herself...A lady with rustled grey hair who was wearing a black maid's dress, scurried past and bowed to Lady Katherine before she continued to scurry away. Katherine was confused at where she was..Was it her or someone else? She looked down to see she was wearing a beautiful pale green dress with beautiful designs all over it. Her hair was curled and it fell around her neck. On her neck lay a beautiful green gem necklace. She was wearing silk gloves and had beautiful diamond earrings in that sparkled in the sunlight. Another maid..Which was a lot younger than the one before, hurried past...Katherine wanted to go to her room and see a mirror...

''You! Come here'' Katherine said in a voice that sounded a lot different than her own..She had figured this was not 2011 and she was not playing Netball like she had just done. ''Yes Lady Katherine?'' The maid said in soft voice that had a hint of fear in it. ''Take me to my room..I am feeling a little bit light-headed.'' Katherine said in a demanding voice..She had never been like this in 2011..She had been very laid-back and casual and polite and kind..But not demanding...The maid that stood in front of her was shaking...Why was she scared of her? ''Yes Lady Katherine. Right away!'' The maid said softly as she walked into the large mansion and took Katherine up a big flight of stairs that were a beautiful white colour.

She passed many rooms that had such beautiful furniture in them. Katherine then came to her own room. She walked in and the maid bowed and scurried off. Katherine looked around her room...''Wow...'' Was all Katherine could say. On one side of the room there was a king side bed with a silk vail hanging over the bed for privacy when you sleep. She had a large balcony outside and a big ensuite with a spa. She had sitting table with tea on top and two chairs by its side, She also had a bookarea with a big arm chair for her to sit down and read. She had a walk-in wardrobe that was filled with many beautiful dresses. Then..there was a massive mirror...Katherine walked over to it. She looked at the person standing in the mirror...That was not her.....She...This...person was beautiful..but it was not her. Katherine put a hand against the mirror and the reflection did the same.

Katherine then heard more click-clacking coming up behind her. She turned around quickly and saw a woman that looked quite like her coming towards her ''Darling Katherine, I have excellent news!'' the women said...She must be my mother..she thought ''What news mother?'' Katherine said trying to act like Katherine ''hm..We've been invited to a ball!'' Her mother said with a loud giggle ''That's great mother..I cannot wait'' Katherine said trying to act happy. ''Good, Now i'll leave you for now Darling'' Her mother said as she turned on her heel and click-clacked out of the room.

All you could hear was the faint click-clacking of her mothers shoes and the once and a while tweet from the birds outside..Katherine walked over to her bed and opened up the silk vail that hanged over the king size bed and sat down and started fiddling around with a bit of her dress..Katherine signed...She had no idea how she got here...She was so confused...She..Didn't know what to do...

"We'll never find a husband for her."

"Have faith, darling. This Season is our Season. I can feel it in my bones."

"You're a dreamer, Seamus Murphy. That girl will never meet Father's qualifications for a husband, and we will never be part of the Ton."

Lady Lynnette Murphy tried to ignore the muffled voices that drifted through the walls of the rather small home. Her family's money had come soully from her mother, Lady Charmaine, and the title meant nothing anymore. For the past several years, Lynnette had been dragged to every ball and gathering during the Season that her father and mother could beg an invintation from. It was embarassing. Even more so because no man ever took notice of Lynnette and she was quickly approching spinsterhood. At the age of seventeen, she should have been married. But she could only get a dowery if she married a man of means, and that stipulation put forth by her grandfather was the cause for all of this mess.

Lynnette twisted another portion of her frizzy red hair, pinning it to the top of her head in an attempt at current fashion. She looked too much like her Irish father to be accepted into English society. Her hair refused to stay sleek and in place for long, and she always thought she looked horrible with the amount of make up she had to wear to hide the freckles. No girl of the Ton ever had freckles. It was disgraceful.

"I'm sure I saw some men looking at her last time."

"They have to be men of means, Seamus. Not the butler."

Lynnette wished they wouldn't fight. She knew her parents did not marry for love. Well, her father had. Her mother had been disgraced and her father was the only suitor she could get. Lady Charmaine wanted better for Lynnette, and so did her father. Even with their goals the same, her mother could never reconcile herself to the fact she married a man who was just barely a lord.

Lynnette suddenly grabbed on to the surface of the table, scattering her make up vials and hair brush. It was happening again; the blackouts and feeling of displacement. She looked in the mirror and saw someone else, a person she wished she was. She stared at the reflection of a girl with silky red-gold hair, flawless skin and was indecently dressed. The kind of woman men would pay attention to. Lynnette closed her eyes, falling into the darkness.
**********************
Dympna Fitzgerald opened her eyes and frowned. She was having hallucinations again. As a doctor of mental illness, she never expected to be one of her own patients. But, recently, she had waking dreams and hallucinations that she was a much younger woman living in the past. And now she was having it again. As she stared into the mirror, she could see the frizzy red hair and caked on make up that signaled her decent into madness. The tight corset and scratchy dress felt all too real.

The attacks came more frequently, and Dympna (named after the saint of mental illness) feared that they lasted longer. She wasn't sure how long, since the only time she had a hallucination around a person, she was told she only stared off into space for five seconds. Fearing for her own health, she checked herself into a hospital for observation. At least that way if she had a hallucination, she wasn't driving at the time.

"What am I supposed to do," Dympna murmured. At that moment, a beautiful woman with dark hair walked into the room. She had some of the same facial features as the girl in Dympna's mirror.

"Lynnette, finish getting ready. We're leaving for London," the woman commanded. "We don't want to be late. Tomorrow, you'll be attending Lady Elizabeth's ball." The woman turned to leave, but said over her shoulder. "Do try to not embarass us this time."

Dympna bristled at the comment. If she was stuck with these hallucinations, then she decided to have some fun. Looking back in the mirror, she washed off the make up to reveal a lovely face speckled with freckles. She then applied the make up to look more natural, letting the girl's beauty shine through. She had not time to work on the hair, but that could wait. She left the room and walked down the stairs to where the uppity woman and a very meek little redheaded man were standing.

"Ready, Lynnette," the man asked.

"Ready Father," she said.

Elizabeth Averly, had married at the age of nineteen to the dashing rake, Nicholas Averly only but a year and a half ago. Their passion had been the talk of the Ton, for Nicholas Averly had actually abducted his wife on board of his ship as he sailed to the colonies for trading. It was quite the scandal, of course, because many had first believed the two couldn't stand the sight of each other. It was actually at the Duke of Devonshire's urging that Nicholas make right of his fiery passion for the clear level-headed brunette that Lord Averly married Elizabeth. The two couldn't of been happier, and their love merely blossomed more with the birth of their daughter, Isabella.

