Brandon and Keats returned from their initial expedition, cold and frustrated. Willoughby was not staying where they had been told, clearly, he knew someone was on his tail.

Further thwarting their plans came in the form of a letter from a man Keats had placed on Willoughby's whereabouts, he claimed that he had disappeared from all society it seemed and had was possibly already married and on his way to the continent, a married man.

"You have no other leads?" remarked Brandon, slightly exasperated.

"He is as slippery as an eel" cried Keats, "He moves swiftly and with purpose, my friends have done their best but he's simply vanished"

"Yes, he vanished with Beth before," said Brandon, beginning to pace the small room.

"Precisely, but we don't have months to find him this time, we have but 10 days before the wedding, if it has not taken place already" reminded Keats. "No one in our connections knows where he is!"

Brandon gave a start, "I might know someone who does"

The pair stepped out of the warmth of the inn and were quickly enveloped into the bustle of Bath society. The sun was setting over the distant hills, casting a hazy shadow over the many characters who shunted past them.

"This is worse than London" cried Keats, shooing away yet another small child dancing about his trouser legs. "Why are they picking me?"

"You certainly dressed the part," remarked Brandon, motioning to the solid gold pocket watch that hung from Keats' waistcoat.

"This has not left my side since Elsie died" replied Keats. "I won't remove it for anyone"

"Someone may do the honours," said Brandon, "Stay close"

Keats continued to complain for much of the journey, growing sick of being pushed and shoved in the streets "Why haven't we hailed a cab?"

"Willoughby doesn't want to be found, we need to stay as invisible as possible" replied Brandon, "Besides, we won't be on the main streets much longer"

Keats groaned as Brandon slipped into a narrow street, full of a smell too unspeakable to describe. "Where are you taking me?" he muttered.

"A pub called The White Swan" replied Brandon, scanning the area. "There is a woman there who'll lead us to Willoughby"

"Not another of his conquests?" cried Keats.

"No" replied Brandon. "His sister"


The pair soon arrived at what seemed a popular spot, with to Keats' delight, contained the very bottom of Bath society.

Men drank and emptied the bladders within a step of each other, the moans of women reverberated off the walls, the great symphony of sin played out amongst a backdrop of untuned instruments and unintelligible chatter.

"Willoughby's sister you say?" said Keats, "She is in here"

"The last time I checked" replied Brandon. "I doubt she will have changed her profession"

They pushed and excused their way to the few empty seats, both swiftly putting away a tankard of sour beer to give them courage.

Two respectable men were flames to the moths of the loose women who fluttered onto their laps, Keats turning scarlet and Brandon oblivious.

"Eer, Janey" one called, "It ain't often we get nice looking ones in here"

"You're right there" purred the second, "You want to come with me?"

"That's-that's very kind of you" stammered Keats, watching the woman's skeletal hand slid down his front before he was stunned to silence.

Brandon however grasped the wrist of the advancing woman on his own lap "Where's Lydia?"

"Who darlin'? it's just us" the woman purred.

With just enough force to startle her, he jerked her wrist away, "I want Lydia"

The woman clambered off, pulling a girl of the lap of another man, just a table away. "Lydia, he wants you"

The young woman turned with annoyance and turned white, "You again"

"Come with me" ordered Brandon.

Lydia Willoughby, the adopted sister of John, was once a shining jewel of Bath society. Eloping at sixteen with her beloved soldier James, she was cut off entirely from her family, even, when just a year after marriage her husband died in the Indies, John especially would not even speak her name.

Life and men had used her ill, Brandon only learned of her existence when Beth sang this new friend Lydia Ross' praises throughout her stay in Bath the summer of her seduction. He himself learned that Willoughby had used Lydia to get the fifteen-year-old Beth alone, vulnerable and coaxed her into his bed.

Brandon despised Willoughby, but his rage against his sister was at moments far greater. To have been used so cruelly by the world, and thereby take pleasure in seeing a reflection of yourself torn apart in the same way, was a crime Brandon found hard to forgive.

