Act II, Scene I


Dearest Diary,

I'm finding it quite hard to write right now, let alone stay calm, but I must record this while it is still fresh in my mind. I was on my way to the library through a new passageway when I found myself in the attic. I know what you're thinking, diary, and I know it was very stupid of me not to leave the moment I arrived, but curiosity was my downfall once more and I ventured in.

There were mounds upon mounds of leather bound journals, and amongst them all was a bookstand and a journal that wrote itself—all of them must have written themselves at one point before being completely filled up. I didn't read much of the journal; I was distracted by the fact that it was being filled with words with no ink, quill, or author to be seen. And then, a portrait covered in a white sheet caught my eye, and, being the stupid person I am, I pulled the sheet back to look at the portrait.

It was a corpse; a man older than time itself with sunken pits for eyes and skin that had flecked away in some spots. I still cannot wash that image out of my mind. I don't know if I ever will. I ran. I ran away as fast as I possibly could. I ran straight back to my room, locking all my doors and hide in my wardrobe. I am not afraid to confide that in you. I cried. I cried in terror and fear and disgust. I am not ashamed of that either, any living person, man or woman, would have done the same. I can say that with the utmost confidence.

But then, later this afternoon, I did something even more stupid than not leaving the attic immediately, or investigating the journal, or looking at that thing; I went back. I will admit I ran like the wind. I went up to the attic, found the oldest journal I could, and sprinted right back here like hellhounds ran at my heels. When I flew out of the painting that conceals the passageway, I nearly knocked over Eliza in my haste. It is very fortunate thing that the particular passage also leads to the library, otherwise I would have had a very hard time explaining where I had gotten the book from, although I don't think I'm ever going to use those passages again.

Just the mere thought of that horrible corpse portrait just three stories above my head is probably going to keep me awake at night.

I do not know what to make of this whole situation yet and I have yet to read the journal from my second trip to the attic, I might not for quite some time as I think I have used my month's worth of courage. Rest assured, though, it will occupy my thoughts.

Very frightened,

Lady Madeleine of Kirkland

(I am still not used to that title yet)

"Good morning, my Lady," said Eliza the following Tuesday as she entered into the young woman's bedchamber with the traditional breakfast tray, this time laden with a plate of bacon and a fried egg. "This arrived in the mail for you," the housekeeper added after she had handed the tray to Madeleine's awaiting hands, drawing a letter from her apron pocket.

"Thank you," the Lady replied, as she was handed the letter and scanned the envelope, "Ah, it's from mother." Putting aside the piece of bacon she had been working on, Madeleine slid a finger through the envelope, drawing the letter out from within. Absent-mindedly, she picked up her bacon once more as she began to read. "It seems the Duke and Duchess of Northumberland are holding a ball and invited my brother and parents. Apparently their daughter, Millie, has taken a fancy to Alfred."

"Would it be a match that your father would agree to?" asked Eliza as she tidied the room.

"Possibly, if Alfred was in favor of it," Madeleine shrugged as she put aside the letter to turn her full attention back to inhaling the strips of bacon. "But Alfred hates parties so that's probably not going to he—that's it!"

"What's it?" Eliza asked, arching an eyebrow at the younger woman, straightening from retrieving a dress slip that had somehow made its way onto the floor.

"A party! That's what married socialite woman like me do! I can plan the whole entire thing! There will be roast goose and raspberry sorbet for dinner and dancing afterwards, we do have a dance hall somewhere in this manor, don't we?" Madeleine babbled, springing up from her seat in front of her writing desk and beginning to pace about the room.

"My Lady, as good of an idea as this may seem, maybe we should wait until the master returns from his business before making any decisions, he doesn't like surprises—" Eliza began, trying to persuade the younger woman from this rather dangerous idea.

The Lord Kirkland had departed on business once more Sunday afternoon, going to London to see Sir Francis Bonnefoy, Madeleine's father, for a trading renewal agreement between their companies; Bonnefoy owned the Virginia Trading Company, a major trading partner of the East India Trading Company, the one the Lord had single-handedly built up to power, or so it seemed.

"No, but Eliza! That's the point! He's so big on his rules and standards and if I show him that I can be the proper hostess and lady of the house, then the surprise will be worth it! Plus, he travels so often and never relaxes for even a moment, this will give him the chance to meet all his business partners on more friendly terms but not have to worry about the planning of the party," Madeleine replied, grinning in triumph.

"Really, my Lady, I—" Eliza tried again, a look of apprehension across her face.

"Don't worry Eliza, this will work, I promise," Madeleine cut her off, giving her a reassuring smile. The housekeeper just shook her head and sighed.

Later that afternoon found Madeleine seated in Felicia's rather cozy workshop situated just down the hall from the kitchens, both woman reclining in armchairs with piles of papers and swatches of fabric resting in their laps and on the floor and tables about them. "It'll be a summer ball, after all, it is the start of June next week," Madeleine was saying, peering down at a pink sample of silk. "So, we need to go with more pastel colors."

