Lakhimpur, India – Present Day

His fingers moved the silver balls in a circuitous route around his palm. The man in the seat next to him looked over every time they metals balls clacked together. After a moment, he sighed and the balls paused in their motion.

"What?"

"What do you mean, 'what'?"

"You just sighed." The balls dug into the flesh of his hand as he held them tight to point with his forefinger at the man in the driver's seat. "Why'd you sigh?"

"I can't sigh?"

"Not without it meaning something when you've been grinding your teeth for the past hour."

"I've…" The man's teeth ground together and he gave another sigh. "Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Clack those balls together in your hand." The driver mimed it. "First one way and then the other before going back again. It's maddening."

"It's meditative." The passenger settled into his seat and began circling the balls in his palm again. "They're for meditation."

"You're not meditating Bates."

Bates shrugged, "It's about a state of mind, not the actual pose, Green."

"It's annoying."

"It kept me focused enough to spot him." Bates clacked the two balls together to bring them to a stop in his hand and pointed. "That's our guy."

"Tall lanky one?" Green put the lorry into gear and eyed the road. "We're sitting ducks in this lorry."

"Not once we're on the road." Bates leaned forward a bit, "Especially since everyone's got goats strapped to their buses and cars for sacrificing this weekend."

"Who cares why they've got the bloody beasts strapped to their bleeding cars. All I care about it how those sodding cars'll get in our way."

"Just watch the road and I'll do my job." Bates tucked the balls deep into his pocket and reached between their seats to pull a rifle onto his lap. Adjusting the barrel and the viewing scope gave him a moment as Green joined the flow of traffic to load the weapon and rest it on the dashboard.

There it waited as they trailed the other man's car through the congested and barely controlled traffic of the city. A city of honking horns, the bleats of goats, the occasional moo from a cow wandering the road as it owned the path it chose to tread, and the calls of all those selling their wares from the pavement or erected stalls. Bates ignored it all to focus solely on the car they finally pulled behind at one of the roundabouts clogged with a herd of cows and two vans packed with people.

All it took was one exhale. A release of breath and Bates had the butt of the gun on his shoulder, his aim perfect through the scope, and then the man in the car ahead of him snapped with an arch in his back before slumping over the wheel of his car. With his chest on the wheel the horn let out its low bass note but above the rest of the sounds of the city it was nothing but an annoyance. One they would not see as Green steered their lorry away from the roundabout and into back streets.

The back streets became pot-holed backroads that curved into the mountains before they knew it. Even Bates disassembling the gun to stow it properly in its case was nothing to their long drive into the jungles that dotted the mountain sides. Sounds of the rumbling lorry soon echoed back to them with the sounds of the jungle and, for the brief flash it needed to thoroughly douse the roads, a torrent of rail that lashed the windows. All faded as they settled into the silence of the dusk that sat anything but peacefully in the cab of their lorry.

But Bates did not open his mouth. Instead he focused out the window until Green finally spoke. "What?"

"I said, how's it feel?"

"How's what feel?"

"The act." Green mimed shooting someone with a finger gun. "In the moment, when you do it, how's it feel?"

"Why?"

"Because I'm curious." Green side-eyed him. "And it says a lot about someone, when you know what they feel when they pull the trigger."

"Are you comparing notes?"

"I'm curious."

"You said that."

"And you're dodging the question." Green waited a beat before scoffing, "You know, you're always so stand-offish Bates. Someone would think you don't want to be here and that makes me nervous."

"Are you the one who thinks I don't want to be here?" Bates waited, one of his hands closing over the meditation balls in his pocket.

"Maybe I am."

"Then I'll tell you," Bates leaned toward him. "I don't want to be here. It's hot, it's humid, it's just rained so it'll be a soggy mess, and I don't much care for having to shit in the jungle while getting my ass bit by mosquitos."

"That's what's got you all twisted up?"

