Thank you all for the reviews! It really puts a smile on my face and inspires me to continue writing this lovely story.

Oh and a couple of questions for my readers: Is there anything that I can possibly improve on in this story and most importantly is Charlotte a Mary Sue or have any Sueish tendencies?

Enjoy this chapter, I think this is my favorite so far.

My nose and body swam in the delightful scent of lavender and the warmth of the bathwater. The guests had finally abandoned the backyard, leaving a wake of pandemonium and disorder that the maids would have to clean up. Despite my previous misgivings, Holmes had been on his best behavior…well, perhaps not best but he behaved nonetheless. I washed my hair and then sunk back into the suds.

After the guests had left, we gathered the presents into the parlor and opened each and every one of them while Anne listed who exactly gave what so that I would send them thank-you notices. Most of the gifts were an assortment of frippery and necessities that a young lady wants and needs. Some were actually quite lovely such as sheet music of Mozart and Beethoven from Anne and Geoff, a lovely cameo brooch from James, and a lovely assortment of hairpins from Mum. Like I told Dad before, he gave me a book, an edition of Leaves of Grass by one of my favorite poets, Walt Whitman. But those were from my family so of course they will stand out. Holmes interestingly (and pragmatically) gave me a walking stick made of a nice mahogany wood that had a silver handle.

With a good soaking that my fingers and toes resembled prunes, I got out, dressed in a comfortable yet tattered dressing gown and dried my hair with my towel. I combed through the wet and knotted that practically snarled at me for its attempts at my trying to make it straight. After wrestling with that, I tied it into a loose braid and collapsed onto my bed. I reached for the book on my nightstand, The Portrait of a Lady, and had just cracked it open when a knock fell on the door.

"Charlie, are you decent?"

"Aren't I always?" I said playfully and added, "Come in, Dad."

He came in and sat down at the foot of the bed. As usual, the tabby shadow that was Apollo also hopped on with a loud meow. "I hope you enjoyed yourself tonight."

"I did, it was lovely. I especially loved the Whitman." I said indicating the new tome on my bookshelf.

"I knew you would like that. Whitman's a good poet…" his voice trailed off as Apollo began to claw on the coverlet. "Apollo, you silly tom cat…ah, well, Charlie, I have a confession to make."

The man had a grave look on his face and I immediately sat up and put my book down. "What is it? Dad, what's wrong?"

That grave look remained on his face and he sighed deeply. "Well, Charlie…it's just that…I got you something else for your birthday."

I stared at my father for a moment longer as my jaw dropped. That man had me worry over something that turned out to be another birthday present. I reached over for my fluffiest pillow and slammed him. "Pardon my language, Dad, but bloody hell, you had me so worried!"

This man who was an extremely eminent Oxford professor was practically falling down laughing in his dressing gown and slippers. He attempted to dodge my feathery assault but he managed to get hit, which caused some of the feathers to fly out and land on his grey head, making him look much older.

"Well, if you would stop barraging me with your pillow," and with that statement, he caught it as I swung it at him and then raised it over his head while I covered my head. He brought it down quickly but just dropped it down on my head. "I will give you your other present."

"Very well, then," I said as I fluffed up the pillow, put it behind me, and laid back down on it. Dad pulled a box out of his dressing gown, put it on the coverlet, and pushed it towards me.

It was a flat medium-sized box. Judging by the box, I already had a feeling of what was inside. I opened it and though cliché in its effects, I gasped at the beauty inside. While I was not an avid consumer of jewelry, the pearls inside winked at me as if they wanted to share a secret. Three strands of pearls formed a beautiful choker, much like the one that Princess Alexandra often wore. The pearls were luminescent and simple in its beauty.

My father looked just as luminescent as the pearls he had just given me. "Ah, I had a feeling that you'd like them. Here, let me see them on you." I handed over the box and sat down beside him. As he put the necklace on me, he said, "I've been getting you books since you were twelve years old. I figured that it would be time to get you something more substantial."

I walked over to the mirror and examined it. Of course, this was quite an incongruous scene with I in my dressing gown and my red hair tied in a messy braid with one of the most elegant things I had ever worn in my life.

"Oh, they are beautiful." I said as I ran my fingers over the smooth pearls. I ran over and hugged him, who warmly returned the embrace. "Thank you so much. I swear you spoil me."

"Of course I do," he answered then broke the embrace, placing his hands on my shoulders. He took off the necklace for me and placed it on my vanity. "Now you go to bed—it's quite late."