"And flowers! Many, many beautiful flowers!" chimed in Felicia

"Yes!" agreed Madeleine enthusiastically, "All over the dining table and around the house! We can't get them from our own garden though, since we want all the windows and doors open to draw people out to show off our own garden."

"Ve, what a wonderful idea!" Felicia said, clapping her hands in delight, "And, my Lady, I'll make a new gown for you too! Something in a deep, pinky-purple, like a flower!"

"No, really Felicia, that is asking too much of you," Madeleine protested, "You don't have to help with decorations as well as make a dress for me, you have other duties to attend to—"

"My Lady, I insist and that's the last I'm going to say about it!" Felicia said, fixing the blond haired woman with a determined look in her warm brown eyes before she added, "Now wait right there, I need to go find my tape measure, ve!"

Madeleine sighed and grinned despite herself as she watched Felicia spring up, showering swatches and pages of plans as she went. The woman scurried off to one of the cluttered tables of her sewing materials, in which time there was a soft knock and Ludwig peered in. "Guten tag, meine Frau. How are you this morning?"

"Very well, thank you," Madeleine replied with a nod and a cordial smile. Ludwig was as stiff as a board but in an amiable way and somehow through her many cooking excursions she had become friends with the large German man.

"Herr Roderich said that you needed to speak with me?" Ludwig asked as he stepped into the room.

"Ve, hello, my love," called Felicia from the other side of the room as she continued to rummage, seeming to have buried her tape measure under a mountain of fabrics. Ludwig just turned a faint shade of red and mutely waved back.

"Yes, I did," Madeleine nodded before indicating a spare armchair that was relatively clear of any clutter, "Please sit down Ludwig." There was a moment of pause, as the German chef stared at the chair like it was the first time he ever saw one, causing Madeleine to wave her hand at him again, urging him to sit. When he finally did, she had a smile of amusement across her face and she said, "Now, as you may have heard, I am planning a party—a ball—and I need to talk with you about a menu."

"I know that I want a raspberry sorbet for dessert and a light garden salad for the appetizer, but the rest I need suggestions on," Madeleine began. She really had no clue on what to serve during the summer for a party, because, on second thought roast goose was Christmas time and might be a little out of place in June.

Ludwig thought for a moment, and for some reason, there was a faint trace of a smile on his face and a hint of excitement in his blue eyes. Despite Eliza being nervous about the Lord, even she seemed excited for the party and so did Ludwig. It must have been quite a long time since they had hosted a party at the manor that they were so excited for hers. "Well, meine Frau…"


Act II, Scene II


"You're in a good mood today," was the dry observation of the Lord Kirkland Friday morning. He had returned from his business meeting with Sir Bonnefoy—a generally happy and obnoxiously talkative man—and had reached a rather satisfactory trading agreement for the East India Trading Company after hours of his patience being thoroughly tested. Although, the meeting did go longer than planned and he arrived home near one in the morning the previous night.

He would have been tempted to sleep in but Felicia needed to tailor his new suit for his visit to Mister Wang, a spice merchant from China, that he had to leave for Friday evening if he wished to make it to Portsmouth in time. He simply did not have any time to waste.

Felicia, who was kneeled on the ground at the base of the block the Lord was perched upon, was humming as she cheerfully guided her needle expertly, sewing the last few stitches on the left pant leg seam. "Hmm-hmm-hmm, a party, a party," was all she hummed in response as she moved to the right leg and flicked her needle through the black fabric. "We're having a party hmm-hmm!"

"What?" the Lord snapped, looking fiercely down at Felicia.

"Oh," Felicia said, stopping in her humming as she looked up at her master, instantly realizing her mistake and the sudden apprehension from it clearly written across her face. "Oh noth-nothing, my Lord! I didn't say anything! I was just humming as I worked! An old song from uh…"

"Felicia, you said we are having a party," the Lord said, obviously not in the least bit believing of the woman's jumble of an excuse.

"No, I didn't," she squeaked as she returned to her work, three-fourth of the way done, her needle moving lightning-fast so that she could beat a hasty retreat.

"Felicia," the Lord said, his voice low and in a warning. The seamstress pretended not to hear as she nipped the thread off with her teeth, and hurriedly gathered her supplies back into her basket. "Felicia." This time the Lord's voice was dangerous, a tone that any of the servants recognized as one that shouldn't be tried. She looked up, fear in her eyes and tears beginning to brim, "Tell me everything."

There was a moment of silence as the woman's lip wobbled and then she finally said, "My Lady was planning a party to celebrate the summer! We've all been helping organize it and please, master, don't be angry with her! It was going to be a surprise for you! And—"

"That is all Felicia, thank you," the Lord said, cutting off the maid in the middle of her sentence as he stepped down from the tailor's block, shrugging his black blazer back over his shoulders, like he was thanking her for her needlework. Felicia blinked at him for a moment before scooping up her sewing basket, bolting from the room, tears beginning to slip down her cheeks.