"I'm a creature of comfort." Bates's hand relaxed on the meditation balls and he left them in his pocket. "I like sleeping in a bed, not a cot, and I've never been one for tents in the bush."

"I thought you were in the Army."

"Doesn't mean I was in it because I liked camping." Bates shook his head, "Is that why you were in the Army?"

"I was in the Army because I thought it was a good time." Green snorted, "My mistake I guess."

"Yeah. Your mistake."

They rode in silence, the only noises adding to those of the jungle were the rumbling sputters of the engine. Bates rested his head back a moment before gathering his things as the lorry rolled to a halt. He had his hand on the door handle to open it when Green's grip on his shoulder stopped him. "Yes?"

"So eager to be away from me?"

"We're not dating." Bates shrugged out of his hold and opened the door to jump from the lorry. "And yes, I don't like you. That was the other thing getting my knickers in a twist."

"I'm not a fan of you either."

"Then it's a good thing Vera doesn't keep us together, isn't it?" Bates shut the door to the lorry and walked through the camp toward a tent on the perimeter. One marked by the shadows of people standing in the trees while holding automatic weapons. He ignored them, and the cooking fires scattered at regular intervals between the tents, to stop at his and knock back the flap.

Entering the space, he sighed and set the rifle bag on his cot before activating the battery-powered lanterns that gave a stark, white sheen to everything they lit up with the gentle hum of the fluorescents. The only noises soon became the unzipping of his rifle bag and the sounds of careful cleaning before he replaced the pieces where they belonged. The last touch was the covert way he switched the box of bullets. First he checked them, carefully inspecting the empty cartridges, before replacing the box with real bullets. The empty ones he concealed in the lining of the bag before stowing it under his cot.

Finally he sat down. Letting out a breath, Bates lay back on the cot and let his head roll back onto his pillow. In another moment he was breathing easily despite the buzz of the lights, the low-level of chatter from around the fires, and the thudding of his own heart.

London, England – 1815

He tugged at his cravat for a moment and let out a breath. A turn of his heel allowed him to face the door when the board just outside it creaked. The board placed by his father for the express purpose of giving him a moment's head start before a knock signaled a servant. A critical moment to give him the upper hand as it offered the same now. A hand used to sit behind a desk so heavy and wide the doors had to be removed to get it into the study at all.

But it set a tone. Just as the dark wood, the carefully selected paintings, the particular size and shape of the books on the shelves, and even the chairs before the desk. All of it aided in the appearance he needed as the knock echoed into the room.

"Enter." He spoke it as practiced, as oft repeated, and waited as the footman entered the room with a bow.

"Your Grace, Mr. Guthrie is here."

"Allow him in Andrew. And tell Mrs. Parks that we'll take the tea the moment she's got it ready."

"Very good sir." Andrew bowed at the neck and stepped back, speaking in a low voice still heard through the open door. "The Duke will see you now sir."

"Thank you."

The man who entered sported a worn wig that betrayed its age by the patches hastily combed over and the artificial luster catching garishly in the light from the windows. The Duke studied the man's form, starting at the aged wig and ending at the resoled boots. Each piece of clothing betrayed skilled patchwork and excellent needlepoint hiding frays and flaws that only glared more brightly the closer Mr. Guthrie drew to the desk. When he arrived there, bowing at the neck with a delayed snap of his boots, it was all the Duke could do not to stare.

"Your Grace, thank you for seeing me on such short notice."

"It would not've been so short if you'd simply answered any of my many missives over the course of the last six months." The Duke rolled his shoulders back into the leather of the chair as it creaked. "But that's no matter. You're here now and I've ordered tea so you'd best sit down."

"Thank you, Your Grace." Guthrie sat and one of his legs immediately set to bobbing up and down. "And, as to the letters you sent, I've been fielding a number of inquiries that've simply taken-"

"Please don't do me the disservice of thinking I'm not well informed as to your social calendar and your professional endeavors." The Duke cut him off. "It'll make me regret asking for tea and end this conversation all the sooner as the more someone tries to lie to me the more terse I get in my dealings."

