“I just wish he wouldn't drool right in my bosom,” Lynnette said. “And, if I may speak plainly, no, I don't think it's a good match. I know I don't have the right to be picky, but I don't want to marry a man who is so ready to die. You'll think of me as fanciful, but I want to marry for love. I want to marry a man who will set my heart aflutter with a word, a look, or just the mere thought of him. I want to know I light his most passionate dreams. I want that fairytale where he comes charging up on a white steed and sweeps me in his arms.” She sighed. “I'm so ready to be swept I'm pathetic.”

At that moment, she heard the worst noise known to man; the screech of the Mother. “Lynnette! There you are! I've been looking all over for you! What are you doing out here in the dark? And who is that with you? Don't you ever think of your reputation!” When Lady Charmaine got closer and saw who it was Lynnette was sitting with, her demeanor changed into charming. “Oh, Lord Beddington, I'm so sorry. I didn't see you there. I'm so sorry if my daughter has bored you with her prattle. The little chit doesn't know when to be quiet. I don't know where she gets it, really.”

“Mother, Captain Dashwood and I were just talking. It hasn't been boring, not in the least. I've found it very stimulating.”

“Captain Dashwood? Lynnette you don't have the familiarity to call him that,” Lady Charmaine hissed. She pulled Lynnette up and gave her a push toward the dance hall. “Go back this instant. Lord Austin has been worried sick about you. He's so eager for your dance, and you don't have anyone else. Get back there and don't mention this to anyone! You'll never get a proposal if they knew you were practically in a man's lap.”

Lynnette started to leave when her mother screeched, “And what happened to your dress?”

“Oh, uh, it was ruined and Her Grace let me borrow one of hers. I was on my way back when Cap...I mean, Lord Beddington offered to help me find my way. It was a very long way back, and we were just sitting. I swear, Mother, that was all.”

“You look like a dockside whore,” her mother whispered. “Forget the dance, we're going home. I can't have you be seen like that.”

Lynnette started to protest, but her mother pulled her along. She looked back at Dashwood, wishing she had more time with him. It wasn't until her mother had stuffed her into the carriage did she realize she dropped her dance card. It was a real shame Dashwood didn't dance. She wouldn't have minded it with him.

“Tomorrow you're going to return that dress, Lynnette. I can't believe you forced my hand like this. And just when things were getting interesting. The Duke returned! And that ice bitch he married slapped him in front of God and everyone. Now I will have to hear everything as second hand gossip!”

I'm so ready to be swept I'm pathetic.

"I know how ya feel," thought Harry, sadly.

"Oh, come, now," laughed Beddington. "You, pathetic? You surely don't mean to tell me a girl as lovely as you doesn't have half of London dreaming about her? With those gorgeous eyes?" He was confused. He knew she was inexperienced at flirting, but even the veriest novices knew that disparaging yourself to this extent was a risky game. "By Saturn, I'll sweep you any time you'd have me, given half a- "

Lynnette! There you are! I've been looking all over for you! What are you doing out here in the dark?

"Uh-oh," thought Harry. "Shit on toast, now we're for it!"

Beddington's conclusion was similar to Harry's, had he but known it. The difference was, however, that he'd been here before. Slightly fewer times than he'd had hot dinners, in fact. He had a tactic that had never failed to salve a lady's reputation... and got him off the hook into the bargain.

All is not lost, he whispered quickly into Lynette's ear. Just go along with what I say.

The blowzy, blustery figure of Lady Charmaine waddled into view, her voice having been merely the cavalry vanguard to the infantry and artillery of her formidable bulk. She began pushing her daughter around, even threatening the indignity of dragging her away from the dance. Poor Lynette's embarrassment was palpable. Yes, it was certainly time for the "imaginary heart throb" trick. One simply invented an entirely imaginary lady in whom one hoped for assistance with the wooing of. After all, did not telling a lady that one's heart belonged to a third party prove that seduction was not in one's mind?

"Lady Charmaine," he said, standing and bowing elegantly. His voice was the epitome of politeness, but somehow - for he was, after all, used to command - contained a subtle overtone of "You will listen."

"Lady Charmaine, I owe you an apology, and I humbly ask your forgiveness. The reason that your daughter was alone here in the dark with me was entirely my fault. The fact is..." He put on a contrite look. "I asked her to do me a service. You see, Madam, there is... there is a lady here at the ball tonight, for whom my heart has conceived, if I may be so blunt, an attraction. And, the fact is, I do not know her well enough for it to be proper for me to approach her. However, she is well known to your daughter. Therefore, I made so bold as to take your daughter aside, and ask her - from the kindness of her heart - to introduce me to the lady in question, perhaps even smooth the way for me. In my eagerness, I forgot entirely the unwarranted harm that for us to be seen in such a situation could do to your daughter's otherwise spotless reputation - as Lady Lynette was gently but firmly explaining to me. We were right on the point of returning to the ball, delaying only for me to complete my abject apology to her before rising."

Lady Charmaine stopped at his words. She felt her heart beat faster. Why, the only person he daughter knew and socialized with at these dances was her mother. She knew Lynnette had no friends. So, this friend that he spoke of must be her. Lady Charmaine smiled graciously, letting go of Lynnette.

“Well, since you put it that way,” she said, “I suppose we can stay for one or two dances. I must say, Lord Beddington, this is a side of you I never thought I'd see. I'm very pleasantly surprised. I had heard your tastes ran to the more exotic. Though, if I may say so myself, I haven't lost my charms over these years. It was inevitable.”

Lynnette didn't know if she should laugh or cry. Her mother thought she was the person from Dashwood's story! Lynnette piped in with, “Mother, I think he might be talking about someone else.”

“Oh, tosh and nonsense,” Lady Charmaine said, siding up to the poor captain. “I'm the only person you know here. It's not like you've made friends.” She gave Lord Beddington's arm a squeeze as she looped her arm though. “My dance card, m'lord. I'm sure you'll want to reserve a slot.”

“Mother, please,” Lynnette started, but Lady Charmaine would have none of it. She'd had her eye on Lord Beddington for a long time, envious of the many beds he pursued, and wondering when it would be her turn. He was dashing, young and, should rumors be believed, a master in the bedroom. So much better than her weak husband. She wasn't going to let this opportunity slip away.

“We should head back to the dance,” Lady Charmaine said, smiling up at her suitor. “Unless you wish a private rendezvous in the gardens.”

“Mother!”

“Oh, go back to the dance, Lynnette. Lord Austin is waiting for you. Go on. Shoo!”

Lynnette gave Dashwood a helpless look. Unless she wanted to confess that they had not been talking about any 'friend', she had no choice but to go along. She wondered if he knew what he was getting himself into.