Elizabeth was currently in her dressing room twisting the silky strands of Jacqueline hair into beautiful ringlet's. Maids scurried about the room setting out their ball gowns for this evening, and a few piqued up to ask with helping their mistress but Elizabeth sweetly declined. She wanted to be a part of making Jacqueline look absolutely stunning for the Ball in a mere two hours. Jacqueline Braxton had always been such a dear friend, but never really sisterly close to Liza. Then..one day it happened.

The two were strolling through the garden not even a week ago. Liza going off on a tirade about how Nicolas really tried to contact the Duke and demand that he return home to make amends of all the scandal when Jacqueline fell to the ground. Gasping in fear that her friend might be terribly ill, Liza almost called for help but suddenly Jacqueline grabbed her arm. Liza looked down into the vibrant eyes and a chill swept through her. It was Jacqueline but something was different. She didn't quite feel like Jacqueline, it was it another person was suddenly there upon the ground.

After that day, Jacqueline changed and even though Liza felt a pang in her chest for the lost of a dear friend, she had a small hope that the girl was somewhere else. Somewhere happy. Liza never let on to this new “Jack” that she had completely noticed the change, because she didn't want to scare her. In a way..Elizabeth Averly quite liked this new Jacqueline. She was much more animated and opinionated.

“There. All finished. Come let's get into our gowns.” Elizabeth said, smoothing one last curl over Jack's shoulder. It was more than a beautiful hairstyle, or even a low-cut darning dress that made Jacqueline, the Duchess of Devonshire a stunning woman.

It was her new personality that shown like a beacon of light and allure.

It took almost all of the two hours for the noble women to final finish getting into their gorgeous gowns, applying light makeup and adding touches to their hair. Elizabeth left first to be down in the ballroom to greet guests with her charming husband.

Jack sat back down, the corset of the gown not allowing her to slump, and stared into the oval mirror. Her eyes were delicately brushed with a dark khol to match the sooty thick lashes that framed her almond shaped eyes. It gave a mysterious quality that couldn't be mastered in 2011 by any cosmetics. Her cheeks were already so smooth with the ivory paleness that the flush of anticipation acted as a blush. Her full lips lightly dabbed a soft rouge, all a startling dark and wonderful contrast with her golden coiffed hair. The gown she wore, Jack had specified with the seamstress, was completely black. It shimmered with bits of see-through silk and jewels all the way down to her equally black boots.

Kathleen Murphy was gone.

Jack liked to muse when she was completely alone; that maybe the Duchess and she had taken each others lives. There didn't see a way back, and no amount of warning besides a few headaches and blackouts. But, she thought while standing, this was her life now and she was going to make the best of it. For everyone.

The beautiful gown was cut daringly low, off the shoulders to allow for her creamy collarbone to show and the straining of her bosoms to cradle a long necklace of pearls. Real peals. Jack chuckled and left the room.

–

The Ball was already a half hour into the festivities. Dances were about to start and the ballroom was a flurry of color, mingling chatting, and of course filled with unsuspecting guests. From the top of the curving stairway Jack could see Elizabeth standing next to Nicholas and it was actually Lord Averly that glanced up at her. He looked back to the older gentleman speaking with him and just as quickly swung his head back up to her.

Well, this must be a change if Nicholas Averly lost his legendary composure so quickly. Elizabeth followed her husband’s gaze and her chest swelled with pride at the vision descending the stair way. Snapping her finger's over towards her butler, the man rushed over to the bottom of the stairs just as Jack made it to the last step and shouted out over the music.

“Lady Jacquline Braxton, Duchess of Devonshire.”

Even the music faltered. Jack kept her tiny smile twitching on her painted lips even as her heart thudded wildly in her chest. Every head in the room turned to look at wherever the butler was, and she heard a few audible gasps and murmuring once they caught sight of the Duchess.

“That can't be her-”

“Mama I thought you said she went to a convent-”

“Shh, Matilda. Dear heavens, Martha will you look at the gown.”

“Didn't think she'd ever show her fac-”

“What a prime succulent piece. Don't suppose the Duke would mind if I had a taste.” This came from the back of the room, where three men were near each other, chatting away when they heard the announcement. The man with the illusion of ever getting a hold of Jacqueline was Lord Bryon Taverly. A known enemy to the Duke of Devonshire.

Jack was fortunate to not hear many of these whispers, and once Elizabeth left Nicholas's side to grasp her friends hands, the music picked up again.

“You have no idea how much you just turned this room on their ear.” Liza whispered happily to her friend while leading Jack to her small group.

Jack smiled. Big. Beautifully. Already enjoying her self.

Because she did know just how much she had affected the room.

"If you don't stop fussing, this will never look right!" Lady Charmaine gave the corset stays another hard tug, and Lynnette felt the air leave her lungs. It was all in an effort to minimize her waist and maximize her breasts and hips. The corset, Lynnette decided, would have to burn the second she got a chance. Lady Charmaine had insisted on it, and Lynnette had no good reason to say no. And she had only insisted after witnessing the odd behavior of her daughter.

"You should put your hair up," Lady Charmaine said, tying the stays tightly. "And hide those awful freckles. It's no wonder you've never found a husband looking like that."

"I tried it your way, Mother," Lynnette said softly, "and now I'm trying it my way."

"Then you'd better enjoy working for a living, because that's all you'll be good for. No man will want you."

Lynnette rolled her eyes. "This is my last chance, right? Well, if doing it your way wasn't working, what's the harm in trying something new."

"Lots of harm. Put on your dress. We're late for Lady Averly's party. Everyone else should be there by now, and this was not the kind of entrance I was imagining. Oh, Lynnette, not the green dress! It makes you look so Irish. Put on the pink."

And so it was, Dympna hiding out as Lynnette found herself dressed in a hideous pink dress that clashed with her red hair. There was a reason one of the unwritten rules of fashion was to keep pink away from redheads. Dympna was sure that this was her mind punishing her for something, but she wasn't sure what. The longer she stayed as Lynnette, the more blurred the line between what she knew and what she was surprised she knew became. Dympna never had a dancing lesson in her life, but she knew all the steps to various dances from the waltz to the foxtrot. Dympna had never played any instrument in her life, yet the other day she surprised herself by playing Ode To Joy flawlessly.

What scared her was that she was starting to stop thinking of herself as Dympna, and thinking of herself as an improved Lynnette. As long as she was in this body, she might as well immerse herself in it.