He waited but Guthrie quieted, drawing into himself. "Now, I'm not a fool so please do not mistake my title or my wealth as weapons in your favor. They are firmly in mine and I've called you here to wield them. Hopefully the wealth only but if I need to use my title I will." When Guthrie offered no response, the Duke continued. "Having said that, I'll get right to the point. I intend to buy your shipping company, your warehouses, and any other mercantile assets you currently hold in your possession at this moment."

"That's-"

"Anything with your name, that's correct. And, by the time you walk out of this house, all of it will be mine. Whether because you've signed them over to me gladly or because I'll buy them at greatly discounted prices when they're seized to pay your debts is entirely up to you."

Guthrie lurched in his seat, "Your Grace, I've-"

"You've no money. Your family's on the brink of social and economic disaster. One that'll ruin the future prospects of both your stepdaughters if not rectified soon." The Duke peeked over his shoulder, "And possibly kill you if you happened to tell the small cohort of men out in the square that you're in here collecting on a debt you'll immediately pay to them."

"You…" Guthrie swallowed, "You are well informed, Your Grace."

"I did warn you." The Duke softened, "I hope you understand that this is an olive branch, Mr. Guthrie. It's not a stick with which to beat you but a life preserver."

"It's…" Guthrie shuffled in his seat. "It's everything I am."

"Then it's not amounting to much in your hands, is it?" The Duke sucked the insides of his cheeks a moment. "But in mine it could net you enough money to live the rest of your life and not be in a ditch by sundown."

"It could?"

'Yes, Mr. Gutherie, it could." Opening the top drawer of his desk, the Duke withdrew a few sheets of paper and handed them over. "Sign these and your life will be made right again."

"And if this is a deal with Mephistopheles?" Guthrie stared the Duke down. "If this turns around simply to bite me in the-"

"Even if it did, bitten is not dead." The Duke took a breath, "If you sign these papers then I'm prepared to offer more than just their value at time of purchase."

Guthrie's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"I'm prepared to offer you a stipend. The continued success of the operations'll yield you enough money to move back to York and settle comfortably there. Further, I've come to know that your eldest stepdaughter is entering her second season and still entertains suitors in the hopes of an advantageous match."

"Her mother presented her quite late and I-"

"Did her no favors to aid her standing." The Duke bit the inside of his cheek. "But despite your lack of assistance to her future wellbeing, I'm willing to offer her my hand in marriage. It'll make our heirs the owners of your empire, thereby keeping it in the family, and allow the operation to act as a part of the dowry you cannot provide."

"I… Your Grace that's…" Guthrie shook his head. "I can't…"

"I've already told you what happens if you cannot accept."

"No, I accept." Guthrie hurried to say, holding up a hand. "It's… This is far more generous than I deserve."

"Perhaps." The Duke stood and Guthrie almost tripped over himself to follow suit. "But we all deserve a bit of mercy since, 'Are we not all beggars'?"

"Yes, I'd say we are." Guthrie swallowed, "Then, Your Grace, I must ask for a pen so that I may sign my name and agree to your offer."

The Duke bent, dipping his quill into the ink and handing it over to Guthrie. "At your leisure sir. We've still tea to come and I do believe we'll need some accounts to settle before I thrust you back into the jaws of the wolves literally waiting for you outside my door."

Lakhimpur, India – Present Day

"You sleep all day or just most of it?" Bates rolled his eyes and continued eating as the woman next to him swirled powder into her canteen. "I don't know how you block out all the noise."

"Practice." Bates sucked at something between his teeth and looked around the camp. "Where's Green?"

"He left, soon as you both got back."

"Why? Job's done." Bates shoveled another spoonful into his mouth.

"That job's done." A man sat across the fire from Bates. "We've always got work to do here Johnny."

"Don't call me that." Bates reached down for his canteen and swallowed a bit before spitting behind him. "Not funny."

