A/N:  I know, I know.  It's taken awhile to get this chapter done, let alone started but here it is.  Thanks to all of you who continue to read and enjoy this.  And please, let me know what you think.

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            "They're what?"

            He stared at her, complete surprise on his face.

            "As I said, they're going to throw a 'ball' for us – in our honor."  Sara sat cross-legged on the bed, wrinkling her fine gown.

            Grissom had been enjoying this new look on her, but he was glad to see that his Sara of Las Vegas hadn't totally disappeared.  Turning toward the fireplace that was currently dead, he ran his fingers thoughtfully through the curls on his head in frustration.  They needed to stay low-key; changing history was not an option.

            "I know it's not what you wanted to happen –"

            "No, it's not.  Sara, don't you see what could happen if we get too involved here?"

            "Change history, maybe become non-existent and all that paradox stuff?  Yeah, of course I do."

            And he knew she did.  The fact, though, that they were becoming more and more involved with the people and society, and already possibly having changed history, was weighing down on his shoulders.  Without thinking, he asked under his breath, "Why couldn't you just say no?"

            Sara, however, had heard it and even though this conversation was going exactly as she'd anticipated, she was assailed by a terrible sense of bitterness and retorted, "Because that's your line."

            He glanced sideways in surprise, studying her face with his enigmatic gaze for an extra beat.  He was stunned to say the least.  In the last few days, they'd progressed in their relationship to a point that he felt certain their understanding was of a long duration.  But he could see now that there was a lot of work yet to be done. 

            Meeting his gaze, she saw how her words cut him.  Dropping her eyes from his steady gaze, she fretfully fingered the delicate lace of her gown.

            The damage he'd caused to Sara's emotional state of mind was severe and he would have to come to terms with it and very soon.  He watched her with a keenly observant eye.  Clearly, decisiveness was needed.  With silent steps, he positioned himself at her side of the bed.  "I deserve that," he sighed with resignation, his voice cutting the silence.

            Sara was at a loss as to how she could've uttered those words.  The last thing she wanted to do was to start a fight with him.

            When she heard his voice, so near to her ear, she was caught off guard and jumped at the sound it.  The tenderness in his expression sent shivers down her spine.  Fluidly she rose to her knees, even while encumbered by her long gown, and shuffled to the edge of the bed.  Timid fingers softly touched the hairs on his face and she whispered, "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean it."

            His hand covered her fingers on his face and he leant into her palm, kissing the center gently.  "No, you did mean it and I'm sorry that you do.  I don't think I truly realized, until now, just how much I've hurt you.  I am very sorry, Sara."

            She smiled reassuringly to him but did not answer with words.  Instead, her lips met his, softly, tantalizingly as her hand snuck around his neck, pulling him closer.  His hands, now at her waist, responded in kind.

            But just as he was about to lay her back on the bed, she pushed against him.  In confusion, he looked down into her twinkling eyes and saw the hint of a smile sneaking out from her lips.

            "Grissom, we don't really have time for this.  We need to change and be presentable for dinner tonight," she spoke with as reasonable a voice as she could.  She wanted nothing more than lay with him, but their time was not their own.  They were expected at dinner and there was no way out of it.

            A gentleman would be joining the 'family' for dinner – a close childhood friend of Edwin's, the Earl.  Grissom had already attempted to relate what he'd been told of this friend to Sara.  So, she was strangely enough a bit anxious, having only been associating with men of the household.  Knowing this, Grissom acquiesced and backed away, but only far enough so that he could still help her off of the bed. 

            With the tension of repressed need filling the air, they changed for dinner in silence.

TWO HOURS LATER, the ladies were retiring to the drawing room while the men remained behind to have a glass of brandy and a smoke.  Grissom, not a smoking man, didn't take the proffered cigar, but did take a long swallow of the amber liquid sitting before him.  The dinner had been splendid, and more than once he'd caught Sara's eye from down the length of the table, reassuring her.  He didn't really know what she had to be worried about; she was the one that had the most knowledge between the two of them in regard to this time period.