"Your grip is too tight" complained Lydia, as Brandon flung her into the closest empty room. Keats followed behind, trying to adjust his clothes from the fondling he experienced just moments ago.

"I care not for your feelings Lydia," said Brandon, observing his so-called harshness had left no mark on her skin. "I need information"

"Don't tell me" she smiled scornfully, "You've lost another little slut to my brother?"

"We have little time and little patience,, we know he's here under an alias" replied Brandon. "George Bateman, John Willoughby, Captain, Admiral or General, whatever he chooses matters little to me. Do you know where your brother is?"

Lydia seemingly withheld, "I do not"

Keats at this moment, quite recovered stepped forward, reaching into his pocket pulled a large banknote and held it before her. "That is more than you'd make in a year I imagine"

Her eyes darted between the men, though tempted, she was not satisfied. "You underestimate my abilities gentlemen, I am quite popular"

"A statistic I would not personally take pride in" replied Brandon smoothly.

"I am not opposed to bribery Colonel" she purred, "We simply have not reached the right price"

"Have you information on your brother or not?" demanded Keats. "We do not have all day"

"Or in your case, all night" added Brandon.

"I know exactly where he is" she smiled. "And believe me, I know how little time you have left to find him"

"Name your price" Keats demanded.

"Fifty pounds and I will tell you everything" Lydia replied.

"Twenty-five and not a penny more" scoffed Keats.

"Fifty pounds or I go" she replied.

Keats looked to Brandon and saw him calculating her game.

Lydia waited in the held suspense for long enough, "very well, good evening gentlemen"

Brandon stopped her, shooting out his arm he grasped her arm, "You take us to where he is, once I see him with my own eyes I will place fifty pounds in your hands"

A delicious grin spread over her face, "You drive a hard bargain Colonel"

"You accept?" he asked.

"I shall fetch my shawl" she purred, "I'll catch my death out there"

"If only it were that easy" replied Brandon, wincing at the shrill laughter that followed.


It was nearing midnight when the three were closing in on Willoughby. Neither man outrightly trusted Lydia, despite her cool demeanour she was jumpy, indecisive and tense. Both of them kept concealed weapons within their fingers grasp.

The air that night was cold, and Brandon could see the thin frame of Lydia shaking with regular spasms, without much thought he shook off his heavy coat and lay it over her shoulders.

"Ever the romantic aren't you Colonel," she remarked, tucking herself under the material.

They came upon a fine street, lit with the golden glow of street lamps and the last remaining flickers of parties long ended hung in the air. Lydia lead them along the road, darting from patches of light to dark to avoid detection, which her companions copied.

"There," she finally declared quietly. "He is living here"

"You little wretch" seared Keats, "This is the home of a gentleman, not your poor excuse for a brother"

Brandon spotted a figure in the window, "His fiancee's home perhaps?"

"Most perceptive aren't we," she remarked. "Sir John Fleetchurch and his darling daughters live here, and since yesterday my brother has joined them"

"I am convinced enough," said Brandon, pulling a crisp banknote from his coat. He held it out to Lydia who moved eagerly to take it, "Please do something good with this, get a meal and a new life Lydia, that is my wish for you"

Slightly taken aback, she replied, "It's easy for you to say Colonel, but thank you" Reluctantly departing with Brandon's coat she handed it back, not before leaving a kiss marked in red rouge on his pocket-handkerchief. "Something to remember me by"

"And" she purred, pressing herself against Keats, "if you are ever in Bath again do come and visit me"

Keat's tense frame repelled her advancements, "Good Evening Madam"

The pair watched the girl slip back into the darkness, Bath once again swallowing her whole.

"Well" sighed Brandon, replacing his coat "The hour may be late but Fleetchurch won't mind us paying a visit"

Keats was stunned, "We are to simply ask for entrance, at" consulting his pocket watch hurriedly "at almost one in the morning"

"Time is of the essence, we don't know what Willoughby is up to or with whom" reminded Brandon. "If not we leave a message and return in the morning"

With purpose and confidence, Brandon followed by Keats mounted the fine steps at the entrance and rang the bell. Moments passed before a servant appeared at the door and invited them in from the cold.