"A little funny."

"Not funny." Bates repeated, staring the man down.

"I thought it was." The man snorted, winking at the woman next to Bates as he poured out his canteen. "You never drink and it makes some of us nervous."

"It also makes me sober, which means I'm always ready for duty." Bates tucked the canteen between his knees. "Like whatever duty Green's on."

"Why'd you care where your boyfriend's gone?"

"Because I don't trust him not to royally cock everything up on his own." Bates stood up, twisting to leave his bowl on his chair. "Do anything to that and I'll gut the both of you before getting another helping."

He moved toward the mess tent, holding his canteen, and paused only when he saw a woman with brilliantly blue eyes coming out of it. "Evening Vera."

"Evening John." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Green reported success on the mission today, well done."

"It's sharpshooting." Bates shrugged, "Put a gun in my hand and a scope to my eye and I can't miss."

"It's one of the things I like about you." She appraised him. "Never prideful, never humble. You know your worth John and that's something to me."

"I hope I've proved something to you." Bates motioned to the others around the fires. "Not that they're not all lovely and boring but I was hoping I can ask for someone specific as my driver in future."

"What, not a fan of Green?"

"I think he's got a twitchy finger on the trigger all the time and I'm worried he'll go off half-cocked on me." Bates shook his head, "Maybe it's me and I'm… You know what, I'm sorry I said anything. It's stupid."

"John." Vera put a hand on his shoulder as Bates turned to walk away. "Don't make me take back what I just said about you knowing your worth."

"It's not about my worth, Vera." Bates lowered his voice. "You've got a tight-knit thing going here. And I know I'm green, fresh from serving the man and saluting and whatnot but I've got to think you're better than some of the rubbish you've gathered in the pan here."

"You've a keen eye."

"I'm a sharpshooter, like I said, and I wasn't talking about just my mouth." Bates took a breath, "You took me on for a reason. I've got to think you mean to accomplish more than get a bunch of mercs and former drug runners together to make some kind of tent empire in the bush."

Vera appraised him more seriously now. "You are a fast one."

"And, if I'm as fast as you think, I've got to believe that you're not keeping someone like Green around as my partner because you think it's funny." Bates met Vera's eyes, "He's watching me, isn't he?"

"I had him on you like a flea on a dog's ass since you got here." Vera shrugged, "I needed the measure of a straight-lacer. We don't get many like you scumming for jobs in our neck of the woods."

"If you're looking for the skeletons in my closet then I'll give you my Netflix password and we call it even."

"You think that'd do it?"

"I'm sure you looked through all my underwear already."

"Fair. And we did. But no, John."

"No?"

"No." Vera repeated as she closed the distance between them. "It's not as simple as skeletons when I'm making sure I don't find out there's a hand up your ass making your mouth move to form the pretty words you think I want to hear."

"What, you vet everyone like they're Muppets for the Man?"

"I vet the people who look like they miss their uniforms and bars and solemn, comfortable ranks with the clear-cut levels of command." Vera's lips pursed. "In this business, I need someone like you and someone like Green."

"So you'll send him off on his own but put a leash on me?"

"I've known him longer."

Bates scoffed, "Well, then I'd like to request you change my minder. If I need a babysitter I'd rather have one I don't think'll blow the job out from under us because he's just waiting to lodge on in the back of my head."

"Green's harmless."

"To you, maybe." Bates shook his head, "But, until then, I guess I'll kiss the right asses and keep my nose clean shall I?"

"You're acting like I've issued a prison sentence."

"You've not sat for four hours in a cab with Green."

"Not lately, no." Vera let out a breath, "But your imprisonment may soon be at an end. And, when it is, I'll see what I can do about your babysitter."

Bates watched Vera walk away before refilling his canteen. Returning to his seat brought a mutedness to the conversation around him but he ignored it and returned to his food. Untouched, as threatened, it still sat heavy in his mouth. So he labored through the meal until the sound of a lorry rumbling up the road quieted the scattered talk around the other campfires.