"All right," I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and bundled up in the sheets. He closed the door behind him and I settled underneath the covers and opened up my novel to read. Yet just before I read the first word, I heard my father's voice from the hallway saying,

"I said bed, no more reading!"

The man knew me too well, I thought to myself as I blew out my lamp.

A couple of weeks had passed since the celebrations and while snow had not yet showered down upon the gleaming towers of Oxford, the mild wind that had prevailed for the majority of the season was now beginning to bluster and burn against any uncovered skin. The lush green grass around the campuses was dusted with frost in the early mornings under pewter skies.

I sat on the floor of the parlor in front of a cheery, blazing fire while Mum busied herself by brushing my hair. She bullied me into it in her gentle yet firm manner and she was seated in a chair above me due to the vast differences in our heights. Humming a gentle yet unknown tune, her fingers maneuvered through my hair with relative ease with the brush following it.

"I do hope that you stop growing one of these days." Mum murmured with a melancholy laugh in her voice. "It makes me feel quite old when I stand next to you."

"I wish I could as well. Whenever I walk around town, people look at me as if I were some giantess or whatnot." I said wincing as the brush snagged on a tangle. "Ouch, Mum, that hurt."

"It hurts to be beautiful, my dear." Mum answered perfunctorily.

"Tell me about it, I believe this is the first time that I've been able to have a deep breath since the party. Why did you have to make Josephine tie the corset so tight?"

"Oh quit complaining," she tut-tutted though I could sense a smile in her voice. "Now that it's all brushed, would you like me to tie it in a bun for you?"

By then, I had already begun tying it into a nice chignon. "Never mind, Mum, I've managed it."

The bell jingled from the front door just as I finished putting the last pins in my hair and I was walking over to answer it when Mum told me to let Josephine answer it. I blew the fringe away from my eyes and sat down, fingering the pearls Dad had given me. I heard a few words exchanged at the front door, one being Josephine and the other one a masculine voice that was sharp and clear. No, it could not be…

Josephine stood in the threshold of the parlor and bowed politely to Mum. "Madame, there's a Mr. Holmes here."

I felt my eyes widen in surprise. What the bloody hell was he doing here?

Holmes walked in next to Josephine, wearing a dark blue lounge suit and a bowler hat while carrying an assortment of books under his arm. He tipped his hat towards Mum and me as he greeted both of us. Josephine helped him shed his coat and hung his hat on the hat stand.

"Ah, young Mr. Holmes, an unexpected surprise to see you at this hour." Mum said as she warmly gave her hand to Holmes, who accepted it in his briefly. "I am afraid that my husband, the Professor, is not home. He is meeting with Professor Ellis at the moment."

Holmes' brow furrowed in response. "How odd, I just spoke with Professor Ellis and said that Professor Andrewes had to cancel the meeting for other pressing issues."

Mum's normally smooth conversation hesitated for a second before she sighed and said, "Well, there must be some reason…nevertheless Mr. Holmes I will tell him that you stopped by."

"Actually, Mrs. Andrewes, I did not come here to speak with the Professor," Holmes said lightly as his grey eyes focused on me. "I just wanted a brief word with your daughter if you don't mind."

Mum turned to me with an astonished look in her eyes before answering. I just shrugged subtly; I had no idea what he wanted.

"Well, yes, that's suitable," Mum answered. "Let me fetch you both some tea from the kitchen." With that, Mum began to walk out of the parlor while maintaining her eyes on the pair of us. When she was finally gone, Holmes still stood at the threshold while I was sitting down, rubbing my left arm.

"Have a seat, Holmes," I said tentatively. He sat down in the chair opposite me and glanced at the fire then returned his gaze on me. "What's this about, Holmes? You've made my mother awfully suspicious."

"Perhaps she has a right to be suspicious, Miss Andrewes." Holmes said lightly. I was about to speak when he began to explain. "Our outing together at your birthday celebrations has produced some unforeseen consequences."

"Such as?"

"Not only has Emily left me alone, only giving me some simpering glances here and there but some of my other admirers have backed down as well." It seems hard to believe but Holmes actually had more than one admirer and Emily just happened to be at the extreme end of that spectrum. "It is actually quite refreshing…"

"Well how fortuitous for you, Holmes. Yet what does this have to do this haphazard and truthfully unwanted visit?"

"Let me answer you with a question: Has Keating backed off?" He asked in a grave nature.

