Hello all! Thank you for the patience with this story. I have come back to continue the story and even though I have no clue how to continue after having a baby and in this current isolation situation. I can only hope you guys are safe!

Chapter twenty.

Mourning. Restlessness. Breathlessness. The days which followed the devastating news of Samantha Rowland's death were filled with grey, bleak clouds. Society fell into a state of quiet, for once, the beasts were silenced for just a few morbid days.

The air was thick and heavy. Outriders seemed to guard every move of every member of the Dewitt household, ensuring thorough safety.

Rose gazed sightlessly out the window as her stomach roiled. Certain she was about to cast up her accounts, Rose thrust open the door and stumbled down. The outriders moved to her side just as Jack appeared.

"Sweet." He pulled her close. The heavy silk of his coat was cold from the night air, but inside she was far more chilled.

"Don't be frightened. I will protect you."

Rose gave a choked, half-mad laugh. The most pressing peril came from Jack himself. He was a man who thrived on reckless behaviour and lived for the thrill of the chase. He would forever be placing himself in jeopardy, because taking risks was ingrained in his nature. Cal... society...this life. It was all for her. The danger toward him had tripled, double that again. All for her.

He would continue to suffer whilst she was with him. They all would. People died around her, at a Hockley's hand.

She had to get away from them all. Far, far away...

Hugh Harrington entered Lady Dewitt's offices a little past noon some days later. Sinking into the leather worn chair in front of the desk, he waited for acknowledgment.

''Lord Harrington.''

''Dawson.''

''Surprised to see you here,'' Jack dragged heavy feet across the plush rug to the opposite side of the study, to a cabinet which housed the relief, ''since you believe the Dewitt fortune is the true reason for my interest in Lady Dewitt's daughter.'' He said without preamble.

Grey eyes shot up. ''Is she well?'' He softened after a second. ''She speaks of our conversation?'' His eyes did nothing to hide the surprise that she would remember half of the words exchanged at the ball but still, the cat was out of the bag. Of course, Miss. Rose would reveal the contents of their private conversations. This man was her fiancé.

Jack shrugged, sinking into an opposite chair and ignoring the need to neck liberation at such an early hour, his fingertips ran across the brass tacks of the arms.

''By outward appearance.'' Other than that, he refused to say. The death of Samantha Rowland had consumed Rose for almost a week, although no longer bedridden, she mostly confined herself to one room accompanied by her mother. A sort of melancholia seemed to have taken her rife and Jack had taken it upon himself to rid of her the burdens. The woman he had met seemed to have been stored upon a shelf for the time being and he would ensure that she returned swiftly.

''Very well.''

''And you believe my intentions toward Miss DeWitt to be completely dishonourable?''

Lord Harrington pushed away from the massive desk. ''I am a man with honourable intentions, a man who has seen far too much wrongdoing. I am to be awed by morn.''

Jack smiled, diverting his eyes to the floor. ''You seek congratulations in the wrong person, my lord.''

''I do not wish for anything from you.''

He raised his brows. ''Then, pray, tell me why you feel the need to call upon me here, after making such accusations to Miss Rose at the ball?''

Lord Harrington sagged his shoulders in the most unpolite way. Narrowing his eyes, Jack sensed something about the man he had never fully trusted but something, right in this moment told him to listen.

''I have some information.''

''Well, my ears are open to you.'' A quick glance to the clock told him that lunch would be about served and that Rose would be with her Mother for another hour or so.

Lord Harrington released a deep breath. ''I know where Lord Hockley maybe hiding.''

''I see.'' If Jack was surprised, he didn't show an ounce of it. His steepled fingers were still, his body square and upright.

Lord Harrington stood, and stared out the window thoroughfare below. Framed by the green velvet of the curtains and the massive windows, he seemed smaller, more human. ''I am concerned for Lady Dewitt and her daughter. To approach her at such a crowded event is an act of desperation. I would never have considered Hockley to be so bold.''

''I was surprised as well,'' Jack admitted, ''frankly, I am afraid to leave her alone. The night of the wounding, there was any number of people who could have been with her.''

''So, that is the way is it?'' Lord Harrington sighed, ''the man has never lacked for boldness.''

Jack gritted his teeth, remembering vastly unpleasant encounters he'd had with Hockley over the years. He was never one to leave a job half done. Not knowing one's next move for the moment was unsettling, he was usually five steps ahead of another and while he intended to be very soon, and knew that Hockley had been stripped of his fortune, he needed to think quickly on his feet and all the while he needed Rose to remain protected. She had suffered enough.

