"I'm sorry to disturb you, Madam, but the post was just delivered. And there's a package for you." Brabinger stood in the doorway of the formal dining room.

"Just a moment." Audrey continued wrapping a piece of Majolica pottery with several sheets of parchment. When satisfied, she placed the treasure carefully in a box simply marked 'lodge house'.

"I could leave it in the library if you prefer." He suggested.

"No, I'll take it now. Just give me a moment. " She inventoried the room with an overwhelmed stare, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she maneuvered her way through a maze of boxes and packing supplies. The days following the sale of the manor had kept Audrey busy-so much so that she hadn't had time to really process what was happening. There was simply too much to do. The task of boxing up her life was daunting, but she was secretly thankful for the work. The sale of the lodge house was only a day away from being finalized, though Mr. DeVere had graciously allowed her to begin moving in her personal affects and furnishings. Arnold had drawn up a clever lease agreement, being a stickler for contracts along with his insatiable need to be by the book. Audrey leased the property from the new owner for a mere pound a day. It was a silly agreement, but one of legal necessity. Mr. DeVere had even arranged special transport for final transaction of acquiring the lodge house. She recalled the conversation that she and Mr. Plunkett shared in his office just twenty four hours before...

"But I don't even know him. I mean, our relationship, for lack of a better term, exists solely within the confines of legal contracts. Conveyances and the like. The idea is completely ludicrous." Audrey gave a nod of thanks as Arnold's assistant placed a silver tea service on the desk between them.

"I can name at least a dozen women in Marlbury and hundreds elsewhere else that would jump at the chance."

"But a helicopter? Really, Arnold. It borders on vulgar." She tossed the telex transmittal on his desk with a disgusted look.

"Think of it as a Rolls with wings." Arnold winked, filling his teacup.

"It's all a bit dodgy if you ask me. Selling the lodge to me without hesitation. Why? Offering to fly me to London in his private aircraft to finalized the sale of the lodge? Why? I've never even seen the man." Audrey eyed him suspiciously. "Just what exactly have you told him about me?"

"Nothing. Only the truth."

"And what is your version of the truth?"

"That you grew up on the estate; that Grantleigh had been in your family for four hundred years; that you were recently widowed with no children; that your husband, unbeknownst to you, left you with an enormous debt. That's the truth."

"So why is he being so generous and agreeable?"

"Maybe he's genuinely interested in the well-being of others."

"And maybe he likes to play the part. You know, remembering the little people…especially we poor, homeless widows."

"Oh Audrey! You don't truly believe that, do you?" He asked.

"I honestly don't know what to believe." She shrugged. "Maybe it's guilt."

"Guilt? Why on earth would he feel guilty and what would it have to do with you?"

"Well, the fact that he's turning my estate into a mockery."

"How? He hasn't even come back to Grantleigh since the auction."

"That's precisely what I'm talking about. Grantleigh is sinking like the bloody Titanic."

"Why? Because you're no longer signing the checks? Now you're just being dramatic." Arnold rolled his eyes.

"I don't think you fully comprehend the obligations that befall the owner of an estate such as Grantleigh. There are dozens of items which must must be tended each and every day. And I don't mean hiring some young, inexperienced youth with a fancy degree to pop in every week to 'check the status.'"

"It's none of you concern, Audrey." He gave her a sharp look, speaking with a fatherly tone.

"I know, I know…the 'New World Order' and all that. I was present during that sermon, Father."

"Don't forget that Father knows best. I think you should accept the man's generous invitation. If nothing else, it's a chance to ride in a first-rate flying machine. And I promise to treat you to lunch at the exclusive restaurant of your choice when the deal is done. It's win-win."

Audrey reached again for the paper she'd tossed on his desk. She reread Mr. DeVere's message, finding it to be short and clear-and extremely curious.

"Can't I just sign the papers and have you deliver them? Alone? Isn't that what I pay you for?" She asked.

"What exactly is it that you're afraid of?" Arnold asked.

"I'm not afraid." She insisted.

"Oh yes you are. You're afraid that you might find out he's the one thing you despise most."

"And what, exactly, might that be?" Audrey raised an eyebrow.

"A gentleman being nice."

Audrey looked down at her teacup, trying her best suppress a laugh.. "You know I despise nice, Arnold. Such a loathsome little word." She flashed him a large smile.

Three weeks had lapsed since DeVere purchased Grantleigh at auction, and still Audrey had yet to meet him face to face. Business matters and loose ends prevented him from even setting foot inside the gates of the estate. An assortment of shipments trickled in from London on a daily basis...confirming, by his unique taste in objets d'art, that Marjory's description of the new Lord was completely off base.

In classic Audrey fashion, she convinced Arnold to accept Mr. DeVere's offer of first class travel to London via his personal helicopter-a solo flight while Audrey stayed behind. Her argument was sound-one that Mr. DeVere's absence substantiated. If he can be MIA, then so can I, she reminded Arnold with a stern tone moments before leaving his office. She'd signed the required documents amid a sea of honorable witnesses and would take possession of the lodge house as soon as Arnold returned.