She had won the battle over the hair and make up, which annoyed Lady Charmaine to no end. They did arrive late to the party, and Lynnette was ushered to a corner with her mother, exiled until some brave man would decide to rescue her. The problem with being a wall flower was that no one noticed you. Well, not really. Lynnette wasn't deaf and heard some of whispers going round. There was gossip about this Lord and that Lady and did you see what that person was wearing. She heard a few snippets on her less than lustrious background and a few snide comments on smelling like a work house.

It wasn't until the very last person arrived did the gossips find a new target. Lynnette watched as a Lady Jacquline Braxton, Duchess of Devonshire walked into the room and the whispering became a wave of superficial comments. Deep inside, the real Lynnette silently admired how the Duchess could walk in wearing such a scandalous gown, her head high and proud amid the sea of gossips. She could never pull off such a look, and envied the lovely Duchess for her bravery. Dampna admired the courage as well, and mentally took notes. She knew Lynnette's goal was to find a husband, and she was going to use every trick in the book. And it looked like this Duchess knew them all.

"Would you look at her," Lady Charmaine sniffed. "She should have stayed away. Wed for...what is now? Three years?...and never with her husband a night in her life. I heard that the Duke never wants to go home, she's such an ice queen."

"She doesn't look cold to me," Lynnette said, craning her neck to keep an eye on the Duchess.

"Cold hearted and cruel," Lady Charmaine said. "She only associates with the worst sort of people. Far be it from me to say an ill word about our hosts, but they should do better than the likes of that one."

Lynnette nodded, but her mind wasn't on her mother's gossiping. It was on how confident the Duchess seemed, and how she knew she could learn a lot from her. Her only problem was finding a way to talk to her without her mother tagging along.

Captain Dashwood LeFevre Mesurier, Fifth Earl of Beddington entered the ballroom, He paused to admire the cut of his green uniform in a cheval glass, and liked what he saw, then continued, admiring the exquisite plasterwork of the Adam-designed ceiling and cornices. He'd already cursed the fact that he'd arrived after dark, too late to get the best of the Capability Brown designed garden. Funny, he never thought his old friend Avery had such good taste - not in architecture, anyway.

But he'd always admired Nicholas Avery's taste in women - even right back in the old Hell-Fire Club days in West Wycombe, they'd been drinking companions, wenching partners and general boon companions, Even when Beddington had been away serving with the glorious 94th, giving the French a hammering, they'd exchanged the occasional letter.

Apparently - if the memories Harry had inherited were true. But he wouldn't think of that - not now.

And when, a year and a half ago, he'd got the delayed letter saying that Nicholas was actually plighting his troth - Beddington had been so amazed, he'd actually put down his glass and forgot to drink his Madeira! It took a lot to do that.

So now, at last, he'd get to meet her. He could piece together the story, of course. He'd seen it so many times. A rakehill man-about-town, always ready for a fight, a fuck or a footrace, suddenly deciding he needed to become respectable, settle down, once his fortune was made. No doubt a "suitable" match had been found for him, some buck-toothed, plump drudge with breeding hips, some accomplishment on the piano or harpsichord, perhaps a light touch with a watercolor brush. No doubt she'd be a mousy little thing, so many young English girls were. There were a fair gaggle of them here tonight - all clutching their dance cards to their over-corseted bosoms, positively reeking of desperation! He deliberately refused to return the imploring stare of at least ten of them, in just the short walk from the entrance to the center of the ballroom! Lord Beddington was many things - but husband material he was not!

There were really only three women here whose smiles he'd have bothered to return.

One was a slightly plump but highly attractive lady, with the lately fashionable short mop of hair - and a bright red at that, which never failed to set his pulses racing. He'd heard her speak, in an accent tinged with the Hibernian - he was aware that many of the extreme elite scorned an Irish background, but having served under Wellington he had no such prejudices.

Another was a lithe girl, with a come-hither look in her eye, and perhaps the prettiest bosom he'd seen since Spain. Her face was hidden behind a silk veil, but it had shifted slightly - and her eyes were the most melancholy he had ever seen. She looked afraid - yet what there was to fear, here in the heart of England, defeated his conjecture.

The third was actually standing next to Nicholas - hmm, that was a mystery. Nicholas' new wife must either be the most un-jealous woman in the whole county, or amazingly stupid, to let a rake like Nick be within a mile of a woman as stunning as that! Didn't she know her new husband would be at the wench like a rat up a drainpipe the first chance he got. Or had he really changed his ways so much? And come to think on it, where was the new Mrs Avery, anyway?

And now Nicholas was embracing him, slapping his back - and introducing the lady as the Duchess of Devonshire. So that explained it... A married woman, which made her proximity to Nicholas acceptable. But this was no genteel frump. She as a stunner... One of the prettiest faces he'd ever seen. lips that were worth a sonnet, and a bosom that cried out to be kissed. Or was it the other way around, he was confused now.

He took her hand and kissed it, cursing inwardly. Why did this woman have to be married? And to Devonshire, at that!

Lady Charmaine fairly slapped the dance card out of Lynnett's hand. "Don't stare," she hissed after the dashing Earl of Beddington walked by. "That is not the kind of man you want, Lynnette. I wager he's bedded half the girls in here, and some of their mothers." It wasn't disgust in her voice, though she tried, it was a kind of longing and jealousy. Lady Charmaine could never hope to get a man like that, not while she was married to Seamus, and didn't feel charitable enough to let her daughter try.

Lynnette sighed, with only one more glance at the earl. He was currently kissing the hand of the Duchess, and she felt her chance slip away. Her dance card was still empty, and with her mother hovering over her, she knew it would never be filled. It wasn't proper to ask the men to dance, but she wasn't getting anywhere this way. She scanned the room for eligiable men. She knew her mother was doing the same, but their ideas were different. Lynnette's gaze continued to move back to the earl with only a bit of longing.

"Lynnette, dear, there is someone I want you to meet. You remember Lord Austin, don't you? You met last year at Lady Myrtlewits' party." She was brought back to see her mom with a very elderly man. She remembered him; all hands and slobber. He barely rated enough for her to get her dowery, and Lynnette hated him. The man disgusted her, but she knew beggers can't be choosers.

"Lord Austin, how lovely to see you again," Lynnette said. "I hope this night finds you well."

"It does," Lord Austin said, taking her dance card. "If you don't object, Lady Charmaine, it looks like I'll be the first to dance with your daughter." He winked at Lynnette. "Maybe more then one dance, eh?"