''We do we tolerate him?'' Harrington bashed his fists upon the arm of the chair.

''A reasonable question. I've often considered the alternative many times, as has my brother. However, he is so popular I am afraid his disappearance might make him a martyr. There are things which cannot become public knowledge, we cannot reveal it, even to justify a criminal's death.''

''Christ sakes.'' Lord Harrington stood.

''It chafes, Hugh, I know. But a public trial and hanging will do much to dispel his myth.''

''You hope.'' He began to pace. ''Hockley has a shipping business that very few people know of, he also has the help of a lackey. One I may know the name of. They could be working together in order to keep incognito and yet business still be tended to here in London.''

It would make sense. Jack waited to see if Lord Harrington had finished. The relief washed about his face seemed to be genuine.

''This was a burden to you?''

''Yes.''

''Why would you tell me this information? I assumed you to be close to Hockley.''

Lord Harrington sucked in his breath, not wanting to admit he disliked his close association with Hockley.

''Once, I would have called him a friend.'' His pain was his own and deeply personal. He disliked being asked about it. "Do you think me incapable of separating my personal life from my professional one?" Lord Harrington sighed and shook his head.

"Very well. I won't pry."

Jack began to tap his fingertips together.

''Mr. Dawson, I have respect for you. For Miss. Rose. I care for her, and I urged Hockley to not become so involved with her, to not play with her as though she was prey to his predator.'' His eyes were full of grim determination. ''The truth is, I am to marry by morning and I wish to do so with a clear conscious.''

''And do you feel unburdened?''

''Almost.''

''Go on.'' Jack prompted, wondering what could possibly be added.

Hugh stopped pacing and turned so swiftly that the tails of his coat whipped about his thighs. ''I believe it to be the lackey who stabbed Rose. Rumours have been rife of features. He was a tall and sinewy man with a weathered face that had seen too many hours on the deck of a ship.'' Lord Harrington began, ''around half a century of age, everything about him was practical, nothing superfluous, from his manner of speaking to his physical build. He presented an intimidating presence to those who conversed with him although none will step forward to confirm what was said.''

Jack stood with both hands clasped behind his back. The shakes had started once more, but he tried to conceal the rattle of his body. Rage. Anger. Frustration. This was the only lead and seemingly the best one. He steadied his breathing. He stored the descriptions aptly and knew that an image had formed already in his head. One of those Society cretins would step forward with something, of that he was sure. Money was the staple offering in exchange for information.

''The information is appreciated, my Lord.''

He watched Hugh Harrington, the somber tones of his garments and wig were matched by his grim features.

''I am pardoned from any further accusations?'' The hope within his voice was almost like that of a child.

''Yes, I am deeply sorry for any inconveniences.''

Hugh shook his head, grimly. ''No, I feel I kept this to myself too long.'' He couldn't quite put his finger on the reasoning but the sated feeling which sat within his stomach told him, this had been the right thing.

''I wish you well my lord, in your match. Be happy.''

''That means a great deal to me.'' He paused. ''What of Rose? She needs to be safe.''

''She is safest with me. For your own safety, remain on a honeymoon a month, perhaps longer.''

Hugh nodded. ''I intend to.'' There was no way he would take chances on his new bride to be exposed to such a mess.

''I admit, when you first walked into my office, I was at a loss of what would become of the meeting.''

Hugh shook his head and gave a wry, humourless laugh. ''Indeed, one has to take an initiative.''

''Hockley must never know you came to me, today.''

''No, I will not tell him. Nor will I associate with the man again for as long as I shall live.'' Hugh spun on his heel and moved towards the door. ''I must go, take care of Miss. Rose.''

''I won't leave her in the care of another.''

Hugh nodded.

''Before you leave, you mentioned that there were rumours, of a possible moniker for this lackey.''

Hugh parted his lips. He could remember that much at least from the rumours. ''Lovejoy. Spicer Lovejoy. An ex-Pinkerton.''

The flare in Jack's nostrils didn't go unnoticed by Hugh as he made his egress. As he went, the door slammed behind him.

