A/N: Uhhm... hello.

I er... feel a bit sheepish. IT'S BEEN TWO LONG YEARS, but I am still alive, still baking cakes, and most importantly, still obsessed with finishing this story. I HAVEN'T ABANDONED YOU.

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank everybody for their wonderful, beautiful comments during my hideously long absence. I was actually very touched by everybody's concern and enthusiasm, and the private messages I received made me smile and regain the love I had/have for these characters. I will finish this story within the year, you have my word. There's lots more to come.

I'm not even going to make excuses as to why I haven't updated in so long. I'm living in Japan at the moment and it's all very stressful BUT, writing this is a lovely break from the surreality of this country, so not to worry.

This chapter. Well. Over the last 2 years it has been constantly changing. It's contained gunfights, trysts in an art studio, hiding behind potted plants, being locked in cupboards - IN OTHER WORDS IT'S CONTAINED EVERY SINGLE POSSIBLE THING. But I've sorted it now. I am happy. It doesn't contain any of those anymore, sorry. I'll tell you what it does contain though... INFORMATION. I'm sort of dumping it on all of you unceremoniously, but it needs to be said before I can continue with the best bits. YES THERE ARE BETTER BITS TO COME.

Right, here we go, 2 years in the making... Suitor, Chapter 8. (In reality, it's chapter 8.6. Yes, it is the 6th version, made up of 13,000 lovingly typed words.)

Enjoy!


"God gave us memory so that we may have roses in December" - James M Barrie

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-8-8-8-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"You must leave this place." A tall, red-haired woman known as Henry (supposedly short for Henrietta, though nobody really knew) had whispered, "If you don't leave now you'll come to 'er end, cherub." The woman glanced in the direction of the bed. Hitomi could not bring herself to do the same. She stared at the dirty floor, stunned. Speechless. Her mother was still alive in her own mind, still breathing. Not silent atop a pile of dirty sheets and linen with a motionless infant placed in her cold arms. She would never be that. Lifeless. Dead.

"Darlin' listen to me." Henry's voice barely permeated her senses, "If they find her dead and you still 'ere, you're in big trouble. Understand?"

It was true, she would never be able to work her way out of poverty at 7 years old, and the sooner they knew that, god knows what they'd make her do. She'd heard horror stories of children being worked to death in factories. That is, if they weren't beaten to death instead. Or starved. Slowly, she nodded. At the assent, Henry continued.

"Well we've got a plan, see. We, that is the other ladies and I, have agreed. We'll make a distraction so as you can escape this shit 'ole." She swore unapologetically, not that Hitomi cared, "We told your mum we would do all we could to 'elp you. Well, this is the best thing we could ever do for you, sweet."

After beholding Hitomi's vacant expression, Henry sighed, crouching down so that their faces were level, trying to smile encouragingly though she was missing several teeth. "You know cherub, your mother told me to tell you that... when she... " She stared intently at her for a moment. Then she swallowed, sighed, and started over. Even a child knew that not all things could be sugar-coated.

"She told me to tell you, chick, that if she were to pass away this very night, she wanted you to 'ave this." Henry brought out a dirty-looking envelope from her skirt pocket. Hitomi regarded it in awe. "'Ere, take it, s'yours."

She took it gently, the last piece of her mother she would ever hold. She turned it over in her hands, noting the scribbles on the back and the weight inside.

"She said 'er necklace was in there, you know, the red one she 'id from them nasty blokes. An' then there's an address she said, though both of us not knowin' 'ow to read won't—"

"Lord Edward Farquar. 27 Grosvenor Gardens." Hitomi read smoothly, to the astonishment of the other women. Her mother had taught her how to read by the time she was four. She'd practically devoured every book they'd come across when they'd been travelling, so much so that her mother had often plucked volumes out of her fingers after realising that her five year old was rather too young to be studying the works of the Marquis de Sade.

"'Ere now, how'd you manage that then?" Henry grinned, "Very posh. You'll go far, you will. With words like that you can marry a bloody Earl."