Act II, Scene III


"My Lady, my Lady!" shouted Felicia as she raced down the west wing corridor of the second story, holding her sewing kit under one arm while the other hand clutched her skirts, hoisting them well above the modest height so as to lengthen her strides and run faster. When she reached the end of the hallway, she burst into Madeleine's bedchamber and found the Lady at her writing desk, pen in hand and a half-formed letter on the stationary before her.

"Felicia?" Madeleine blinked, confusion clearly written across her face.

"My Lady! I'm so sorry; it's all my fault! I shouldn't have but, but…" she trailed off as she choked on tears.

Brows furrowed in worry, Madeleine hurried over to where her friend stood and ushered her over to take a seat on the side of the bed. "Now," the Lady said as she, too, took a seat, a comforting arm still around the seamstress. "Start from the beginning and tell me what happened."

"I, well," sniffled Felicia, "I was in the Lord's office hemming his new trousers for a new suit he wants to wear for his business meeting tomorrow and I was humming," here she let off a loud sniffle, "I was humming about the party because I am so excited about it and then he asked me what I said. I t-tried to say that it was just a silly song but then he wasn't fooled and I t-told him and ruined the surprise and now he's mad at you because of me and I'm sorry my Lady, it's all my fault!"

"There, there, Felicia," Madeleine shushed, rubbing the woman's arm just as her own mother did whenever she was upset as a child. "It wasn't your fault. My Lord is a very intimidating person, I don't blame you for telling him."

"I kn-know b-but now the party's ruined and everyone was so excited for it," Felicia cried, "And your dress was almos—"

Before the auburn haired woman could finish her sentence, there was a sharp knock on the door and Madeleine called, "Come in." The door soon swung open to reveal the figure of Roderich.

The butler took in the scene with a single glance and announced, "My Lady, the Lord requests you in his office." Felicia let off a choked wail and Madeleine's heart plummeted somewhere in her feet and she felt her cheeks pale.

"Of course, thank you, Roderich," Madeleine nodded after a moment of complete silence, before she got shakily to her feet. Giving Felicia a brave smile, she said, "Don't worry, Felicia, I'll be fine." Even as she spoke it, she knew it was a lie. Just the mere mention of the Lord's office invoked all sorts of fear. She almost would rather spend the night in the attic with the corpse painting than go into the Lord's office for five minutes.

Taking a breath to steel her nerves, she set bravely off, nodding to Roderich as he held the door open for her, and, with as much dignity as possible, swept down the corridor with Roderich following closely behind. When they reached the ground floor of the entranceway, the butler took the lead, as Madeleine had literally not a clue where the Lord's office was.

They went through the two double doors opposite the front entrance, and into the dining room, which overlooked the gardens. Taking a right, the butler bypassed the perfectly polished dining room table that never saw much use and headed straight for the very end of the room where a grand gray stone hearth stood, flanked by doors on both sides. Bringing up a white-gloved hand, the butler knocked three, short times upon the door.

After a pause, in which both the butler and Lady listened intently for a voice within, they heard a muffled, "Enter." The butler twisted the knob and the door swung open to reveal a giant office space, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lining most of the walls except for the occasional window along the left wall, yellowed maps pinned to the wall, or the two doors, which, undoubtedly, led to secret passages only the Lord knew.

There was a fireplace to the direct left of the door Roderich and Madeleine entered through, with an ornate couch and two overstuffed armchairs sitting across from it, which may have been the first pieces of furniture in the whole entire house that looked like they were actually used on a daily basis. Then there was the giant, imposing desk that the Lord sat behind, his blond head bent over a mound of parchment. His desk was neat and orderly, like the Lord himself, and across from him were two plain, rather uncomfortable looking chairs.

"My Lord, the Lady Madeleine," the butler announced after clearing his throat.

"Thank you, Roderich, you may go," the Lord said, not even glancing up from his work, a moment after they entered. Madeleine glanced pleadingly at the butler, who gave a weak smile and, as he turned to go, briefly squeezed her shoulder in encouragement. Taking another deep breath, Madeleine turned her attention back to her husband.

He hadn't even looked up at her once, his eyes trained on the parchment before him, and there was five minutes of complete silence as she just stood, her heart pounding so hard that she had no doubt that he could hear it. The office itself was intimidating, but with the Lord sitting in the midst of it, it was as if she was facing final judgment.

"Sit," the Lord said, shortly. The order was so quick and delivered without the slightest glance up that Madeleine nearly missed it, but then she saw the barest flick of his fingers indicating one of the terribly uncomfortable chairs, and, silently, she sat. Madeleine sat in a nervous silence as the Lord finished reading, picked up a quill that sat, waiting in its inkpot and scratched a small note onto the bottom of the parchment. To her brief terror, the scratching of his quill was exactly the same as that of the journal four stories above their heads.

