"Lily, you have a visitor." The Holdens' kindly housekeeper, Marina said, appearing in the doorway. She was a plump, motherly woman, always willing to help with the children and anything else Lillian's mother needed. Lillian and her siblings loved her, she'd been with her parents since they'd married. Her children had been grown and gone when she'd come into service for Fern and Dag and she was like part of the family now. Lillian surveyed her reflection in the mirror, frowning at the dark circles and drawn skin.

"You look fine…" Marina assured her, drawing her toward the door. "He's in the drawing room."

"Oh, that's fine, I suppose we should have some tea, though I'd rather some hot coffee and--" Lillian stopped, her eyes widening. "He? It's a man?" Immediately her heart leapt at the prospect of Mercer coming back to tell her he was sorry and that he'd made a mistake. The moment after that thought was one of complete self disgust. She hoped it was Mercer! So she could give him a piece of her mind!

"Monsieur James Westcliff." Marina told her. Lillian's heart began to thump even faster, remembering their feverish kisses a few nights before. He'd probably come to gloat or tease her. She felt her face grow hot as she covered her cheeks with her hands. Following Marina down to the drawing room, she felt like a prisoner walking to the gallows, dreading James's reaction.

He was facing away from her, his dark hair glossy in the afternoon sunlight. He wore a casual day suit. Hearing her enter, James turned around and smiled at her. Lillian noted that there was no hint of malice there, in fact, he was smiling as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to be standing in her parlor.

"James," She said with a sigh, slipping into an armchair. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" She knew she sounded a bit uncharitable, but truly, she was exhausted. He seemed to draw forth a basket from nowhere, it was packed with various foods and sweets. A roguish grin much like the one he'd had as a boy was on his face.

"I thought you could use a reprieve from your misery, Lillian." James said, "I thought you might like to join me for lunch in the meadow behind the house?" Staring at him incredulously, she remembered her parents were gone at Knox's party still.

"You're serious?" She asked. Nodding, he held up a blanket he'd brought along too. It was an odd change, but Lillian had to give James credit. He was trying…she wasn't sure why, but he was at least being kind. "Oh, all right." She agreed, standing up and following him out back to where the meadow had just begun to become overgrown with wildflowers. The soft grass was green and the air smelled beautiful. James handed her the basket of food and laid the blanket down.

Lillian sat and began to rifle through the food, pulling out some sandwiches, two small coffee cakes, four cookies and various other things. James sat cross legged across from her, twirling a flower between his fingers as he reached for a cookie.

"Remember the time I made a crown out of those and made you wear it?" Lillian said, gesturing to the flower he'd just mangled and tossed aside. James smiled and nodded, unable to talk because his mouth was full. He made a noise of amusement though. "And I made one for myself and said that you were the King and I was the Queen, and this meadow was our kingdom…"

"I remember." James said, swallowing the cookie. Lily sighed, picking one of the pretty yellow flowers.

"I miss those days." She admitted. "I miss not having to worry about finding a husband…and romance…and…and…everything. You know?"

"Yes." He said. Tilting her head, Lillian studied him.

"You're different." She observed and when his eyes widened, she held her hands up reassuringly. "In a good way…you were so obnoxious before…teasing me all the time."

"I'm sorry about that, Lillian." He replied sincerely. "I've missed being friends with you."

"Me too." She confessed. "It was just…you're four years older, so when you grew up and went off to school…I felt like you left me behind. And then you came back and you weren't the same. You were so handsome and smart…and I felt so…inferior I guess."

James let out a small sound of surprise.

"I didn't know how to act around you anymore. I came home expected to find the skinny fourteen year old I'd said goodbye to. And you were a woman…"

"I was still me." Lillian reminded him. "It hurt…I felt like you were making fun of me." Unable to meet his eyes, she focused very intently on the wild flower. "And…it was hard for me too…seeing girls around you. Especially when my last memory of you before you went away to college was…well, you remember."