Thereafter, Hitomi could not remember much. They had pushed her towards a poorly-guarded single door to the outside, hiding just out of sight. Henry had simply whispered in her ear: "Find him, that Farky bloke or whatever he calls 'imself. Tell 'im your mother was Erena Kanzaki, then show 'im the necklace, love. He'll take care of you, and if 'e don't then 'e'll answer to me." She glanced sideways toward the door before adding, "Oh, and darlin', 'appy birfday."

Henry cracked another toothless grin, somewhat reassuringly. Then, after clearing her throat and taking a sobering breath, without further ado she belted out a shrill, distressed cry of:

"GERROF ME YOU SLAG—OOF! ME LEG, ME LEG!"

Hitomi had only blinked in confusion as the woman had theatrically thrown herself to the ground, fighting a curiously invisible foe with bewildering enthusiasm. Fortunately, the other ladies joined in shortly afterward, and the enormous ruckus spurred her into action, towards a door that was miraculously unlocked. She burst through it, glancing back long enough only to see Henry, already pinned to the ground by an irate guard, wink at her.

And so began her escape. However, it was not clear what she seemed to be running from, nor who she seemed to be running to. At the time she'd had no idea of anything. No idea that Edward Farquar was her father, let alone that she was the result of an illicit love affair between a gypsy and a member of the aristocracy.

All she knew was that she no longer had a roof over her head. And as she ran from the shouting and screaming behind her, ran out into the deserted black streets, she'd had no idea where she would go from there, what she would do, how she would live. The weight of the envelope in her pocket was enough to drag her down to depths she'd never known existed. Her mother was dead. The ladies at the poorhouse didn't want her to suffer the same fate, but a life on the streets would surely see her back there soon enough.

There was no hope.

Thunder crashed in the air around her, lightning streaking through the sky as the rain fell in torrents, coating the streets in shimmering darkness. There was no moon that night, or at least she never saw it. The very essence of light had vanished from her little life, and—

"Happy Birthday!"

A chorus of bewilderingly cheery voices cut through Hitomi's melancholic reverie like a sharpened blade. She opened the kitchen door fully to reveal ten beaming faces looking up at her from the large wooden work table, hands and arms and various utensils gesturing to a small cake resting there with one enormous candle stuck in its soft centre. The house staff had obviously baked it that morning in order to surprise her before breakfast.

Hitomi did her very best to smile. She hated birthdays.

"Oh, everyone this is..."

Entirely unnecessary.

"...wonderful." She finished, as enthusiastically as she was able. The staff began clapping as she approached the table, where a knife was laid out so she could cut the cake into slices.

Kate, the Rogers' cook and a mother of sorts to most of the house staff, gave her a generous pat on the back, practically winding her due to the woman's large frame.

"I found a special recipe, love. One that uses fresh strawberries, your favourite!" She grinned, proudly.

Some of Hitomi's reluctance to enjoy herself seeped out at the kind words.

"Thank you, Kate." She said, honestly grateful for the gesture. "But really, you didn't have to—"

"Now, now." The portly cook held a hand up to silence her, "I'll have none of that. We've all noticed how miserable you've been lately, and it was the least we could do, pet." She smiled maternally down at her before turning to the rest of the staff and shouting, "Now to you slaves, who wants the first slice, eh?"

Everyone shouted joyfully. Hitomi smiled in spite of her bad mood. There was seldom such gladness in the household; it was a hard life for a servant. Constantly cleaning, running errands, changing coals, washing, scrubbing – there usually wasn't a minute in the day for such frivolities. Hitomi considered herself extremely lucky to be a governess; she may have been in the Rogers' employ, but she was not remotely expected to do half as much work as Kate and the others. She felt honoured to have brought them these few minutes of delight.

It was simply a pity she could not experience the same happiness. Kate had been spot on; she had been downright miserable of late.

For over a month now, she had felt as if something inside her had slipped away, or perhaps curled up into a tight ball which she alone could not unfurl. Today it was worse than usual, although she attributed that to the fact it was both her twenty-seventh birthday and the twentieth anniversary of her mother's untimely death. It was also, of course, the anniversary of the first time she had met her father. Needless to say, the day did not bring with it much cause for celebration...

She had found it. By some miracle, she had found it.

27 Grosvenor Gardens.

She was shivering from the cold and rain in the dimness of mid-afternoon, and she had been searching fruitlessly since the early hours of the morning to find the correct road. She had tried to ask passers-by, but they had assumed her a street urchin and had refused to help. All but one. One, rather portly, woman in early middle age.