Actually and curiously, he had not. In fact Aidan was much more persistent and often asked me questions about Holmes and our "relationship" together. It was beginning to get very annoying. My silence seemed to tell the truth and Holmes nodded as he stretched his lithe legs out in front of him.

"It appears he has not. Well, Miss Andrewes, I will speak quickly before your mother comes back with that tray of tea." He proceeded to lean forward and lowered his voice so that only I can hear him—if my mother or anyone else at the house happened to be eavesdropping. "I propose that…well, I do not know how to put this…well…"

I could not believe this but Holmes was actually at a loss for words. I could not help but smile for Holmes seemed like the last man in the world who would lose the ability of speech. Seeing my smile, his eyes bulged and he smacked his hand impatiently on the arm of the chair.

"I apologize, Holmes, but you seem to be at a loss for words," I managed to say soberly then cleared my throat. "What is it that you wanted to…propose?"

"Succinctly, I propose that we court each other."

That managed to wipe my smile off of my face. "What the bloody hell are you talking about? Absolutely not, I am—"

"Let me explain it to you first," Holmes sliced through my blubbering attempt at a tirade. "This would only be for the sake of convenience. If we agree to this, Aidan will cease to bother you considering that he is from a family with a military background and noble upbringing. If we announce our courtship, it would be considered disgraceful if he acts otherwise."

It was pragmatic at best and torture at its worst. However, a small voice in my head told me that it did make sense. The small voice was being overpowered by a larger and more powerful voice in my head.

"No, Holmes, that would be just way too odd and…"

"Listen to me, a young lady your age is bound to be asked by others about her social standings. Most people will have their eyes on you not only because of your family's reputation but also because you happen to be—from an entirely objective perspective, mind you—an attractive young lady. I assure you Aidan will not be the last suitor knocking on your door." He then paused and in a lower voice said, "I know that you do not intend to get married."

"How do you know about my intentions?" I asked.

Unfortunately, before Holmes could answer my question I heard Mum's footsteps and conversation between us stopped altogether. After a few moments, Mum came in with Josephine behind her bearing a tray of tea. Mum smiled while as she took a seat on the excessively upholstered settee.

"Please, Mr. Holmes, Josephine makes really good scones." Mum offered Holmes the plate. "The jam is quite fresh as well."

"Why, thank you, Mrs. Andrewes." Holmes said in a kind voice with a smile that actually bordered on charming. "However, I must decline as I realized I have to study for some important examinations. I am sorry that I put you through the extra trouble of preparing food for a guest who must leave so quickly."

"Oh, I absolutely understand. I do hope that the Oxford dons aren't running you into the ground." Mum said cheerfully as Holmes stood up and took his hat off the stand and Josephine retrieved his coat. "I do hope you stop by in the nearby future and perhaps with some clear warning."

"Of course," he answered as he placed the hat on his head. "Well, Mrs. Andrewes, Miss Andrewes, I bid you good day."

"Charlotte, why don't you see Mr. Holmes to the door?" Mum said as she gently pushed me towards Holmes. I nodded resignedly and walked with Holmes to the door.

I opened the door and he stepped outside, turning around to face me.

"Holmes, I still need to think about it." I whispered as I started to close the door. Holmes held the door open.

"We can talk if you come by your father's next lecture. Would that be fine?"

"Fine," I answered and then shut the door. I walked back into the parlor and returned to my seat. Mum was sipping her tea with pursed lips with an interested look upon her face.

"Well, Charlotte, he seems to be a nice boy." Mum heavily hinted as she buttered a scone.

"Ha," I laughed under my breath as I reached for my own cup of tea.

The first thing that I do when I open a book is press the pages to my nose and smell them. There is absolutely nothing more lovely to me than the scent of a book. There is a spiciness in the scent that invigorates both my body and soul. I breathed in the book—an anthology of some of John Donne's poetry—only to be stared at by the young librarian who retrieved it for me. My cheeks turning scarlet, I mumbled a brief thank you, and hustled off to one of the private desks in order to breath the words off of the page.

My ever so lovely home away from home was the ancient fortress of knowledge that was the Bodleian library. There were many days where I would enter the Bodley in bright sunshine to only reemerge in the twilight when I would have to be forced out of the building at closing. The entire staff was already familiar with me to the point where a particular station would be reserved just for me.

If there were such thing as a secluded paradise, I only had to take my bicycle and ride a few minutes to the Bodleian. The ancient hall knew the meaning of silence—they most probably were the ones that defined it in the first place. Amidst the glowing light of the gas lamps, the only communication heard were the distinguished mumbles of scholars, the scratch of a pen scrawling on paper, and the whisper of pages being turned.