She gave a low curtsy. “I will see you back at the dance, Lord Beddington. Please be gentle with my mother.” There was a smile at the edges of her lips. This would only last a night at the least, but it was rather funny. Poor Dashwood would need to watch his back, or he might find Lady Charmaine waiting in his bed.

Walking back in the dance, she had forgotten the dress she was wearing. Suddenly, she heard whisperings.

“What is that she's wearing?”

“Looks like a whore to me.”

“Isn't that Lady Charmaine's daughter? Where would she get anything like that?”

“I wouldn't mind taking a taste of that.”

Embarrassed, she tried to make her way to a corner. Between the new gossip of her dress and the juicy gossip of the Duke and his wife, the whole room was buzzing. She barely made it to safety when Lord Austin found her. “About time you came back. What were you doing in the gardens for so long? They're about to start a dance.” He gave her dress a very disgusted once over. “You should have kept the pink one. I don't know how or where you changed, but once we are married, you won't wear such scandalous clothes. My wife will be the model of modesty.”

"My lady I... er... that is to say... well..."

"So - how you gonna get us out of this one?" thought Harry, nervously.

Lord Beddington had been in many hair-raising situations. The time he'd fought a duel with swords against Pierre LeRoux, the best swordsman in France. The time he'd had to dive into a river and swim, under fire, when his company had been cut off by the advancing French hussars. Many time on the field of battle, or the prize ring. Not to mention encounters with jealous husbands, indignant brothers or angry rivals for the hands (amongst other pieces) of fair ladies.

But he had never been in quite such a tricky situation as this!

He could hardly say "Well, no, actually, it wasn't you. It was some other lady..." - he fancied should he try that foolhardy tactic, she'd turn from a simpering, adoring creature back into the fearsome virago she'd been a few moments before. Not to mention that his chance of ever seeing the Lady Lynette again would vanish like a snowball on a bonfire. On the other hand, to encourage her now - he'd never get rid of her.

But a man who had been in so many desperate encounters as he was not one to surrender tamely.

"I think, beautiful one, that you are forgetting something," he said, trying to sound shy. "The fact is, while it was perfectly proper for me to be alone with your daughter, since we were, after all, discussing an introduction to another person... for me to be alone with you, when - I'll be frank Madame, when I am sure many of the ton have seen the way I look at you - could only invite scandal injurious to your reputation. Why, Lord Austin would cut me dead, and refuse to look at your daughter into the bargain. I would not have the reputation of the woman I adore, and her daughter's marriage chances, ruined by my clumsiness.

"Nay, My sweet love - we must stay apart, so all society knows us as simply acquaintances... and then find a suitable person to introduce us, properly and in a way above suspicion. Do you not see..."

And then a welcome distraction came to his ears. His excellent hearing heard the sound of taunts and catcalls. Coming form the direction that Lady Lynette had gone.

He broke into a run, towards the sounds, leaving a bemused Lady Charmaine looking on open-mouthed. he hadn't gone far when he saw three militiamen, resplendent in their red coats and ever redder nsoes from too much free wine, standing in a ring around Lady Lynnette, making extremely unkind remarks about her attire.

He advanced upon the three importunate creatures. Now, this was a situation he understood!

Lynnette pushed farther back against the wall. She had been abandoned by Lord Austin, who refused to be seen with her in such scandalous attire, and was set upon by three scoundrels. The men in their military finest and filled with wine had advanced on her like a pack of hungry wolves. Where their hands didn't touch, their eyes did.

“Boys, it would be a shame to let such a flower stand alone,” one man said. “The fair little thing needs a strong man.”

“And you think that would be you,” laughed another. “Oh, Lord Strong, you'd frighten the wee thing. Look at her now, such heaving bosoms.”

“I think I should find my mother,” Lynnette said. She tried to leave, but one grabbed her arm.

“You won't be going, little girl. Dressed like that, we know what you want. And you're going to give it to us.”

“Pretty kisses from a pretty girl. I wager you taste like the sweetest wine,” said one. “We can teach you how to properly use that red little mouth of yours.”

“It gets cold at night. We'll warm your bed,” said the third.

Lynnette tried to find someone who could help her, but she was suddenly without friends. The Duchess appeared busy with problems of her own and the other lords and ladies seemed to feel that the Irish hussy was just getting her comeuppance. When one large hand found her breasts, she shut her eyes to hide the tears. Dympna was screaming in her head to fight back, but Lynnette's fear paralyzed her. She just wanted to hide.

"Phuque a duck, he's gonna barrel into them," thought Harry, in a panic. "Three great big blokes, all carrying swords. And these aren't just ordinary guys, these are soldiers... He's - we're - gonna get trashed!"

Lord Beddington, however, had not survived an adventurous life such as his without a good dose of common sense. He had a plan in mind, one that he'd sketched out quickly as he'd run towards the source of the disturbance. Though when he saw Lady Lynette, rigid with fear and humiliation, cowering against the wall, his good resolutions nearly fled, (and, as even Harry could sense) he had to fight hard to keep his impulses under control. His soldier's instinct served him well, however, and he managed to force himself to a walk, and then a stroll, sauntering casually through the main door of the ballroom. It ws now deserted except for the three mashers and Lady Lynette. Beddington's opinion of the bloods of the ton - never high - sank even lower. As usual, when genuine nobility and chivalry, rather than a well cut coat or elegant bow, were required, they'd vanished to less taxing pastures.

"Good evening gentlemen," he said, confidently. And then, as they looked at him, snarling, he raised a hand... "Don't let me interrupt you, I pray. Just passing through."

The men were not, it seemed, convinced. One of them still had hold of Lady Lynette's arm, another stood between her and Beddington, and a third advanced upon him, his fists raised.

"Swive me purple, it's a greenjacket," the foremost one said, picking at a pox-scar on his chin. "Rifleman, this ain't none o' your business. We bin invited 'ere same as you 'as. An' this dollymop, she's askin' for it, dressed like that. Look at 'er, 'alf nekkid, she is."

"I think you'll find," replied Beddington, in a calm voice, as if discussing a minor point of architectural detail, or the rig of a horse "That her bodice has ridden down, and that her consternation at her immodesty rivals your own."

"Sure an' don't he tahilk push," said the one who had hold of Lady Lynette, his bog-Irish brogue almost a mocking counterpart of Lady Lynette's sweet lilt. He had drawn his sword, and his many chins quivered as he spoke. "Wall, dere's tree of us, begorrah, an' only one o' you, me bucko - so ye'd be woise to terk yerself off, so yer would."

The third militiaman - his huge round face as red as his jacket - simply added "Aye. Thart's roight." In a dialect of Cornish more like a pirate than a soldier.

