Victorian Romance Emma has always been one of my personal favorites. I was always trying to think of a fic to write for it and I finally came up with this idea that was also inspired by one of my favorite books by Josie Litton. I love reading her books and I'm addicted to all of them.

So here it is. I hope you enjoy it.

Disclaimer: I do not own Victorian Romance Emma

Ernest stumbled through the forest, his hand locking on the end of his pistol and setting it ready.

The bastard had double-crossed him and now meant to kill him. Whatever going to happen in the next thirty seconds would determine the lives of both the man, and the man chasing him.

I'm not going to go down this way.

Turning around, he fired and hit the man square in the shoulder, only to have his feet swept out from under him. Wrestling with the other man for a few more seconds, Ernest caught the glimmer of a knife held in his opponent's hand.

"Damn-"

He shoved the man aside with the last of his energy only to watch as the large man fell on his own knife, who made a few odd noises that Ernest was sure he would never forget for the rest of his life. Sure, the man was an evil traitor that would be hung anyway if ever caught by the authorities, but falling on one's own knife was not his opinion of a graceful way to go.

Before the man's last breath, Ernest rolled him over and grabbed his collar.

"Tell me what I want to know!"

"Or...what?" the big man coughed, "...yer gonna kill me?..."

With that, Ernest sighed irritably as the man passed on. Standing up straight, he flinched at the pain from his ribs. He had caught a few blows that would stay with him for a while. Wrapping an arm gently around his waist he trudged up the hill towards the main road, saying a swift prayer for his fallen enemy.

It would not be long until the dead man was found, and in that time, Ernest was going to make himself scarce. With the carriage already waiting at the top of the hill, he pulled open the door and heaved himself inside. Tapping on the roof, the horses and driver set a course back towards the Reeve's estate.

"Shite." Ernest flinched as he pulled off his suit coat.

He had to send a telegram to Minister Hale right away and inform him about what transpired. Most likely Ernest's superior would be entirely outraged by the faulty exchange. Information privy to the safety of the royal family was at stake, and now that the underground rebel faction was starting to move faster than expected, Ernest had a feeling that he would be called to the palace soon to see to his duties personally instead of carrying on in the shadows.

Brushing off his clothes, he drew a piece of paper from his coat and a pen. Scribbling a quick bit of information to the Minister, he folded it as the carriage came to a halt outside his home.

"You alright, sir?" the old man at the reigns asked, "Lookin' a bit pale."

"I'll be fine." Ernest lowered himself out. He was certain that at least one of those ribs were broken, "Please, pass this to Minister Hale for me."

"Sure thing."

"Thank you, Thorngood." Ernest replied, "Tell him that he owes me a drink."

"He owes you more than that, son." Thorngood smiled sympathetically. He was Ernest's direct contact to Hale, and over the years since taking on the assignment, Ernest had grown to be good friends with the elder man.

"I didn't go into this for thanks." Ernest replied, "But you're confidence in me is appreciated."

Thorngood chuckled and shook his head, and headed towards London.

Ernest entered the main house, and handed his dirty coat to his head butler. Howl had been with him since he was a boy, and they had grown up together. Out of everyone in the house, Howl was the only one that knew of Ernest and his 'assignments'.

"Forgive me for saying, sir, but you look like death warmed over."

Ernest also enjoyed Howl's straight-forward humor.

"I might have broken a rib." Ernest cranked the door to his room open before Howl could see to the task.

"I'll have the servants run the bath." he replied, "Lady Wisteria is not home at the moment."

"Thank God, at least something is going in my favor tonight." Ernest peeled off the dress shirt that was smeared with blood that belonged to himself and his attacker, "See that this is burned."

"Yes, sir." Howl made a face as he picked up the discarded white shirt on the floor. Seeing the dark spots beginning to form on his master's back and mid-drift, his frown turned into a scowl, "Do you require a surgeon?"

"A bath, rest, and brandy will just fine." Ernest smiled uneasily, "Actually...make it a whiskey."

"Right away."

With Howl gone, Ernest eased himself on the bed and thanked the heavens again that his grandmother was not home. Although he had long since managed in the Reeve Estate on his own since the death of his parents, his grandmother had always provided much needed support. Lady Wisteria Reeve was as glad to have him around as he was to have her there.

Which made it even more important that she not see the injuries on his person.

After the long bath, in which Ernest sat in until the water was room temperature, he made a few quick notes in his report at the desk in the study. The note would reach Minister Hale faster than the whole report, which would be sent on the next mail.

Finally taking the opportunity to down the shot of whiskey in one gulp, Ernest flopped onto the four poster bed and sighed. He was not in too much pain now, but he would be in the morning.

The only thing he could do for now was lay in wait for the Minister's next orders. If it required Ernest to travel to London, it would be easy to do so under the guise of the fall social at the palace. He had been invited the previous month, and now it gave him excuse to visit London. Ernest did not always enjoy the pomp and circumstance of high-class functions, but breaking such an invitation would look poorly on his own reputation.

If they could not find the leader of the faction soon and put him behind bars, most likely there would be a lot more problems in England other than a broken social invite.

His ribs throbbed.

"Bloody hell."