"Give my apologies to you master for the lateness of the hour," said Brandon, "But my friend and I have travelled far today and would wish some respite if some is available"

"Very good Sir" replied the servant, "Whom should I say has arrived"

"Colonel Christopher Brandon and Colonel Keats, he will have not forgotten me" smiled Brandon.

The men could hear and smell the cigars and whiskey, it was clear no one in the house was thinking of rest yet.

Not much time passed before a loud booming voice proclaimed, "Sent them in Wilkins, send them in by God"

The servant reappeared, "He will see you in the drawing-room Sir's"

John Fleetchurch was a round red-faced man, who now in his forties was enjoying the bliss of capital enterprise, good wine and plenty of food. He rose with a mighty laugh from his armchair and embraced Brandon heartily, "Good God man how many years has it been since we caught eyes on each other"

"Too many, far too many John" smiled Brandon, "And may I introduce Colonel Henry Keats"

"A pleasure Sir" boomed Fleetchurch, also embracing him, "You are most welcome.

In the corner of the room sat a large pianoforte, seated at which was a beautiful young girl and beside her was Willoughby. They were playing a jolly duet together until Brandon's eyes met his. Willoughby's hands stopped above the keys and he turned a ghastly shade of white.

"Captain?" cried Miss Fleetchurch, "By heavens, you have gone decidedly pale, have you taken ill?"

Willoughby threw a hand through his hair and smoothly recovered, "No my dearest, a sudden tiredness came over me, it has passed"

Brandon did not break his gaze from the man, enjoying seeing him squirm.

"Captain, Rose dearest" called Fleetchurch. "Come and greet an old friend, you too Louisa"

The eldest Fleetchurch girl was Rose, a name fell fitted to her delicate face. Blonde ringlets and pale blue eyes lit up her well-kept complexion, she smiled politely and gave a curtsey. The younger one was Louisa, a girl of no more than fourteen, much brighter in spirit than her sister, her young face accompanied by auburn curls and the same pale eyes.

Willoughby played his part well, bowing and scraping as duty called to strangers, but Brandon was not going to play his game. "I am charmed by your daughters John, but the Captain and I know each other very well"

All eyes fell of Willoughby, as Brandon left it entirely to him to further fabricate his past. "Is this true Captain?" cried Fleetchurch.

"Quite true" replied Willoughby, visibly uncomfortable by being put on the spot in such a way. "We met earlier in the year at the Colonel's wedding, I was a guest of the bride's mother"

"Married Colonel!" exclaimed Fleetchurch, "I remember reading something about it in the papers! Do tell us more of the lady, is she in town?"

"Alas Mrs Brandon is at our estate in Devonshire" he replied, happily taking a seat beside his friend, Keats serving himself a glass of brandy.

"And where is she from?" cried Fleetchurch. "Her people?"

"She was born and raised in Sussex with her family, moving to my parish after the death of her father" replied Brandon happily. "It was there I first met her and grew to love her"

"Capital" beamed Fleetchurch. "Now Sussex, let me think, the Robinsons, The Langfords and my my my old Dashwood before he passed lived there I believe"

"Yes, that is correct" added Brandon. "My wife is his second eldest daughter, Marianne"

Upon hearing her name spoken, again Willoughby struggled to maintain his composure, being openly scolded by his young fiancee. "Really Captain, your mind is far from here, pray tell what has come over you?"

"The Dashwoods" proclaimed Fleetchurch. "Now that is fine stock Sir, I can't imagine you'd be much happier with another wife"

"I cannot imagine either" smiled Brandon.