And then, having to restrain herself from letting out a shriek, she noticed that the Lord's handing writing was exactly the same as the spidery, jagged hand writing in the journal. But, before she could think much else on this, the Lord set aside his quill and she found herself staring into those deep, emerald green eyes. She involuntarily gulped and her heart began to pound even more rapidly than before.

"My Lady, it has come to my attention that you were planning a party without my knowledge or consent, is this true?" he said, his voice so calm that it nearly threw Madeleine off her guard. She was expecting a fierce rebuking or a lecture on how a woman should act.

She just nodded mutely in response; she didn't know if her voice would come out in anything more than a squeak, if it came out at all. "And now my curiosity is piqued; why would you think it was good idea to hold such an event without proposing it to me first?"

And now, she was required to speak. Taking a moment to marshal her courage and her reasons, as well as her temporarily misplaced speech capabilities, she took a breath and replied, "It is a woman of my standing's duty to act as hostess for her husband and hold parties. I thought it would a nice surprise for you to have a party but not have to worry about all the planning and arrangements. You travel so often that I thought it might be nice to see all your acquaintances on terms where you aren't discussing purely business."

The Lord blinked at this, like he hadn't expected such reasoning as her motivation. "That is," he paused for a moment, seeming trying to choose the perfect words, "very thoughtful of you. But, I do not like hosting parties. I make a point of avoiding them, if at all possible. Have the invitations been sent out?" His wife shook her. "Good. Then cancel it. Thank you for your time, my Lady. You may return to whatever you were occupying yourself with."

With that, he had turned back to his work, already having lost complete interest in her.


Act II, Scene IV


Dearest Maddie,

Happy birthday to us! I know it's a little early, but I needed to send this letter a few weeks ahead because, guess what? I'm coming to visit you for our birthday! Don't get too excited, now, it's still two weeks away! But, I hope that brightens your already sunny June days—is it nice there? It's been brutally hot here in London—and helps you cope with living in that stuffy old house.

In other news, Lady Millie (you know, the one that practically begged/dragged me to her ball-thing earlier this month? Yeah, her) is going extremely far out of her way to impress me. (Or, at least that's what Papa said, and I don't know if he's to be completely trusted.) I told her, just to be polite, that her blue dress really brought out her eyes and just the other day Mother said she ordered twenty new dresses in the exact same shade of blue as the one she wore.

Of course, this wouldn't mean a whole lot to me if I didn't see her at Lady Whitehouse's yesterday (Mother dragged me along for teatime. I was the only male there!) and saw that she was in fact wearing one of her new dresses. And she kept fluttering her eyelashes at me. And she kept suggestively tugging down her neckline. And she kept trying to sit next to me. And she definitely stole one of my tea cookies in an attempt to by 'coy.' (Mother's words, not mine.) Help me, Maddie!

You don't suppose your husband knows any women that don't try way too hard to be coy? (Whatever that means.)

Oh yes, Mother and Papa wanted me to write that they love you very much and all that, and that they are very sorry they can't make it up for your birthday. (But, have no fear; I am being sent along with a carriage-full of presents for you. Dresses, mostly, which mother says she hopes don't fit around the stomach—I don't know what she means by that—and don't tell her I told you about your gifts! Just act like you were really surprised when you write to her about them, alright?)

And that's all I have.

Your loving older brother by one minute,

Alfred

"Hey Eliza," Madeleine said, as she glanced up from the letter she had just received from Roderich. After her visit to the Lord's office four weeks ago, she had been trying to keep as low as a profile as possible and that meant spending most of her time hidden in the kitchen. At the current moment, she was sitting at the long wooden table where the staff took their meals along with Eliza, Felicia, and Roderich; Ludwig was making bread.

"Hmm?" was the housekeeper's response to show she was listening, not bothering to take her gaze off of the wine glass she was currently polishing.

"Do you know if the Lord will be away on business on July fourth?" Madeleine asked.

"Why, is your lover coming to visit?" Eliza asked, nonchalantly, making Felicia giggle and Roderich give his wife a disapproving look.

"No, my brother," Madeleine shook her head, smiling at the housekeeper.

Shrugging, the brunette woman said, "I haven't the faintest; the only person that ever seems to know when he's here and when he isn't, is the master himself."

"Yes, he'll be here," Roderich replied after a beat, turning away from his wife—a frown at her impertinent comments about their master on his face—to nod in confirmation to Madeleine. "Do you want me to go and deliver the message that your brother will be arriving?"

"Yes, thank you, Roderich. But you don't have to go right this moment. You can tell him when next you see him," the Lady replied, with a grateful smile but also not wanting to make the man have to walk through the labyrinth of tunnels just to tell the Lord that simple message.

"Ve, my Lady, what is your brother like?" Felicia asked, as she set aside her mending of Feliks' socks to lean eagerly forward.