He looked up, spoon in his hand as it stopped just short of his mouth, and tried to swallow at the sight in the cab of the lorry. Setting his bowl to the side, risking the waste of its contents, Bates sagged back into his chair as Green exited the cab and rounded it to open the passenger door. A moment later he dragged a blonde woman, bound and gagged, out of it. And, John noted, as hasty as the truss-up job was, the bonds were secure despite the woman's struggles against them.

The sight of the woman in Green's arms, fighting against his hold, had Bates wrapping his fingers around the arms of his chair and digging impressions of the metal into his palms. Green practically cackled when she fought back, mocking her for every kick she tried to land on him or every cry for help she muffled through the gag. Each attempt gave her no ground and Green even allowed one of her stumbles to land her face-down on the ground as he stepped over her to address the gathered group of gawkers.

"Got ourselves a live one here boys… and the occasionally interested girl." Green snatched the woman by her bound wrists as she tried to scramble away from them. "Found her snooping around a village, asking too many questions about what we may be doing up here."

Everyone spoke at once, voices layering on top of one another until only madness reigned until one voice broke through them all. A voice that sent them all quieting to mumbles and murmurs. The voice of Vera's authority.

"What kinds of questions?" All silenced and the crowd parted as Vera emerged from a tent. She approached Green, stopping just short of him and the woman still tugging fruitlessly at her bonds. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"I said, what kinds of questions, Green?"

"About our operations." Green gave the woman a little shove and she toppled sideways, her face contorting in pain from her unprotected landing. "She was pretty curious about what we're doing up here. Seemed to think we were moving drugs or some such through the area."

Green crouched down, pushing at the woman's shoulder to land her on her back. "But she clammed up the minute I approached her."

"I'd think so." Vera examined her, tilting her head slightly. "You give that kind of impression, don't you?"

"It's my trademark." Green put a hand to his chest as if wounded. "I've got a reputation to uphold."

"Just as long as you don't blow it for us all." Vera sighed, "There was bound to be someone snooping around eventually."

"Well," Green's fingers wrapped around the woman's chin, "I guess I'll just have to use my other charms to get her to talk. Maybe I'll fu-"

"I'll do it." Bates stood, drawing all eyes to him but he only shrugged. "Since I know I can do it without having to bugger her for answers."

"Sharpshooter thinks he's got a way with women?" Green released the woman to stand and sneer at Bates. "When I need to put a bullet through her as she runs away, I'll call you. Until then why don't you sit your ass down and watch how the big boys do the work around here?"

"When you see one of those big boys, you point them out to me will you?" Bates closed the distance between them. "Unless that's too much for you to handle."

"You think I can't handle this?"

"I think my record speaks for itself. I won't comment on yours." Bates turned to Vera. "Let me do it and we won't be dragging her away to bury in pieces."

"Why would that matter?" Vera snorted, "We'll bury her either way."

"This way we bury her without keeping everyone awake as Green mucks it all up by having her scream all night." Bates bit the inside of his cheek. "I'm not going to speak for everyone but if I can't sleep I can't claim my scope won't find the source and put it out of its misery… Information gathered or not."

Vera pursed her lips, "You think you can do better than Green?"

"I know I can." Bates spared the woman on the ground a look. "I've a feeling she needs a lighter touch. Especially since Green's tied her like her roped a steer at some rodeo."

"It wasn't like I needed to seduce her."

"No one asked you." Bates shook his head at Green, "But you did a hell of a job making her so frightened she'll probably never speak again."

"Don't talk to me like you-"

Green tried to get in John's face but Vera stepped between them, lowering her voice so Bates could barely hear. "Lay off it Alex. Remember what happened in Kabul when you lost your temper." Green paled and stepped back, almost immediately cowed. Vera regained herself and pivoted to face Bates. As he struggled to keep his face blank despite the curiosity growing after Vera's statement. "She's yours if you think you can do the job."