"Hmm, I do see your point," mused Beddington, as if conceding a point of scholarship. "The lady appears among you, immodestly clad, and you are, no doubt, eager for some fun. A valid point - however - there is one slight difficulty. You see... if any of you so much as touches the lady, I will break all of your arms." He steepled his hands, as if he'd made an academic point.

"Yah. Wot?" laughed the Cockny. "A fop like you? Garn. Out o' me way, Jeb. No call for that so-ward, mite. I'll bash 'im one."

Suiting his deeds to his words, the Londoner swung a mighty haymaker. Had it collected, Beddington might well have been down for the count. It was perhaps, fortunate, then, that seemingly by the slightest of movements, the rifleman managed to shuffle back so that the flailing fist sailed harmlessly by. with a puzzled expression, the man repeated the blow. Again Beddington ducked, and the fist failed to connect.

"No, no, no," Beddington said, shaking his head as if criticizing the man's taste in cravats or Madeira. "Like this!" Beddington's right hand became a blur as it shot straight out, and back. The cockney bent over in a heap, puffing, clutching at his stomach. But he did not stay that way for long - for with an uppercut that was even faster, Beddington bent him back and actually lifted the man's feet from the floor. With a crash, the militiaman measured his length, flat out on the floor. It was obvious he wouldn't wake up for a while.

"Wow, great stuff," exulted Harry. But he didn't have much time for celebration,

- for the Irishman with the sword was charging at Beddington - who stepped nimbly sideways, so that the Irishman crashed against the wall. He recovered, and staggered forward involuntarily, whereupon Beddington's booted right foot shot out, with a kick that sent the sword spinning from the redcoat's hand. The next second, the Rifleman was upon him, driving his fist three times into the Irishman's stomach... until the second adversary too collapsed, face down, his face as green as Beddington's jacket or Lady Lynette's dress.

Beddington turned languidly towards the third man, who backed away and held up his hands in a placatory manner. "We whas just joshin', loik. we'd ha' never atshually..."

"I think I hear your Nanny calling you," said Beddington, calmly. The redjacket took the hint, turned, and fled from the ballroom. Beddington tuned to Lady Lynette, ignoring the frantic swish of starched petticoats and muslin and the breathless sounds of panting as Lady Charmaine waddled into the room.

Lynnette had never been so frightened in all her life. One soldier held her arm and continued to take liberties with her clothed body, while the other two taunted her with what they could teach her. Fear paralyzed her and she prayed for deliverance. Dympna wasn't much help, as the second she tried to fight back, she was backhanded. Her ears were still ringing when she noticed a lull in the brutality. Looking up, she was relieved to see Dashwood standing there.

“Don't let me interrupt you, I pray. Just passing through.”

Lynnette's mouth dropped open when she heard that. Just passing through! It was certain her captures didn't think he was just passing through. The one holding her pulled her closer to his smelly form while the other two stood between her and Dashwood. His rank in the military – something that thrilled the women to no end – didn't seem as impressive to these men.

“Please,” she whispered, her eyes on Dashwood. “Please.” The barbarian holding her must have thought she was talking to him, for his hand returned to her rump.

She heard Dashwood mention her bodice and peeked down. Oh saints! How long had that traitorous thing been that low? She knew her dress was low cut, but her breasts looked like they were on a serving platter. No wonder these neanderthals thought she was on the menu.

Lynnette gasped as one of the beefy men attacked Dashwood, fearing that he'd be hurt. To her amazement, he laid the man out flat in only two strikes. The second man soon followed and she found herself released as the the third man ran off.

“My hero,” she said. Never had a display of testosterone made her feel so important. Dympna had always assumed that it would disgusting if men fought over her, but this was quite romantic. Not that she wanted to relive the experience, but seeing Dashwood defend her honor was quite the aphrodisiac. She took a step toward him and found her legs to be very wobbly. Her face was stinging from her earlier chastisement and she no longer felt like dancing.

She saw her mother waddling over, a look of sever disapproval on her face. She wouldn't hear the end of this for years. Not only had she been in a fight (albeit as the prize) and wore a very scandalous dress, but she appeared to have taken Dashwood's attention from her mother. Lady Charmaine would never forgive her.

Before Lady Charmaine could demand that they leave and salvage what little good reputation they had, Lynnette said, “I believe it is time to go, Mother. I am not feeling well.” She smiled and, when walking past Dashwood, whispered her address in his ear. Her mother made a snort, reaching over to pry Lynnette's hand from where she had placed it on Dashwood's chest.

As they left the dance, she glanced back at the man who was quickly stealing her heart. Frankly, all she wanted was to jump in his arms, but she knew that wouldn't happen. Behind her mother's back, she kissed her fingertips and blew to Dashwood.

The Averly's Ball was the talk on every mother, daughters, and old dowager's lips the very next morning. It was safe to assume that with the swift way Jacqueline Braxton had made her exit, followed closely in suit by her husband, and Nicholas Averly that a confrontation must have been had.

However, no one could particularly guess what was going to happen next!

Unknown to the ton, a sinister force was operating under their very noses. Inside a dim study, the fragrant puffs of opium circled in a hazy cloud around the head of an older gentleman. Sitting across from the great mahogany desk was a nervous individual. His head hung as he recounted the inability to capture the rascal Lord Beddington.

“You are telling me, Crispin, that this is the third time you have tried to bring Beddington to me and have failed?” The man in the shadow's took another drag of opium, causing his voice to be strained and raspy. It was a sound that filled Crispin with a dark chilly fear.

“Ye..yea, well..no..that is mi-lord he..he was with a girl this time.”

“A girl you say? You let a simple whore stop you from taking Beddington?”

Crispin was shaking his head before the lord was finishing his sentence.

“No, no mi'lord. It was no whore he be speaking with. A real fine lady. Red hair, in a fancy dress she was. No whores garb. He even saved her from some scamps trying to take her charms.”

The lord leaned forward so that the candlelight only caused the outline of his face to appear. It mainly gleamed off of the wickedly long scare that traveled down his right cheek. Beddington was actually speaking to a lady? He didn't want to believe it but..it was quite possible the man wouldn't want to bed every lass in the city. The fact that he would even fight for the girl spoke volumes. And gave this devlish lord a new idea.

“I see. Then we will have to change things up a bit, Crispin. I want you to find out where this girl is staying, I don't know how you do it but you are to watch her. When it is time and you feel as if he is getting closer to her. Take her. He will follow and then..then.” The lord started to cough in earnest, the terrible sounds echoing across the study. Causing the shutters to even rattle from the sound. “Then we will have him. Finally, I will have Beddington in my grasp.”

Crispin nodded in agreement and was dismissed moments later. His heart slamming in his chest once he left the room, because it took a lot to be in the same room with the man who had the soul of a devil.