"Why don't I leave these in the library for you, Madam." Brabinger offered once more, breaking the silence that seemed to have Audrey trapped as she looked around the dining hall with a despondent expression.

With a nod, she collected the post from Brabinger and walked briskly to the drawing room. She eyed the clock in the hall with a curious stare. The sun was beginning to set. Late again. She looked down at the collection of envelopes in one hand and the small mailer in the other. I'm now officially off the radar. Even the postmaster's put me last on the list. What used to be stacks of invitations to balls and polo matches, delivered promptly at three, has become a heap of advertisements deposited at sundown.

She flopped down on the only piece of furniture left in her favorite room-a Chintz covered sofa with traditional lines. Very English. Very Audrey. It took less than a minute to whip through the correspondence, where she found not a single invitation. She didn't waste time, however, and reached for the small parcel. The return address label was puzzling: R. DeVere. Odd? A package from Mr. DeVere. Double checking the addressee, she confirmed that indeed the package bore her name: Mrs. fforbes-Hamilton. She studied the single initial for a moment, realizing for the first time that she didn't know his first name. And she doubted he knew hers. From the moment he'd taken possession of the estate, he'd been nothing more than Mr.DeVere...a man that maintained an air of mystery by his continued absence.

She removed the brown parcel wrap, finding a small white box. Her curiosity was beyond peaked, and she slipped her hand gently under the layers of tissue she found inside. Her fingers rubbed against something smooth, round and cool to the touch.

"Oh my! Isn't that lovely?" She remarked to no one, aside from Bertie who'd slipped in moments before and taken refuge at her feet.

It was lovely. A beautiful paperweight of blown glass in the shape of an acorn. Its color was a combination of shining hues, polished to a high luster-vivid green, autumnal rust and coffee bean brown. The cap of the acorn, Audrey guessed, was some type of precious metal, intricately detailed. It was stunning yet simple, and she marveled at the gesture for several seconds before the thought of a card occurred to her. She checked the box, smiling as she pulled a small envelope free from the tissue.

Dear Mrs. fforbes-Hamilton,

I would like to extend my sincerest apologies. I pride myself on being a gracious host, but regrettably my business has prevented me from calling on you since the sale of the manor. I hope that you have been comfortable in your final days and that the arrival of my personal belongings has not hindered your efforts. I've instructed the staff to extend every assistance in your relocation. I trust they have been accommodating.

If all goes according to plan, we will be in Marlbury by Sunday. If your schedule allows, please consider dining with us the evening of our arrival. We're anxious to make your acquaintance.

Please accept this gift as a gesture of good will among neighbors.

"The creation of a thousand forests is in one acorn."

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

Respectfully,

R.T. DeVere

Audrey silently read the card twice, impressed by several things: his precise penmanship, the inclusion of a thoughtful quote and finally, by the gesture itself. But one thing stood out above the pleasant sentiments and steady hand: the use of the word 'we.' Suddenly Audrey felt lightheaded. Her heart began to race as she replayed the afternoon with Marjory at Peregrine's Folly-the afternoon of the auction. They'd discussed the new owner's attire, his supposed riches, his physical attributes, but never had the idea of his having a wife entered the hadn't considered the possibility that Mr. DeVere might have a Mrs. A new Lady of the Manor.

And while the neatly written words on the card echoed one sentiment, her mind heard only the words of her dearest childhood friend…

"I don't think he's the type of man that women can hate."

After several minutes, she placed the glass ornament gently back inside the box. Exhaling noisily, she rubbed her fingers across tired eyes, leaning her head against the back cushions of the sofa. They were both right, she considered. Arnold and Marjory. He's probably a genuinely nice man that I will be unable to hate.

Another minute passed before Audrey stood and crossed the room to the telephone, sitting all alone on the floor where a desk once sat. She quickly dialed the number...and Marjory answered on the second ring.

"Was he wearing a ring?" She demanded.

"Oh, hello Audrey."

"A ring? Was he or wasn't he wearing one?"

"Who?"

"Mr. DeVere?"

Marjory thought for a moment. "A wedding ring?"

"Yes."

"I honestly don't know."

"You mean you forgot to look?" Audrey asked with exasperation.

"The whole auction was over in a matter of minutes, Aud. And I was hiding quietly in the back. I never got that close to him. Why?"

"Well, I just received the most charming note from him, inviting me to join them for dinner. At the manor. Sunday evening."

"Then I guess you've answered your own question then, haven't you?"

"Yes, I suppose I have." Audrey glanced down at the card once more.

"Is there a problem?" Marjory asked after a lengthy pause.

"Of course not. Why should there be a problem?"

"If it bothers you that much, then don't go. Send a note with your apologies and be done."

"If what bothers me?"

"Well let's see. Sitting at your table, in your dining room, in your house, being served dinner by your staff and being merely a guest. No, I guess that wouldn't bother you in the least."

Audrey didn't make a comment, as she quietly reread Mr. DeVere's card for a third time. Marjory remained silent, unsure if she'd once again crossed that imaginary line.

"Your attempts at sarcasm are quite impressive." Audrey replied with a grin.

"I studied under a Master teacher." Marjory quipped.

Now would be a great time for a review! Thanks for reading!