Title: Forever Yours

Author: Noelwing

Email:

Summary: The tale of an English Lady, an Elfin Prince and the events between them that led to Nuada's decision to awaken the Golden Army. Nuada/OC. Pre HB2 universe.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of the HB2 universe. Any other characters are creations of the author and belong to her.

Rating: PG-13

Warnings include domestic violence and some adult situations in later chapters.

Author's notes: This chapter is told entirely from Sophia's POV. I am sorry if I send you into Nuada withdrawal but this was the best way I think I could have told Sophia's history. I hope to make up for that in the next chapter. As always, if you have any questions or comments, feel free to send them my way. Please enjoy^_^

Chapter 10: The Howard family

Every year, the Howard family, consisting of my parents, Thomas and Dianna, my older brother, Christopher and myself, would go camping in the English countryside of Yorkshire.

The year was 1875. I was eleven years old and still not yet seasoned to the corset. Mother tried to make it easier for me by keeping the cinch loose. But I still had trouble conforming to such a garment.

Christopher was having a far better time with his coming of age rights. He had just turned sixteen and was gifted with a brand new Winchester rifle of his very own. He had been waiting so long to go hunting with it. His first time out, he shot a hare which we ate with our supper that night.

Father was so proud and toasted his son with a cup of coffee. Mother and I participated as well. We toasted my brother's good aim and to the promise of success in his future.

Just before bed, the four of us would listen while mother told the four of us a story. Sometimes the stories would be one of Grimm's fairy tales or it would be a story from the many mythologies she enjoyed studying.

I loved the time that my family and I spent in the country. It was a time for my family to leave our lives of society and obligation behind for a few days.

Those were the best days.

Thomas Howard was your typical Englishman with light brown hair and gray eyes. He attended Oxford University and was educated in archeology. He could have traveled the world but decided to bring the world to him. To do that, father fell back on his own upbringing and started a business dealing in antiquities.

The collecting of rare and historical artifacts was quite fashionable among the Victorian upper class. Father inherited his skills from his father before him. That, mixed with his love of archeology, father's budding trade bloomed into a thriving business.

The Howard name became known and well respected. Thomas Howard became the man to see when it came to acquiring the rarest and most beautiful of antiquities. So many people were willing to pay for only the best. It was not profit that drove him though. Father's true love was the history of the world and its people.

It was that passion for culture and the clever ability to turn something one loved into a business that caught the attention of an English woman named Dianna Moore.

Dianna Moore did not fit the ideal of English beauty. Her hair was dark where blond was considered the most desirable. But that dark hair with her ice blue eyes combined with her wit and intelligence made her a unique jewel altogether.

The Moore family was one of the most prestigious families in England with great wealth and influence. As the daughter of such a family, it was expected that Dianna would marry a man of equal, but preferably greater, status to that of her own family.

Thomas Howard did not accept to see things before him as they were. He believed that anything, no matter how simple, had a purpose, had a story to tell. It was that ability that helped my father bypass the cultured and conditioned exterior and discover the inner, powerful spirit of Dianna Moore.

Dianna Moore had a passion for mythology and a belief that in all legends were seeds of truth. It was something that she had had to keep secret for most her life. Such interests were thought, by proper society, to be a waste of time and useless for a woman to indulge in. It was only when Thomas Howard came that she could be open about her true passion.

Both had a passion for the world as it once was in both history and mythology. Together, Dianna and Thomas wove imaginary trips to Africa where they looked upon the ancient pyramids in Egypt. They would wake up in Greece and have breakfast by the Parthenon and still make it to India in time to watch the jungle grow dark with the waning sun.

Their marriage was a match made in heaven-or over a crate filled with historical treasures-as the two of them liked to joke.

Mother and Father purchased a home in London, a two story town house, and went about building a life for themselves. Mother quickly became an active member of the now, Howard family business. It was an unusual place for a woman to occupy. But mother had well proven that she was anything but usual.

I will always believe that is why father loved her so well.

It was not long before Christopher came. He was truly the English born son-proper with features matching those of his father. He also had the personality to match but with just enough spark to keep things interesting. It would be on a trip to Italy, five years later, that mother would become pregnant again.

"Our little souvenir from Italy" My parents would call me sometimes.

Father began grooming Christopher for the responsibilities of one day, taking over the family business. Mother was sure to teach me in the ways of my role as a future wife and mother. Mum hoped that I would find happiness in that role but she could not resist opening my eyes to the world beyond the one she and I existed in.

Mother always told the best stories when were on camping trips. It was at home though that mum and I were able to take those stories a step further.

Mother was also a very talented artist. Her artistic skills were a huge asset to the family business. Mother would paint portraits and do sketches of the many artifacts that came into the business' possession. Her work was used to document the physical appearance and condition of one object or another. They were also used as previews to send to potential buyers.

When she did not do art for commercial purpose, mum turned out illustrations of scenes from one mythology or another.

Her paintings of scenes from Camelot or Irish fair folk were truly breath taking. Mother also enjoyed painting Goddess' such as Kuan Yin, Aphrodite and even the lethal Kali of Hindu folklore.

Mother coached me in art as well. I practiced hard at my craft but never felt as accomplished as my mother. Mum told me to trust myself and to try and find my own style. If I tried too hard to make my art look like hers, or any one else's, it would never be good enough.

It was good advice but I wondered when such a thing would happen. When would I know that I had found my art?

Again, mum had the best advice. I had only to be patient and the art would find me.

The art studio was a place just for mum and my self. We were safe and free there. Nothing was out of our reach while we had our artistic skill to bring to life whatever our dreams conjured for us.

It was the summer of 1877 and I had just turned thirteen. It was approaching the time of our annual camping trip to the countryside and both Christopher, who was now eighteen and I were looking forward to it.

Excitement turned to worry when mother became unwell.

She began to tire easily and broke into sweats constantly. At first father thought it a mere sickness that would pass. It soon became very clear that the problem was much, much worse.

Mother began to have horrible bouts of coughing. So horrible that she sometimes she coughed up blood. We canceled our countryside trip and put the resources from that into getting care for mother.

It was a midsummer night when mother's condition took a sudden turn for the worse. She began to cough so violently she could hardly catch a breath. She was a shell of her former self. Her skin was ashen in tone and her hair pooled around her head in a sweaty, limp mess. Most disturbing were her eyes. Their once vibrant light was quenched by suffering.

I was by her bedside when father and Christopher came into the room. Father told me to stand aside.

"Go out and tell the coachman that we will be out in just a minute," Father ordered. Christopher was quick to follow our father's instruction and ran from the room.

I watched his face as he left. I had never seen him look that way before. Every feeling of bewilderment and worry I could read plainly. Nothing like the reserved and controlled facade he normally wore.

Father looked worse. His face was pale and his eyes were grief stricken. He had wrapped my mother in her traveling shawl and scooped her from the bed. He looked upon her as though he were ready to burst into tears.

The stress hung so heavy in the room I could feel it weighing me down. I started to panic and little whimpers escaped my throat. I could feel tears prick my eyes though I tried to hold them back.

Father finally addressed me. "It's alright my little darling," He said over effort to restrain his emotional agony. "I just have to take your mum to the Doctor. We will all be home soon."

He dashed out of the room, leaving me behind. Outside, I heard the sound of the coach door slamming shut, followed by the sound of the horse's hooves making haste over the cobble stone street.

The house felt incredibly empty and horribly silent. When I could move again, I went over to my mother's vanity and sat upon the stool there. My fingers went instantly to her tortoise shell comb. Father had given it to her long ago as a courting gift. It was her favorite.

The moment I touched it, my heart filled with an incredible emptiness. I have never forgotten the feeling I had when I knew I would never see my mother again.

The Doctors told us it was the consumption that killed my mother. They talked about the illness as though educating us on how it killed my mother would some how console us. A strange thing, these practitioners of modern medicine, I thought them. They profess to know so much about the ailments of the human body but they never seem able to heal it.

Never again did we go into the countryside of Yorkshire. Before, those trips had been a time to celebrate our family and our togetherness. After mother's death, it seemed they were a painful reminder of not just mother's death but that our family would never be whole again.

Father and Christopher were in mourning just as I was but I felt especially bereaved. Unlike my father and brother, I had not been present when mother died. She was taken from the house so fast I did not even have the chance to say goodbye. I wished so much that I could have told her how much I loved just one last time.

I spent many hours in the studio but the doors could no more keep out the pain of my mother's loss anymore than they could the demands of the world.

I was thirteen and on the cusp of womanhood. According to society, this was a crucial time in my life. Soon I would be old enough to begin attracting suitors. If I was successful, marriage would follow and I would have a life of managing a home and a family.

It was customary for a girl, if she be deprived of her mother, to be given into the hands of a governess. A governess was a woman, usually married, older and equipped with the life experience to provide guidance for a girl such as myself. Ideally, this woman would be able to carry on in the place of a bereaved girl's mother.

Several women, wives of trustees and business associates, offered to take me in and fulfill this role. My mother was as respected as she was loved by these women. I respected them too but how could they possibly think they could replace my mother.