Hitomi, exhausted, had tugged upon the lady's coat as she and another woman had waited to cross a busy road. The chubby woman had looked down, eyebrows raised in question at the little girl in dirty rags. At first, it seemed she would bat Hitomi's small hand away and shuffle off in the opposite direction. However, their eyes met, overwhelming hopelessness drowning the little girl's gaze. The woman seemed to re-consider. Her friend looked on in horror as she bent down slightly.

"I, er…" She cleared her throat delicately, "Hello there. Are you… are you quite alright, child?"

Hitomi's heart leapt. She had expected the same disdain and haughty superiority of every other toff she had asked. But perhaps this woman would actually listen. Perhaps she would help. She swallowed hard and tried to remember what her mother had taught her about talking to a new acquaintance. Standing up as straight as she could manage, she looked directly into the woman's eyes and said slowly and clearly, in her best accent:

"I am awfully sorry to trouble you, Miss, but I am quite lost."

The woman blinked.

Then smiled gloriously.

"Yes, I had rather thought that to be the case, dear." She laughed, glancing up at her friend, who was warily regarding the exchange. The smiling woman simply ignored the other lady's distaste, and took Hitomi's grimy hand without a second thought.

"How can I help you, darling? Where do you need to go?"

Hitomi swallowed, noticing how very small her hand looked inside the older woman's.

"G-Grosvenor Gardens." She pronounced the silent 's' as a 'z'.

The woman smiled again.

"Ah, grumpy Grosvenor Gardens." She repeated, correcting the young girl's pronunciation. "The most frightfully dull people live there, child, are you sure you want to go?"

What a strange thing to ask, Hitomi thought.

"Y-Yes please."

The woman sighed. "Alright then dear, well you'll be pleased to know that it lies just behind that road there." Hitomi regarded the place where her chubby fingers pointed, nodding that she'd understood.

The kind lady watched her for a moment. Then, smiling once more, squeezed Hitomi's hands comfortingly before saying, "I wish you luck with all my heart, child. I hope you find whatever it is you're looking for." She winked before adding, "If it's buried treasure then I should like some, too."

Hitomi giggled, causing the older woman to beam at her before nodding her goodbye. And as the two women finally did cross the road, she heard the disapproving one mutter something which made the chubby lady burst into laughter.

"Oh, Liddy, you really are stark raving mad."

Hitomi made a mental note to thank her one day, if she ever had the chance. However, as she stood in front of the enormous black door of number 27, Grosvenor Gardens, all thoughts of thanks fled her mind. Only terror shot through her in seemingly tireless waves. She clutched the envelope so tightly in her pocket that she thought it might rip. Lord Edward Farquar. She had to see Lord Edward Farquar.

Her tiny hand reached for the brass knocker. She rapped it three times, nausea swimming through her innards with frightening intensity. Almost immediately the door was opened. An ageing woman appeared momentarily, but before Hitomi could even open her mouth to speak, she heard the words, "No beggars", followed by the sound of the door slamming in her face. She swallowed. Blinked. Then, biting her lip, she simply knocked again.

The same woman appeared. She tutted impatiently at the familiar sight of the dirty little girl.

"Be off with you!" She gestured as she would to a misbehaving cat, "Go on, off with you—"

"L-Lord Edward F-F-Farquar."

Hitomi's interruption caused the woman to trip over her own words slightly.

"I— Yes, this is Lord Farquar's residence, but that is of no concern to beggars like—"

Hope sprung into her heart. She had found Lord Farquar, whoever he was. She removed the envelope from her pocket and showed the address to the house-mistress.

"P-Please can I see Lord Edward F—"

"Go back to your mother, child! Go back home! Lord Farquar does not welcome beggars!" The old woman shouted again, before slamming the door for a second time.

"B-But…" Hitomi objected to nobody in particular. It started to rain again. Fortunately the door frame allowed a degree of shelter. Hugging herself tightly, determined to honour her mother's final wishes, she knocked upon the door again.

There was no answer from within. She knocked again. Still, no answer. Passers-by on the street shot her withering glances. Not of pity, but of scorn. As if to say, "how dare you pollute our neighbour's doorstep in such a manner". She knocked and knocked again and again for the next half hour, but nobody answered.

