Merry Christmas? Happy New Year? Where have I been! Oh well, I'm back and bringing you another chapter. If you have taken the time to read my updated profile, I left all of you readers a large serving of apologetic pie. So enjoy!

Okay, here we go. Must not get distracted. Ahhhhhh! Crazy plot-killing monkeys are surrounding me! Can't focus! Can't focus! Losing signal! AHHHHHHHHH . . . !

Whoa, what just happened there? Okay, to the fic.

Disclaimer: Go away.

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Chapter 4 (I guess)

Lottie and Rose wasted no time in getting their older sister out of the house and dragging her to the center of Rouen. While Angelique was willing to oblige, she quickly grew bored of their idle prating and dearly wished for something to catch their attention so they would let her go.

"Well, I suppose we shall see you later," said Rose, although she was not yet ready to release Angel's arm.

"Rose!" said Lottie, "is that not Capt. Lefevre? Quick, let's catch him!"

She seized her companion by the wrist and sped away into the town. Angelique smiled in amusement and sighed with relief as she proceeded upon her own way.

While Angelique would never deny that urban living had many advantages, she felt there was something about the country that brought about a true sense of freedom and tranquility. Yes, there were the untamed fields filled with insects and burrowing creatures ranging from rabbits to snakes, but one could grow accustomed to them after a while. When one roamed freely in the outdoors without the distraction of carriages, pedestrians, or tall buildings that blocked out the sky, there was such a feeling of exposure and bareness. Concurrently, there was also the feeling of being beyond the social order. Among the trees and the rocks and the animals, no one judged you by your class, your wealth, or your breeding. You were simply a human being trying to live out your time in this world as tolerably as anyone or anything else.

Besides the emotional and soulful peace that was granted by traveling outdoors on foot, it was also an excellent form of exercise. Angelique enjoyed the challenge of trekking over hill and gulley and testing her endurance. Of course, there was also the challenge of overcoming the dreadful mud pits that indicated what had passed the night before. One such confrontation occurred as Angel made her way over a sty with steps that led up one side and provided a drop-off on the other. In the midst of her mind's meanderings, she hadn't noticed what type of ground was in front of her. Only when her feet made contact with the ground and she heard a nauseating "squish" did she take the time to look down. Her shoes and the hem of her dress were caked with the brown moist substance. Angelique rolled her eyes at her mishap, then forcefully dragged her feet out of the hole and back onto the grass-covered terrain. She had a mind to brush off as much mud as possible while she walked, but in the end she did not find it worth a great deal of concern.

Let those stuff-shirts think as they like. If anyone should find my state as a form of amusement, it might as well be Charlotte. The poor girl could probably use a good laugh.

Sherriford Hall finally came into view with only an oak grove between herself and the estate. By now the adventuresome girl had removed her hat and allowed her hair to become a bit loose and disheveled. To a common man, her appearance would not have been considered scandalous; to a fastidious observer, however, it might have been a different story.

Angelique could feel her heart filling with relief as she drew nearer to the mansion. She would soon be at her dear sister's side. That was all she needed. She would have been perfectly happy to miss meeting Mr. Trevor, Miss Adler, Mr. and Mrs. Musgrave, and especially . . .

Suddenly a figure stepped out from behind one of the oaks, making Angelique freeze in mid step. Seeing who the figure was did not bring reassurance, but rather deep and unsettling dread.

"Miss Noir!" exclaimed Mr. Holmes in surprise, stopping in the midst of walking as well.

Angel stiffened as he spoke. "Mr. Holmes," she replied, managing to combine grace and flatness. She curtseyed politely (merely out of obligation), then looked up at him. "I'm here to inquire after my sister."

Holmes did not say anything right away. He took a moment to look her up and down, as was his habit.

"On foot?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

"As you can see," she answered with a slight bitterness of tone. Of course he could see that she came there on foot! What was his response to this? The trace of a smirk that was more deriding than the most humiliating insults one could ever utter. She shifted her eyes away from him for a moment, not wanting to have to stare at that expression. In spite of her detestation of it, however, she knew she had to look at him again.

"Would you be so kind as to take me to her?" She hoped this would remind him that he was, after all, a gentleman, even if he did not always want to act like one.

Even though the smirk was still there, he smoothly shifted to the side, allowing her to pass him. She did not mind giving him a subtle glare before continuing onward.

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"Well, we can all assume that she is an excellent walker, I suppose," noted Mrs. Musgrave as the company of friends gathered in the dining room for mid-morning tea. "But she really looked almost wild!"

"Oh, I could hardly control myself," said Irene in a biting tone. "It is one thing to have one of them come here on horseback in the rain. But this is simply ridiculous! What would possess someone to go running around the countryside just because their sister has a little cold? Did you see her hair?"

"I was too captivated by her petticoat," replied her cousin. "Did you not see it, Victor? The hem was completely stained with mud; six inches of it, I'm sure."

"I'm afraid it escaped my notice," replied Trevor as he finished sipping his cup of tea. "I thought she looked remarkably well."