Lynnette took the card back, a bit hastily. "I...uh...excuse me mother, but I need some fresh air." She quickly left before the old man could put his name down again. She wasn't sophisticated enough to give him a coy answer, and she wished she were. Only now did she think of cute answers that would push him away and not make her lose face.

She had been in Nicholas and Elizabeth's company little more than five minutes before she was greeted by what one could consider a handsome, devilish, and charming man. Lord Beddington was a name that even as Jack scanned the depths of her mind could not come up with even an inking of knowledge about. It was like this thought, for Jacqueline Shelton's memories were full of the Duke of Devonshire. She must have been practically obsessed with her husband, Jack mused, but it was an odd thought that caused her to blush. For a part of her was also falling for the Duke she has yet to me. It wasn't hard to considering he invaded her dreams. Unbidden. Full of passion.

Curtsying lowly for the greeting of Lord Bedding, she allowed her fingertips to be kissed only as was acceptable for a married lady, and soon it was back against her body. She was unable to give a verbal greeting for Elizabeth had spotted another of her friends and wanted Jack to be involved in as much mingling as possible. With an almost exasperated apologetic expression cast to the handsome Lord Beddington, she was was whisked away. Clasping onto the billowing skirts of the scandalous black gown she picked the silks up to take a stroll with Elizabeth towards another group of whispering females.

“Oh my, I had hoped to meet you, your grace. And how lovely you look. Married life agrees with you.” Lady Charmaine's voice cut through the sweet greetings of the other girls, and a stormy look passed over Elizabeth's usual soft face. But Jack waylaid her best friends anger by simply smiling in spite of the obvious cut from this woman.

“Doesn’t it so? I love wasting my days away, not a care in the world. It feels so good to have such fine luxury at ones fingertips. You understand that, right Lady Charmaine.” Jack's expression crumpled to a fake concern as she placed two fingertips to her lips. “Oh my, no..no you wouldn't understand would you?”

With that she gave an apologetic squeeze to Elizabeth's hand and swept past the shocked expression of Lady Charmaine and her gaggle of bored rumor milling friends. Thought she has made the appropriate entrance and set the ton right into a fine lot of talking, it was all to quickly becoming to much. She needed a small break, a bit of air, and without another word slipped out onto the back balcony that led into Elizabeth's wondrous garden.

She had walked so swiftly to the stone stairwell, and leaned into it to take in a large amount of cool night air that Jack failed to notice the young red head not but a few feet in front of her. It was when Jack's eyes opened to the gentle lights and humming music of a waltz that she noticed another person. Her head tilted to the side, for she didn't quite know this young girl. But seeing as how this was her first time out in society in over three years, it was qite possible she really didn't know this girl.

“Getting a bit of air as well?” She addressed to the girl, waving her golden designed fan in front of her flushed face. It was while Lady Devonshire was outside with the charming Lady Charmaine's daughter, ready for a bit of unrestrained conversation, that she failed to hear the introduction of another to the Averly's ball.

One very intrigued. Beautiful. And quite possible dangerous Lord Caine Braxton, Duke of Devonshire.

Lynnette was so lost in her thoughts (and most of those were Dympna chiding her not being more outgoing) that she jumped when she heard someone talking to her. Turning, she found herself face to face with the intriguing Lady Jacquline Braxton. From far away, she was like an exotic breath of fresh air in the party. Up close, she was stunning. Lynnette made a gasping noise, but no words came out.

Trying again, she managed to stammer, "I...Yes. Fresh air. It was a bit stiffling in there." She knew she should leave. Not only was the Duchess above her station, but she was the object of gossip. Those around her got pulled into the gossip. Lynnette was having a hard enough time finding a husband, and being seen talking to this woman would only hamper her mission.

And if Lynnette was in full control of her body, she might have squeeked out an excuse and ran. But Dympna was in control, and she cared nothing for the rules of the ton. "I saw your entrance," Lynnette said. "It was...inspiring. I wish I had your courage. My mother would die if she ever even knew I wanted to wear a dress like that." It would so much easier for Dympna to push Lynnette into being a more modern and seducive woman if it weren't for her mother. She figured that Lady Charmaine was the side of Dympna that voiced doubt. If that was so, then this Duchess was the voice of adventure, and it was that voice Dympna felt Lynnette should listen to.

Jack smiled brightly at the red head. Finally, someone who spoke with true emotions. It was so refreshing, more so than the cool air circling her lungs. She listened intently, her bright beautiful face glowing when an idea formulated instantly. It shown in her eyes, a mysterious mischief.

“Well, we can't have you walking around in something you don't want to wear. How uncomfortable it that.” The Duchess stated, moving forward to grasp the young girls hand and off she led. Down the spiraling staircase into Elizabeth Averly's gardens. She was staying in the east wing of the large home for the night, and a back entranced loomed under an arching of perfectly groomed hedges. Their were twists through the halls, and only once did the young women bump into a maid rushing to bring out more food to the ballroom. Jack laughed apologetically an rushed up the stairs, unseen by the ballroom patrons.

Once in her room she pulled Lynnette inside and let go of the girls hand, rushing to the closet. Anna was nestled in a chair by the fire practically dozing off, but with a squeak the maid was up and at her grace's command. It took little more than twenty minutes between the two of them to have Lynnette dressed in an elegant gown. Much better than that putrid pink that clashed with the red head. Instead, under Jack's scrutiny and Anna's talented hands Lynnete transformed between their eyes. She was adorned in a gown not quite so droopingly low as Jack's. Yet, the dress allowed for the extremely Irish lass to be seen more womanly than frumpish. She had curves that the green silks clung too, and her red hair was washed of the powered to bring out its vibrant colors. Jack patted the smooth freckles of Lynnette's with a wet cloth until they shown like badges of honor and only lightly dabbed khol at the girls eyelids.

“There.” Jack mused, looking at the lovely creation before her. Even Anna had a look of complimentary surprise as she cleaned up the mess they made stripping Lynette down. Nodding to the oval looking glass at the vanity they had been sitting she walked towards the door. “When you are ready..I will see you on the dance floor. No one is going to ignore you now.”

"Oh by Anachreon's eyebrows, not another one!" thought Lord Beddington, as Lady Charlotine Briskut, her rouged and wrinkled bosoms quivering, tapped him playfully with her fan. "The way these women pimp for their daughters is positively grotesque."

"And I just know Emiline will love dancing with such a dashing hussar," continued Lady Charlotine, thrusting her daughter's dance-card at him, as if contained the formula for the philosophers' stone. "Won't you, Emily, my chuck?"
The "chuck's" face, already pink, flared into a bright vermilion. She gazed at Beddington adoringly, her massive protruding teeth chewing nervously at her sloppy lower lip. She patted and fussed at her gown.