"Well," Madeleine began, "He is my older twin brother by one minute and he never lets me forget it. We look very much alike and he likes to laugh quite a bit. He is charismatic when he wants to be, but most of the time he's just obnoxious and loud. He jokes around too much and is utterly petrified by any eligible woman trying to flirt with him."

Felicia giggled in delight, "He sounds very nice."

"Careful there, Felicia, you might make Ludwig jealous," Eliza teased. This caused all four of the occupants of the table to turn and look at Ludwig over their shoulders, who turned beet red.


Act II, Scene V


"My dear," the Lord said as he entered into the main hall from the dining room and his office, striding over to stand next to his wife. He had taken to calling her that phrase ever since Roderich delivered the message that Alfred was to arrive on July third, almost as if he were getting used to referring to her as something other than the stiff 'My Lady.' Madeleine found it discomforting to say the least.

When he reached her, he gently kissed her cheek before asking as he pulled away and took her arm, "Is your brother to arrive soon?" Madeleine stiffened, not from being disgusted that he situated her hand in the crook of his arm or kissed her cheek but because she was positively determined not to mess up.

"Very soon, he wrote saying that he would arrive by one o'clock," she replied, trying her very best to be the model image of the perfect lady. She glanced over at the grandfather clock, only to realize that Eliza said it had been forever stuck at four o'clock and that she really meant to have it fixed. The Lord nodded, and, just then, the door swung open and Roderich entered, suitcase in hand, and he stood aside as a young man bounded into the entrance hall.

He was tall, taller than even Roderich or the Lord Kirkland, and his blond hair was ruffled from being stuck under a top hat—which he only barely remembered to take off his head—and he wore a finely tailored traveling suit. A bright smile, showing off all his teeth, was stretched across his face. It was like Madeleine was looking in a mirror, but only if she had shorter hair.

" Baby sister! There you are!" he shouted, his voice echoing throughout the hall as he caught sight of her. Forgetting the suitcase he carried and his top hat, he rushed over to her, grabbing her about the waist and spinning her about in his excitement. "I missed you so much, kid! Letters aren't enough!"

"Yes, hello Alfred, I missed you too," Madeleine laughed as she let him spin her once or twice before saying, "Alfred! Alfred, please put me down on solid ground, I think I'm getting dizzy."

"Oh, uh, sorry," he said sheepishly as he set her back down. Madeleine swayed for a moment, the world still spinning about and slowly stopping, her hand instinctively grabbing onto the closest thing—the Lord's arm, as it happened—to steady herself.

"It's alright," she grinned as she finally gained her orientation back, "And Alfred, this, as you remember, is my husband, Lord Kirkland."

"Of course I remember," Alfred said, cheerfully, as he accepted the Lord's offered hand, vigorously pumping it up and down. "My father was telling me how you visited our townhouse earlier this month and it's a real shame you didn't stay that long. I've heard you're a master horseback rider and I was wanting to challenge you to a race."

"Were you, now?" the Lord replied, with an amiable smile, "Well, I was trying to convince my dearest Madeleine to let me go hunting tomorrow to get a fresh pheasant for your birthday dinner. Maybe she would be more lenient if you worked on her as well so that we can get a race in while we hunt?"

"Ah, come on, Maddie," Alfred said, turning back to his sister, "You can't get between a man and his hunting!" With this, the younger of the men slung a friendly arm around the Lord's shoulders and Madeleine saw his green eyes give the slightest of twitches before returning to its perfect mask of a gentleman.

"It's with good intentions, she's always so worried about me getting hurt," the Lord Kirkland disregarded. Madeleine sincerely hoped her face didn't show the look of pure disbelief as she looked away from her husband and brother, catching the eye of Roderich, who stood just inside the entrance hall and was red in the face, trying very hard to hold in his laughter. "She's an exquisite wife."

Before Alfred could say anything to turn this situation more awkward than it already was—the painful thing was that he didn't even realize it—Eliza appeared from a servant's passage and said, "Excuse me, my Lord, Master Bonnefoy's room is ready."

"Thank you, Eliza," the Lord nodded to the housekeeper before turning back to his brother-in-law, "Alfred, if you'll follow Eliza, the housekeeper, she'll show you to your room so that you can get settled in."

"Well, I'll see you two as soon as my suitcase is unpacked then," Alfred smiled at then, giving Madeleine a swift wink as he turned to follow Eliza as she said 'right this way,' carrying his suitcase under one arm and his top hat under the other, trotted his way up the staircase.

The Lord watched him go, an unreadable, yet somehow pleasant, look on his face. As soon as Alfred despaired onto the second story landing and down the hallway, he turned to his wife and said, "My dear, your brother is remarkably like your father."
She blinked at him, nodding mutely as she honestly didn't know how she was supposed to respond to this. She couldn't decide if that comment was a compliment or an insult.