It was sometime during the same morning that a footman brought a note to the home of Lynnete Murphy. It was from the Duchess of Devonshire, apologizing for her hasty departure and asking that Lynnette be welcome at the Devonshire Manor for a week as the Duchess prepares for a large week long gather, ending in a grand ball. Now that the Duke had made his way back home. It did not require much of a reason as to what may have happened between the Duke and Duchess, but one could assume this was a mischievous plan from Jack to get on the Duke's very last nerve. Before her elegant signature was an offer that Lynnette bring any guests she wished.

In a way that no one seemed to notice, maids whispered, butlers gossiped, and it landed in Crispin ears exactly where the Murphy girl was going to be. And no one thought twas when the Devonshire estate acquired a new gardener.

Captain Dashwood LeFevre Mesurier, Fifth Earl of Beddington, had quite a few problems. This was nothing new. But - according to the conclusion his recent musings had formed - they were problems of a whole new, hitherto never experienced type.

The old type were simple to deal with. Being surrounded by enemy forces in superior numbers. Having to exert every ounce of his skill and cunning to stay alive in a duel. Being down to one's last coin in a faro school, and having to devise a way to recoup one's losses from such small capital. Controlling a bolting horse. Trying to make iambic pentameters scan mellifluously. Talking, or fighting, his way out of a confrontation with a jealous husband. Staying on his feet in a prize fight, with some behemoth moving in for the kill. This type of problem was easy to keep score of. One found a way out (and he usually did), or one didn't, and suffered the consequences.

But this new type - ah, there was the rub. After many silent evenings wandering his estate, he had refined his problems down to three.

One: He'd tried, over and over, to deny it, and couldn't. He was in love. Besottedly, hopelessly, pathetically in love with Lady Lynette Murphy. He could not stop thinking about her slim legs, her exquisite globes, her wonderful eyes. her shyness, her charm, her wit. The way she'd looked at him when he'd defended her. Not the usual lust, the wish to possess her (he'd been in that situation many times). This was different. She was different. And this feeling was one he was having some difficulties adjusting to.

Two: This was another problem of the heart, but in many ways the converse of the first. For, due to the lack of precision in his speech at the Averly's Ball, Lady Charmaine had conceived the ridiculous idea that he was in love with her. And what made it worse, she was obviously in love with him too. as if that were not bad enough, the admirer he didn't want was the mother of the girl he did!

But these two problems, labyrinth as they might have been, paled into insignificance in the face of the third. For:

Three: He was, he was sure, either being haunted by a ghost or going quite mad!

what other explanation could there possibly be for the voice. The one that was sounding in his head, and in the last few days had been doing so more and more. That of a young boy, perhaps fourteen, with a strange accent and stranger vocabulary, who made reference to things and ideas formerly way outside his compass. What this revenant or elemental wanted with him, he had no idea. But he could not shake the earthbound spirit (or madness) off, no matter what he tried. A spirit who used words like "computer", "TV", "Car", "iPhone", and bizarre phrases like "way to go", "you're the man", "my bad", or (spoken ironically, as a single word) "fail!" More than once, Beddington had found himself actually speaking the words the possessing spirit had put into his mouth - and had his utterances hailed as original, rib-slapping wit!

"There has to be a way out," he thought, for the millionth time, as he sat gloomily in his study, sipping a rich tawny port, accompanied by slices of sliced peach.

And then it came to him. The same answer would serve as for the other kind of problem. One didn't waste time longing for favorable circumstances that didn't exist. Instead, one took the unfavorable circumstances that did exist, and changed them to favorable ones. The greater numbers of the advancing enemy would make it easier to confuse them with a few accurate shots. The confidence of the opposing prizefighter, who thought he had the bout won, would make him relax his guard enough for a counter-attack to be possible. The lines that wouldn't rhyme could be published as a ground-breaking new style.

And the fact that Lady Lynette's mother was in love with him gave him a perfect entree to Lady Lynette. He could pretend to pay court to the former, thus giving him a perfect reason to make his play for the latter. And as for the voice...

Well, it seemed to be on his side, rather than anything. He'd give it its head - after all, when a difficult problem rose before one, there was nothing unpleasant in having an ally!

The morning after the ball, Lynnette found herself grounded in her room. By her mother's request. Her father had been so happy that his daughter had caught the eyes of so many. “She can have her pick of husbands, Charmaine. Lord Austin, this Lord Beddington – Why, she's probably caught the eyes of some shy chap who didn't think he stood a chance. Darling, this could be our year!”

“She'll marry Lord Austin,” Lady Charmaine sniffed. “You don't want her near Lord Beddington, Seamus. He has a reputation with young girls. No, if he comes around, I'll handle him.”

Your mother is so in love with Dashwood, Dympna whispered. She doesn't want you to be anywhere near him. She'll gobble him up if you don't do something.

Lynnette knew this. She had seen how her mother acted around the dashing captain. She hated to admit to herself, but she was falling in love with him herself. Her dreams had been plagued with him in all sorts of silly situations; dancing, him sweeping her off her feet, sunsets and...Well, Lynnette's mind drew a blank, but she was sure there had been something about a bedroom.

She was putting the finishing touches on her hairstyle when her father entered the room. “Lynnette, dear, you got a message from the Duchess,” he said in awe. “The Duchess! What happened at that ball?”

Lynnette smiled. “I think a little bit of everything people could hope for,” she said and took the message. It was an invitation to stay a week at the Duchess' home, and attend a grand ball. Lynnette's eyes found the note at the bottom to bring a guest. She knew just who she would offer her invitation to.

“Father, tell mother that we will be staying with the Duchess Devonshire for the week. She insists. Mother should have no problem with that. We'll be in the thick of everything now. This is to...uh...celebrate the return of the Duke.”

Seamus gave a whoop of delight. “I'll go tell her to pack right away.” Once he left, she took out her stationary set and wrote a letter to her guest. She couldn't help but sigh happily when she wrote his name.

My dear Captain Dashwood, I have been invited to stay a week at the home of the Duchess Devonshire. With the invitation came a request to bring a guest. I hope you will join me for the week as my guest. Ever yours, Lynnette.

Before she folded the note up, she added a few drops of her favorite perfume. She went downstairs and grabbed hold of the nearest servant. She told him to deliver the note to Lord Beddington, and then went upstairs to pack.

Her mother was beside herself with glee to spend so much time in the middle of what would be the best gossip around. With the Duke back, she'd have no shortage of juicy tidbits to share with her friends. Adding that she would soon bed Beddington, Lady Charmaine was floating in the air. Already the talk of the town was the Duchess' reaction to her husband's return, of how he and Lord Avery spent the night drinking, and the fight that broke out over Lynnette's horrid dress.