"That's not-"

Vera's raised hand stopped any more argument from Green. "But if he's not gotten anything from her in six hours then Bates'll serve his second function and shoot her." She faced the gathered crowd. "Information or no, we're compromised here. I want this place ready to evacuate by first light."

She nodded at Bates, "Clock's ticking."

He nodded and watched as everyone scattered on Vera's order. Ignoring the glare from Green, Bates bent to help the woman stand. She tried to wrench herself from his hold but he regained control and tried to breathe easily as he guided them back to his tent.

But the whole time the only word he could think was, "Shit."

London, England – 1815

He straightened, standing from the chair as she entered the room. Guthrie only occupied space at the door a moment, appearing as if he pushed the girl into the room himself, before nodding at the Duke and exiting. The snap of the door left the woman flinching slightly but it also seemed to rouse her enough to raise her head to look at him.

"It's an honor, Your Grace." She curtsied to him and the Duke responded with bowing his head at the neck. "I've heard much about you."

"I do hope not all of it was bad."

"Almost no bad at all." She smiled at him before motioning toward the sofa across from his chair. "Do you mind if I sit, Your Grace?"

"Of course not, please." He stepped back to allow her into the space and took a seat after she did. "And, if it wouldn't be too much trouble, might I ask you to address me as 'John'?"

"I'm sorry?"

"It's…" He coughed, "It would seem rather unusually for us to be so formal. Given the circumstances of our arrangement, Ms. Guthrie."

"Smith."

"Sorry?"

"My stepfather's name is 'Guthrie' but I'm still 'Ms. Smith'." There was a hint of a smile on her lips. "The last thing I have from my father really."

"Then I'll remember it." John cleared his throat, "I'll call you 'Ms. Smith' and you could address me as 'John'… In private, as it seems appropriate."

"Yes, it would rather seem that way." She splayed her fingers and tugged intermittently at one hand and then the other before pressing her palms to her legs as if to straight nonexistent wrinkles from her dress. It took her less than a minute to stand and John immediately followed suit but stayed still as she paced from her position to the fireplace and back twice before speaking. "I'm sure my stepfather's… What I mean to say is, he's made his position very clear to me."

"He has?"

"In as far as I know, I'm to marry you as a way to salvage his honor as you buy him out of his holdings, ownerships, and overall management of the industrial empire that was my father's." The tug at the corners of her mouth turned downward. "But things being what they are, this union promises to save a legacy that might otherwise've been lost."

"That was my intention, yes." John flexed his jaw. "And you've no need to worry, Ms. Smith."

"About?"

"The legacy of your father." He swallowed hard, "I knew him, professionally, and I made this decision, in part, because of his memory."

"You did?"

"I did." He nodded, managing a little smile at the slightest ease of tension in her shoulders. "As I explained to your stepfather, it'll incur an income that'll render a percentage to him and your mother, to keep them cared for."

"That was very generous of you."

"It, truly, was nothing." He took a breath, "As the rest of the earnings'll be held in trust for you… And any family members you deem prudent of receiving."

She blinked at him, "I beg your… I don't understand."

"The purchase of your stepfather's holdings will render him an income but the bulk of the profits will be held in trust for you and those family members you believe need the proceeds." John shuffled in place a moment, "Not to speak too highly of myself but I've no need of them myself and the purpose of the purchase was to preserve something I feared would be lost through mismanagement."

"You were not wrong there." Ms. Smith paced again, tugging at her fingers a bit more urgently until she stopped altogether, as if frozen on the rug in the middle of the floor. "And I don't think I've words for the depths of kindness you've already shown to my family and I."

"You flatter me, Ms. Smith."

"Then I hope you won't mind, Your Gra-" Ms. Smith swallowed, "John, if I risk an insult to you."

"An insult?"

Ms. Smith nodded, "For despite the kindnesses already lavished on myself and my family, I've a few requests of my own."