Act II, Scene VI


Madeleine didn't know how her husband managed it, but somehow, through every obnoxious and loud thing Alfred had done that afternoon and evening, the Lord had simply smiled and replied with a witty remark. If she didn't know any better, she would have thought that they were becoming friends, but then she remembered Lord Kirkland didn't have any friends and she had witnessed the barest slips of his mask when he let his eyes twitch or his mouth briefly twist into a scowl.

At that moment, she was reclining on her bed, finally having been released from her corset that Eliza somehow stuffed her into that morning, and thinking how marvelous it was to be able to breath as deep as one desired. Then, there was knock on the door, and she called a sleepy, "Come in," thinking that it was Eliza, returning to tell her a message from the Lord or retrieve something she had forgotten.

Much to her surprise, and happiness, it was the face of Alfred that peered in instead. "Hey Maddie! It took me forever to find your room. I think I opened all the doors on this floor at least twice," he said as he stepped into the room, kicking off his shoes as he closed the door behind him.

"Alfred, what are you doing here?" Madeleine asked, arching an eyebrow at him as he flopped onto the bed beside her like they used to when they were children.

"Well, obviously I had to chat with my sister without your husband hanging around! We've got to have a bro-sis chat like we always do!" Alfred replied, like this was common knowledge to everyone and anyone, while Madeleine just rolled her eyes and shook her head good-naturedly.

"What do you want to talk about then?" she asked, finally giving into the fact that she was not going to get rid of her brother anytime soon and she might as well talk with him while he was there. "Oh, wait, so how is dear Millie?"

"Ugh, her," Alfred said, saying this like it was the most hateful subject on earth. "She's clinging to me, Maddie! Clinging! Mother dragged me to a party at some person or another's house and she was literally attached to my arm the whole night! And her father has already seriously talked to Papa about a match and he is actually considering it! And Mother is not helping!"

Madeleine had to slap a hand over her mouth to keep from giggling at her brother's plight. When her laughing fit settled enough and she could actually remove her hand without the danger of laughing at Alfred, she stated, "Father won't make you marry a woman you don't even mildly like."

"Papa did for you," Alfred pointed out before adding, thoughtfully, "Although this is different. I mean, at least he's a likeable enough guy. Millie is just obnoxious and tries way too hard."

Madeleine had to restrain a spiteful laugh when he said that. The Lord seemed to be likable enough, but his real personality was something entirely different, a man with a heart of stone and his only care being money. Maybe all Alfred had to do was get to know Millie of Northumberland; he may be lucky and find that her true personality was a nice one, unlike her, who seemed to have drawn the short end of the stick.

"Maybe you just have to get to know her, Alfred. She's obviously trying to impress you, maybe you have to show her that she doesn't need to and she can just be herself," Madeleine pointed out, trying to stay optimistic.

She knew it had been just Alfred pouting about her leaving home, but she often wished that he had been more supportive of her marriage initially, despite him swiftly forgetting what misgivings he did have afterwards; so, now, at least she was going to try to support him in, what may be, his own arranged marriage.

"That's the problem, Maddie, that's all her personality is. She had her sights set on Ian before he married Elizabeth, and all she ever did was cling to his arm and flutter her eyelashes at him like she does with me!" Alfred protested.

"Are you just mad that you were her second choice?" Madeleine asked, arching an eyebrow and hardly restraining a smile from spreading across her face.

"No," Alfred replied, his lower lip sticking out in a very unconvincing pout, "And that doesn't even matter at this point! The Duke of Northumberland is one of the lead importers of cotton from the United States! He's already a major trader with Papa's company and with this marriage…" Alfred trailed off in despair.

"Is there any possible way to avoid this?" asked Madeleine, now well and truly concerned. Alfred and his dramatic declarations up until this point had only amused her, but now she was worried. Her brother's head hung and Madeleine's heart ached for him, and it wasn't because she had a 'twin-link' with him. She knew perfectly well what it was like to marry someone she didn't love and her brother didn't deserve that. No one did.

"Only if I found a woman whose marriage would be more profitable or if someone with real power strongly advised against it," Alfred replied, drearily, before adding, "Somebody like your husband."

Madeleine nibbled on her lip. It would most likely be too much to even think of asking her husband for help on this issue. This match of her brother's would most likely benefit the East India Trading Company through the connection of the Lord's marriage to Madeleine in the long run, and he would recognize that. He would never possibly let a chance to create a profit pass him by.

"Alfred, I—" Madeleine began, looking away from his face, not able to stand the expression on it. "My husband is…" For a brief moment, she considered telling her brother. Telling him about the Lord never having a proper conversation with her, never treating her as a wife. For pity's sake, she never had heard him say her proper name once!

"I understand, Maddie, he's really busy and you don't see him very often," Alfred nodded back. "Don't worry about it, okay? You have enough to worry about with running this huge house. But, I probably should let you get to sleep. Tomorrow's our birthday, after all!"