Lady Charmaine was chattering about everything she could think of when the carriage pulled up to the grand home of the Duchess. Having more than one servant attend to them sent Lady Charmaine in a tizzy of delight. Seamus appeared a bit embarrassed by the attention, being a simple man himself. He was finally getting a glimpse at the life his wife had to leave behind to marry him.

Lynnette exited the carriage and brushed out the wrinkles of her brown dress. She saw her parents receiving help and quickly slipped away, wanting to see the grounds by the light of day. It all looked so different now. She blushed slightly as she realized she wanted to see the pond, to think about Dashwood. Instead, she found herself rather lost in the gardens.

“'ere now, are you lost?” Lynnette turned to find herself face-to-face with the gardener. He smiled, touching his cap to her.

“Yes, sorry. I was looking for the little pond,” Lynnette said. “I thought it was this way.”

“Your heading near it, mi'lady. Go straight to the end of the path and go left. Can't miss it.” As Lynnette started to walk away, he added, “Your one of the new guests, mi'lady?”

“Oh, yes. Uh, Lady Murphy.”

The gardener's smile twisted slightly. “Would that be Lady Charmaine Murphy?”

Lynnette wasn't sure if she should laugh or be insulted that he thought she was her mother. “No. I'm her daughter, Lynnette.”

The gardener nodded. “Well, Lady Lynnette, if you ever need anything, you just ask for Crispin. I live to serve.”

“I will. Thank you Crispin.” She quickly left, heading to the pond. For some reason, she felt cold.

Letter, from: Captain Dashwood LeFevre Mesurier, Fifth Earl of Beddington
To: Lady Charmaine Murphy

My dear lady,

I am given to understand that the Duchess of Devonshire has invited yourself, your esteemed husband and your daughter to her residence for a week's entertainment, including a grand ball. Your daughter has been gracious enough to ask if I will attend, as part of your family party. Needless to say, I accept this kind invitation with alacrity.

I do, however, crave a further favor. As you might know, an injury sustained in the course of my duties prevents me from taking part in the Hunt and Steeplechase which will invariably form part of the festivities. May I presume upon your good nature - knowing as I do that your husband hunts and rides, and that you do not - to allow me a few hours of your valuable time to show me around the gardens during the visit. It may give us time to discuss certain interesting lines of conversation that were, sadly, cut short by the contretemps at the Averly's ball.

I realize that - if it may be excused my saying this - a lady as personable as yourself might not want for company at such an affair. However, if so insignificant a soldier as myself may be allowed a glimpse of paradise - personified in your elegant presence - for a few fleeting hours - I assure you I would deem it an honor beyond words.

I await your reply with beating heart

Yr humble servant

Beddington

**********

Letter, from: Captain Dashwood LeFevre Mesurier, Fifth Earl of Beddington
To: Lady Lynette Murphy

Esteemed Lady

May I say how delighted I am to receive your kind invitation. Please be assured I accept with gratitude and thanks.

I realize, of course, that such a beautiful lady as yourself will spend much of the visit in the company of her many admirers. However, the tone of your letter gives me the faint hope that you may be able to spare me a few moments for discussion of certain matters that were cut sadly short on the occasion of our last meeting? Enlighten me - have I cause to nurture such hope?

Yrs Imploringly

Captain D

As he handed the letters to a servant - strictly for hand delivery to the persons addressed - another strange question was resounding in Lord Beddington's mind.

"What in Aphrodite's name is an email - and just how would it have saved so much time?"

Lady Charmaine held the letter to her heaving bosom and sighed. She had been right. Beddington did admire her, and knowing his eye for beauty, rightly so. He wanted an affair. Normally, Lady Charmaine only reserved contempt and anger to those who strayed from their marriage beds, but who was she to deny this handsome suitor an adventure. With haste, she scribbled out a response, laying her heart on the line and gleefully accepted his romance.

“What has you in such a happy state,” Seamus asked, watching his wife.

“Oh, nothing much. Just a note from a friend. No one you'd know, Seamus.” Under his nose, she had the letter sent back to Lord Beddington. She knew she'd have to find a way to get Seamus out of her way so she'll have time with Beddington. Lady Charmaine knew she'd be the one keep his interests.
***********

“Miss, a letter fer you.” Lady Lynnette looked up to see the gardener, Crispin, standing behind her. A note held in his hand, suspiciously opened.

“What happened to it,” she asked, taking the letter.

Crispin shrugged. “It came like that, mum. You can't trust servants. Some of them are right sneaky.”

Lynnette sighed, taking the letter. She feared it was Lord Austin or her mother, but her heart fluttered when she saw it was from Dashwood. The contents of the letter left her breathless. Dympna had to admit that it was probably the most romantic letter she'd ever received.

“Cause to nurture such hope,” she breathed. She wanted to scream yes, he had every cause to nurture such hope. She would spare more then a few moments to discuss things with him. She could spend a lifetime.

“Crispin, could I trust you to deliver a letter? One that won't reach the recipient the way my letter found me?”

The gardener gulped. “Of course, mum. You can trust me. Old Crispin is very trustworthy.”

Lynnette smiled and quickly walked to her rooms. She had to have someone show her to the rooms, and she had never seen such luxury. It was like living in heaven. The Duchess had good taste.

My Dear Captain:

With my heart aflutter like a trapped butterfly, I take pen to paper to respond to your passionate plea. I would gladly spare you any moment you desire. I had feared the river of my affection flowed only one way. Nurture your hope all you want, for it has found fertile ground. Our talk under the moon, caressed by the rays of that bright nocturnal light, laid the faint seed of desire in my earnest heart. Your gallant display at the ball turned my weak soul to water, and I confess to nearly fainting in your arms. Only a strength that came from the very depths of my soul allowed me to walk out that night. Sweet Captain, I would very much like to spend more time in your company if you would have me.

Breathlessly waiting,

Lynnette

She smiled, sealing the letter. Lynnette felt breathless with excitement as she brought the letter down to the gardener. “Lord Beddington should be arriving sometime today. When he does, give him this.” She looked at the flowers around them. “And, give him a rose bud from me as well.”

“Yes mum. I'll so it that Lord Beddington gets your letter.”

Young Silas Hawkins had left fresh oats for the horses, bedded down the pregnant mare, and carefully locked the stable doors for the night. Old Sam, the Head Stableman had been drunk for at least an hour, as always, but Silas didn't mind. He loved being in charge, talking to the horses, feeding them surreptitious apples and lumps of sugar he'd filched from the kitchens. This last was for his benefit as much as the animals, for he knew he needed to keep in trim. With all the cynicism of his twelve years, he knew that this comfortable berth wouldn't last for ever. Good things never did. Afore he knew it, he'd be back on the streets, dipping or larking for a living... so while he'd enjoy this berth as long as it lasted, he wouldn't let himself go soft neither.