Father knew these women had only the best intentions for me. He also knew that they could provide guidance and advice that he may not have been capable of. And what girl did not need a mother's love; or something like it?

As much as father knew what was necessary, the decision was ultimately his to make. He refused all offers and eventually, they stopped.

I was glad that father did not make me go to a governess. I had no desire to leave my home but it was hardly the place it used to be.

Father continued to work and Christopher was right by his side. My brother was still not yet to manhood but he took up the herald of the Howard business. His days became filled with keeping books, board meetings and going from one place to another.

I was so proud of him but a little envious as well. Christopher had these very important duties to attend to. Also, he was able to spend so much time with father. Running the business was there niche.

I had the house to manage but the task hardly filled my time the way managing the business occupied my brother's. There was little labor to partake in and monitoring groceries and other household supplies was simple enough.

It was an unusual role for a girl of my status to be involved in. A girl my age was supposed to concentrate on refining her femininity and attending parties and social gatherings. The point of such things was to attract suitors and hopefully, catch good husband.

Also, it was time for a young woman to enjoy. Going out in public and being fawned over by young men was something my friends and I had always wondered about and looked forward to.

But here I was, a motherless girl with a father who would not let her go into the proper care. It was very unusual and because of that, I watched my friends disappear one by one. As young women hoping to catch only the best suitors, they needed to keep only the best company. It was a description I no longer fit.

I felt very lonely and spent most of my time in the studio. I looked through mum's old portfolios feeling both comfort and loss.

It was a rainy afternoon when Christopher came to visit me. A single kerosene lamp provided what little light it could while I purposelessly sorted art tools and paper in the studio.

"Sophia, how are you?" Christopher asked. He had with him a tray laden with snacks, a kettle and two cups.

I put the portraits back down on the desk. "Christopher, what are you doing here?" I asked though I could plainly see he had come to have tea.

"Weren't you supposed to be meeting new client this afternoon?" Christopher was always so busy these days. I could not remember the last time he and I had had tea together but I would hate to think I was taking away from his scheduled tasks.

Christopher put the tray down on the desk and pulled up a chair "Mr. Grisham had to cancel this afternoon. The renovations to the new hotel he purchased have fallen behind so he has rescheduled."

"That's too bad," I commented. Christopher poured the tea while telling me a little bit about this new client, a man by the name of Albert Grisham. He was an owner of several hotels in London.

Hotel owners often liked to have antique statues for their parlor, dinning and smoking rooms. As such, hotel owners were among the larger pools of clients my father's business catered to.

"I am assuming Mr. Grisham would like to purchase a few pieces of Greek or Roman nature?" It was an assumption based on experience. The Greek/Roman styles of art were among the most popular among London society.

"Actually, Mr. Grisham is looking for something a bit different." He put his tea cup down and propped his chin upon his upraised hands. "That is what I have come to talk to you about."

He looked at me with what I always called his fox face. It was a look of seriousness mixed with a spark of mischief, kind of like a fox.

"Oh?" I questioned, wondering what my brother was up to.

Christopher went on to explain that this new client, Albert Grisham, was looking for something quiet different for his newest hotel. He wanted it to have another worldly flavor, just not one typical of most English hotels. Mr. Grisham was greatly interested in styles from the, far, east. Places like China and India.

"When I showed Mr. Grisham some portraits, he was very excited."

I smiled wistfully. "Mum's work always had a way of doing that."

Again with the fox face. "Actually, the portraits I showed Mr. Grisham were yours Sophie."

I couldn't believe what I had just heard. It was not just that Christopher had apparently taken my work without my permission. It also that he presented it on official business.

"But Christopher, I am still a girl and this is official business. How do you think this Grisham will react when he finds out you actually showed him a girl's work?"

Christopher waved his hand at me. "Oh calm down. It is not as bad as you think. I told Albert that you were my younger sister and, I assure you, he did not think much of it. Not when your work spoke for itself."

"But mum was the official artist for the company. I could never replace her."

Christopher sighed and laid his hands flat on the table. "I miss mum too, Sophie. I always will. But I refuse to let that be a reason for not getting the old job done.

"I know pa won't let you go to a governess so you can learn to get married or whatever it is girls are supposed to do. But if you are going to lock yourself up in this studio I would like to see you do something productive while you are at it."

I was quiet for several long moments. Never once had I thought about becoming involved in the company the way mum was. "Are you really serious Christopher? You will let me have that kind of responsibility?" I said at last.

"If it will make you smile again." He came around and embraced me around the shoulders. "Don't worry. I have already talked to pa and he thinks it is a good idea.

"Pa knows he has neglected you and buried himself in work. But Sophie, with you becoming the artist official, we could all make this business all ours again."

He kissed me on the top of my head. "Just promise me you will think about it."

Later that night after dinner, I sat in my room. Christopher had asked me to think about what he had said. I looked into the mirror upon my dresser and readied my hair for bed and indeed I did think. Father and Christopher had their places within the family business. Now it looked as though I could expect to have place with them.

My place had always been at mother's side. Her work served the business well but I wondered if I were ready for that kind of responsibility. Could I even handle it?

I looked into my mirror for several minutes. I took notice of my dark hair and my eyes; so much like my mother's they were.

I heard a voice say, "You can do this."

Was that my own voice I heard or my mother's coming from somewhere inside me?

The client Christopher had described to me was my first venture. Mister Albert Grisham was a very kind and like Christopher had told me, he was not opposed to me, a young woman, handling the conceptual designs for his new hotel.

I worked feverishly but proudly on the project which turned out to be a huge success. My heart hummed at knowing that my art had finally found me.

Two years went by. I was fifteen and the demand for Howard family designs had grown. Custom designing allowed our client pool to expand greatly. The Howard family become ever more connected in England and, occasionally, to clients as far away as America.

Albert Grisham was one of our most regular customers. Occasionally he purchased a trinket or two to add to his own private collection. He always had a new commission for me and displayed several of my paintings in his own home and in the private offices of his hotels.

He had also become a good friend to father, Christopher and to me. He assisted my father in the locating and purchasing of storage space for our always growing pool of merchandise. Albert was always happy to join my father and brother on outings to the opera and would even have tea with me sometimes.

Albert was twelve years my senior but I regarded him as a good friend and respected him greatly. His hotel business kept him anchored in London but that did not stop his ambitions from going far beyond the shores of England.

America was still thought of as the new world and those who had been there, or had family who were there, told of a land largely unexplored and full of opportunity. Albert was intrigued by the idea of lands still unexplored. How noble and wondrous it would be to leave the civilization one knew to be a part of the building of a new one.

Such qualities made him whimsical and even attractive. He was well off as far as status and the two of us got along grandly. Those were definitely qualities desired in suitors. That was how I felt for my part.

Sadly, Albert had to relocate to Scotland. His father passed away suddenly and Albert, being the next of kin, had to go and manage the estate. It was a devastating loss for him. It was a loss I understood all too well.

He came to the house on the morning of his departure to bid farewell to all of us. I remember how sad he looked as he shook the hands of my father and brother. When it came my turn, I threw propriety into the wind and embraced him warmly.

I hated saying goodbye to him. I wondered if I would ever meet anyone as wonderful as him ever again. Albert remained in control of his properties but I never heard of him again returning to London.

Sometimes I would think of him and wonder if we might have been more. It made my heart ache.

Time passed and I became seventeen. Though most women, by that age, were married, I continued to work and make art for the Howard Company. I loved and enjoyed my work very much but I began to notice the reactions that people had to it. I soon came to realize that it was not the work itself that caused people to stare; it was that I, being a woman, worked at all.

At auctions or public exhibitions is when I heard the whispers the most. People, such as bankers, investors or women of high society, commented on my age and that it must be my aptitude for work that kept suitors away.

I once over heard a group of men snickering and daring each other to try and court me. They would laugh and remark that they had no wish to embarrass themselves.

I was different, I knew that. I just could not understand why it was deterrent.

Rain tapped on the windows of my studio one day. The lamp light would be sufficient enough for me to work but I had no heart for it. Instead, I sat in a chair beside the middle window looking out at the rain, soaked street.

The cobble stone street was empty save for a passing carriage or the occasional pedestrian. A young couple suddenly burst out of no where. Both tried in vain to shield themselves from the rain but the one umbrella between them hardly served.

The couple held fast to each other and rushed down the street to a house at the end. Under the protection of the eve over the front door, they laughed and embraced. I watched the smiles on their faces and felt my heart twinge at the sight of them, jovially, entering the house.

Slowly and deeply, I began to feel the loneliness creep into me.

Six months later I was sitting in on an auction being hosted at our house. A large, stone carving of Buddha, sitting in the lotus position was up for bid. When I pulled the cotton sheet covering the statue, an awe of reverence floated from the mouths of those in attendance.

I folded up the sheet and curtsied for the crowd before returning to my own seat beside father at the podium. From there I was able to see the attendees, most of whom I knew.