I decided that John Donne was not of my taste for the moment so I left my station and nearly got myself lost within the myriad of bookshelves. After rummaging through a couple of decent books and randomly picking several tomes from the shelves, I heard a low voice near the back of the stacks conversing with another person. Now I hope you do not think of me as a busybody—my possible suitor Sherlock Holmes immediately comes to mind—but I would have minded my own business otherwise for the low voice that I heard was speaking in that oh-so-familiar Boston sound that could only come from one man.

"I have no idea why you bother with it. It should be none of your damn business." My father said with disdain in his voice.

"It is my business," said the other voice. The speaker was unfamiliar yet his voice was familiar for some odd reason. Then I realized that while he did not have the same dialect as Dad, the speaker spoke in a very similar dialect which ultimately meant that this man was from America. "I wouldn't have been sent here if it weren't my business. Now listen to me, Tom. There's going to be some repercussions to this. I think we're being followed and this may cause a lot of trouble…"

I had become so intrigued by the conversation that one of the books I was holding slipped out of my grasp and felt with a thud to the floor. The conversation stopped immediately after my blunder and the only thing heard was a rustling of fabric and footsteps retreating into some other part of the library. Cursing myself under my breath, I picked up the volume and walked past the two bookshelves and saw Dad leaning against the wall, his hand pressed against his forehead and looking every bit of the fifty-six years that he was.

"Dad?"

He jolted as if electricity went through him and then looked up at me. He quickly fixed a smile on his face that was mostly for appearance's sake. "Ah, Charlie, my dear. Scouting for some new material to read?"

"Who were you talking to?" I asked ignoring his question entirely.

His face blanched as he cleared his throat, his green eyes searching for an answer. "Well, it was just a colleague of mine. A mild academic discussion between two old and stubborn men, that is all. Now, what do you say we head home? We may be just in time for tea."

Perhaps I should have just dropped the interrogation but what I had heard caused me to feel slightly ill. "As far as I know, and believe me I know plenty about Oxford, but I do not think anyone else speaks in those Bostonian tones asides from you. What's going on? Who was that man you are talking to? And what does he mean that you're being followed?"

"It is not of your concern, Charlie." He said firmly as he rubbed his neck. "I assure you that I am fine and that it is not your worry."

"You didn't answer my questions." The librarian walking by the shelves raised her fingers to her lips. I lowered my voice, "Why aren't you telling me anything? From what it sounds like, you could be in danger—"

He chuckled unconvincingly. "There is nothing wrong, I promise you."

"You have been writing letters in the dead of night. You have been late for dinner several times because you had to meet with your colleagues and a couple of days ago, you told Mum that you needed to meet with Professor Ellis when Sherlock Holmes told me that you had to cancel that appointment for more important matters. There is something—"

"It is not of your concern,"

I would have pressed on but the tone that had come out of my father's mouth was something that I had only heard on rare occasions. This was not the tone he used to gently scold James and me to stop quarreling. It was not the tone he used to chide the students in his lecture to stop talking in his class. What emerged from his throat was a voice filled with caustic scorn that automatically ceased all forms of argument, leaving the words to die in my throat. I immediately looked away and felt my cheeks burn as the grip on my books tightened.

He must have realized the effect that this had on me and his face slackened as he saw the look on my face. He reached out his hand to me, "Charlie, I'm so sorry—"

"It's none of my concern." I repeated with vitriol, his own words ravaging him as much as they did me.

With that, I threw my books onto the floor with a deafening crash and started to run away when my left leg buckled under me, causing me to trip and fall. From behind me, I heard the footsteps of my father trying to approach me, to help me up as he always did. Not this time. I quickly stood up on my own and continued running despite the throbbing pain in my knee. He obviously did not need my concern and I did not need his.

By the following Friday, Dad and I were speaking once again but a straining point had reared its ugly head and there was a sense of hesitance that I was now aware of whenever we had some sort of conversation. Once again, I had accompanied my Dad to his Friday lectures and was about to take my seat near the front when I felt a hand tug at my elbow. I whirled around and it was Aidan.

"Hello, Aidan." I greeted him. "Would you kindly let go of my arm?"

"So you and Holmes…" Aidan said with a half-hearted smile.

"What about Holmes and me?" I said as I started to walk to my seat again.

"I was supposed to escort you, Charlotte." He said vehemently.