He had no reason to keep to the shadows on his way to the loft, built above Lord Seamus' stables, where he slept. It was just force of habit. The habit of a lifetime on the streets and alleys. Living in thieves' kitchens, sleeping rough in rain-butts or under bridges. Always on the lookout for the filth. He could move so silently, and hug the dark so skilfully, it would have taken a hunting dog to find him. He paused, and sniffed the breeze. Wiped his nose on his sleeve. He'd go back to the loft, burrow down into the straw and, by the light of the stub of candle he'd begged from Sally the kitchenmaid, get on with that book. He was really enjoying it, that Tristram Shandy. All about men and women who were no better than they should be, and who spent the whole book proving it, except that poor old man who couldn't get it up any more, and he was the funniest character in the whole book.

Even Silas himself had no idea why he kept his guilty secret - that he could read. He'd taught himself one day when he'd had a foot broken by some blade whose wallet he'd tried to steal, and been laid up for a week. He'd been dossing in the cellar of old Seleznik, the Jew, who was a great reader, and had left a few books around. Bored out of his skull, Silas had looked at the engravings of a few, and been intrigued - the very idea that some guy could make up their own little world, and carry it around in a package the size of a jewelery case seemed to him the greatest miracle he'd ever heard of. He'd pestered Seleznik, and anyone else around, to teach him the alphabet and how to spell out simple words. He still had to say the words out loud, and follow them with his grubby finger, but so few books came his way that was all to the good. At his current rate of a page a night, Tristram Shandy should last him another year or so.

And then he heard the footsteps. Still acting with the street-urchin's instinct, he ducked behind a hedgerow. Somehow, he didn't know why, the footsteps sounded guilty. which was why Crispin didn;t see Silas, as he passed, but the look on his face in the moonlight was enough to reveal to Silas that the older man was up to no good.

Thinking it might be something he might turn to his advantage, Silas followed, ducking from shadow to shadow. So cleverly did he stalk, Crispin would not have known he was there.

Lynnette smoothed out the skirt of her brown dress, double checking how she looked in the mirror. Normally she felt the brown was a horrible color, but the way she styled her hair and did the minimal make up that was now becoming familiar to her, it didn't look that bad. Or, maybe it was her new outlook on her style? She decided she now liked how the brown dress hugged to her curves.

She picked up one of the Duchess' books and headed out after telling the maid assigned to her that she'd like lunch in the gardens. She knew she'd be spending a lot of time there. They were so beautiful and the voice that called herself Dympna told her that the fresh air was healthy. Still, she brought a parasol to keep the majority of the sun's rays off of her delicate skin.

Sitting at a bench, she opened the book to read. The Duchess had a large library, one that showcased her wealth. Lynnette was in heaven, having never had the opportunity to own such wonderful stories. She had picked a book of poems, a subject that Dympna found boring. Ignoring the little voice, she started to read.

The only thing that brought her out of the wonderful book was a sudden snap around her thigh. Lynnette wiggled her leg and realized her stocking had somehow managed to come loose. Looking around the garden, she felt quite alone. If she ran into the house to fix her stocking, it could be around her ankle before she reached the front door.

“Well, that won't do,” Lynnette muttered. She put the book down and tried to be secretive about hiking up her skirt to pull up her stocking. She wanted to fix it before lunch arrived.

Silas hurried through the grounds, slipping from hedge to hedge, his habitual secrecy even more important - now he knew what he knew.

It had only been some kind of instinct that had made him follow Crispin and spy on him the night before. Now he was sorry he had. If he'd never known, he could have stayed in happy ignorance, doing his job, cheeking Old Sam, and reading his way through books in his spare time. But he did know. And now he knew, he had to do something about it, or it would eat at his conscience.

But to do the right thing - or what he hoped was the right thing - he had to risk getting into trouble. He had to risk...

Going up to Lady Lynette, his Master's daughter, and actually addressing her without being addressed. Something that all the ground-servants were forbidden to do. Why, Old Sam had never, ever addressed anyone except Mister Seamus himself, and then only when the Master spoke first. Lady Charmaine and Lady Lynette, they might as well have lived in another world, the way they passed by without even noticing the servants. He'd probably get flogged, or kicked out - or both.

Still, he'd spent the last two hours summoning up his courage, and it would all be wasted if he didn't go through with it now. And he knew Lady Lynette was sitting here, reading a book. He'd seen her go their, earlier.

He peeped round the hedge, and what he saw took his breath away.

he knew men had legs, of course, He had them, every boy he'd ran with on the streets had them. The quality had them, too. Master Seamus, Old Sam, Crispin. Jeb, the Gamekeeper. But ladies? If he'd ever thought about it at all, he'd assumed they had wheels there, like on a cart, to move around, for how else could they glide along, so smoothly and beautifully?

But Lady Lynette, for some reason, had pulled her skirt up, and was doing something to the mysterious things under it. She had an upset, annoyed expression on her pretty face, which did not bode well. he'd hoped to catch her in a good mood. Maybe she was upset because... well, maybe other ladies had wheels, and she had legs, like a man. Perhaps it was some disease she'd caught. Or maybe her wheels had come off, and that's why she was so angry? And she seemed to be looking around guiltily, so maybe it was a secret.

He watched, having some idea of waiting until she'd let her dress fall back down, so she'd never know that he knew her secret. But - well, that sneeze was bound to come! There was pollen in the air... and it came without warning, one minute he was being as quiet as a mouse, the next, a massive

AR-TISH-YOO!

He knew she'd run after him and catch him, so the best thing to do was come out. So he did.

"I'm sorry about your legs, Lady Lynette," he gabbled. And then, to ingratiate himself. 'They really are pretty though." Perhaps if he said that, she wouldn't feel so bad about not being made like a proper lady. "I've got something really important to tell you, my lady..."

The sneeze scared Lynnette and she dropped her skirt in the middle of tying the ribbons of her stockings. She turned, red-faced of being caught again. She almost expected to see Dashwood behind her – the dashing captain on her mind anyway. She was surprised to see her father's stable boy standing behind her. By the look on his face, he was as embarrassed as she.

She held her skirt to her legs, clearing her throat. It was much to her shame that he commented on her legs. She had to remember he wasn't well-bred. It was only to be expected that a stable boy be crude.

“It's Silas, right,” she asked, trying to regain her composure. “You won't ever talk about what you saw. Father enjoys having you work for him. He's said how hard you work, never an unkind word. I'd hate for him to have to find another stable boy, which he would be forced to do if he knew you'd been peeking at my legs.” It was the kindest way she could think of warning him. She truly feared that, with the rumors of the last ball still floating around, she'd get a reputation if this innocent little slip were to get out.