            As he took another long sip of his brandy, listening offhandedly to the conversation between Edwin and his friend, Lord Chatsworth, or Sanderson as they informally called him, his attention was drawn to a painting hanging on the far wall.  As he gazed deeper at the details he realized it was a much younger picture of the Countess.

            He would have to guess that she had been in her late teens when the portrait had been painted.  His first thought was that the craftsmanship was extraordinary.  The details of her gown and jewelry stood out against the abstract background, giving it the illusion that she was the only thing that mattered.  Studying it more thoroughly, his eyes traveled to her hands, placed demurely on her lap.  As he was about to take a sip of his brandy, he inhaled sharply when his eyes rested on the ring she wore on her left hand.

            Disbelief at what he was seeing assailed him.  As a scientist, he constantly looked for the reasons behind every action and never believing in any such thing as luck or fate.  But as he regarded the ring and its similarity to the one he and Sara had found just before vanishing into thin air and arriving in 1822 London, England, the hairs on the back of his neck raised.  His mind wouldn't even allow him to attempt to hypothesize on this find.  He would love to find out what Sara thought of this.  She, like him, held the same belief that there wasn't anything that couldn't be solved with a bit of science and experimentation.  What he wouldn't do to be able to jump up from his seat and dash into the next room to pull Sara in here to look at the ring. 

            Having failed to get Dr. Grissom's attention, Edwin turned in his seat to see what it was that Grissom was looking at.  The only thing he could imagine it being was the picture of his mother.  "My mother – the portrait was commissioned by my father after their betrothal, and was completed just after they returned from their wedding trip to the mainland," he said.

            Grissom tried to temper his astonishment and nodded, but he couldn't string two coherent words together if he tried.  His voice had been whisked from his lungs by the sight of the ring that brought them there, sitting very delicately on the hand of the Countess.  Somehow, fate was directing their every step.

            "Is there something amiss, Dr. Grissom?" Edwin queried.

            A moment held in the air as Grissom registered his question.  He didn't know how to respond.  He couldn't mention the likeness of the ring to the one that had brought them to a year far in their past.  But he could try to learn a little about it.  Perhaps he'd then find a reason as to why they were there and how it was that the ring did it.  What was he thinking?  It was completely improbable that the ring was the source of their time travel.  Or was it?

            With nonchalance that he did not feel, he took another slow sip of his brandy and asked, "The ring… was that her engagement ring?"

            Edwin's eyebrow rose, noting the hesitation in Grissom's question.  "Yes… yes it was.  All of the brides of the Wentworth family have received the same ring upon their betrothal.  It is a family heirloom passed down from mother to son."

            "Every bride has received it then?"

            "Yes."

            "Hmm… I wonder.  Was there some significance to the ring?  Is there a story behind it?"

            "Well, since you ask, yes there is."  Edwin and Sanderson shared a smirk as they both settled back into their chairs.  "It has been told from generation to generation that the diamond in the ring was bestowed on a family member three hundreds years ago by a chieftain of a tribe in Africa for helping to save him and his people from being annihilated by a neighboring tribe.  The diamond had belonged to the high priest of the neighboring tribe and was taken as part of the spoils.  When he returned to England and took a wife, he had the diamond placed into a ring as a symbol of his undying love for her."

            As they contemplated the story, each with their own thoughts in regard to the ring and its meaning, Sanderson's thoughts treaded further toward the curse on his friend's family.  He and the Earl shared a meaningful look that did not go unnoticed by Grissom.  "What?"

            Taking a sip of his brandy, Sanderson licked his lips and then, "It's too bad the ring didn't have some type of blessing on it for the wives."  He turned to face Grissom, a stolid stare in his eyes.  "Every Wentworth Countess has died a tragic death – something untimely, such as a fall, a drowning or perhaps a runaway carriage - but it was never peaceful, certainly never of old age."

            Edwin's voice was distant as he calmly stated, "That is, until you saved my mother from bleeding to death."