Sour Mr. William Caldwell with his gray hair and pudgy face sat in the back. He was usually more of a looker than a buyer. He was the type who looked the part of a well off businessman better than he played it. He was a part of the English upper class but the rumor was that his gambling habit impacted his fortune greatly.

Sitting in the chair next to him was a man I did not know. I was positive I had never even seen this man before at one of our auctions. It was not unusual to have new attendees at auctions. What was unusual was how this man kept staring at me.

The man would later introduce himself as Richard Kanner. He was the nephew of William Caldwell.

Richard had come from a family of lawyers but introduced himself to us as a man looking to explore other career options. Father thought the selling of artifacts for private use a far cry from the potentially prestigious career of law. But father was always willing to take on a new apprentice.

Richard was bold, ambitious and a bit shrewd. He went after, even the smallest of assignments, with the fervor of a hungry tiger after prey. Richard quickly found himself in the high regards of investors and associates alike.

Profit, though one thing, was not everything to father. Father believed in a sense of humility and that physical pieces of culture were like knowledge itself-always best when shared. It was his recipe for operating an honest business.

It was an attitude that the younger generations of commerce did not respond well to. Especially when many were focused only on profit and the status it brought.

Richard was indeed set on making a name for him self. Father could understand that, a man was no one without a name. That is why father thought Richard when he was ready would sever his ties with the Howard business and go his separate way.

So, when Richard approached father asking his permission to court me, we were all, me most of all, very surprised.

Father addressed this new development one day during tea time. I nearly dropped my tea cup. I appreciated Richard as an associate of the family business but my thoughts on him went no further. I never would have imagined that he would want to court me.

Father understood that the choice was mine to make but he insisted that I at least try. I was well into my eighteenth year. I was older than most women of courting age and I suppose father was beginning to panic a little. It was the wish of every true father to see his daughter taken care of and provided for. If Richard could do that then he at least deserved a chance.

I agreed to his request. Maybe he would surprise me, I hoped.

I had to make many adjustments. Days filled with research and the cataloging of art work changed to routines that better fit Richard's social calendar. Richard was quite the socialite and there was always something to do. The two of us attended horse races, grand balls and other events. There was much excitement to be drawn from such events but I felt a little out of place.

When people gathered together to converse, the talk was always the same. All the men seemed to be able to think about was money and battled each other by bragging about who had more of one thing or another.

Women were no more encouraging. Mostly they were quiet, if they did speak it was only to congratulate their husbands or suitors on their latest achievement (which sounded more like shady deals to me). I seldom had anything to contribute and it was disheartening.

Furthermore, this business of courting was certainly expensive. Every new ball called for a different dress. Normally, I made my own clothes but the gowns required for such elaborate outings were far beyond my skills.

When I was not with Richard, most of my time was spent in dress and fabric shops. As soon as one gown was completed it was time to commission another one it seemed. I had to wear my corset tighter to achieve what was called, the more desirable shape. It was difficult for me to enjoy any event being weighed down by yards of drapery and constricted by a corset.

I missed the feel of my, simple, calico cotton dresses. My fingers twitched with want for my drawing pencils. I missed my art studio and my work. Compared to what I had been doing, courting seemed a most unproductive thing.

Then there was Richard himself. He was well versed in gentlemanly manner but only so long as he got his way. He seemed intent on choosing everything from what event we attended and even went as far as to dictate how I should dress. I felt more like an appendage on his arm.

Dinner gatherings were often precarious events. My family was well known but when it was revealed that I was the mysterious, Howard daughter (A title I did not even know I had let a lone liked), questions were inevitable.

At first I thought it was the attention, in the form of questions, I received from other men, as each was a potential rival for my attention that was making Richard uncomfortable. That was one part of it, the other part was, not that I returned the attention in the form of answers, it was how I actually answered the questions.

I talked about my position within my family as an artist. It was not unusual for a woman to be well versed in art. I was openly passionate about what I did. I could talk about my profession all night long if people let me.

"She's a tiger Rich, "A man blatantly commented one night at a party. It been another question and answer session and as usual, Richard shifted uncomfortably in his seat while I spoke. "I hope you can handle her." His comment finished and looking most amused, the man got up from his chair and patted Richard on the arm.

I made no effort to hide the scowl on my face. He was not the first man to ask questions about me. It was that he seemed so amused by what I took so seriously, that I found upsetting.

Richard, I could tell, was equally flustered. We left the party soon after. The ride in the coach was mostly quiet but my earlier disgruntlement still simmered within me.

"Richard, I really do not wish to attend these silly parties anymore. "

"Oh?" Richard uttered. He sat on the seat opposite to me in the coach.

I slumped against the wall of the coach interior and looked out the window. House after house, with only a solitary street lamp to mark them passed one after the other. We were still a good distance from my own home.

I wanted to get back there and just lock myself up in my art studio. I needed my sanctuary.

"Well," Richard's deep voice driven by a demanding tone startled me form my musings.

"I am sorry. I was thinking about how much I miss my art studio." Yes, I was lost in daydreaming but warm nostalgia set in. "I spent so much time there with my mother while she was alive. I never thought being away from that studio could be compared to missing my mother."

"Out with it already," He erupted. "Tell me what it is that displeases you so?"

He swiped his hands through the air angrily. Never before had I seen him so agitated. His mood was unnerving but I proceeded with my response.

"I...I just do not feel like I belong at these events. Every time I am asked to speak or answer questions I do so to the best of my ability. I do not feel as though I am being taken even the least bit seriously. And always those remarks…"

My throat tightened, the heat of tears waiting to shed themselves rushed to my cheeks. "Just what do those people mean when they say they hope you can handle me?"

Richard snorted and shook his head. "You really do not see it, do you?"

The leather gloves I was wearing stretched over my fingers as I clenched them into fists. "What is that supposed to mean?" I ventured to ask. My own temper started to flare.

Richard huffed. "Your talk about ancient cultures, Goddess' and all other silly stuff your father lets you fill your head with. It's embarrassing."

I fisted my hands so tightly my leather gloves squeaked. "Since when was pride in one's profession something to be ashamed of?"

He sighed heavily. He looked at me, disapproval plain to see on his face. "That is it right there. You think of what you do as an actual profession.

"A properly raised woman knows that her truest purpose is to be a credit to the man she is married to, or hopes to be married to for that matter. She would never embarrass him with such ideas."

I was so angry that I hadn't realized the coach had stopped moving. I was home at last but I was not going to walk away from this just yet.

"Well I'm sorry you feel that way. But I refuse to apologize for something I take so much pride in."

Richard fisted his gloved hand and pointed an angry finger at me. "Well you had better learn. A woman with such ambition has no place in proper society.

"So if you wish to be accepted you had better learn what is expected from by society and especially by me. I expect that of any woman I am to be seen with."

I was not going to wait on him to open the carriage door.

My hand shot out and grabbed the latch. With a click, the door opened allowing the cold air of the London night to fill the tense air of the carriage interior. "Well, maybe I do not wish to be seen with you anymore!"

I propelled myself, cumbersome gown and all, out through the small portal. My feet had barley touched to the coble stone street when Richard seized my left arm.

I cried out as he tried to pull me back. I was half in and half out of the carriage with my left arm trapped in Richard's vice like grip.

"How dare you speak to me that way you ungrateful little…," He growled and squeezed my arm tighter.

"Richard, please stop! You're hurting me…," I cried as loud as I could hoping he would let go.

He yanked harder. "You really ought to be grateful I even acknowledge your existence. Any man in his right mind would not even think of being seen with one as odd as you."

I whimpered pathetically. His grasp on me was painful but no where near as hurtful as his words.

"Now, put that brain of yours to good use and learn some respect."

He relinquished his grasp on me and I tumbled out of the carriage. I did not look back as I sprang up the stairs and to the door of my house. In a heart beat I had opened the door and slammed it shut behind me.

I could only think of getting to my room. There I would be safe.

I dashed past the parlor room and to the stairs leading to the second floor. Half way up I tripped on the hem of my gown and stumbled on the steps.

"Sophie, what has happened?" Christopher called to me.

I turned my tear stained face to see him at the foot of the stair. Seeing the look of concern on his face did not deter me from want to be alone. I hastily gathered the hem of my skirts and continued on my course.

I slammed my bedroom door shut behind me. The click of the latch signaled that I was finally safe. My bedroom was dark save for two lamps burning on either side of my vanity. I went straight to my bed and fell upon it.

My body trembled as I realized just how frightened I was and I allowed myself to cry at last.

"Sophie? Sophie…" Christopher called from the other side of my door. He rapped on the door gently. "Sophie, may I come in?"

He came in though I had not answered him.

I felt the mattress sink under his weight and felt his warm hand on the cold skin of my arm.

"Oh Sophie, what's wrong?' He asked taking full notice of the tears on my face.

Again, I did not answer. I was still too shaken to speak.

"It's that bloke Kanner? Isn't it?"

The conviction of his words and the comfort of his hand gave me confidence. I sat up on the bed and Christopher put his arm around me. My head resting upon his shoulder was all the answer he needed.