Left alone with his own thoughts, was a dangerous situation for Jack Dawson. The air was filled with such a deep, dark emotion that he fought even more to neck relief. A glance at the clock told him that he needed to get some air, perhaps take a ride out to the fields. Rose would be taking lunch with her mother for a while longer and he was needed to clear his own head before the time came to see her again. There was information which he needed to tick over and then later that evening, a meeting with his brother would be needed in order to proceed with the next steps.

The meeting with Harrington had indeed turned out to be enlightening in many ways, but it also caused a deeper-rooted hatred of his enemy and a darker spiral of thoughts.

He called for his horse to be prepared and within fifteen minutes, he mounted it and headed straight out for the vast empty space of the field. It was acres in length, enough to get lost in, but he knew the span like the back of his hand due to spending endless time working there. As the wind whipped his hair about his face, he rode out the anger, shouting into the emptiness and galloping to an unknown destination.

Just over an hour later, Sedgewick arrived at the DeWitt mansion. He was immediately shown to the study where he forced himself to sit rather than pace in agitation. When the door opened behind him, he stood and turned with a charming smile for Rose, only to scowl when he faced her damned maid.

''Lord Sedgewick,'' came the tense greeting.

''Miss.''

''What do you want?''

Lord Sedgewick blinked then released a frustrated breath. Two steps forward and one back. This damned household was run by the hired staff. That had to change. ''The same thing which I requested upon arrival. I wish to speak to Rose, alone.''

''She does not wish to speak with you. In fact, she left specific instructions that you were to only speak with your brother.''

''A moment of her time and all will be well, that I assure you.'' Sedgewick snorted. It was ridiculous, his agitation was increasing. If he wished to speak with his brother then he would have requested as much.

''Rose is gone.'' Trudy raised her voice, the shrill of it sounding through the study.

Sedgewick exhaled. A bloody back hand was what the woman needed in order to put her in place! ''Well, then I will await her return if you do not mind.'' He would wait in the street if need be. He had to converse with her before Dawson did.

''No, you misunderstood. She has left town.''

Sedgewick blinked several times. ''Beg your pardon?''

''She's gone. Packed up. Left. She came to her senses and realised what a danger it is for her to be here.''

''She said that?''

''Well,'' Trudy hedged, ''I didn't speak with her directly, but Rose mentioned her desire to leave London to another abigail this morning, although she left without the aid of one.''

Something didn't quite add up straight.

''She left quite a mess behind.''

Warning bells rang in Sedgewick's head. ''Is my brother aware of this?''

''We have sent riders out but no one has known of his whereabouts since noon after Lord Harrington left.''

''Harrington?'' Sedgewick recoiled. What could Hockley's loyal friend and one of the suspects of the stabbing doing allowed in the house.

''Yes, my lord.''

Sedgewick allowed himself a moment of thought, feeling the pretty maid's disapproving eyes upon his face. One had to think rational. It seemed everything had fallen apart in just less than an afternoon. His head pounded momentarily.

''Is Lady DeWitt aware of this?''

Trudy gently shook her head. ''Lady DeWitt left just after noon alone for respite at Lord Wellington's Essex beach house. She left a note for both her daughter and Mr. Dawson.''

''This is ridiculous. The poor girl is supposed to be watched!'' He barked. ''She left a mess you stated?''

One of the things Sedgewick did learn of Miss. Rose was that she was fastidiously tidy. Sedgewick strode toward the door.

''Yes, my lord.'' Trudy nodded. ''Quite an erratic one.''

''Nothing else mentioned?''

She shook her head. ''She needed the distance. Once she has calmed and sent word, I will go after her if she does not return on her own.'' Trudy tried to keep the calm. ''Once Mr. Dawson is aware I am sure there will be outriders searching every possible route. We shall find her.''

''Yes, before or after Hockley does?'' Sedgwick fired. ''Show me her rooms.''

Trudy stopped in her tracks. ''Now, see here, I am not lying to you. She has gone. I will see to her, as I always have.''

''I will locate her boudoir myself, if I must.'' Sedgewick warned.

With a great deal of grumbling, cursing and complaining, Trudy led him upstairs to Rose's suite of rooms. Sedgewick's gaze lifted from the rugs which were wildly askew and strewn with crushed flowers, to the armoire doors which were flung open and the contents scattered. Drawers were pulled out and the bed linens tossed about in a scene that came straight out of a nightmare.

''Seems she was in a high temper,'' Trudy said sheepishly.