Back when I was Harry, I'd have killed for a chance to meet just one girl, thought the voice inside. Now there must have been twenty who's mums have tried to throw them at me, and none of them have been good enough. Amazing how you can get used to things!.

"And I'm an infantryman, not a hussar, for Saturn's sake, you ignorant beldame!" he continued inwardly.

"Normally, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to dance with such a beautiful lady," he lied. "Particularly one that's - if you don't mind me saying, Miss Emiline, the absolute queen of the ball. However..." He racked his brains, frantically, as Emiline's face now turned even redder. Her whimpers of delight were now audible. "However, I am desolate to admit, I sustained a riding injury, yesterday, which prevents me from indulging." He bowed gracefully. "And furthermore, our host has insisted I inspect his stable... an engagement I can't escape without being thought rude. Have I your permission, Miss Emily - urm, Emiline - to think of you with delight while I undergo that ordeal?"

If Miss Emiline's face had got any redder it would have spontaneously combusted.

********

Beddington breathed a huge lungful of the fresh, outside air.

No petrol fumes here. Though the horse-dung's nearly as bad!

The host's insistence on Beddington's inspection of his stud had, of course, been a hastily invented calumny. But in order to give his lie verisimilitude, he'd been forced to leave the ballroom... not a hardship, by any means. He'd wander around the grounds for a half hour or so, by which time, hopefully, Lady Charlotine and Emma, or whatever her name was, would be throwing themselves at some other victim. He looked up at the house, admiring its graceful lines...

And something caught his attention.

He knew he should not look. No gentleman would. But how could any man resist.

For, on the third floor, someone had incautiously failed to close the drapes. And he cuold see two ladies. One of whom was the stunning blond he'd seen with Nicholas. The one with the man's name. Fred, was it? Jack, that's right. And the other...

He had to look twice. He had to. For, swive him pink, the woman was in her unmentionables!

"I haven't seen a woman with so little on since that dollymop in Madrid," he thought. "I'm seeing something that no other man will see in her life, except maybe her husband now and again."

It's weird. She'd got more clothes on than most girls wear in the street in my time. Yet somehow, 'cos I'm not supposed to see, it's sexy! Shame they're lesbians though - I mean, why else would they be dancing around together in their knickers?



"The poor girl," he mused. "They can't have noticed the curtains are open. A gentleman has only one recourse - I must go and tell them."

****

He'd planned to knock at the door, discreetly whisper his warning through the keyhole and depart. But when he got there, he found to his consternation (and delight) that their negligence in the matter of curtains also extended to doors. In short, the portal to the room was also flung wide open, so that as soon as he reached the landing - he could see the scantily-clad form of the Irish redhead in her full glory. Her pantaloons, crumpled form the evening's exertions. Her ill-fitting corset, which, likewise, had ridden upwards, taking her chemise part-way with it, revealing a heavenly glimpse of pale skin. Her silk stockings, which, due to cheap garters no doubt, had ridden down into wrinkled folds about her calves and ankles. Stupidly, he stood gaping, when he should have sneaked away... and while he did so a disconcerting fact occurred to him.

For they were facing the door - they'd seen him!

Lynnette gave a surprised gasp as the Duchess grabbed her hand and whisked her down the halls. She barely managed to say, "Sorry", when they nearly bowled over the maid on their way to the Duchess' room. This was far beyond anything she had thought of when she actually spoke to the Duchess. She was thinking maybe an exchange of ideas, or a simple "You can do anything you put your mind to," speech. At worst, she had thought she'd get a laugh and told to follow the rules of the ton. What she never thought of was that she'd be taken to the Duchess' room, surprising the maid there. Lynnette's eyes widened as she heard the Duchess' plan to redress Lynnette. In a whirlwind, the Duchess and her maid stripped Lynnette down and got her into a lovely green silk gown.

She was stunned, looking at her reflection. The dress worked with her pale skin and red hair, making her more lovely than she had ever dreamed. The low neckline craddled her bosom, showcasing them like offerings to a god. The Duchess scrubbed the last of Lynnette's make up off and applied a simple line of kohl. She looked younger without the make up, just a bit vulnerable. It was the kind of look that Lady Charmaine would have approved of, once she got past the sexiness of it.

"I look good," Lynnette said softly, staring at her reflection. There was no way she'd be able to blend in the background now. That was the plan, but seeing the reality was so awespiring. She'd have to find a way to dress like this every day. Lynnette could finally get away from her family and maybe find some happiness. No more nagging about who has more money or 'woe is me' stories from Lady Charmaine. She got so tired of hearing Seamus try his hardest to win the love of his wife, only to have Lady Charmaine be cruel to him.

Lynnette hiked up her skirt to fix her stockings when the Duchess said, "When you are ready...I will see you on the dance floor. No one will ignore you now." The Duchess turned to leave and Lynnette looked up to tell her that she'll be down in a minute. She froze, staring past the Duchess at the door. They had forgotten to close it, thinking no one would come up while the party was going on. But there, in the doorway, was Lord Beddington with a shocked look on his face. Lynnette shrieked, dropping her skirt in an attempt to cover herself.

If this had happened back home, thought Harry's voice, I'd have blushed as much as she is!

Lord Beddington, however, was not the slightest bit embarrassed. Amused, yes. Sympathetic at the redhead's embarrassment, probably. Slightly guilty - at how much he'd enjoyed the brief sight of her slim legs, before she'd hastily wrestled down her skirts - perhaps. Even more guilty, since, though he was making a pretense of turning away, he was still hungrily examining the girl in the corners of his peripheral vision - certainly!

There are occasions when the truth will not serve, and this was undoubtedly one of them. To reveal to the lady that she had, (surely accidentally), been performing a show that any stroller in the garden might have enjoyed could only have served to increase the lady's humiliation still further. For a man to see her limbs and underwear was bad enough. For her to know that, potentially, large numbers of his sex might also have availed themselves of the privilege...

"My pardon, lady," he said, desperately trying to sound humble. He bowed towards the wall, making the usually courtly gesture seem somehow mocking, though that wasn't his intention. "Our gracious host insisted I examine the Stubbs hunting study on the landing wall... I thought myself alone, I swear. To my shame I neglected to remember that a lady with such slim legs as yours might occasionally experience difficulties with her hosiery, and seek a private time and place to readjust things. Please do continue to, ah, tidy yourself up. I shan't peep - I swear."

I'm lying, thought Harry. Oh, how I'm lying!