He leaned over and kissed her cheek good night before retrieving his shoes and padding from the room, waving to her before he silently slipped into the hall. She watched the closed door for a moment, her heart feeling like it was being squeezed in a vice grip before she let out a long breath and turned to her candle, puffing out a stream of air so that it snuffed the flame.


Act II, Scene VII


'April 23, 1438. The young Lord of Kirkland, a title that belonged to a far away land from the current territory of the Ottoman Empire that he traveled in, took up board in one of the majestic palazzos of an Italian merchant and acquaintance that lined the banks of the Bosphorus strait. The Italian was a well enough sort, if not a little temperamental and he certainly had a colorful choice in words, but he had the same aims as the Lord; he worked solely for the gaining and multiplying of his already vast fortune, making the two excellent business partners.

But, unlike the Italian, the Lord had one desire that was even greater than the want of money and on the morning of April the twenty-third, he set out from the palazzo for the grand open-air bazaars of Constantinople. He walked with a treasure only he knew of sewn into the inside of his tunic, right above his heart. He trusted no one, not even the Italian, with this single precious gem and carried it with him at all times, sleeping with it clutched in his hands at night or in a hidden pocket of his clothes.

Walking through the bazaar, he scoffed at the women that were similar to animated skeletons, begging him for a single copper coin, and kicking them away when they came to close or a tradesman bartering his wares. The Lord brushed them all off; he was above them. He was powerful. He was rich.

Nothing caught his interest—it was very uncommon for something to do so—until he was just about to leave. A rich, youthful voice called out of a shaded stall in the Lord's own native tongue, "You there! My dear Lord of Kirkland; youth cannot be bought with coin. But, it can be traded."

This stopped the Lord in his tracks. He turned slowly, peering into the darkness of the stall that was littered with oriental and Persian rugs alike, a thick cloud of scents assaulting his nose. A deep, honey-brown skinned hand studded with gold and jewels appeared from the darkness, beckoning the Lord near. Despite himself and his airs, the Lord Kirkland approached.

His eyes were squinted as he stepped into the shade and they soon adjusted to the dim lighting. He found himself faced with a darker skinned man who peered up at him through an ornate gold and white mask. A top of this mysterious man's head was a white turban while his clothes were made of even finer fabric than that of the Lord's. They were brilliant scarlet, sapphire, and emerald designs and it only took a mere moment for the Lord to realize that his clothes had tiny jewels sewn into them so that they shimmered when they caught the stray beam of sunlight.

The ringed hand indicated for the Lord to take a seat and he did as much. Soon, the rich voice that drew him in, obviously belonging to this man, spoke once more, "You, Lord of Kirkland, are in search of eternal youth." It was not a question, rather just commenting upon a known truth.

"How did you—?"

"Know your name?" the mysterious man asked, finishing the question like he knew it was going to be asked. "I have been expecting you for quite some time. You are to walk past at precisely noon, when the sun is at its highest on the twenty-third day of what you call April and I call Nisan with the single desire of eternal, immortal youth and the price for it over your heart. You are to make a deal with me."

"How did you know about the amethyst?" the Lord demanded, his hand immediately closing about the treasure—the stolen amethyst from the crown of the King of Egypt—to reassure himself that it was there.

"I knew you had the price, not what it was," the man replied, only barely moving his head to fix his gaze briefly upon where the Lord's hand clutched the gem before returning his stare to meet the other man's.

"What is this deal you spoke of?" Then demanded the Lord.

"It is a deal that I rarely make, a trade. I will grant you your greatest desire and in exchange, you shall forfeit your greatest treasure," the man explained.

"How do I know you will grant me youth? For all I know, you're just scamming me," the Lord replied, his eyes narrowed accusingly.

"Give me your hand," the man replied. After a wary moment, the Lord offered his right hand, the one that wasn't still holding the gem through the material of his shirt. The man waved his own ring-studded hands over it, muttering as he did. Then he sat back and commanded, "Now look."

The Lord drew his hand back and stared in horror at it. His hand was wrinkled and covered in liver spots. Like it had aged eighty years while the rest of him hadn't. There was a moment of silence as the Lord considered this. He now had no doubt in his mind of this man's abilities, but there was only one problem that stood in his way. "Could I trade anything else? I have more gold then you could ever hope to have, mountains of it. I can make you as rich as a king. What good is a purple-colored chunk of rock when you could—"

But the man cut him off, saying simply, "A man's greatest treasure for his greatest desire." There was a moment of silence and then there was a ripping noise as the Lord tore open the hidden pocket and produced the glittering amethyst gem.

And so, it was then that the Lord's hand returned to its proper condition and time was frozen for that single man and the amethyst was placed into the waiting hands of the mysterious man that wore a mask and had no name.

But, as the Lord left the tent, he had a plan forming in the back of his immortal mind.