Sitting back on the bench, she motioned him to come closer. “You said you had something to tell me? It's okay, I'm not angry.”

Not angry, hey, thought Silas. Well, her not being angry ain't stopping her threatenin' me, and pretendin' she ain't! Silas had never seen or read of the concept of a "veiled threat", or that was exactly the phrase he would have used. Still, it was too late to back out now. Now was he going to act all ashamed and guilty - he knew enough of life to know that would only make his position worse.

"There'n no need to say stuff like that, Miss," he said, openly, with defiance in his voice. "I waren't peeking at your legs. I waren't ter know you'd suddenly tek it in your head to all of a sudden fling your skirts and petticuts up in the air an' start fiddlin' around just as I come round the corner, was I? Other ladies don't do stuff like that." He wiped his nose with a loud sniff. "An' you're right, your da knows how 'ard a worker I am. 'e's a gent, is the Master, an' he won' sack a loyal worker jus' 'cos he ass-dent-arly caught you shakin' your drawers down, or whatever it was you was doin'. Gah, peek at your skinny shanks? I seen better pins on the 'orses, that I 'ave!"

Actually, he was lying there - for reasons he didn't himself realize, he'd found the sight of her legs strangely disquieting, but in a nice kind of way. Somehow, the thought that he wasn't supposed to see them added a touch of excitement. He'd noticed how differently shaped they were than mens' legs, with that nice curve. And he was intrigued the way she had a sort of thin, wrinkly second skin over them, like a gentleman's stockings, but finer.

"I come to tell yer that Crispin were a-readin' of your letters you bin sending. Saw 'im readin' that letter you sen' to Lor' Beddin'ton, I did. I were gonna tell you a way you could stop it 'appening, too, but I guess you don' wanna know. So I better get back to the stables afore you start threatenin' me again. I gotta sweep up the 'orse-dung, and the work keeps pilin' up, yer might say!"

And with a scowl, he turned away.

Why that little...little... Words failed Lynnette, but Dympna had a few to add. Though 'adorable scamp' wasn't the ones Lynnette would have picked.

Oh, leave him be, Dympna said. He reminds me of my neighbor's son. All bluster when cornered. Look at that pout! He's just trying to assert his manhood.

Lynnette sighed. She really had no idea what Dympna was saying, but she could get the idea. All those foreign words and pictures, and Dympna's surprisingly motherly instinct, gave Lynnette a chance to pause and reassess her situation.

“Silas,” she said softly, standing and gently putting an arm around his shoulders to turn him to face her. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. You're right that Father wouldn't just sack you over something like this. You caught me in an embarrassing situation, and I attacked you out of my own shame. Can we start over and be friends?”

Mother would just die if she ever heard any of that Lynnette thought.

You owed that boy an apology. Trust me, standing your ground and hoping for the best wouldn't have worked, and your mother's idea of looking down on servants won't work either. Look at him, Lynnette. He's a kid; a proud boy who is just lashing out the same as you did.

She smiled and sat back down. “Now, you said you saw Crispin reading my letters. I'd very much like to hear what you have to say, and the idea you have.”

"Well, Miss," said Silas, somewhat mollified. "It's like this, see. I never liked that Crispin - 'e tried to 'it me once, an' 'e got no right to. So I sparred up to 'im, like, an' 'e backed away. I reckon you shouldn't pick no fight, if yer a coward like 'im. But anyway - them letters you give 'im, 'e takes 'em away an' melts the seals, 'e does, an' reads 'em, an' seals 'em up again. An' takes 'em where they supposed to go, an' no-one the wiser. I can't prove nuffin', but I knows it's true.

"Anyway, I reckon if you writ, like, something that waren't true, like say you knew there was treasure buried under the laburnum tree be'ind the stables or something, and sent Crispin with the message - an' he then started diggin' there, well, you'd know 'ed read the letter an I was telling the truth, then, wouldn'd yer, Miss.

Suddenly, something occured to Silas.

"An' Miss, yeah, I would like to be yer friend, if yer want me to be. I didn't mean that about yer legs, Miss. They're really pretty legs, much better than an 'orses, honest. An' I bet Lord Beddin'ton thinks so too."

He paused, a dreamlike look on his face.

"'E's my 'ero, 'e is, Lord Beddin'ton. That's why I told yer about the letters, Miss."

Lynnette smiled. “I'll let you in on a little secret, Silas. Lord Beddington's my hero, too.” Though, what he told her caused some dismay. Her letters were being read, and she had written (at least in her mind) some very steamy letters. She wasn't sure if Crispin's reading them was malicious or if he just enjoyed the peak into her blossoming love life.

The kid has a good idea, Dympna said. A bit too Hollywood. After all, how would you know if a treasure was buried on the property? But he's on the right track. Something that would prove he's reading the letters.

An elopement? Something that, if caught, could line his pockets with money. Lynnette suggested.

Now, there is an idea. But for anything like that, you should inform Dashwood. It would be horrible if he thought you really meant to run off with him, and it was just to catch Crispin.

Lynnette said, “I think your idea has some merit. However, I also think that Lord Beddington should be informed if we are going to execute this trap perfectly. And you, Silas, will deliver my message to him. Find him, and tell him personally that I wish to speak to him. If my mother is with him, tell him it's to discuss the Hunting party for tomorrow. I'll wait for him by the stables.”

She didn't like the idea of anyone reading her letters, but the thrill she got in planning Crispin's capture was exhilarating. Much like the feeling she had when Dashwood saved her at the ball.

Silas was a bit confused. Lady Lynette's face had gone red when he'd discovered she had legs, and he'd worked out that it was in anger at his knowing her secret. So why had she also gone as red as a hunting coat when he'd talked about Lord Beddington? Was she angry at Lord Beddington, too? Or angry at Silas, saying he was his hero? Or could this be the "gentle maidenly blush" he'd read about, in the books he read by the stolen candlelight,he'd always wondered what that meant. Some instinct told him not to ask Lady Lynette.

And what was "merit" when it was at home? And why was she going to execute a trap - did she mean kill it? Still, he'd got the main part of the message, he felt. He was to find Lord Beddington, and tell him to come and meet Lady Lynette. And say it was about the hunting party if questioned. He'd got all that.

A few hours later, he was hurrying back, sitting astride one of Lord Beddington's more docile horses. He felt like an intrepid adventurer, delivering the message that Lord Beddington was currently in conference with one of his tenant farmers, but would be along in a few minutes. It was like being a hussar, delivering vital information from the commander to one of the colonels, some important information that would seal Boney's fate once and for all.