"I thought so. You don't really like him, do you?"

I shook my head. "No. I thought I would if I got to know him but…" I thought of how arrogant he was and could not finish.

Christopher was very intuitive. I needn't say anymore. "That's what I thought. Can you tell me what happened?"

Christopher, good brother. I could never keep anything from him. I told him everything that had happened. I cried unashamedly when I recounted the physical mistreatment Richard had dealt me. As much as that had hurt, it still measured little against his demeaning remarks.

Christopher, I could sense, was upset as well. However, he chose to attend to me first.

"It's alright little sister. Richard's just mad because you are smarter than him." He smiled and squeezed his arm tighter around me.

The tensions expelled from me, I too found that I could laugh as well. Christopher said nothing more and helped me get ready for bed. I had to instruct him on how to unlace the gown and the corset but he did not mind.

Once out of those cumbersome garments I assured him I could do the rest myself. He then bid me goodnight. I did the same for him and he left me to sleep.

The next morning, father came to visit me.

"Sophia, is everything Christopher told me true?"

I was not surprised that Christopher told father. As my older brother, it was Christopher's duty to protect me. I told father frightened and demeaned Richard had made me feel.

"My darling girl," Father said at last. I know what Richard said was hard for you to hear but he has his reasons for saying them.

"When a man marries, he needs to know that the woman he is building his family with will be able to put all that she is into taking care of his home."

I leaned back up against my pillows. Yes, there was a truth here. The world of economics and business could be brutal. Therefore, the idealistic home, for a man, was a sanctuary from the hustle and bustle of the public sphere. The one charged with making the home a sanctuary, was of course, the woman.

"Be that as it may," I huffed and crossed my arms over my chest. "That does not give Richard the right to treat me the way he did."

"I know and you are right, Richard should not have been so harsh with you."

He placed his hand on my chin and turned my head to face him. "But Sophia, I am afraid to tell you that Richard was only doing what he felt was necessary. A good woman is expected to behave in a certain way, whether in public or at home. If her husband feels that she is out of line it is his responsibility to bring her back in as he sees fit."

I stared at my father, mortification filling me from my heart all the way to my innermost thoughts.

Never had I heard my father speak of such things. He made it sound as though mistreatment was not only something I might expect in a marriage, but also something I was just going to have to accept.

"That does not make any sense." My voice was a ghostly whisper, barely audible. "You never treated mother like that."

Father blanched at me. His face turned ghostly pale and any recognition of the man I called father, faded. As quiet as fog settling on the city, he left the room and shut the door.

I went to my studio and spent the whole day in there. I did not even join my family for dinner. The daylight was long gone and the kerosene lamps provided only a dull glow. I sat in the Queen Ann chair with my mother's comb in my hand.

I don't know how late it was when the sound of gentle knocking on the door roused me from my musings. Father announced himself quietly. Though I did not say he could enter, he came in anyway.

I was sitting in the only arm chair in the room. Father retrieved the upholstered stool from underneath my easel and sat next to me.

I did not acknowledge him while I deftly ran my fingers over the comb in my hands. The texture of the combs finish had gone from shiny and smooth to dull and burnished. Mother had worn it in her hair almost every day. I had done the same and the comb showed its wear.

"Of all the things available to you," My father said at last. "Nothing holds more value to you than this.

He reached out and gently took the comb from my hands.

"Your mum had far nicer things than this," He examined the comb. It was a humble thing with no adornment beyond the texture that had been carved into it. "Yet this was always her favorite. I could never figure out why."

He handed the comb back to me. I opened my hand and he placed the comb in my palm. "I don't know either," I had gone all day without seeing or speaking to him. Though what he had said to me last night had hurt, I hated not speaking to him.

"Richard came this afternoon. He asked if he could see you so he could apologize."

I paled at the mention of that man's name. "Father, you are not going to make me stay with him, are you?"

Father sighed. "Sophia, I am so sorry, I never should have consented to his offer in the first place."

I sat up to attention and listened to what he had to tell me. Father spoke with great remorse for he had become familiar with Richard's brash and sometimes, domineering, character. He was in control of traits that made him formidable in the realm of business but father had his doubts as to what kind of suitor Richard would be.

"Then why did you push him at me to begin with?" I finally demanded.

He sighed again. "Richard seemed honestly interested in you. Ever since he first saw you at the auction that day, he was curious about you. I wanted so much to believe that he might just be the one for you."

Father leaned forward and clasped my hand in his own. "I was only trying to help," He pleaded softly. I am proud of what you do for this family but you always seem so lonely."

Heavy tears rolled out of my eyes and down my face. The chair was large enough for father the sit next to me. Once he sat down I leaned up against him with my head resting over his heart.

"I do get lonely sometimes. But being at the parties, surrounded by people I barely know, having to listen to talk I am barely interested in is even worse.

"You should see the way those people look at me. They find me so strange and I cannot understand why. And Richard, every time someone speaks with me, he becomes uncomfortable. I do not wish to embarrass him but he says I do."

Father nodded his head and held me tighter to him. "Oh, Sophia forgive me, it's all my fault. Perhaps if I had let you go into the care of a governess you would better know how to cope with all this bullocks."

I chuckled at my father's ability to make light of the situation. It gave me the courage to ask the one question I never before had.

"Then why didn't you?" I looked up at him, my head still resting against his chest. "There were many well qualified women who offered to take me in. Any one of them would have done right by the world."

"Would you have gone?" He grinned at me as he spoke. It was that type of 'you know better than that' grin.

"You were still head of the family. You had only but to order me to go." I did not want to leave my family then but never did I want to disobey my father.

He nodded and rocked me gently. I felt like I was small all over again and in a time when once my father's arms were around me, nothing could harm me.

"I knew what was best for you but I could not let you go. You were so like your mother in so many ways."

Tears welled in his eyes and gathered at the corners. "Your mother's death left a great hole in my heart. I knew it could never be filled, even after all these years I still feel it."

I knew exactly what he was talking about. We all had a great emptiness left by mum inside of all of us.

"When I considered sending you away, even though I knew you would just be staying with caretakers, I felt the edge of that hole crack and threaten to expand. I just could not bear the thought of my family breaking up any more than it already was."

I hugged father as tightly as I could. I loved him so much but it seemed I would never know just how much the pain he carried, as a father alone, affected all the choices he had made for Christopher, and especially for me.

"Sophia, I have made many mistakes raising you. I thought the one thing I might do right was find you a proper husband." He patted me on the head. "Sophia, are you angry with me?"

"No father, never." I sighed and pulled out of his arms. I readjusted the wool shawl I had around my shoulders and slouched in the chair.

"You are so like your mother," He said after a few minutes. "Your mother's respect for her self was more important to her than all the wealth in the world."

"Mum talked about what life was like before she met you. She grew up the way a woman is supposed to; raised to be obedient and useful."

Father nodded. We both knew that mother came from a very upper class family. As such, she had a very rigid, strict and cold upbringing.

"When I first met Dianna, I saw right away the status and background she came from. But there was a fire about her. Once I saw it, I could not resist her."

Father drifted off into his memories. I envied him for in the place his mind now dwelt were images of my mother and memories that were his alone.

"Mum also said you accepted her as she was, inner fire and all."

Father smiled so warmly at me.

"She said you were her hero."

"Your mother deserved the best. When we first married, I worried if I was going to be able to succeed and keep myself worthy of her. But it was her determination and constant focus of what truly mattered that bolstered me. If anyone was a true hero, it was her.?

Father cradled me to him again.

"I miss her so much." I whispered against his chest.

"But she is still here. I see in you the same spirit that you mum had."

I think what father was really trying to say was sorry. My upbringing was less than typical for a woman of my standing. But then again, our family was anything but typical.

Father would never know if maybe mother had secretly prayed for someone who would love her so well. But as a father, he could certainly do that for me.

My relationship with Richard was annulled to that merely being the daughter of a man he worked with. I accepted his apology, via by proxy. It was terrible to use my brother as the "go between" but I just did not wish to see Richard.

After that, father kept Richard at arm's length. Christopher wanted the man expelled from the company. Not just for how he treated me but because he was also beginning to out grow his place.

I did not know why he stayed. A part of me wondered if, perhaps, he was trying to re-earn my father's confidence so that he may yet pursue me again.

It was an egotistical thought but Richard had more than enough resources to start out on his own. He would have been the head of his own, albeit, lesser company, but his own none the less. I suppose that was not enough for him.

My twentieth year came before I knew it. I was still single with no suitors to speak of. But I did not mind that. I was more established in the family company than I thought I would ever be.

I was somewhat of a spokes person for the company. I was able to attend public auctions and speak at public events such as the unveiling of a new artifact at a museum or private exhibition. It was truly an extraordinary time.

It was a cold night in November when father, Christopher and myself made our way home from the London opera. I hugged my arms and pulled my coat tightly around me. The voices of the crowds exiting the opera house faded to whispers as we walked further away.