She sniffed, not allowing herself to cry. She didn't want to cry. She had no mother to comfort her, no thoughts to raise her spirits. If she started crying now, she would never stop. She knocked for a final time, and when it went, yet again, unanswered, she did the only thing she could think of. She pushed the envelope, her mother's necklace still safe inside, through the letter-box, and waited.

She had never felt quite as alone as she did in the minutes that followed. Without any trace of her mother to hold, without any hope, she was alone. She was quite alone.

She waited for what seemed like hours on that doorstep. She didn't even know what she was waiting for, but she simply sat, silently watching the rain, and she would sit in that very spot until something happened. Until something changed.

And then, finally, something did.

The door opened behind her.

She scrambled up immediately, more awake and alert than she had been in her entire life, ready to face the angry house-mistress once again. Ready to fight. However, it was not the house-mistress who greeted her this time.

"Who are you, child?"

A tall, wiry man with a greying mane of sandy-coloured hair towered over her. His eyes were wild, and he had the look of a man who had just seen a ghost. Hitomi blinked wildly.

"I-I-I… p-please can I see Lord F-F-Farquar?"

"How did you get this necklace?" The man ignored her plea, opening one of his hands to reveal her mother's pendant. Hitomi watched it sway in the air.

"M-My m-m-mother." She stammered, her heart pounding under her ragged dress. The man's eyes widened. Hitomi watched as comprehension seemed to dawn on him. She still had no idea what was going on. "Is Lord F-Farquar—"

"Who is your mother? What is her name?" He asked, frenziedly, though it seemed he expected only one answer.

"E-Erena." Hitomi swallowed, "Erena Kanzaki, Sir, but she…"

is dead. She couldn't quite speak the words aloud. Not yet.

The man didn't even appear to be listening, his gaze frantically searching her face, studying her eyes, her nose, her mouth. It was as if he was looking for something. For traces of something left behind on her very skin. Hitomi swallowed.

"P-Please can I s-s-speak to Lord—"

The man finally came out of his reverie.

"I am Lord Farquar." He barked, before looking down at the pendant in his hand. "And your mother… your mother is… my…" His eyes caught hers again. They were filled with anger and sadness, neither of which she could fully interpret.

Hitomi blinked. Then she smiled, closed her eyes, and released a sigh of relief so profound she felt her energy escape with all the air in her body. She had found him. She had really found him.

She fell into unconsciousness, hope blossoming in her weary, broken heart.

"Hitomi, Miss Rogers is asking for you in the dining room."

The governess blinked wildly, turning to the voice. It was Thomas, the head-footman of the household, holding a rather large piece of cake in his hand. He looked slightly bemused at her preoccupied countenance, but his face soon settled into its usual warm lines. Thomas, though he was often reputed to be rather cheeky with the maids, was a compassionate and generous man, and had always looked out for the governess' wellbeing.

"Thank you, Tom. I will attend her immediately." She flashed him a smile before adding, "Any calling cards this morning?" as she walked past, trying to appear disinterested. Of course, she was interested in one, very finely made calling card in particular.

"The Viscount called for Miss Rogers again." Tom said easily, reaching into the breast pocket of his livery to fetch the card she had hoped for. "This time he requested that Miss Rogers attend the Fanel household."

Hitomi tried to mask her surprised reaction, but before she could even pretend to be nonplussed, the footman pulled from his pocket a card she had never seen before.

"And a Mr Williams dropped by as well." Tom continued, taking a generous bite of cake after handing a plain white card with a black inscription to her. "He said he had urgent business with you and would call back immediately." The footman garbled this out over a mouthful of delicious sponge.

Hitomi blinked, slightly taken aback, and peered down at the mysterious calling card. It read as follows:

~ J.R. Williams ~

Solicitor

"Solicitor?" She mouthed softly, frowning. "But... what the devil would a solicitor want with me?"

Thomas shrugged before handing her the other card. This one, she recognised very well indeed. On the plain ebony background was written only one word in stunning silver calligraphy.