Irene shook her head. Her amiable cousin would hardly ever speak a cruel word about anyone, even if they appeared to have survived a blizzard. How could a young lady (or any lady for that matter) possibly look well when she look as if they had rolled into a mud puddle? Still, it was no use seeking some reprimand from Trevor. He had too kind a heart. But surely the detective . . .

"What about you, Mr. Holmes?" she said to the gentleman standing by the window with his cup in hand. He made it a strange habit of standing by the window and taking in the scenery, making much of the party uncertain as to whether or not he was listening. Miss Adler, however, knew him well enough to assume that he listened more closely when his back was turned to the conversation. "You were, after all, the one who escorted her. Surely you must have observed her state?"

Holmes turned to face her. "I did," was his flat reply.

"And I am sure that you would not wish for your own sister to make such an expedition?"

"Of course not."

Irene smiled in approval. Holmes was a gentleman, after all, and such responses were expected of such a man. She decided to test him further, only this time she focused her conversation on Mrs. Musgrave. "While I do believe that every woman is entitled to some extent of free will, this girl's behavior seems to represent the symptoms of a mind afflicted with conceited independence. It is a most unbecoming feature in any female."

While Mrs. Musgrave nodded in agreement, Mr. Trevor voiced a differing opinion. "I don't believe so. Her actions display to me an affection for her sister, which I find very pleasing."

Ignoring her cousin's statement, Irene looked to Holmes again. "I'm afraid, Mr. Holmes," she continued in a sly, teasing manner, "that this escapade might have had an effect on your admiration for her fine eyes."

"Not at all," replied Holmes coolly before looking out the window again, "they were brightened by the exercise."

A tense silence hung over the room for a moment as Miss Adler was left without a response. Only a moment of this passed, however, before Mrs. Musgrave managed to change the subject. "But Charlotte Noir is a sweet girl. It is only sad that she comes from such an unfortunate family with low connections."

"Oh, yes," said Irene, her energy renewed as she leaned toward the center of the table like a school girl spreading a nasty rumor. "She told us her uncle is in trade, and lives in . . . Cheapside."

"Perhaps we should call," suggested Mrs. Musgrave, "when we are next in town."

The two women laughed aloud at the shameful joke. The men, however, did not seem to find any amusement in their teases and jests. Trevor was especially annoyed. "They would be just as agreeable to me," he announced in a challenging tone, "if they had enough relatives to fill all of Cheapside!"

"With such connections, Trevor," explained Holmes as he placed his cup on the table, "they have little chance of marrying well. That is the material point."

The subject had begun to irritate Holmes' nerves and he hoped that his last comment had closed the subject. Whether it had or not, however, would never be known, for no sooner had he spoken that the door leading from the foyer to the dining hall opened and Angelique entered. The gossipers quickly hushed up. Trevor immediately sprang to his feet and greeted the now tidied-up young woman. "Oh, Miss Angelique, how good of you to come to your sister's aid! Please, tell me how she is."

"I'm afraid she is quite ill, sir," replied Angel in a genuinely saddened tone.

Trevor hesitated for a moment, looking first at his cousins, then at Holmes, as if seeking for some gesture of approval for a request that he would not speak. Then, making up his own mind, he looked back at Angel and said, "I shall send for your things at once. You must stay until your sister has recovered."

Angel's eyes widened in surprise, then looked away a bit in embarrassment. "Oh, no, I wouldn't wish to impose upon you. I told my family I would be back by this evening."

"I implore you to stay, Miss Noir. I believe very firmly that your sister's recovery will be expedited by your presence. I shall have my servants go for your belongings."

Knowing that she would not be able to sway him (and that deep down she wished to stay by Charlotte's side), she smiled congenially and answered, "You are very kind, sir. Thank you."

A feeling of apprehension seemed to worm its way into the pit of Holmes' stomach. Observing her at a distance at balls and parties was one matter; by the end of the evening they would each return to their separate homes and he would not have think of her until the next party or ball. But having her stay in Trevor's house? That was bordering on treachery. Holmes had been determined that Angelique would always be kept at a safe proximity. She would mean no more to him than a figure of admiration. Staying under the same roof for an extended period of time threatened that harmony of reason and emotion that was always in danger of being upset.

As Holmes reflected on this, Mr. Musgrave spoke up for the first time. "Is there to be any sport today, or not?"

Although the announcement was a bit sudden and unwarranted, it was nearly a Godsend for the gentleman-detective. After a moment's hesitation, he looked to Trevor. Trevor looked at Holmes, then to Angel, then to Mr. Musgrave, then to Holmes again. Finally, he replied, "I shall send for Miss Noir's clothes, then we shall go out."

The anxiety that had begun to build up within Holmes quickly died down. There, that was all there was to it. There would be plenty of distractions for the both of them. Angel would be in her sister's bedroom for most of the day, he would be out either riding or hunting. That only left the evening. There would at least be the other members of the household for distraction as well.

As the gentlemen left the room to gather their gear, Holmes assured himself, They will both be gone in a few days. It cannot last longer than that. I must simply be more careful around her for the time being. Then she will be gone, and all shall be as it was before.