James nodded, his eyes glowing with the memory of their goodbyes to one another as he'd prepared to go off for four years to school. He'd given her his first kiss that day. It hadn't been passionate, but she'd never forgotten it. And she'd never been able to tell him how she felt before he'd left. Lillian had pushed the memory to the back of her mind, shrugging it off as childhood love and nothing more.

"You never wrote me." She added, almost accusingly. James met her eyes regretfully.

"You know, I tried so many times to write you back, but I never knew what to say." He laughed without mirth. "What could I have said?"

"Anything," She insisted. "Anything at all to tell me you were thinking of me. That you were still my friend." Lillian unwrapped one of the small sandwiches and took a bite out of it.

"I'm sorry, Lil." James said, still looking at her. She shrugged.

"It was twelve years ago, James." She replied, then changed course. "What made you want to relive our childhood today?"

"I could tell you need a friend." James said, "I know you. When you're upset, you disappear into yourself. And it's not healthy."

"I do not--" She began to protest, but he cut her off.

"Why then, are you at home alone, instead of at Charles's son's birthday party?" He challenged.

"You're right." She said helplessly. "I don't know what to do, James." Bitter tears stung her eyes. "Some minutes I think I'll be fine and then I remember and it all comes crashing back. How could he?" Her voice broke. "How could I have let it get that far?" He remained quiet, listening as she needed him to. "I knew…deep down…I knew he wasn't going to marry me. The way he kept pushing the date back and stalling…but I still clung to hope."

"You loved him, Lillian." James said, sounding pained. "There's no shame in that."

"But look at me now, James." She said with a sniff. "I'm useless…old…"

"Don't say things like that." James scolded her, scooting to sit beside her.

"But it's t-true." Lillian replied.

"Listen to me, Lillian." James said, putting a soothing arm over her hunched shoulders. "You've just lost your way…but when you find it again, everything is going to work for you…you'll see. In the meantime, you need to give yourself time to heal. It will do you no good to worry about these trivial things."

"You sound so sure." She said, hating the nasally tone of her voice due to crying.

"I am sure." He replied. Lillian carefully took his free hand and turned it upward to look at his palm. There were a few calluses there, and she ran her finger tips over them, smiling to herself at the rough skin. Slowly, she slid her fingers between his much larger ones and held his hand. When she looked up at his face, he was not smiling, but was staring at her with a look of mild shock. Daring herself even further, she allowed her head to rest against his shoulder.

"Will you come back tomorrow too?" Lillian heard herself ask. He tensed beneath her.

"If you want." James said in a tight voice.

"I do." She insisted. "There's something I want to show you."

Julienne walked through the market with Esme, having run to fetch some eggs and things for their mother to cook with. Even though the Destlers had a cook, Evangeline liked to make dinner often having been raised modestly. And their father claimed that he never ate so well as he did when Maman cooked. Today, Julienne wore a modest blue dress with a collar and white gloves. Both girls had hats on to shield themselves from the sun and Julienne wore her drawstring purse around her slim wrist with the money in it. Esme had on a dress of pale yellow, which complimented the fiery color of her beautiful hair perfectly.

Esme had seemed distracted since Knox's party the day before. Something was bothering the child, Julienne could always tell. Since she had been very young, Esme had been an extremely intelligent girl, but she was an open book.

"What is the matter?" Julienne asked, examining an egg as Esme sighed.

"Nothing." She replied tiredly. "Couldn't sleep last night is all."

"Ah." Julienne said, bending down to see how ripe the apples were. As she was bent, she heard a quiet chuckle from behind her, followed by her sister's voice.

"Monsieur Reynolds!" Esme said sounding pleasantly surprised. Julienne shot upward, but unfortunately, she hit her head on the wooden plank above where she had been inspecting the apples and reeled backward. Her eyes saw stars for a quick moment as a pair of strong hands caught her underneath the arms and set her to rights. He did not let go of her right away because she swayed. Swiftly, he produced the apple she had dropped in the process and she snatched it out of his hands.

"I was just passing through with my younger sister Anna, and thought I would come over and say hello. I had such a nice time talking with you the other night." Simon said to her. Julienne's face flushed at Esme's questioning glance.