Fanel

She sighed, turning the card over in her hands. He had called almost every day for the past three weeks, and each morning Hitomi would descend the stairs for breakfast hoping he had already left his card in the little silver tray in the front hall. Somehow, just to know that he had been there, even if she hadn't seen him, made her insides coil like a rusted bed-spring; a strained, noticeable, painful tightness in her chest.

But, dear Lord, none of that mattered now. A week after the events of the Fanel houseparty, the Viscount had written a letter to Merle, revealing his desire to court her in a proper fashion, but only with the consent of her chaperone and eventually her parents, and providing she did not attend any parties for the period of their courtship. The latter half of this arrangement was unprecedented as far as Hitomi knew, but most probably put in place to ensure no other potential suitors could take Merle's fancy. Even with this strangely binding agreement, Merle had immediately begged Hitomi to supply her blessing, though the debutante needn't have bothered. The governess had waited for this since the night of the masquerade. She had been ready for it.

And yet, at almost the precise moment she had said given her assent, her heart had thudded to a stop. And it was from this moment that she had felt the aforementioned, peculiar emptiness eat its way inside of her; it was from this moment that she had… lost something. She felt melancholic from when she awoke in the morning to when she went to bed at night, her passion and interest in everything she loved disappearing with every day. Even her favourite books could not possess her for a few, blissful moments.

However, there were precisely two exceptions to her apathy, to the dismal weight she had put upon herself. Shall I tell you, dear reader, what, or rather who, they were?

The first exception was, of course, the man who had caused all this. The man with the dark eyes. Depending on the weather, Merle and the Viscount would sit in the front parlour drinking tea together, or go for long strolls in Hyde Park or perhaps down Regent Street. They would discuss dim, menial things like the weather and glove shopping, or sometimes even talk about the Viscount's château in France. And throughout these tedious excursions and discussions, Hitomi would have to sit, stand and stroll, simply watching. Just watching. But even this gave her comfort for reasons she was not willing to explore. Just being near him gave her chills of joy. And the few times she had noticed him glancing at her from beneath his lashes, her heart had leapt with perplexed elation. Indeed, it was in these moments that she felt her heart beating at all. But then he would look away, and it would stop once more.

It will pass. She told herself, over and over. It must pass.

Any exchanges she herself conducted with Van (always in Merle's presence of course) were short and polite. Their conversations were no longer filled with rage or malicious intent, nor were they filled with humour or any kind of real emotion. They were perfectly nice conversations. Perfectly nice.

Perfectly unbearable.

And she could do nothing about it. Sometimes he smiled with her, once he had laughed at something she'd said about being awful at French. The sound had made her ache. However, these moments were just exceptions in conversations carried out with businesslike efficiency. And that was the way it had to be.

When she caught herself watching his eyes, or the movement of his lips, or remembering the way they had kissed so passionately on the night of the masquerade, she allowed herself to indulge in the images for one, unbearable second...

"...don't make me want it." He whispered, desperately, his mouth achingly close to hers, "For god's sake, don't make me want you more than I already do, because it… sweetheart, we can never do this."

...and then she erased them.

It will pass.

The second of the exceptions (you were promised two), was none other than Charles Aston, or rather, Hitomi's continued correspondence with the introverted heir. Rarely in the physical sense, unless they passed each other by chance on the street during one of Merle's outings with the Viscount. In these cases, they would merely nod and smile to each other before going their separate ways. No, it was not physical, but rather a correspondence of words, letters to be precise, sent several times a week.

At first it had surprised her. Indeed, the first letter she received had been two days after the Fanel houseparty, wishing her well and subtly apologising on behalf of his dark-haired friend for not doing the same, or so she inferred. Following this, as was the norm, she sent a short letter back wishing him good health and so on and so forth, only to receive another letter a day or so later. As time had gone on, their communication had eased away from the social parameters of thanks and good health, progressing instead to questions of philosophy and literature, not to mention the personal thoughts and feelings of both parties. His last letter especially had been unexpectedly honest and open about his past:

"… I've mentioned Lily before, have I not? She was my fiancée several years ago, a childhood sweetheart of sorts, though my love for her was never childlike, nor was it sweet. It was a heavy, painful, wonderful thing. The sort which moves like water, flowing prettily on the surface yet never stopping, never breathing underneath, not for a second. I was consumed by my love for her, and thusly I was consumed by grief upon her untimely death. Since that time I have found no real comfort, nor had I reason to seek it."