We attended the opera regularly and so none of us were perturbed by walking to our house so late at night. This night however, there was a heavy fog blanketing the street. The street became so quiet save for the sound of our foot falls on the cobble stone street.

At one point, a stray cat suddenly sprinted out of an alley and right across our path. I screamed out loud at the passing of the mangy animal.

"Sophia, control your self." Father scolded. "We are almost home."

I was glad to hear that. I did not know why but something did not feel right tonight.

We turned down a familiar alley, one that would take us to our home street. Just a few more minutes, then we would all be safely back at the house.

"Good evening there." A voice came piercing through the fog. The three of us turned to see two men standing at the end of the alley we had just passed through a few minutes before.

Both were dressed in dark colored, worn, frock coats with greasy, unkempt hair peeking out form underneath dirty bowler hats. The two of them leered at us with predatory stares.

I grabbed father's hand on impulse, these men frightened me for I had not see them when we entered the alley from the same point at which they now stood. Did they lie and wait in the shadows for us?

Father used the hand I was holding and pushed me behind him. Christopher stepped daringly forward with his head high and jaw clenched. "Is there something we can do for you two gents." Christopher said in a voice both strong and defiant.

The two men approached. I could feel my heart beat faster with every step advanced by them.

"There, there lad," One of the men said snidely. "Just do what we say there will be no trouble."

"And why should we do that?" Father asked. His voice so deep I could feel it vibrating through his body.

I peeked over his shoulder to see one of the men reach into his coat and withdraw a pistol.

"Because I have this, that's why." The man said brandishing the weapon.

We all took a step back. My hand slapped over my mouth, stifling a scream. Father reached for Christopher and tried to pull him back. Christopher was ready to fight though father trying to restrain him.

"Christopher, don't. If we give them what they want, they will go away." Father growled. Father did not want to but he reached to pull out his wallet to offer it to these hoodlums.

The second man stepped forward. "Good evening love," He addressed to me. His eyes fixed on the pearl necklace I was wearing. He sprinted forward towards me. "I'll have that," He said as his hand shot out, his icy fingers closing around my neck.

All hell broke loose.

Christopher wailed defensively and jumped upon my attacker. Father fought back as well and dealt the pistol wielding man a blow to the face.

"Sophia, get back." Father cried.

I staggered back several feet. I rubbed my hands over my neck, I could still feel my attackers fingers there.

All four men engaged in an all out brawl. Father and the man who had the pistol exchanged blows while Christopher's opponent had pulled a knife.

"Help...Help please..." I cried over and over again.

The man with the knife jabbed it at Christopher and grazed him. I saw red blood stain the fabric of my brother's waistcoat. My heart froze when my brother's attacker grabbed him by the collar and shoved him against wall. He pointed the knife towards Christopher's heart.

I moved without thought. I ran over to my brother's attacker, reached up and grasped onto the man's wrist so as to pull the knife away from Christopher.

He released my brother and turned on me. He elbowed me in my stomach with the same arm I was trying to restrain. I was unprepared for the force that collided into my stomach, it felt like I would break in half. My fingers tingled and lost their grasp.

"Ruddy bitch," The man barked before slapping me and then knocking me to the cold, wet ground.

My head slammed on the cold stone street followed by the rest of my body being swallowed by the shock.

Darkness moved in from the edges of my eyes and washed over my vision. I struggled to hang on but lost. A sound, much like thunder, exploding in my ears was the last thing I remember.

Whispers floated all around me. At first, not loud enough for me to understand, just enough for me to know I was not alone.

The whispers became voices, speaking as though in the distance. With clarity of words came the realization of pain. The smell of iodine and the patter of feet racing across tile floors roused me.

I fought to wake. A white, featureless ceiling was the first thing to greet my eyes. Every muscle in my neck protested as I turned my head to look about the room. To my right was a simple night stand with a wash basin on it. Next to the basin was a white ceramic water jug with a pile of towels and an amber colored bottle of iodine.

I was in a hospital. My heart beat with hope, father and Christopher must be here too. But were they hurt or weren't they? I had to find out.

A hospital matron came in. I remember her being a middle aged woman and covered from head to toe in her gray, hospital uniform.

"There, there miss, you shouldn't be moving too much now. A nasty bump on the head you have."

I had only managed to lift my upper torso up a few inches before the matron gently pushed me back down. Spots swam before my eyes, causing my head to swoon.

One of my hands went to my forehead and encountered several layers of bandages wrapped there. I focused on my breathing till I could form words.

"My father and my brother, are they here?" My voice was only a harsh whisper but it was all I could manage.

The matron's face went pale. "Perhaps you should go back to sleep dear."

I didn't like the sound of that. I asked the matron to tell me that my father and brother were somewhere being cared for, that they were some where safe from our attackers.

The matron's eyes became heavy with sympathy. She cradled my face within her work weathered hands. "Your father and brother are safe my dear, in a place where they never again be hurt."

Tears formed in my eyes at the air of finality her words carried. In my heart I knew what she meant but I shook my head defiantly.

"Your father and brother are now in the care of our holy father in heaven."

I remember the room being very silent. My body trembled with the pulse of screams building in my lungs. I swallowed them all back. The matron tried to comfort me but I turned away from her. I settled back down on the bed and wrapped up in the sheets. 'Just go back to sleep' I told my self. When I wake up, I would find this all a terrible nightmare.

How I wished that would be. But no nightmare could conjure the emotional agony I felt. It was all too real.

I learned for the constable that came to visit me that the bodies of my brother and father had been found in the early hours of the morning by the resident chimney sweeper.

My father had died from a gunshot to the head. It was a brutal wound but the doctors did not believe he suffered. Christopher had also died from a gunshot wound to the head, but he had also suffered several stab wounds.

I was found lying next to my brother's body. The chimney sweeper saw the blood on my head and thought for sure I was dead to. I had not been shot but I had suffered a severe blow to the head. Other than that, I only had some minor cuts and bruises.

The three of us had been plundered of our money and whatever trinkets of value we had on our persons that night.

The constable demanded that I tell him everything that happened. I did but I had never seen those two men in the area before. I barely remembered any physical features or anything else that might help give the constable clues.

The constable left vowing that he would do all in his power to track down the murderers of my father and brother. I was grateful but I was no fool. I knew he did not have much to go on and the crime against us was common place throughout London.

I despaired, wishing I had paid more attention, wishing I had done more to help. The matrons told me over and over to simply be grateful I had survived and know that my father and brother were safe in heaven.

Yes, father and Christopher were in heaven now. They were there with mother while I remained behind on earth.

A priest came to visit me after the constable left. He led me in prayer but his words gave no comfort. Sharp pains from my head injury plagued me all day but not even that eclipsed the pain I felt in my soul.

I lay in my bed and stared out my window. My room was located on the second story of the hospital. It was high enough for me to see above the rooftops of lower buildings. Black smoke plumed from a forest of chimneys. The smoke rose upwards, turning the air dark and acrid from the smoke and ash.

Shafts of sun light broke through the gloom and ash. Like that light, a thought about what was to become of me or what would I do about the Howard business broke into my conscience? But just like those shafts of light, my few, coherent thoughts, would fade and be swallowed by the swirling clouds of my sorrow.

The next day brought with it a most unexpected visitor.

Richard knocked lightly on the door to my room before entering. I had not seen him in months and I wondered why he had come.

Word of my father and brother's death had spread. Richard said that he and several other people my father had worked with sent their deepest sympathies. Richard had decided to come on behalf of all of them and even brought a lovely bouquet of flowers.

Strangely, I found myself moved that he had come to see me. He was just as feverish a worker as anyone else in the company. Yet he was the only to drop everything to come and visit me.

The doctors kept me in the hospital for two more days. They wanted to make sure I had not suffered any lasting effects from my head injury. Richard came to visit with me the entire time I remained in the hospital.

Richard would stay all day and only left at night when the hospital closed to visitors I was very surprised by his apparent devotion.

He constantly asked if there was anything he could do to help me. He even went as far as to offer me a room in the home in which he shared with his uncle. The idea was a bit unconventional to say the least. He was not an immediate relative and it was considered inappropriate for a man and a woman to live under the same roof while unmarried.

I did not care much for what others might think. The thought of returning to an empty house was far worse than anything. It was not the Howard family house anymore.

The Howard family was no more save for one last member.

I accepted Richard's offer though I had my reservations. Given our history together, I knew there had to be some motivation other than just plain sympathy behind his sudden graciousness.

I was released from the hospital and on the way to Richard's home, I began my questions. "Why are you being so good to me?" I asked during the carriage ride. .

"Sophia, I don't expect you to believe me and I understand well if you don't." He took a deep breath. "I am terribly sorry for how I treated you that night we quarreled. When your father refused to even let me see you, even though I wanted to apologize, I thought I would have to carry the guilt with me for the rest of my life."

I had never heard him speak so remorsefully, I really did not think him capable of it. He went on to say that his current success was due in part to the education given to him by my father. Richard wanted to be able to repay my father somehow.

I still thought it unusual that he should want to take me in. I had no idea what I was going to do with myself let alone with the Howard Company.