John blinked, "You do?"

Ms. Smith nodded again, "I do." She held up a hand as if to stem the tide for argument. "They'll not interfere with the negotiations you've already had or the deal you've already made with my stepfather."

"Then what could you have in mind?"

"These are…" She took her turn to shuffle in place, staring at her feet a moment before meeting his eyes again. "These are distinct request for me. If I may be so bold as to request anything for myself."

"You are, in my opinion, as much a player in this as anyone else." John straightened, "What requests might you have, Ms. Smith, and I'll do what I can to oblige in their fulfillment."

"The first might be enough to change your mind." When John did not respond she continued, pausing first to take a breath as if to steady her nerves. "While I do consent to marrying you, I don't intend to consummate our marriage. Not at first, anyway. I don't know you and-"

"Ms. Smith," John stopped her before her defense could pick up speed. "I think you've confused me for the kind of men who were nipping at your stepfather's heels and banging down his door."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I've no intention of forcing you into anything that would make you, in any way, uncomfortable." He measured the relaxation in her stance. "I've no intention of pressing any advantages with you. As married as we'll be on paper and in name, it will be only that until you say otherwise."

"And if I never say otherwise?"

He opened his hands to her, "Then I'm at your disposal, Ms. Smith. This, as far as I'm concerned, is your choice in the matter… Or as much of it as I can offer in the rather reprehensible circumstances in which we find ourselves."

"In which we find ourselves indeed." Ms. Smith sighed and even gave a little laugh before pointing at the sofa. "Do you mind if I sit again?"

"Not at all." John followed her lead again and risked a small smile of his own. "Were there other requests?"

"Yes." Ms. Smith sat straighter, "I don't intend to convert to Catholicism, if it's all the same to you."

"Religion is of the heart and soul, Ms. Smith. I don't believe a marriage should change that." John took a breath, "Any other requests?"

"Perhaps my boldest yet." Ms. Smith appeared to steel herself. "I want to take part in the running of my father's business."

"I…" John blinked at her, frowning. "You want to take part in the running of his business?"

"It is my inheritance and, as such, I believe I owe it to myself and whatever…" She stopped herself, "And whomever in my family would benefit from it to take part in its successful management and maintenance."

John pursed his lips, chewing on the inside of his cheek a moment before nodding. "I can consent to that if you accept that it'll be under my direct supervision. My intentions for the proceeds aside, this business will bear my name now and I'll be involved in its success."

"I can agree to that." Her lip twitched, as if she wanted to smile. "And I could think of no better instructor."

"Then I'll endeavor to be a teacher worthy of the title and take you on as an exceptionally willing apprentice."

"Thank you."

"It's my pleasure, Ms. Smith." They sat in silence a moment before she spoke again, her voice gaining a little confidence despite the threat of a quaver.

"Not for…" She smiled at him, "You said 'success'."

"Pardon?"

"Just now, when you spoke of your direct running of the company, you spoke of its success."

"Of course." He chewed at the inside of his cheek. "That is my intention with owning the business."

"I suspected but…" Ms. Smith shifted, "By agreeing to involve me you're taking a rather large risk."

"No more or less than if I took on anyone else." John frowned, "Are you expecting to fail?"

"Most people expect women to fail." Ms. Smith quieted, "My stepfather expected me to fail. Still does, I suspect."

"Then we shall prove him wrong." John shrugged, "I do not intend to fail and I will do all within my power to prevent you from failing as well."

"That is… comforting."

"I'm glad I could offer a little of that, given our circumstances." John stood and took a knee before her, "That all being settled, may I ask, properly, if you consent to be my wife Ms. Smith?"

"Do you agree to my terms, John?"

"I do." He extended a hand to her, "Do you accept my proposal?"

"Only if you call me 'Anna'." She offered him her hand.

"Then, Anna," John kissed it lightly and tried to ignore the slight shiver that went through her skin. "Let us begin."