What he then went on to say was the most unexpected of all things.

"The ironic part of this is that, in actuality, this comfort I have hidden from has sought me out, regardless of my intent. Excuse my directness, Miss Kanzaki, but your words have given me a sense of peace and contentment I have not felt since Lily died. Although I very much doubt my paltry thoughts and literary opinions have offered you any similar thing, I am grateful of our correspondence. I am grateful of our friendship.

I would very much like to continue these conversations over tea.

Yours ever,

Chid"

Needless to say, she had not yet replied. The abruptly-ended letter had only arrived the previous afternoon, and she had read and re-read it four times before finally accepting that Charles Aston, heir to a dukedom, was inviting her to tea. Of course she could not accept, that would be highly improper, but the very fact he was asking her was… well, it made her stomach do a little flip. To summarise, Hitomi Kanzaki was both utterly confused and utterly flattered. Moreover, she was utterly terrified. What if the viscount had put Chid up to this as a sort of… joke? She didn't even want to think about it.

She said her goodbyes to the staff and to Thomas, before making her way from the kitchen, down the long corridor leading to the front of the house. Upon reaching the dining room, she saw Merle was already seated, picking at a plate of kippers. She looked up as soon as Hitomi entered.

"Oh Hitomi! Has he called today?" She bounced up out of her chair, her red ringlets swaying every which-way. Hitomi went to the side-board, loading her plate up with eggs and bacon. She'd found herself eating more and more lately as a sort of… comfort, asking for seconds at lunch and dinner, taking two cakes instead of one at teatime. Unfortunately, it hadn't made a difference to any part of her lanky frame. She looked down at her bosom, heaving rather noticeably above the neckline of the only dress she had left that would fit over her chest.

Well, apparently it had made a difference to one, or rather two, body parts. How embarrassing.

"Hitomi? Has—"

"Yes, he's called. I believe he expects us over there later this morning."

"There?" Merle repeated, perplexed. "You mean... you mean at his house?"

"Indeed." Hitomi said softly, before taking a seat at one end of the long table. She glanced up at the debutante, who was already grinning from ear to ear, clapping her hands gleefully and jumping up and down on the spot. It was moments like these that very much betrayed her young age.

"Oh! Oh my!" Merle sang, before unexpectedly standing very still, her smile dropping somewhat.

"Wait... what if he intends to speak to me alone?" She spoke in an excited whisper. "What if..." She approached the governess, "What if he intends to propose?"

Hitomi's fork dropped with a clatter on the fine china plate.

"That is quite enough, Merle." She said, brusquely, standing up. "Ladies do not show such volatile emotions at the breakfast table."

The debutante blinked, taken aback.

They shared a pointed glance before Hitomi had the good sense to end the conversation.

"Go and ready yourself. We're leaving in half an hour."

Merle stood still for one moment more before turning her pointed nose in the air and harrumphing, sidling angrily out of the room like the petulant child she was. Hitomi heard a vehement whisper from the girl as she exited.

"I wouldn't expect you to understand."

The governess did her best not take that particular verbal arrow to heart. She sat down once more, picking up her fork, no longer hungry.

"Happy Birthday to me." She mumbled to the bacon and scrambled eggs lying untouched on the plate.

Her thoughts wandered again.

The first thing she realised when she awoke was that she was in a bed. A big, wonderfully comfortable feather bed, the likes of which she had never lay upon before. Next, was that she was dressed in an unfamiliar nightgown, and finally, that she had no idea where she was. Who she was. Lord Farquar was sitting on a chair nearby, her mother's pendant in his palm, staring at it as if it might spontaneously combust. As if it would disappear at any moment. He turned to her when she awoke, his gaze empty and confused.

"…Where is Erena?" He asked, slowly. Hitomi could still not comprehend the pain in his eyes. She swallowed the dryness in her mouth.

"S-She… She's d-d-d… d-d…"

The words refused to fall. She could only shake her head at the question in Lord Farquar's gaze. He turned away. Silence thundered through the room for several minutes. He only stared at the necklace in his hands, his face pale and sombre as the clouds hanging ominously out of view.