"Oh…er…me too." Julienne said, unsure of how to respond.

"I was wondering…I have an extra ticket to the opera this weekend, and I was thinking perhaps you might like to join me." He said, crossing his arms casually. Julienne could only stare at him in slack jawed shock. There had been a time when she would have blurted yes right away, but she was no longer that girl. And Simon Reynolds was a notorious skirt chaser. Seeing her hesitation, he laughed. "As friends." He remedied.

"Well I don't--"

"She'd love to come." Esme answered for her, stomping on Julienne's foot. Turning her glare on her shorter, younger sister, Julienne gritted her teeth.

"Yes." She said, forcing herself to smile at Simon. "That would be lovely." A slight smirk curved his lips as he nodded down at her.

"Perfect. Shall I pick you up say, around five o'clock so we can eat dinner before?"

"Monsieur Reynolds, do you have designs on me?" Julienne asked as Esme cleared her throat.

"Oh, I have many designs on you." Simon laughed darkly. "But don't worry, I won't debauch you…yet."

At his words, a sharp thrill of fear and longing swept through her, but she managed to keep calm.

"Rake." She accused with a grin. Shrugging, Simon did not deny it and bent to kiss her hand.

"Five o'clock. Saturday." He said, nodding down at Esme before walking away.

"Are you crazy?" Julienne cried, turning on her younger sister.

"Oh, come off it, Jules. You're a spinster…if your last chance for a husband is Simon Reynolds, you could do worse." Esme said devilishly. "Aren't you always talking about reformed rakes?"

"Oh, shut up." Julienne replied moodily, returning to the task of shopping for groceries.

Roger stared at the sign on the building for a full five minutes before walking inside. A male clerk sat at the desk, looking up as Roger walked inside. His eyes narrowed, assessing him before he greeted him sharply.

"Can I help you?"

"I would like to speak with Monsieur Delacour." Roger told the spindly clerk. "I am in need of some detective work."

"One moment." The man said, disappearing into another door. He returned a few moments later.

"M. Delacour will see you." He said, gesturing to the open door. Franc Delacour was a short, stout man with a bald head and a bulbous nose. He smiled at Roger as he walked in.

"Please, close the door behind you and have a seat. Would you like a drink?" He asked. Roger declined politely.

"Actually, I am looking for some answers about my past…that is, about my father's past." He drew forth the few items he had to validate who he was. His passport, his parents' marriage license and a miniature of his parents on their wedding day.

"Tiernay, eh?" The man said, putting on his glasses. "Irish…you're mixed aren't you?"

"My mother was Persian." Roger explained, feeling the small twinge of irritation at the word, 'mixed.'

"I'll need five hundred francs to start…and then, depending on how much work it is, I'll need another deposit at our next meeting." Delacour said, setting the papers aside in challenge. His eyes widened in surprise as Roger pulled out a wad of money and easily placed five hundred in front of the man. "Are there any other items that you may have that could be of use?" The man asked, composing himself. Reaching into the front inside pocket of his coat, Roger drew forth the only other thing he'd known to be his father's. A gold ring with the symbol of a sword through an apple on it. It had his initials. Delacour nodded.

"Where shall I contact you, M. Tiernay?" He asked, standing. Quickly, Roger wrote down the address of the house he lived in with Uncle Nadir. "Give the information to no one but me. If I am not home, do not put this information into the hands of anyone else."

"Ah, you are keeping it from someone." Delacour observed. Roger nodded curtly.

"My uncle. Leila was his sister. He does not want me to find anything."

"Perhaps he is wiser than you think." The detective replied, lighting a cigar. Roger gave a noncommittal shrug.

"I am tired of not knowing who I am." He said simply. "I want to belong to a family…my uncle is very old and he is sick, though he does not let on."

"Why not just find a nice wife and sire some brats?" The man asked, obviously of the opinion that children are a duty and not a privilege. Roger cringed, remembering a fortune teller's prediction from so long before once again, and thinking of Esme again.

"It isn't that simple." He replied and started toward the door. "I look forward to hearing from you."