That night, from the palazzo of the Italian merchant, stole a black clad man under specific instructions from the Lord. He crept through the now deserted streets of Constantinople. He snuck past dosing guards and into the open-air market. Shoppers still lingered about, but most stalls had closed their counters for business. Following the same route as the Lord had, the man in black found the masked man's shaded tent. He plucked from the sleeping man's hand the amethyst that glimmered in the faint moonlight.

But, as the thief stole back to the palazzo, the masked man knew that his prediction had come completely true and his plan took place.

He would make the gift of eternal youth a curse. He would make it so he could never rest until his greatest treasure was no longer the amethyst stone or the money that the Lord had offered to him. The price of theft was punishment and the price of eternal youth is forever feeling the ache to record, seeing the repulsion as…"

Madeleine hurriedly book-marked her page as she heard the approaching footsteps towards her bedroom chamber; bolting to her writing desk and wrenching the bottom drawer open, hurriedly slipping the journal under the false bottom. She had only just gathered her courage enough to read the journal she had retrieved from the attic over a month ago that morning and it would have been quite a waste if she were to be caught with it the first time she dare read it.

Right when she slammed the desk drawer closed, there was knock on the door and she called a hasty, "Come in."

Eliza peered in and said, with furrowed eyebrows, "Oh bother, you're not dressed. The master is insisting you all have breakfast together in the dining room. Best to hurry and change into one of your morning gowns."


Act II, Scene VIII


"Ah! I'm going to miss you so much, Maddie!" Alfred said as he squeezed his younger sister into a tight grip the morning of July fifth as he stood just outside his waiting carriage that would take him back to London. "You need to come visit us soon! All our little siblings are missing you too!"

"I will Alfred, don't worry!" laughed Maddie as she hugged him back.

Releasing her, he said, "Don't forget to write mother and tell her how much you absolutely loved those new dresses."

"Way ahead of you," Madeleine replied as she produced a letter to her mother, neatly tucked into an envelope, positively gushing over the beautiful new dresses, from the pocket of her morning gown.

"Oh, you're good. I'll make sure she gets it," Alfred grinned, accepting the letter and slipping it into the pocket of his own trousers. Turning to the Lord Kirkland, he said as he offered his hand, "I expect you to take good care of my sister while I'm away."

"Naturally, I will," he replied with an affable smile as he accepted the hand and shook it.

"And Maddie, you let him hunt once and awhile! He was doing it well before you got married, and he hasn't broken anything yet," Alfred laughed, causing the Lord to chuckle as well. Madeleine just let out a faint, half-hearted laugh. Turning to look at the carriage, Alfred sighed. "Well, I guess this is my carriage and my cue to go. Goodbye, Maddie, take care of yourself and you, too, sir."

The Lord and Alfred exchanged nods. Then the taller of the two men climbed into his carriage and, with a last wave through the window, the carriage jolted off, bouncing off down the gravel drive until the Kirkland woods swallowed it up.

Turning away from peering at the sight of where her brother's carriage had vanished, Madeleine looked over at her husband's contemplative face. She thought of the journal entry she read the morning before. The Lord Kirkland in the story must have been his ancestor, probably the one that built the house, since the tale was supposed to take place in the fourteen hundreds, making him the five times great grandfather of the current Lord.

And then, she thought of something else. Alfred's words echoing in her mind, 'Somebody like your husband.' The only one that could stop Alfred's inevitable marriage to Millie of Northumberland that Madeleine could possibly convince to help was this cold, indifferent man standing beside her, whose arm she rested her hand on. But, then again, he was her husband. There was no harm in at least trying.

"My Lord," Madeleine began.

"Yes, my Lady?" he replied, his gaze quickly switching from staring out at the scene of the front lawn to look at his wife's face. He was back to referring to her in his cold, indifferent manner.

Taking a gulp, she said, "I don't know if my brother talked to you about this—and let it be known he didn't set me up to this—but he is being forced into a marriage to the daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Northumberland. She has a rather lackluster personality and constantly throws herself on him."

"I do not see a problem with this match, my Lady. It is a smart arrangement with the Duke importing cotton from the States and Sir Bonnefoy's own Virginia Bay Trading Company," the Lord replied, complete calmness in his voice.

"Yes, but the problem is—" Madeleine began, trying to persuade her husband although she knew it was already a lost cause.

"If you'll excuse me, my Lady," he interrupted, "I must return to my work." He bowed to her as he released her hand, always the gentleman. Propriety.

"Of course," she said, faintly, her voice deflated and small.


A/N: Poor Alfred, your life isn't very fun at all, is it? In other news, I wanted to say thank you to everyone who reviewed last chapter! I'm so happy you are enjoying thus far! And, I have decided that whoever can spot the two referenced Hetalia characters (they aren't named) in this chapter, I will write a one-shot of the pairing of their choosing! (Het, though, as I prefer it and it is specialty of mine. I was going to do this contest with another of my stories, but that didn't really happen...) Anyway, I hope you enjoyed and please leave a review!