"What have you to say, Captain?" asked Fleetchurch. "A guest at this wedding was is Mrs Brandon like. You know I must have an unbiased opinion"

"A handsome woman" Willoughby replied, "But lacking in maturity and rather too fickle to be commendable in my opinion. And of course, cannot compete with the beauty and charm of dear Rose, or if I may be so bold, Miss Louisa as well"

"Blast Captain" cried Fleetchurch. "You are most forward your forthcomings, I am only happy Brandon is not a fighting man after such talk"

Brandon let Willoughby have this small victory, knowing full well what he'd do if Marianne ever gave him a chance at loving her again.


The rest of the time passed, Fleetchurch announcing his fatigue just after two, sending the girls to bed and offering rooms to Keats and Brandon.

"The Captain can show you up, for I have arrangements in the office to attend to" he added. "I shall see you all at breakfast"

Once Fleetchurch's heavy steps trailed away, Keats stepped into the hallway, letting the two men embrace the tension that had hung over the room for the best part of an hour.

"Captain Bateman?" smiled Brandon. "Or have you since changed it again?"

"You just cannot bear to leave me in peace can you?" demanded Willoughby.

"Not when with every breath you take peace from others," said Brandon. "I am here with a proposition for you"

"I am engaged to be married and heir to a wealthy man," said Willoughby. "What need have I to fear anything or accept any proposition from you?"

"I will not hesitate to reveal all Willoughby" warned Brandon. "I care not for your renewed status, I will reduce you to nothing"

"Old Fleetchurch knows who I am, I mean, truly" replied Willoughby, "he has chosen to ignore the past to secure a good match for his daughter and has paid me to do so. After all, I will definitely not be marrying an innocent I can tell you that much, she'd be ruined if not for my generosity. Not every man can stomach the thought of a tainted bride"

Brandon felt the knife in his words twist with every syllable. "You disgust me, and I can only wish to spare the girl from your 'generosity'"

"I will not leave this house" proclaimed Willoughby. "You'll have to summon the King himself to make me leave my bride to be"

"Your galant nature knows no bounds," remarked Brandon. "But I will tell you my request nonetheless. I will pay you handsomely, to leave the country for the continent I do not care where, and you can live out the rest of your days away from Marianne and Beth"

"Nothing you said as peaked by curiosity" seared Willoughby. "I am going to bed"

"Or I will hand you over to your debtors" added Brandon. "Who I can inform of your location at an instant"

"All those debts have been paid" replied Willoughby.

"With bonds," said Brandon. "Bonds you bought from my friend Colonel Keats under an alias, every single one when taken to a bank will be proclaimed as void. Captain, very soon you will have a hoard at Fleetchurch's door if you are not careful"

Willoughby stormed forward until the men stood eye to eye, "Do not test me, old man, for you will lose"

"Sleep on it" smiled Brandon, stepping past him. "I shall await your answer, you have two days"


That night Brandon found it impossible to settle. After all the talk about his wife, it became painfully obvious how much his separation from her affected him. There had not been time for a letter, even for an express, his mind had been consumed on finding Willoughby and securing peace, but what peace would he have to return to, would Marianne even be waiting?

He would have lain awake all night, but some commotion from the corridor summoned him from his bed. Whispered voices were heard, that of a man and a woman.

As silent as he could Brandon opened his door and looked out down the dark corridor.

The silhouette of Willoughby was unmistakable, but the woman with him shocked Brandon to the core, he had half expected the fiancee Rose to be the one who allowed such advances at his hour.

However, the small frame beside Willoughby was the younger Fleetchurch, Louisa who in her innocence was accepting the man's open caresses and hands through the opening in her nightgown.

"But what about Rose?" she whispered. "Won't she be upset?"

"Louisa, you know I love you far more, it is important that people see you how I see you" replied Willoughby.

"Papa still calls me his little girl" complained Louisa.

"You are a grown woman to me, I want to love you as I'd love my wife" replied Willoughby. "Let me show you"

Brandon felt ill, so much so he stumbled against the door causing it to creak and shift loudly, spooking the young Louisa who darted back into her room and shut the door, leaving Willoughby alone in the corridor.