Oh, if only he had had more faith in his own words.

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Angelique sat by the window, fiddling with the chain on her neck. She used to wear her birthstone ring on it when she was younger. Her father had given her the golden band with her engraved initials for her twelfth birthday, but her fingers had been too small to wear it. So she kept it around her neck until her sixteenth or seventeenth birthday when she could wear it properly. Even though she did not need the chain anymore, she still felt it was a part of the ring, and therefore could not bear to part with it. After all, if she married one day, she would have to wear her husband's ring, meaning her father's would very likely be returned to its original place.

As she wrapped the thin chain of gold around her fore finger, she listened to the loud random gunshots echoing over the grounds as the gentlemen enjoyed their sport. At least men had various occupations to engage them from day to day and divert their attention from the less pleasant aspects of life. Women were meant for nursing and tending to others in their time of need. Just as these gentlemen were able to amuse themselves with hunting birds, Angelique was tending to Charlotte. It was not as if she did not want to be with Charlotte, for she would have preferred that she tend to her sister than someone else. Still, how often were men obliged to sit by someone's bedside and bring them food and drink?

However, Angel did not want to be unfair by using this as proof that men preferred not to worry themselves about the less fortunate. After all, was not Mr. Trevor concerned about Charlotte as well? He seemed almost as happy as Christine at her being there. Angel looked over at Charlotte while smiling at this thought. The latter was still too exhausted to move about, but she did manage to give a small smile in return without really knowing why.

Don't worry, Charlotte, thought Angel, I promise you will be well soon.

Shortly after the gentlemen returned, Angelique prepared herself for the evening. She knew it would be rude to keep herself locked away without informing the host on Charlotte's condition. Of course, Mr. Trevor seemed to be the only one who was truly concerned about Charlotte's condition.

As Angelique got dressed, she and Charlotte fell into a more talkative mood, and they began to discuss what had occurred at the house when the family learned of the elder sister's illness and all that occurred to the younger one onwards. Angel had selected a red silk dress with a pattern of black long-stemmed roses, a black satin sash at the waist and elbow-length sleeves. Instead of keeping her hair up in the usual floppy bun, she twisted it along the sides of her head and tied it into a ponytail with a wide black ribbon. When she was finished, she presented herself to Charlotte.

"There," she said with a teasing smile. "Do you think I shall disgrace you? For I know my own beauty will never compensate for the loss of yours in any social gathering."

Charlotte shook her head. "No, do not say that. You are very pretty in and of your own, and you are well aware of it."

Angelique sighed wistfully as she sat at the foot of the bed. "Oh, Charlotte, I would rather stay here with you. If propriety had its own way, our superiority in sisterhood would require us to be miles away. But your Mr. Trevor would never stand for it; he is far too civil and attentive to let it be so."

"He's not my Mr. Trevor, Angel," insisted Charlotte, although Angel could see in her eyes that she wished it was so.

"I think he is," she answered, then she learned forward and added, "Or at least he will be very soon."

After bidding her sister farewell for the night (since there was the possibility that Charlotte would already be asleep before she retired), Angelique descended the lavish staircase and began to look around for everyone else. Usually, in her own house, it was quite easy to find where everyone was: simply listen for any loud conversation. But this house seemed to be as silent as the grave. If it had not been so well lit, Angel might have been convinced that it was abandoned. Angelique decided that the best thing to do was to look for the drawing room, since that was the most likely room a group of people would gather in the evening. But without any sort of sound for a guide, it would take her a while to find it.

After looking around for a minute or so, she almost ran into one of Mr. Trevor's servants. "I believe you will find Mr. Trevor in the drawing room, ma'am," he said monotonously.

"Thank you," she answered. She was about to ask him where that room was located, but he scurried off before she could even open her mouth. Releasing a small huff of annoyance, she continued on her way. To her luck, a sound finally did come to her ears. It was the sound of two pool balls knocking into one another. But did that mean that Mr. Trevor was in the pool hall and not the drawing room as the servant had originally informed her?

Well, only one way of finding out.

Angelique followed the sound of pool balls all the way to the very door that led into the pool hall. Not thinking of any reason to hesitate, she casually walked in expecting the entire group to be there.

Unfortunately, it was not so. The only one there to greet was Mr. Holmes.

Angelique took a step back. Why? Why do these things keep happening to me?

Neither person spoke a word. Holmes acknowledged her presence by postponing his next shot and making a slight bow. Angelique simply stared at him for a minute, not sure of what she should do. She certainly did not want to go into the room with him as the only occupant. Should she return his bow with a curtsey? Should she even say anything to him? Should she ask him where the drawing room was?

The pair continued to stare at each other. Then, at last, without a word or gesture, Angel turned tail and left of the room.

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Okay, okay, so I'm a little rusty in my writing. Don't worry, I'll get back on track somehow. (Somehow being the operative word.) Anyway, keep a heads up for more updates. They won't come in at light speed, but I'll do the best I can. That's the end of my speech. See ya soon!