All I wanted was escape and Richard was offering it. So I accepted.

On the way to his home, Richard briefed me on what life was like in his home. The house belonged to his uncle, whom of which, I was already acquainted with.

Richard was the only son of Arthur Kanner. His father was a well respected lawyer until his untimely death at the age of forty five. Richard's mother had passed several years before and thus, Richard was orphaned at the age of fifteen.

It was into the care of his late father's sister, Agatha, that Richard went to. Agatha was married to William Caldwell and together, they raised Richard until Agatha herself, passed away. It was from his uncle that Richard had developed an interest in the trade of artifacts despite expectations that he become a lawyer like his father before him.

I had to admit that I was taken aback to learn that. Richard had lost his parents too. He and I had that much in common.

The rest of the journey was quiet. It was not until we arrived that the house that Richard spoke again. He opened up the carriage door and stepped out. Like a gentleman, he extended his hand for me to take and help me down.

"Here we are," He said as he presented his home to me. I had to admit, it was nice place. It was a three story town house with a bay widows and a third floor balcony. There was just enough room the front for small flower beds and green grass.

Richard told the coach man to go to my house and tell the staff there to pack some of my clothes and then to promptly deliver them. Yet another detail I had not bothered to see to. But he had cared enough it would seem, to do so.

The coach plodded away as Richard escorted me inside. The house was grander on the inside than on the outside. There were a number of antiques in the home but most of the decor was modern. Plush couches upholstered in colors of red, green and vibrant browns were every where. Three tiered chandeliers adorned by hand cut glass hung in areas like the dinning and parlor rooms.

I was still observing the expensive tastes Richard and his uncle shared when Mr. Caldwell came to welcome me.

"Dear woman," He greeted me warmly. He leaned heavily on his mahogany wood cane, heavier than I had seen him before. He took one of my hands and squeezed tightly. "I am so sorry for you dear child," His voice was deep and heavy with his English accent. "I hope you will find rest and comfort while you stay here with us."

I thanked him for his kind words and told him I hoped for just as much.

The late afternoon brought with it the arrival of my things from home and I officially moving into the room Richard had set up for me. It was quaint with a large bed and all the things a woman would require. I guessed that the room once belonged to Richard's aunt and he concurred I was correct.

After dinner, Richard saw me up to the room but asked a moment of my time before I retired.

"Sophia, I know this is not an easy time for you. I know what it is like to feel like you have no one and living with the uncertainty of not knowing what to do next."

My throat tightened. Yes that was exactly what I was feeling.

"I can't stop you from feeling that but I can be here, for you, if you let me."

He reached for my hand, a gesture I would have recoiled from in the past. I did not now; I simply let him take it.

"I want us to be able to start over again." He kissed my hand softly. "I promise I will take care of everything. In time, I hope that maybe you will let me take care of you always."

He bid me good night and I prepared for bed. Once in my night clothes, I went to bed but I lay awake for some time. There was so much to think about: the funeral, the business and of course, Richard's sudden new shine to me.

It was enough to drive anyone mad with grief and confusion. I felt nothing of the sort. I was numb and content to stay that way so long as it kept my grief at bay. Even for a short while.

The day of the burial arrived. Richard had seen to the funeral arrangements. I was very grateful as this was a task I wanted to hide from.

The funeral was held in the same, small church that my mother's funeral had been in several years before. I was donned in black from head to toe, my face hidden behind a black gossamer veil. Richard was by my side the entire time but all I could focus on were the two caskets that contained the bodies of my father and brother. Outside the church was the graveyard where they were to be buried with my mother.

I watched the coffins lowered slowly, reverently into the ground. The prayers and the tears of my fellow mourners seemed like voices in a dream; audible but indiscernible. The coffins touched down with an eerie, dull thud that undulated out of the earth.

The finality that my father and brother were gone from me forever hit me. My body bent like and toppled forward like an old woman having lost the last of her strength. My face landed on the ground. The feeling of the grass and the dampness of the earth on my face lingered on my skin for days.

Two moths went by and I still resided with Richard in his home. It was a grand home, far beyond anything I was used to. Richard definitely enjoyed the life of the English socialite. He had small exhibitions of his private collection and sometimes grand parties. All of which I was invited to and some I attended.

Again, Richard saw to my needs by providing clothes and introducing me to all his guests. He introduced me as the Howard daughter and even made it a point to let people know that I had been an artist for my late father's company. No more did he fidget or cringe when people questioned and quizzed me. It was another change I noticed in him and a welcome one at that.

The events distracted me but only for so long. I missed my family but I could not languish in mournful forgetfulness forever. Concern over what to do with my father's business grew with each passing day. As the next of kin, I was the one to inherit it all.

That was not why I hesitated. The company, though legally mine, did not offer any promise of purpose or fulfillment. How could it when I would give it all up just to have my father and brother back.

Richard continued to be by my side. For the first time, I appreciated is brash manner for he used it to stave off impatient associates and the like. I felt protected by his actions and cared for by all that he had done thus far.

His official proposal of marriage was not too long in coming. I found myself partial to his offer. Of course, I had not forgotten how he had treated me all those months before. He had not behaved that way since and I felt as though I had come to know him better.

I lay awake in bed one night thinking over what I should do. Richard may be brash when it came to business but he truly had been kind to me. He had kept an eye on things including my real home while letting me reside in his own. He had even paid for the cost of my father and brother's burial which was more than I ever could have asked.

Maybe the two of us might work together. Perhaps we could run my father's business as husband and wife?

I got out of bed and threw on a heavy robe. It was late but I knew that Richard often enjoyed a glass of brandy in his study sometimes at this hour. I could have waited till morning but I needed to talk to him. He had been so kind to me and I owed it to him to tell him what was on my mind.

I approached the doors to his study. The telltale orange beam of light coming out from the crack in between the door and the frame told me that he was still awake. But the sound of voices alerted he was not alone.

I should have just gone back to bed but curiosity got the better of me. I crept up to the door and listened.

It was his uncle that Richard was in the study with. Judging by the tone of his voice, Caldwell was very upset about something.

"Richard, just for how much longer is all this going to continue? "

"Patients uncle: Patients. I am positive Sophia will marry me. It won't be long now."

My brow furrowed. What was going on here?

Caldwell slammed his fist on a table. "You have gone too far this time. You should just take what you have and walk away."

I could not see much through the crack in the door but I could hear Richard's footsteps landing harshly on the floor: A sure sign that he was agitated.

"I know that uncle but that would never be enough. From the moment I entered Thomas' company I wanted it. I know it is within my grasp. I need only wait a little longer for Sophia to accept me."

I continued to listen while Richard talked. He talked about how surprised he was when my father did not force me to continue his courting of me. Apparently, this was his original plan for getting a bigger and more permanent grasp within my father's company. But that had failed and now, I listened to him reveal, his apparent, new plan.

Caldwell chuckled mockingly at his nephew. "And just what makes you think she will accept you? There is nothing to stop her from inheriting the company as her own. If you ask me that seems more like the option Sophia would elect being the strange type of woman she is."

"Ah uncle, that is where you are wrong. Sophia may be an odd woman but I know she is still a woman. She can operate the company but I know her well enough to believe that she will find it a lonely affair.

"The problem is that every bloke in the company knows that to. Believe me uncle there is nothing more attractive to a man than a lonely woman with a large fortune under her foot."

Again, Caldwell scoffed. "Yes I know that Richard, I am not stupid. I know your reason for bringing her here was so that you might keep her away from all those other bastards in Howard's company. With her being by herself they would want just as much as you to take control of the company through her.

"She no longer has her father or brother to hide behind and you have made it that way. So for your sake, this plan had better work. Hiring those thugs to have Thomas and his boy put down was a big enough gamble as it was. I still say you should have just had them kill Sophia to."

"Yes uncle but then I would be left having to fight for the company. Take something and you spend the rest of your life trying to keep it. I have done all I can think to woo Sophia and if she will just accept my proposal then the Howard Company and all it is will be mine. Through marriage, my claim will be irrevocable and I will be untouchable."

Caldwell tapped his fingers on the desk. "I say again, you had better be successful. It would be a shame for you to have orchestrated murder for nothing."

I had heard enough. I ghosted back up to my room and once there, I threw myself on the bed. For several minutes I grappled with the inescapable reality of the monster that was Richard Kanner. My father took him on as an associate, trusted and mentored him. And Richard repaid it all by arranging for him, my brother also, to be murdered.

I cried for the cruelty of it all. My father and brother did not have to die. If Richard had the patience and the honor, he could easily have built an empire all his own. But no; for him, it was easier to have my father and brother murdered and he did not seem to think anything of it.

I was the key to his plan's success.

Richard's compassion towards me had been a ruse the entire time. Giving me shelter in his home, allowing me privacy to mourn, all of it was intended to turn my heart towards him. Or, at the very least, make it impossible for me to deny him.

And I had fallen for it-almost.

I don't know how long I continued to lay awake. Richard and his uncle had talked about me as though I were a stupid whelp. If I knew what was good for me, I would surrender everything to a husband's control.