''So, it does appear.'' Sedgewick kept his face impassive, but inside his gut was clenched tight. He turned to the blonde abigail who flitted about the mess. ''How many of her garments did she take with her?''

The girl dipped a quick curtsy and replied, ''None that I can tell milord. But I am not finished yet.''

Sedgewick wouldn't wait to find out. ''Did she say anything of import to you?''

''Now, here, no need to bark at the poor chit,'' Trudy snapped.

Sedgwick raised a hand for silence and pinned the servant with his stare.

"Only that she was restless, milord, and eager to travel. She sent me into town on an errand and left while I was gone. ''

"Has she travelled without an abigail often?" The girl gave a jerky shake of her head, her timid eyes meeting Trudy's. "It's the first time, milord."

"See how eager she was to flee?" Trudy asked grimly. But Sedgewick paid her no mind. This was not the scene of a flared temper. Rose's room had been ransacked. And she was missing. Goddamn his brother for leaving her unattended; the girl was not just a flight risk but also her life was hanging in the balance.

''I shall go locate my brother myself, send a word to Lady DeWitt, perhaps she would know of any place where Rose would go.''

As Sedgwick was about to leave, Jack burst through the open doors, his hair damp and his eyes fuelled with anger.

For the all too brief ride back to his home Jack had felt productive, but the moment he arrived and discovered nothing new had been reported, his near ferocious agitation returned in full measure. With those in residence, he could not give vent to his feelings, and was forced instead to retreat from their curious eyes.

''Nothing? No word.''

''Leave out of this brother.'' Jack warned, his temper obvious. ''Go home and wait for word on Hockley. Trudy prepare my things.''

Sedgwick exhaled in frustration. ''Rose hasn't run, she is missing.''

Jack dismissed his brother with a flick of his wrist. He prowled the lengths of his galleries in his shirtsleeves, his skin damp with sweat, his heart racing as if he were running. Constant rubbing at the back of his neck left the skin raw, but he couldn't stop. The pictures in his mind … torturous thoughts of Rose needing him … hurting … afraid … His head fell back on a groan of pure anguish. He couldn't bear it. He wanted to yell, to snarl, to tear something apart. An hour passed. And then another. Finally, he could take the waiting no more. Jack returned to his room, shrugged into his coats, and moved to the staircase, his intent to hunt Hockley down. The pressure of his knife sheathed in his boot fueled his bloodlust. If Rose were harmed in any way there would be no mercy. Halfway down the stairs, he spotted his butler at the door and a moment later it opened, revealing one of the outriders. Covered in dust from his rapid return, the man waited in the foyer and bowed as Jack's boot hit the marble floor.

"Where is she?"

"On the way to Essex, sir." Jack froze. Ravensend . ''Whatever is there?''

''Seat of her great grandfather.'' Trudy explained, as it fell into place. ''Her mother is also on her way to the Duke of Wellingtons' beach home nearby.''

Rose was running. Damn her. He grabbed his packed valise, and turned to Paul, his outrider, who stood in the doorway of the study.

"I will be in Essex."

"Is everything all right?" Paul asked.

"It will be shortly."

Within moments, Jack was on the road.

The wheels of the Dawson travel coach crunched through the gravel on the final approach to Ravensend Manor before reaching the cobblestones that lined the circular driveway. The moon was high, its soft glow lighting the large manse and the small cottage beyond. Jack stepped down wearily and ordered his men to the livery. Turning away from the main house, he took rapid strides toward the cliff edge where the guesthouse and Rose waited. He'd make his presence known to the duke in the morning. The small residence was dark when he entered through the kitchen. He closed the door quietly, shutting out the rhythmic roar of the waves that battered the coast just a few yards away. Making his way through the house in darkness, Jack checked every bedroom until he found Rose. Leaving his valise on the floor by the door, Jack undressed silently and crawled into the bed next to her. She stirred at the feel of his cold skin beside hers.

"Jack," she murmured, still fast asleep. She spooned into his chest, unconsciously sharing her warmth. Despite his anger and frustration, he snuggled against her. Her trust while sleeping was telling. She had become accustomed to spending the nights next to him during the short duration of their affair. He was still furious with her for running away, but his relief in finding her well and out of danger was foremost on his mind. Never again would he go through this torment. There could be no doubt that she was his. Not in his mind, or hers. Exhausted by worry, he buried his face in the sweetly scented curve of her shoulder and fell asleep. It was his safe place right there, amongst the sheets and his Rose.