"I...I, uh, would feel more comfortable if you turned away," Lynnette said. She wanted to run and hide, but Dympna forced her to stay. For a girl from the twenty-first century, this was nothing. A little leg was barely thought of. Well, fixing the stockings would still be stared at. She waited until he at least appeared to be looking in the other direction before fixing her stockings. What she wouldn't give for her normal stockings back home that never drooped down.

Once she was presentable (and took a few extra seconds to not only check her hair but adjust her bosom in the tight corset), she said, "You may turn around now." She recognized him. Had recognized him when she first saw him in the doorway. The very man Lady Charmaine had warned her against. Lynnette tried to think of everything she knew about him. He was in the military, a captain, and had the worst reputation as a rake. Dympna was intrigued.

And he is handsome, she thought. He was just what Lynnette needed. Danger and adventure, something to shock her quiet little world of meed obedience to her mother. And by the looks of him, he would gladly lead the little redhead down a path of sweet heartbreak. But, could it really be heartbreak if you understood the rules of the game?

Dipping in a low curtsy, she said, "Lord Beddington, I would be most appreciative if you didn't mention how you found me. Let's just keep this our little secret." She smiled, motioning to the crumpled pink dress. "I fear my old gown was...ruined. And Her Grace was gracious enough to let me borrow another. If you're not going to be busy with the...um...hunting study, I could use an escort back to the ballroom."

Beddington watched (and pretended not to) as the lady sorted her rebellious stockings and wriggled her rebellious corset into place. He gave an emotional start, wondering if she might be taking extra care to primp herself for his benefit.

If she is, thought Harry, then I don't want to upset her. But it's a difficult thing - I mean, how can one laugh this off. It's a kind of significant situation for a woman from 1815...
But Lord Beddington, far more experienced in social situations than he, was equal to the occasion. His tactic - simply pretend he had not seen her changing her gown...

"Of course, Ma'am," he said, "You may take my discretion for granted. I am sure you might feel some delicacy that your stockings are being difficult... there is no need for giving certain vapid and childish elements here any cause to assuage their jealousy at your beauty by laughing at you." He decided not to mention he knew her corset was also giving her problems, since he wasn't supposed to have seen that. "I did note you've changed your gown, by the way. And if you don't mind my saying this - the green becomes you even more than the pink."

If you're not going to be busy with the...um...hunting study, I could use an escort back to the ballroom.

At the phrase "use an escort" Beddington's eyebrows lifted slightly. Or rather, Harry's did. This was a phrase from his own time, certainly not the Napoleonic era. A slight shock ran through his brain, but he dismissed the thought immediately. Why, this woman was obviously quite at home here, obviously not someone in the same situation as himself. Why, no twentieth century girl would be so modest about being caught pulling her stockings up - or maybe they would. They'd been that time he'd caught Celia Kenshaw adjusting her tights, and she'd -

"Madam, you honor me beyond words," said Beddington. "May I introduce myself. Captain Dashwood LeFevre Mesurier, Fifth Earl of Beddington, at your service. You'd oblige me by remembering the 'Dashwood' and forgetting the rest." He bent and kissed her hand. "And am I to assume you are an angel, lately fallen from the upper reaches of heaven, or do you have a mortal name?"

Lynnette's mind went blank at the gesture, and Dympna wasn't faring much better. The only thing she could think of was, What would the heroine in those trashy, bodic-ripping, God-if-sex-were-like-that-I'd-never-walk-again, horrible romance novels do? Certainly not blush redder and fight off the urge to giggle. Lynnette cleared her throat and stammered, "M-my name is..my name..." She had to get a hold of herself. He was much more pleasing up close. "My name is Lynnette Murphy. Um, Lady Lynnette Murphy." It sounded so dull. There was no fancy title to go with it, no lineage or exciting note. Just plain Lynnette Murphy.

"You are too kind, Captain Dashwood," she said. Her voice naturally dipped a little lower at his name, caressing each syllable. She felt the spot on her hand where he kissed tingle, a sensation that quickly spread throughout her body. It was just the first blush of attraction. Dympna knew this, nothing more then a childish crush on the first dashing man who showed interest. Poor Lynnette would need Dympna to keep her out of trouble. She quickly snatched up the fallen dance card with only elderly Lord Austin's name printed on top. It would be in poor manners to ask Dashwood for a dance, and she held the card against the side away from him. "I am ready. I don't suppose you'd mind if we took a longer way back? I confess, I'm not all that eager to rejoin the dancing at this moment."

She wasn't ready to let herself go from the dashing captain to the sweaty, wheezing Lord Austin. She knew once she walked back in wearing this dress, she'd have to dance. The old man might have a heart attack. And since he was the only one on her card, there would be nothing to look forward to beyond standing with her mother, and hearing Lady Charmaine's opinion on the new dress. If she could put off that for a while longer, give herself some happy memories of this ball, all the better.

"Madame, even were I not in the company of an angel lately fallen from heaven", laughed Beddington. "I'd still walk over burning coals to avoid the dancing. Was it Juvenal who said 'No-one dances sober, unless they are insane?'. Rest assured, I'll take you by the longest path that propriety allows." He bowed. "For I confess, the more time spent in your company, the more I like it."

Where did I come up with all that kerfuffle? Harry asked himself. If he'd been asked by a girl back home to walk her anywhere, his tongue would have swollen to ten times its normal size, and he'd probably have started shaking! And who the fuck was Juvenile, or whatever his name was? Hmm, well, it seemed to have worked - for the girl was so busy digesting what he'd said, she'd quite forgotten that he was a peeping tom!

Beddington offered the lady his arm. If she blushes like that again, he thought, there's no way I'm going to be able to avoid falling in love with her. "I suggest we return via the well, and past the summer house," he said, his soldier's habit of reconnoitering the grounds of wherever he found himself having come in useful. "If that meets with your approval, of course?"

For a moment, Dympna's mind went blank, and Lynnette was no help. Who was Juvenal? Should I know that? Crap! Can't remember! To cover up her confusion, she smiled and took his arm. "Where ever you want to lead, I'll follow," she said softly. "I am not as familiar with the grounds as you. I'm sure I'd get horribly lost without you." Way to lay that on thick, Dympna.

Lynnette couldn't help herself as she gave the captain's arm a slight squeeze, feeling the hard muscles. "I'm rather pleased to hear your opinion on dancing. I have little to do with it as possible. Though, that could be because afterwards it's so hard to walk. I think my partners dance more on my feet than the floor." She looked up at him, her smile now more flirtatious. "With the right partner, though, I imagine...dancing...to be quite fun. Don't you agree, Captain Dashwood?"