"James, you missed supper." Roxana Westcliff told her son. "Where have you been?" James walked into the parlor and kissed his mother's cheek smelling the leftover food in the kitchen.

"I had lunch with a friend." He said, not giving her any details. Her dark eyes narrowed at him.

"You were with a girl, weren't you?" She asked. He shrugged, flopping onto a sofa and crossing his legs. Roxana's eyes widened. "Who?" She asked expectantly. James chuckled.

"It was nothing, Mother. We just ate lunch together. It was all very casual."

"Who, James?" She asked impatiently. James grinned at her.

"Lillian."

"Lillian Holden?" Roxana replied, bringing her hand to her lips. He nodded. "I thought the two of you weren't very good friends anymore."

"That's changed." He explained. "Her fiancé left her and I was helping her with it."

"Don't you dare take advantage of that poor girl when she's vulnerable." Roxana warned him, pointing a finger. He clutched his heart, feigning hurt.

"It's Lillian, mother." He reminded her. "How could I ever?"

"I'd heard about her broken engagement. Fern told me." His mother said sadly. "Poor dear. Perhaps we'll invite her family for supper this week. What do you think?"

"Splendid idea. Where's Dad got off to?" He asked. His mother rolled her eyes.

"He went off with your Uncle Andrew to the damned tavern for your grandfather's birthday." She said with an affectionate shake of the head. "I swear, those two should have been born twins. They have the same thoughts."

"Uncle Andrew's a bit sneakier though." James laughed. "Dad never could get anything by you."

"No love," Roxana agreed, "I'm just much, much smarter than your father, though he'd like to believe he's able to hoodwink me."

"Must be the Persian side." James quipped, kissing her forehead. "I think I'll see what's left to eat. I fancy a bit of peach pie."

Roger returned home to a quiet house, shutting the door softly behind him. It was just beginning to get dark outside. The sound of sharp coughing disrupted the quiet and Roger frowned, starting up the stairs to check on Uncle Nadir.

His elderly uncle was lying upright in bed with a book folded over his chest and his head hanging at an unseemly angle. Carefully, Roger moved to the bed and guided him into a laying position. Nadir woke up, sensing his presence.

"Roger…didn't hear you come in, my boy." He said as Roger set the book aside and frowned, studying his uncle.

"Did you take your medicine tonight, Uncle?" He asked, concerned. Nadir chuckled, waving his hand dismissively.

"Yes, yes…don't you worry about me." He assured Roger. "It's this damned cough. My lungs feel so heavy."

"The doctor said you have fluid in them, remember?"

"Yes, bloody doctor. I'm lucky to even be alive at this age, I s'pose." Nadir replied with a gravelly chuckle. "Have you been by Erik's today?"

"No." Roger said, arranging Nadir's pillows and lighting the kerosene lamp on his bedside table. "I had a few appointments."

"What sort of appointments?" Nadir asked, closing his eyes as Roger removed his spectacles.

"Just some quick business appointments…promotion for the firm is all." He lied. Roger had become a lawyer and was working for a high profile firm thanks to his Uncle's friendship with Erik Destler. Roger had hated that he'd been hired because he knew someone, but his boss assured him that he had earned his place. Nadir made a small noise of acknowledgment.

"Just want to see you happy, son." Nadir said sleepily. "You've been melancholy."

"I'm fine…I am sorry about our argument yesterday." Roger said, remembering their fight. "I just worry about you…and I worry about being alone."

"You won't be alone…when are you going to come round and ask Esme to marry you?"

"Uncle, she's barely eighteen." Roger laughed, running a hand through his thick hair. "And it isn't like that with her. I adore Es…but--"

"But what? It's obvious you two are very close." Nadir pointed out, his voice becoming more vague with sleep. "Ah, I'll leave you alone for now, son. I need to sleep a while."

Roger smiled to himself as he turned down the lamp and shut the door, leaving it open just a crack. Looking one last time at the closest thing to a parent he'd ever known, he swallowed hard against the lump that had formed in his throat at the thought of losing Nadir. The thought of being alone in the world was a terrifying thing.