Richard had taken great lengths to isolate me, keep me out of reach of other men who would certainly compete with him to get their hands on the company through me.

In a sad way, Richard was right about one thing. How could any man be able to look past all of my inherited wealth and see just me? No, the world I found myself in was too greedy, too hungry for wealth for love to survive.

Richard's mistake was that he believed that I did not know that. His Achilles heel was in sight and in my mind, I readied to fire my arrow.

A great sense of satisfaction filled me as a plan, a plan a terrible as it was simple formed in my head. He wanted me for his wife and so his wife I would be. He wanted me because he wanted my father's legacy; he could have it. I hope he would enjoy it because I would see to it that his enjoyment would be short lived.

Richard Kanner would die by my hand. I went to sleep that night with revenge in my dreams.

The next morning, Richard and I met for breakfast. I suppose I should have been very nervous and awkward in his presence. My goal was his demise after all. Yet, I was very calm and focused.

"Sophia," He softly called my attention.

I observed his body language. His shy smile, the way he dropped his gaze, as though he was too nervous to even look at me, I had seen it all before only now I knew it to be an act. I had to play audience to it.

"I know you still mourn for your family but dear woman, there is still so much joy to be had in this world."

Yes, and I would find it once I have had my revenge I thought.

"Please Sophia have you given anymore thought to my proposal?"

I put my tea cup back on its saucer on the table-it was time for me to play my part.

"I have more than just thought about your proposal. I have made a decision."

He placed his hands on the table in front of him and leaned eagerly forward.

"Richard you have been so good to me. I have always prided myself on making the intelligent choice-"

"Are you saying you accept than?" He shot from his seat as though he wanted to run over and scoop me up in his arms.

His outburst completely cut me off. Oh well, I better just give him what he wants.

"I think it would be unintelligent not to accept."

From that morning forward, the two of us were engaged. Richard showered me with vows of love and promised to always take good care of me. He wasted no time spreading the word either. Had I not known the ugly truth about him, I may have actually believed his he was happy and I had made him so.

More likely he was signaling to his accomplices, or enemies, of his victory. The Howard fortune was his and there was nothing any one could do about it. At least, nothing that anyone of them could do about it.

In the time of accepting the engagement to the approaching walk to the altar, I sacrificed much. I completely conformed to what ever Richard wanted me to be-quiet and a credit to him. I only spoke when spoken to and my answers were short and to the point. My intellect hidden and my opinions silenced.

I numbed myself to the level I had degraded myself to. I told myself that it was not going to be forever and that my revenge would be worth it.

Along with plans for the wedding, the legal process of handing the company over to Richard was well underway. Aside from seeing my father and brother being buried, watching all that my father had built being handed over to the one responsible for his death was equally painful.

Everything my father believed in, truth, honesty and compassion were the principals on which he built his business upon. Such things meant nothing Richard who was now the soul proprietor of everything my father built.

Worse still was how Richard planned to divide and distribute the assets among those he named as his business partners and associates. A man like Richard Kanner did not earn loyalty, he purchased by promising wealth or position to those who promised to work for him.

There was no shortage of those willing to be bought. In no time at all, Richard was head of a massive empire with wealth and investors. His fortress was built now with all his wealth secure within. There was just one thing he was ignorant of and that there was a wolf inside the fortress.

I stalked Richard, all the while playing the part of the reformed woman who had found her true place at the side of her man. It was camouflage I think even a chameleon could appreciate for no one suspected a thing. Indeed, men complimented Richard. They applauded him for taming me and putting me in my place.

If they only knew what was on my mind. The hunt was on and my pray was too busy gorging himself on the spoils of his own kill to realize that he too, was quarry. Soon, very soon, I would strike.

The wedding day came and by then, Richard was in full legal control of my father's empire. The final touch would be taking me as his wife and the last of the Howard treasures would be his.

The wedding ceremony was long followed by a reception that droned on for hours. I was nothing but a facade of smiles and programmed responses I regurgitated every time I was congratulated or wished well.

It was only until Richard and I approached the honey moon suite that my heart began to tremble. There was one last hurtle I had to jump before I could have my revenge-the consummation of our union.

Like everything else thus far, I surrendered my virginity to Richard without protest or struggle. Though I will say it took every ounce of self control I had not scream as he climbed on top of me and not to vomit once he was finished.

One more meaningless act I had to play in the name of vengeance.

He fell asleep straight away. The physical exertion mixed with the amount of wine he had consumed left him incapacitated and completely unaware.

I stayed awake and waited. I was close to my revenge and the slightest mistake could ruin everything.

It must have been around midnight when I decided the time had come. I had hidden a knife inside one of the trunks I had packed.

A knife: Simple but effective.

I got out of the bed not even bothering to cover my naked form. I crept over to the trunk that contained the knife. It was my father's favorite hunting knife, one of the few material things I had kept.

How poetic it would be that Richard should die by something once owned by the man whose death he was responsible for.

The knife was a thing of beauty. It was a hunting knife with a blade that curved gracefully upwards, sharply but sweetly, at the end. The hilt was carved from deer bone and shone lovely white against the black velvet upon which the weapon rested.

I reached for the knife and pulled it from its hiding place. It felt heavy, but good in my hands. For a moment, I allowed myself to reminisce about this knife. I begged father numerous times to cut something, a fish or leaf, just to experience the blade at work.

A snort from Richard made me startle, I pressed the knife to breasts and turned back to the bed. Richard was still asleep but had turned over on his back.

My fingers coiled around the hilt of the knife. I would, at last experience what this knife could do; I would pierce that man's heart with it.

I inhaled deeply and rose up from the ground. I held the knife to my body as I stepped closer to the bed. The room was silent, so silent I swore I could hear my own heart beat. My knuckles whitened and I stopped at the side of the bed. I was here, it was time to strike.

Sweat, in tiny droplets, lined my forehead. The trembling of my heart could be felt throughout my body.

Richard was in the deepest sleep a man could be. I was never going to get a better opportunity.

My hands raised the knife, its edge caressing my skin as it moved.

I felt a sting biting at my breast bone. I looked to see blood, my blood, ooze from the tiny wound. A tiny, ruby like, bead of blood clung to the tip of the knife.

The blade hovered in the air. It need only plunge it down into the man's heart.

This was the man who was responsible for the deaths of my father and brother. Vengeance was rightfully mine. But something was telling me to stop.

I would kill in cold blood and then what would become of me?

To utilize murder to achieve my goals just as Richard had, I would become no better than him. Aye, to kill him in his sleep, vulnerable and unawares would make me even worse than him.

I pulled the knife back to me. Its blade felt sharp and dangerous against my vulnerable skin. Some cultures believed that objects could carry the impression or life force of whomever owned them.

Was my father's imprint upon the blade trying to stop me? Was he looking down on me, seeing me naked and feral over the bed of the man who orchestrated his murder? Was father weeping for me and begging me to come back to my senses?

Killing Richard, even in the name of revenge, would mean staining my hands forever with blood. It was a sin I would never escape. For it, I would certainly be hanged or, at the very least, imprisoned for life.

I could try and run away from it. I could try and run from the law, from this very city. I could make it to the other side of the ocean if I was cleaver. Even then I would not escape my sin. I would carry it with me till Judgment Day.

My father and brother were dead because of Richard Kanner but I would not let myself be damned because of him. My soul was the only thing I had left.

I could not let him have that to.

For the next two years, I lived as the wife of Richard Kanner. I watched as he achieved the highest heights of society he craved and flaunted the wealth he gained as a result of his marriage to me. The Howard business and all it stood for, all it valued became as dead and buried as my father.

In all that time the truth of who I was married to tormented me. Going to the authorities was not an option. Then of course, it never had been. I may have known that Richard was the architect behind my family's demise, but I had no proof.

I believed also that sooner or later, he would kill me as well. I knew it in my heart.

I knew Richard had put his plan into motion when the Doctors were brought to me. They had come at the bidding of my husband who claimed I was ill. That was all these doctors needed to know. A woman and everything about her, in proper English society, was the property of her husband. Therefore, everything about a woman was his responsibility. So if a man claimed his wife was ill, who was anyone to argue with him?

The treatments were mild, at first. I was told to avoid stimulation of any kind: no studying, no drawing, painting or even interaction with servants. My life was quickly reduced from that of a socialite's wife to a complete shut in.

Days went by where I was told not to leave my room. I suppressed my frustration for as long as I could. My resolve would inevitably break and I would cry out, demand to be left alone and insist that there was nothing wrong with me.

My outbursts may have alleviated my emotional stress but did nothing for the situation itself. Always, the Doctor was admonished to return and treat me with whatever was available. My outbursts were interpreted as proof that something was definitely wrong with me.

Initially, I was believed to suffer from some kind of depression. Such a thing was not uncommon among upper class wives. There was a myriad of treatments and prescriptions floating around but not one had yet proven effective for me.

When Richard started hitting me, I thought the situation had become as worse as it possibly could. I was wrong.