When he got back, he could hardly deliver his message, he was so excited. "Lord Beddin'ton's compliments," he gabbled, breathlessly. "He says he feels like Atlas about to enter the do-mane of the gods an' drink the... er what was it... the ambro-see-ah of your wonderful smile. An.... an' he promises to hold off from thrashing Crispin into... into a sausage meat, I think it was... until Sir, urm... Lance-his-lot I think 'e said - can discuss the matter with the Lady Gwin-are-veer. Yeah, that's it. Urm, Miss, are you angry. You gone all red again?"

That man knows how to turn a lady's legs to jelly with words, Dympna admired. She wondered if his wonderful lines would work in a bar. It certainly sounded better than the usual fallen angel or asking for a girl's number because he lost his own spiel that Dympna was used to encountering.

I wish you wouldn't mention legs, Lynnette whined. I feel as if half of London has seen my legs.

Just Dashwood and Silas. Hardly half of London. And admit it, you liked the fact that Dashwood saw them. That man was struck speechless. He'd probably die if he knew of half the things I wear.

Fanning herself, Lynnette turned her attention back to Silas. “I'm not angry at Lord Beddington. He just...well, you see...It's the sun. I fear I'm a bit overheated. That's all.” If she thought more about how soon she'd see the object of her affections, she feared she'd burst. The mere mention of Dashwood and she felt like she couldn't breathe, and that her clothes were suddenly too tight. Her heart fluttered wildly and all her thoughts turned to him. She knew she could spend hours of contemplating just his smile.

“Thank you, Silas. You've done me a great favor. I can trust you to deliver any important messages between myself and Lord Beddington.” It wasn't a question, but a fact. Until this thing with Crispin was settled, all her real love letters would need to go through someone as reliable as Silas.

Lord Beddington had not been hugely surprised when he'd learned that Lady Lynette's letter to him had been intercepted. A confirmed cynic, he had long ago lost faith in the honesty of the human race, and knew the mentality of servants better than most of the aristocracy. After all, most of the men he commanded were from the servant classes. However, since Silas seemed to be so proud of having sprung the plot, and obviously hero-worshiped him, Beddington had thanked the young stable-boy gravely, shaken his hand, and (feigning an anger he did not really feel) swore that the miscreant should suffer for his presumption. The fact that this involved seeing the Lady Lynette again so soon, certainly did not discourage him from joining in Silas' plan with alcrity.

Lest Lord Beddington should be dismissed as nothing but a cynic, however, it is only fair to relate that (despite it not being him that had taken the missive's literary virginity) he had read and re-read it until he knew its contents by heart, and even as he rode, a few minutes behind Silas, the letter rested in the inner pocket of his uniform, next to his heart!

"What a freaking nerve," the voice in his head said, angrily. "That's like hacking into someone's email! Or defacing their Facebook page!"

Lord Beddington had only a sketchy idea what his resident ghost was talking about, but what little he did understand, he agreed with!

He slowed his horse to a walk when he was withing a few minutes of the agreed meeting-place, and wiped the sweat from his brow with a silk kerchief. It would not do to arrive in her presence looking anything less than impeccable, nor to show undue haste. Therefore, Silas was just leading the borrowed horse away for a brush (and, knowing Silas, probably more sugar lumps than were good for it) when Beddington arrived. He vaulted from his glossy black steed, (not before deliberately making it rear to impress his two admirers - (this also had been a suggestion from the ghost, and he saw the sense of it) - and walked up to the Lady Lynette, taking her hand and kissing it.

"My Lady, I am devastated to hear of what has transpired," he said. "However, the fact that the events bring me into your presence, so that I may again drink the wine of your charm, presents a truly silken lining to this darkest of clouds."

As much as Lynnette was pleased to see Dashwood again, she almost wished he had been a few more minutes behind Silas. She was still trying to compose herself from her flush of desire when she heard the hoofbeats. Like some warrior hero from a romance novel, Dashwood rode up and reared his horse, his figure posing dramatically for a moment. Lynnette found herself gripping the stable wall to keep from swooning.

Once again, when Dashwood kissed her hand, she felt it tingle delightfully all throughout her body. Dympna never believed in love at first sight, but she felt that whatever Lynnette was experiencing was very close.

“Captain Dashwood, I'm so pleased to see you again,” Lynnette breathed. “I hope I haven't interrupted anything important. The news that young Silas brought to our attention has been disturbing, to say the least. I just feel so violated that anyone would read our private letters.”

Lynnette couldn't help herself, placing her hand on his chest. She pretended to smooth out his jacket, but it was just an excuse to touch him. A part of her was worried that she had been so eager to see him, that she was imagining all of this. But he felt so solid and real.

“I should confess, sweet Captain, that despite my horror at finding out about our letters, I am truly glad to see you again. You've been haunting my thoughts, both waking and dreaming.”

"Madam, nothing could be more important than seeing you again," replied Beddington, noting with satisfaction her flushed face. He would not be so ungentlemanly as to sneak a look down at her bosom to see if it was heaving, but he had a fair idea... inspired by his "ghost", for he'd never have thought of this himself... he reached out and gently touched her cheek. "Do not feel violated, sweet lady. I doubt that idiot could understand most of what you wrote... though of course, I comprehended every word, and, to be frank, it has given me the most delightful of dreams ever since."


“I should confess, sweet Captain, that despite my horror at finding out about our letters, I am truly glad to see you again. You've been haunting my thoughts, both waking and dreaming.”

Beddington wondered if she'd actually felt the letter when she'd touched his chest. And if she'd guessed it was her letter. "It appears, my Lady, that the gods have smiled upon me. To be the subject of even an idle thought of yours would be honor beyond imagining. That you think about me so much..."

"Lynette? Oh Lynette. Oh, where is that stupid girl? Are you out here?"

Right on cue, the screeching voice of Lady Charmaine came from nowhere. The next second, the lady herself hove into view around the privet hedge, like a galleon in full sail. "Ah, there you are. I have just had the most intriguing letter from Lord Austin. Perhaps your chances are not entirely vanished. He writes - oh!"

She pulled up short at the sight of Lord Beddington.

"Oh, Lord Beddington, I do apologize. I had no idea... I... That is... " Her face, Beddington noted, was now as red as Lady Lynette's. She primped and patted at her hair, and tugged nervously at her gown. For a moment he thought she was about to curtsy. He managed - just - to suppress an amused laugh.

"Lynette," she said, rounding on her daughter. "I am sure that whatever brings a busy man like Lord Beddington here must be important. And I am sure he doesn't wish to be distracted by your girlish prattle. Go and... and... and pull your stockings up, or something!"

withuot even looking to see if her peremptory command had been obeyed, she turned back to Beddington, taking him by the arm.

"The oleanders are so delightful at this time of year, my Lord. Perhaps I should show them to you, while we discuss whatever had brought you here..."