I turned around and looked at him closely…actually smelled him really. It seemed like he had a couple of pints before lecture today.

"Aidan, you are drunk. Please talk to me when you're sober."

Aidan was about to say something else when he saw Dad began to pour himself a glass of water. He rushed over to an available seat as Dad drunk from the glass while I rushed to mine. On my way towards my seat, I passed by Holmes who gave me nothing more than a passing glance. As I sat down, Dad cleared his throat and began to lecture to his students.

After a series of questions concerning a range of topics from the ancient civilizations of Egypt to the current state of affairs under Victoria Regina, class ended where Dad gathered up his various papers and I picked up my walking stick—the one that Holmes gave me—and began to walk out with the other students.

"Charlie, dear, where are you off to?" Dad called after me as he began to dust the erasers.

"I just need some fresh air so I'm off for a walk on the grounds." I said as I exited the hall. Whether or not he said anything else I did not know for I was already outside.

Next to the door, Holmes stood leaning his slender frame against the wall. Without a single word exchanged between us, we began to walk down the hall at a reasonable distance between us so as no one could suspect anything between us.

"Quite a practical gift you gave me, Holmes." I said after some distance.

"Glad that you like it," he replied lightly. "Now, Miss Andrewes, shall we continue our conversation from the last time?"

"How did you know of my intentions?" I asked as my walking stick clacked along the stone.

"A young lady would typically put all her attentions into finding a young man to settle down and marry. That would include going to several dances or balls, dressing themselves in the finest attire, and all those typically feminine activities. Those are generally activities that would take up a majority of one's time. You, on the other hand," he stopped walking and turned to me. "You, on the other hand, seem absolutely unconcerned with the hoopla."

"That is true," I answered humorously for it was quite true. I could not imagine myself chasing after any boys. "You forgot to mention the fact that there are few men out there that want a woman who is not even in her twenties and already using a cane."

He did not say anything to that statement but instead said, "Polio is not a hereditary condition."

"I know and neither am I contagious but still..." I cleared my throat and changed the subject. "Besides, I don't want to be a lightning rod for pity and there's just too much compromise when it comes to marriage. Particularly on the woman's part," I added. "I'm far too independent for my own good. That would be my father's fault. He spoiled me with knowledge, not a good thing for a woman in this era."

He nodded his head once and then pressed onto another subject. "Miss Andrewes, what do you think of the suggestion I placed to you this week?"

"I am still not sure about it, Holmes." I replied truthfully.

I am sure that Holmes would have given me another argument as to why his idea was right when he was abruptly interrupted.

"Holmes!"

We both turned and saw Aidan approaching us, looking extraordinarily disheveled with his untucked shirt, loose tie, and messy hair. He stood in front of Holmes, who was taller than him. It was not much of an intimidating gesture but it was clear that he had business with Holmes.

"I challenge you to a duel, Holmes." He whispered dangerously. Holmes looked entirely unconcerned.

"Whatever for?" I asked though I already knew the answer.

"He knew that I already had feelings for you but he went ahead and stole your heart." He said without even looking in my direction, his blue eyes locked on cold grey ones.

I could not help but snort at Aidan's words.

"Do not snort, Miss Andrewes, it is unbecoming of you." Holmes said then added in a clear voice, "Very well and if we are to follow the code duello, as the challenger I shall choose the weapons. Let us use foils, Keating, to settle our score."

"Very well, then. I shall meet you within the half hour then, Holmes." And with that, Aidan stalked away leaving Holmes slightly amused and I in an apoplectic state.

"Holmes!" I spluttered indignantly. "This is degrading! I do not want you and Aidan to fight over me."

"Oh nonsense," Holmes retorted at my annoyance. "After all, do not all young women want men to fight over them?" My silence and burning green stare said no. He understood. "Obviously not. Let us view it from this perspective, I am protecting your honor and mine by dueling with him. Or have you not heard of chivalry?"

Holmes had started walking at a brisk pace, leaving me to nearly run to catch up as my walking stick clacked furiously with each and every step. "While admirable, chivalry is obsolete in my understanding. It dates from the medieval period. Do you know what else comes from that time period? The rack, thumbscrews, the Catherine wheel…happen to ring a bell?"

He chuckled at my seething nature and began walking at an even faster pace. "You forget that I am quite capable with the foils. It shall be over quickly."