Dympna knew that Lynnette was too timid to flirt, but she wasn't. Some harmless flirting never hurt anyone. And the captain was so handsome. He smelled so good, manly and rugged. He was just the kind of guy Dympna fantasised about back home, and the kind of guy she knew would break Lynnette out of her shell.

The Duchess was about to give a firm scolding to Beddington's outrageous sneaky peaking but the return of Anna, the maid, distracted her. Anna had such a fierce look on her face. It was stormy and full of more emotion than Jack had seen in her entire week being around the older girl. Letting her mouth close she figured Lynette was already handling the situation wonderfully, and it took all of Jack's patience not to smile at Lynette's sweet blushes.

Well, I'll be damned, Jack mused while grasping Anna's hand and leading her from the room and into the corridor, the girl seemed to like him. None of Elizabeth's employee were tattle tales, but she was still relieved to see that no one seemed to frequent the halls n the second floor. Everyone was much to busy with the ball and the Duchess ended up whisking right out of the room to let Miss Murphy and Lord Beddington get better acquainted with Miss Murphy's negligee.

“Oh, mum, you should found Lady Averly's quickly.” Anna started. Jack smacked a hand gently to her forehead and groaned. She must have been gone longer than what was normal. Elizabeth was more than likely frantic worrying if she was doing alright. Nodding to Anna she quickly took off down the corridor towards the stairs descending back into the ballroom. Anna opened her mouth to protest but Jack didn't catch her warning as she was already practically sprinting in her cramped boots.

The guests were still whispering even as a merry tune was playing. Their were colors of gowns dancing with suitors and it only took Jack a moment to spot Elizabeth's cream colored gown in the corner next to Nicholas. When she was halfway to her friend Jack slowed noticeable. Was..Elizabeth shaking her head. And why ever was Nicholas sporting such a dark look about him. Jack looked behind her to check to see if their was maybe more gossiping going on but after seeing no one directly staring she turned back around.

And ran smack into a hard wall. Except, it was a living breathing, and quite powerful chest instead of a wall. The finery of this gentleman's clothing was the first thing she noticed. Then it was his smell. He scent was something akin to sandalwood and the sea. A fine fresh smell, if she thought about it. Slowly her violet gaze traveled up to a perfectly starched cravat and a hairless face. Smooth tan skin, and then wham.

Jack was looking up at the most handsomest man she had ever seen. It wasn't as if she didn't recognize him. Jacqueline's memories were practically filled with him, and even she was having sultry dreams that the poor miss whose body she had taken couldn't think up. He had a high brow, smooth cheek bones, and a dangerous set to his jaw. By all that was holy the man practically looked like a dashing pirate. His blond hair was untrimmed and reached the neckline of his collar. And what captivated her most were the stormy gray eyes full of a wicked glint.

The man dipped low into a bow before her, grasping Jack's bare hand into his. He had such large hands, that practically encased her lily white fingers. He bent low over her hand and Jack shuddered at the first whisper of soft lips against her knuckles. It was a lovely feeling that went straight to her toes, and Jack stood watching the bent head in amazement.

Until she felt the tiny nip of teeth against her skin.

Then the Duchess of Devonshire, after the gentleman had straightened with a seductive smirk on his lips, lost her composure for the first time that evening.

Jacqueline slapped her husband across his beautiful face and left the Duke standing there while she made a swift squirting around him towards the Averly's.

" ...it wasn't nearly as heroic as the newspapers made it out," said the Earl of Beddington, gently steering Lady Lynette past the laburnum trees towards the pond. He hoped that she hadn't yet realized he was not only taking her by the longest route back to the house, he was actually leading her away from it! "Our line had broken, and only myself and a few riflemen from our company remained - and Soult's currasiers were charging. If we'd broke and ran - they'd have hacked us down like so many ninepins - that's what cavalry's really good for, you see. Our only chance was to stand, and shoot accurately - at the horses, not the men - and give them cause to feel scorned and rejected enough to look for more accommodating company."

He'd led her from the house, deliberately turned right instead of left, and was steering her gently through the grounds. And in order to keep her talking, he'd deliberately turned the conversation to his military service. He knew that few girls can resist a soldier- especially one that has been decorated for valor. And he wanted - he anted very much - for this shy, beautiful Irish girl to like him. It was a feeling he was finding it hard to accept. His usual choice of women were brazen, confident dollymops who knew the score, either bordello trulls or high-spirited, devil-may-care viragos like Lady Jaqueline. Feeling this way about someone like Lady Lynette was a new string to his harp, and he wasn't sure how to proceed.

He reached across and brushed a stray lock of her gorgeous red hair back into place. It was a liberty, he knew, since he hardly knew her, but if she were to slap his face he'd sooner it be now than later. "So we stood, and we fought, and since I had a high quality of men under my command, and the best rifles in Europe - we succeeded, and we survived. And fortuitously, the skirmish was observed by the Duke of Hampshire, who was in command of the army. What we had perpetrated as a way of staying alive, he chose to saw as a heroic stand - and as senior officer, it was I that had the credit heaped upon him. Thus I received a medal and the personal thanks of the Prince Regent, and my alleged heroism, I learned, was the talk of the coffee-houses and clubs. The war wasn't going well, you see, and Horse Guards needed a hero, and I was the nearest thing they had."

"Shit, if I'd have done something like that", thought Harry, "I'd be boasting about it all over the internet! Not that I could have done it, of course. Though I suppose, in a way, I did!" He thought some more... and realized that cleverly, Beddington had underplayed things in just such a way as to remind her of his heroic past, while appearing to deny it.

"But, I'm sure, such a story can only bore you," he continued. "Pray, tell me more about yourself... a subject far more fascinating to me than old campaigns, and alms languishing in the oblivion of time's wallet!"

"Oh, you are far from boring, Captain Dashwood," Lynnette breathed. "I've never heard of anything so fascinating in all my life." All true. Lynnette, squirrled away in her mother's home, was never allowed near anyone as enthralling as the man next to her. She hung on his every word, grateful that he had kept her walking or she'd just stand there with her mouth gaping open in wonderment. Her eyes sparkled as she listened to his story, and gasped at the right moments. When he spoke of nearly dieing, she squeezed his arm in terror. And when he to go to the part where he was rewarded for his valor, she felt the urge to hug him. She had been clearly swept away by his tales.

"I'm afraid I'll be the boring one," she said. "Nothing interesting has truly happened to me. My father is new in the ton, his is the first generation to be accepted. And that was almost purely based on his marriage to my mother. I live a quiet life at home, and often find myself planted against the wall at parties. I fear there has been no excitement in my life until now."