Dr. Mason was the latest in a string of quack physicians Richard had dug up. He was brought to me like all the others had been. Mason's theory was that I was too excited and not getting the required amount of rest. If I were to be made weaker, he proposed, I would finally stay in bed long enough to get the rest I needed. His method of achieving this was bleeding.

Richard, as my husband, gave consent for Dr. Mason to proceed.

I would endure this treatment many times. Each session would be longer than the last. An arm was selected and an incision was made. I began to wonder each time if this session might be my last.

It would be so easy to just let go and let my life bleed away. If I did, I could finally be with my family.

I bled and waited for death to come out of the shadows, to wrap me in its dark cloak and carry away my soul.

Then I would see Richard standing at the foot of my bed.

He was waiting for me to die. He was too much of a coward to kill me himself and so he left it to a Doctor's insane treatment to do it. With my death he would have destroyed the last of the Howard family. I was the last person who knew what he really was. If I died, so too then would the truth I believed was haunting him.

No, I would not die. I could not die and let that man be free.

I survived the bleeding. I would survive every hair brained treatment Mason could conjure. Richard grew ever more frustrated.

At the end of the second year of our marriage, things changed. Richard had long owned a house in the countryside but it remained unused. Mason's latest diagnosis was that I was so ill that I could no longer stay in the city of London. Just the thought of knowing I lived in a city was thought to be too exciting for me.

So it was off to the country with me.

It was the start of the English Spring when the two of us arrived at the countryside manor. The house had a mix of Tudor and Victorian styles in its architecture. It seemed so peaceful all by itself in the vast country side. The house had everything it would need to sustain a small population of people. There was room for gardening, fields for the cows, sheep and chickens to forage and plentiful water sources.

At the edge of the property was an oak forest. I was taken aback by the mystique of that wood. The trees were crowned with green leaves dancing in the energy of the Yorkshire spring. The trunks told the true story of just how ancient the forest was. The wood seemed full of secrets and danger.

Among other purposes, the house was to serve as a place for Richard and his friends to enjoy their favorite sport; fox hunting. A small pack of dogs lived on the property as well as a few horses. I was especially taken with a feisty stallion Named Marcus.

The house wore the facade of country retreat very well but, like the wood that beckoned its front door, the house had its secrets. I was not here to rest and recover. I was being put here to be forgotten. I never for a moment believed anything else.

Richard, however, played his part just as well as the house. He talked like an excited boy about hosting parties, horse races and hunting expeditions on this property. It was all fine by me but in order for those events to happen, he himself would have to be present for them. Just how often did he plan to return to this house? How long would he stay?

Act two of this play consisted of him being the concerned and doting husband. He spoke his lines of me having this house to myself and of my recovery being guaranteed so well that, had I not known that my suffering was intentional, I might have believed him.

Richard only stayed long enough to see to it that I was settled and that the servants he had hired knew their duties to the house as well as to me.

The words whispered by the younger women of the staff, about Richard and his devotion as a husband were like acid in my ears.

The night before Richard left yielded something most unexpected. Richard shared my bed. It had been long sense the two of us had slept together. While he embraced me, he whispered how much he would miss me and that this was all for the best. I held him in return but my embrace was as meaningless and as false as his words.

Life in the countryside manor was one of great routine. I would wake, dress and fill my days with embroidery, painting or reading. The only activity I thoroughly enjoyed was riding.

Marcus, much to the chagrin of the stable keeper, became my favorite horse. He carried me anywhere I bid him. He was equally happy to go as fast as I wanted. He even took me to the edge of that oak forest. I would sit on his back and stare into that mysterious place.

The trunks of trees were ghostly shapes shrouded in the English fog. Talk had long reached my ears of the wood being the home of ancient spirits, other worldly beings and dark terrors. Looking into the wood, it was easy to see why people would think that.

On days when my past haunted me, I would whisper my secrets to the trees. I remember asking them to never tell anyone, to conceal my secrets the way it concealed its spirits. It was than that a wind would rustle the tree branches. I wondered if, perhaps, that was the forest's way of giving me its promise.

I had been at the house two months when something unusual happened. I was walking Marcus on the edge of the property when I, all of a sudden, became ill. I dismissed it right away, thinking that I had simply eaten something that had disagreed with me. It was not long after that I began to experience changes.

I would suddenly tire. Even something as simple as walking across the floor to put a book back on the shelf made me feel dizzy. One time or another, I felt faint. More curious still was having an increasing appetite even though I woke up most mornings feeling ill. I also realized that my monthly bleeding had stopped.

There could only be one explanation for what was happening: I was pregnant.

I was positive beyond doubt but I still had trouble believing that I carried a new life within me. I lay in my bed at night with my hand on my belly. I wondered what I would do. My marriage was only real as far as legality was concerned. I married Richard only to avenge my family but that would never be. Having a child was something I had never given any thought to.

Now, a child was beyond a thought. It was a reality. I looked down at my hand on my stomach where it was only beginning to swell. I was nearly three months along now. If I held still enough, sometimes I could feel the slightest flutters.

I was carrying a child. I was going to have a baby. I was going to be a mother.

For the first time in a very long time, I felt hope. With that hope came a renewed sense of purpose. I felt that perhaps God had heard my prayers and was giving me a second chance.

It was a chance for me to put my sad past behind me and look to the future. It would be a future here, in the countryside with my child.

Though I did not ride, I still took Marcus out everyday for a walk. I used this time to contemplate the situation. Reality beckoned. I knew I could not keep my pregnancy a secret forever. Once I began to show, the servants would realize what was going on and Richard learning of it would soon follow.

I would rather I tell Richard before the servants did. I knew had to. He was, after all, the child's father.

I tried several times to write to him but always I hesitated and then gave up. I was afraid to tell him. What if the child was a boy and Richard took him away? What if the boy grew up to be like his father?

In my heart I longed for a daughter. Surely Richard would have no use for a daughter. I fancied raising her out here in Yorkshire and teaching her how paint, ride and many other things.

As usual, I came to the edge of the oak forest. The trees seemed unusually silent but I spoke to them anyway. I told them that as soon as the child was born, that I would bring it to them. I felt very much for this forest now and I wanted it to bless my child. The leaves rustled playfully in the wind.

I decided I would worry about future trials when they came. For the time being, I wanted to enjoy the life growing inside me.

It was around midnight when I felt pain. I woke at the feeling of a very sharp pain hitting my abdomen like a knife.

"No…please, God, no…"

I groaned as the pain rolled over me again and again.

The pain passed, as swiftly as it had come. I knew what it had been.

My bedroom was dark save for the glow of a single lamp burning on my dresser. Beads of sweat dotted my forehead.

Tears rolled down my face and an agonized wail built up in my throat before I even had enough courage to lift the blanket and see with my eyes what I already knew in my heart.

"No..." I whispered into the night at the gruesome reality.

I had suffered a miscarriage. The baby was gone.

There was no one about in the house and the grounds were even more desolate. The only one who bore witness was the full moon that hung in the sky that night. Its light guided me, unwavering, through the otherwise dark embrace of night.

I wore no shoes to protect my feet from the cold, damp grass that tingled and bit at my exposed feet. I felt only the weight of the sheets in my arms with the sad cargo they carried, wrapped inside them.

I arrived at the edge of the oak wood. It was at the base of a sapling where I dug a hole and buried my child. I said no prayers or laments as I filled the hole with earth. The sapling would be the only thing marking my child's grave. With my child were also buried the last of my hopes and dreams.

Upon returning to my room, I threw my bloodied night gown, along with the bed linens, into the fire. The fire consumed the material and very shortly, only ashes remained. Everything was gone now. The last of my want to live burned and smoldered out just like the linens in the fire.

I could not understand why it had happened. I wanted the baby more than anything yet it was taken from me too.

I never told Richard about the baby. His visits became fewer and further in between over the years. News, in the form of whispers and rumors, reached my ears of him being involved in one affair or another. So long as I live, he cannot remarry. Divorce, for whatever reason, would be too damaging to the otherwise respectable facade Richard projected to the world. So he continues to send the doctor.

I have resolved to stay alive but I know it is only a matter of time before I die. It will happen it is just a question of how and when. Will it be one does of morphine too much? Will one doctor or another, bleed me too much for too long. Or will it be the fate I most fear; to be locked away in an insane asylum? Will I live out the rest of my days in bedlam, tortured, alone and forgotten?

I could still run away from this place and the fate I know will surely come. But I cannot escape the world and the ugliness within it. My baby, the last thing that was beautiful, was buried on these grounds. So I remain but I am frozen. I am like a flower trapped under winter's snow even as the rest of the world moves on.

Sometimes though, I let the veil of sorrow lift over my memories and I think about my family. I wonder if they are in heaven. I wonder if they see me and wish me the courage to hope that fate might yet send an angle to guide me. I dare not hope for feel that after all that has happened, I am too afraid to live yet I am unwilling to die.

I have only ever told the oak forest of my pain. Only it has known of my secrets. Until now, that is.

TBC: Please review.