I sighed, wanting to thump him over the head with his gift. I picked up my skirts and ran to catch up with his large strides. We arrived at the abandoned classroom where Aidan and I had first seen Holmes fence (also where I had the weary revelation of Aidan's unwanted attentions). Holmes began to suit up while Aidan was already dressed in the white uniform and was practicing with foil in hand.

"Would you mind helping me get into this? I could never seem to get the back." Holmes asked with his back turned towards me. Grumbling over this annoying event, I resignedly buttoned up the back of the uniform as Holmes glanced back cautiously as I did so. I smoothed it out after I had finished. Holmes picked up his own foil and began warming up.

Meanwhile, word had spread surprisingly fast about this impromptu duel much to my chagrin as several groups of students began to gather around to watch this honorable situation. One of my dear friends Katherine from St. Hilda's was among the students who immediately plopped herself right next to me.

"So what's this I hear about a duel?" She asked in that lovely musical tone of hers.

"Oh, Katie, these boys felt that they just needed to fight and they are making idiots out of themselves in the process." I said.

Katie's hazel eyes scanned the two fellows quickly before turning to me. "Aidan Keating, from what I heard, fancies you while Sherlock Holmes…did he not escort you to your birthday party?" When I did not answer, she began to laugh. "Oh dear, Charlotte, they are fighting over you, aren't they?"

"Oh hush, Katie." I mumbled while my scarlet complexion gave everything away. She laughed a little bit more at my expense and then quieted down as one of the older students began to speak.

Essentially, he laid out the rules and managed over the duel itself, he being the third party and all. He ordered the competitors to shake hands and they did. Aidan looked as though he were attempting to crush Holmes' hand though whether he succeeded or not, I could not tell for his face was unreadable. They retreated to their sides and placed the mask over their faces. They then saluted each other and with the call, "Fence!", the boys went and did so.

Despite Aidan's apparent drunkenness when I had spoken to him before, it appeared that he was quite capable with the foil as he managed to parry much of Holmes' advances and lunges. Yet that was all Aidan could do: parry. Holmes was much quicker and more experienced that Aidan. The foil seemed like a fluid extension as Holmes fenced with relative ease. As for Aidan, one can only defend themselves for so long and it was soon clear that Holmes would have the upper-hand.

Yet on my part, I admire fencing and watching those with relative skill but I do not appreciate being cast as some sort of prize that one of these men will win if they triumph over them. I needed to put a stop to this and found my opportunity when the student mediator became distracted by the attentions of a pretty young thing. Aidan was directly in front of me, not watching his feet, and from his movements he still had traces of alcohol in his system. Surreptitiously, I laid my walking stick in front of his feet and soon enough, Aidan tripped over the staff and fell on his back.

The audience of students was in an uproar over the sudden turn in events. The student mediator wrenched his attentions away from his perspective paramour and went to check on Aidan while Holmes unmasked himself giving me an odd yet unreadable look. When it was clear that Aidan was out and Holmes was the winner, I walked out of the classroom but was stopped soon enough.

"Why did you trip him?" Holmes inquired more out of curiosity rather than the anger I would have predicted.

"Firstly, he was drunk. I could practically smell the alcohol coming out of his pores. Secondly, I told you that I do not want to be fought over and I found the best solution for both of you." I explained as I lifted up my walking stick and looked at it admiringly. "You know, sometimes there is an advantage to being a cripple."

Holmes wiped off the sweat from his brow. "Well, Miss Andrewes, I have an appointment with my don. Impatient fellow so I mustn't be late."

He had turned his back and began to walk away when I called out to him. He turned back around and I quickly ran towards him.

"I believe that there is a certain question you need to ask my parents. This will be strictly professional and out of our own convenience, correct?" I said as I extended my hand.

"Nothing more and nothing less, my dear Miss Andrewes," he said accepting my hand and shaking it.

"Oh, and Holmes?"

"Yes?"

"Don't belittle me."

"Only when the situation calls for it, Miss Andrewes."

Later that night, I passed by my father's study before going to bed. The door was closed yet I could see from the crack below that the lamps were on and he was obviously working. The subject of his work I did not know and doubted that he would ever tell me. Ordinarily and at any other time, I would barge in and greet him warmly but that now familiar feeling of hesitancy struck me as I raised my fist to knock on the door. Against my wishes, the wood beneath me squeaked and made my presences known.

"Charlotte?" Dad called from inside.

Hesitance still filled me and while I wanted to spend time with him, I was frustrated at his surreptitious nature.

Deciding against it, I sighed and decided to go to bed.

Oh, I wish he would trust me and tell me.

If only he had.