She saw the pond coming into sight, wondering where on the grounds they actually were. Her feet were starting to hurt in the stiff shoes she wore and she gently steered him toward a bench. It was a romantic spot, one that melted her heart. The full moon cast a silvery glow on everything, illuminating just enough for them to see where they were going, and dark enough to stay mysterious. Little lightning bugs darted across the water and in the trees, twinkling like living stars. The air was heavy with the scent of flowers. It was the perfect place to rest. Lynnette felt as if she'd been walking for hours.

Once they were seated, she turned more to him. The moonlight caressed her pale skin, giving her an ethereal glow. She truly resembled the angel he thought she might have been back in the bedroom. Placing her hand on his, she leaned in closer to him. "If I'm not too brazen, Captain Dashwood, I'd like to ask you one question about your career." She bit her lip before continuing. "Did you get any scars?"

...I fear there has been no excitement in my life until now

"Well, being in the ton is over-rated anyway, as far as I can see," said Beddington, consolingly. "People are far too obsessed with lineage and wealth. Personally, I'd sooner meet Leonardo, or Michaelangelo - both of whom lived in poverty - than some overfed, arrogant titled popinjay with no chin and too much self-regard." He suddenly realized she might take this as an insult to her father, and pulled up short. "I mean, of course, those who inherited their positions, not such as your father, who won it fairly. I think... ur,..." He was actually stumbling for words. He, Lord Beddington, the ground-breaking poet of the age, renowned for his perfect command of the English language. "Well..."

"It's what you do, not what you are inside, that counts," said Harry.

("Where the hell did that come from?" thought Beddington.) Harry swelled with pride - he'd actually made a contribution, even if he had lifted the idea from a movie that wouldn't be made for nearly 200 years!

"Yes, it's what you do, that's what matters. Planted against the wall? Do you mean that those who favor those mock renaissance angel statuettes find that the offerings from our sculptors are not pretty enough, and ask you to provide a more attractive substitute? Or could you mean that your... erm, your beau, or your fiancee, or whoever is in your life is, like me, not a dancer?"

Clever bit of fishing there, thought Harry, admiringly.

Beddington, wisely, broke off his philosophical musings, in favor of listening to his companion's honey-sweet voice. Its Irish lilt was doing things to his pulse and reason that disconcerted him, but in the nicest possible way. What was adding to his delight was that Lady Lynette's borrowed gown was not a perfect fit, and due to the way she was sitting, leaning slightly towards him, the perfect white globes of her bosom - assisted by her uncooperative corset, no doubt - were threatening to make their break for freedom at any second. He tried not to look, but shifting his gaze upward only brought him to her wonderful, deep eyes, which were even harder to ignore!

"Scars? Hmm, I regret, yes. A lancer's shaft through my foot, which healed well but causes me to limp slightly - another reason I don't dance. A saber cut across my back - I have a French dragoon to thank for that one. A burn on my left arm, from a musket that didn't shoot true, thanks be to Dionysus. A gash that never quite healed on my right leg - that was a Hussar who resented me shooting his horse. And the slightest of nicks on my left ear - not a battle scar, but gained in the prize ring, against Jem Callahan, the Irish Champion. I won the bout, but only because he was carrying a game leg. Oh, and the knife wound on my chest, which I blush to say was presented to me by a jealous Spanish husband. Yet all I was doing was helping his wife straighten her hair-ribbons, I swear!"

("And if you were ever wearing ribbons, and asked for such help," he thought "I'd sacrifice a goat to Pan in gratitude!")

"No beau, no fiance, no one," Lynnette sighed. "Not without trying, I'll confess. You're very right about the ton, all that postering and comparing wallets. We are just at the very fringes, so I'm normally left alone. My mother believes she found a suitable match, which is why I'm out here hiding with you and not in there. I fear Lord Austin will take me for one spin on the dancefloor, step on my feet, drool down my dress and drag me off to be married. I know I should be grateful, but the man is older than my grandfather with one foot in the grave. Lands! What is he doing looking for a bride my age? He'll drop dead if I so much as show him my ankle."

She reached up, lightly tracing his left ear near the nick. "You poor brave man," she crooned. "You'll turn your wife's hair white with worry over all your heroics." She smiled, "And you were only helping that lady straighten her hair ribbons? My dear Captain Dashwood, I have heard of your reputation, and I wonder how her hair ribbons came to need straightening in the first place." It was bold and outright flirting, something that embarassed Lynnette. She forced Dympna back to try and salvage her reputation before the handsome captain thought she was some kind of dockside hussy.

"I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that. It must be the moon effecting my poor mind," Lynnette said. She let her hand drop, feeling shy. "Please, don't think ill of me. I just got caught up in your tales and this place and being alone with someone. I lost my good sense for a moment. I am truly sorry."

*********
Back at the dance, Lady Charmaine relized that Lynnette had been missing for far too long. Her daughter had stepped out for a breath of fresh air nearly an hour ago, and Lord Austin was growing impatient. While it was interesting to watch the duchess and her husband reunite - and possibly divorce after that slap - she had to find her daughter. Walking outside, she saw nothing of her daughter. Grabbing the nearest maid, she ordered the poor girl to tell her if she's seen Lynnette.

"I don't know mum," the girl stammered. "I think I saw someone near the stables, but I can't rightly say if it was your daughter."

"Figures that girl would get into trouble," Lady Charmaine hissed and stormed off. Lynnette would be in trouble when she found her.

"Think Ill of you?" smiled Beddington. "I thought it a most amusing observation. And your implication is not entirely unfair - perhaps her dishabille could be laid at my door, if I'm honest about it. But as for turning my wife's hair white - by Zeus, could you imagine any woman wishing to marry me?"

He looked into the darkness, if only to avoid that sight of her bosom which was so affecting him. "So your mother believes Lord Austin a suitable match for you, eh? Well, he's rich enough, and he can't help drooling, I suppose - if I might speak plainly, any man that didn't drool over you would need to reserve himself a burial plot. And he does have an eye for beauty - which perhaps explains why he has his eye on you. But am I to assume that you yourself dislike the match?"

He was sensing something - something that, perhaps surprisingly, Harry had already sensed - that despite her coquettish behavior, Lynette was not a natural flirt. It was as if she were trying to force herself into the usual rituals, or perhaps had not been schooled in them and was not confident about how to go about it. It added to her charm.

And then, with his soldier's hearing, he fancied he heard footsteps in the distance...