"I never told her…" He began, quite suddenly.

But he trailed off. He did not finish.

And then the air around them seemed to snap. In an instant, inside a fraction of a second, something changed within him. Something frighteningly delicate broke in his very soul. Hitomi felt a weighty darkness settle in the room. In her own heart. She saw the light in his eyes die. And the next words she heard from him had haunted her to this day.

"She's been dead to me for seven years."

He turned to her, his gaze harsh. Unforgiving.

"I suppose she wanted me to take you in." He stood and approached the bed, his figure imposing and frightening to her, his voice cold and devoid of compassion. She brought the duvet a little closer to her face, a meagre protection from the onslaught of his words.

"It seems that she expected me to believe I am your… father." He sneered at the sound of his own words, "Well I may be by blood, but not by name and that's what matters in this life. I suppose she had dozens of bastard brats running around the country. Do you have brothers? Sisters?" He demanded roughly. Hitomi shook her head. He stared at her for a moment afterwards, gauging her honesty. Then, quite suddenly, he turned to leave.

"So be it then," He called back to her as he approached the door, "You will remain here, but only as a house-maid. You are not my daughter, I am not your father, and we will never speak of this again." He turned to her briefly. "What is your name?"

She pulled the duvet away from her mouth.

"H-Hitomi." She stammered.

Lord Farquar blinked. Then he shook his head. Without warning, he gave the ceiling a long-suffering glance and muttered:

"I thought we'd agreed we wouldn't name her after your mother."

The ceiling made no reply.

He laughed bitterly before continuing to shout at the inanimate surface. "And I suppose you'll want me to educate her too, you hateful gypsy bluestocking!"

Hitomi was slightly terrified he'd gone quite mad. But he seemed to come to his senses almost immediately.

"Fine." He muttered, quietly. His gaze fell on Hitomi's tiny form once again. "You will have lessons. Secretly. And do not presume to tell any of the other staff who you are."

And that had been that. She'd gone back to sleep, knowing she would awake to a new life. She would be a new person. And she would spend the next twenty years of her life trying to become just that. New.

But she had never been able to sit through a storm without crying out for her mother in fear. Every time thunder crashed or lightning shot through the sky, she would re-live the despair she had felt that fateful night, when she had wandered the dark streets of London, alone. Alone and afraid.

"Happy Birthday" the twenty-seven year old governess repeated to herself, pushing her chair back and standing up.

It was going to be a long day.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-8-8-8-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"If you keep pacing like that you're going to erode the floorboards."

Stefan Philipe Francois de Fanel did not stop pacing. Instead, he chose to completely ignore his friend's plea (a practice not out of the ordinary for the Viscount) and walked a little faster. Chid simply rolled his eyes and looked out of the bay window again.

"Nervous, Fanel?"

"I am not nervous." Van barked, taking a puff off the cigarette dangling from his fingers, "I just hate waiting for women to arrive fashionably sodding late."

"They're not late." Chid muttered, pulling on the chain dangling from inside his coat pocket. A gilded antique pocketwatch fell into his open hand, which he deftly opened. He looked at the time, then closed it again without saying a word and put it back inside his coat. His eyes had barely fallen upon the window again when Van let out a stressed:

"Well?"

Chid only smiled slightly.

"I told you already, they're not late." He repeated, before adding "And Miggins will kill you if she finds out you've been smoking in here."

Mrs Miggins was the Fanel's strong-willed housekeeper. The murderous look in her eye upon finding dirt anywhere inside the house (sometimes outside, too) was enough to scare any man halfway to Scotland.

The Viscount threw his arms in the air in a gesture of aggravation, then stubbed his cigarette out on the side of a Ming vase, which he proceeded to throw the butt into. He knew Chid was probably flinching at his blatant disregard for the priceless relic, but he did not care in the slightest. Damn Chid. And while he was at it, damn Mrs Miggins, too.

Today was the day he would throw away his bachelorhood for good. It was the day he would wave goodbye to gambling and womanising and drinking until the early hours of the morning. Well, supposedly. His future wife, the demure Merle Rogers, would undoubtedly assume these things upon their engagement, though from what he saw on a daily basis, married men of the upper classes rarely stayed faithful to their wives, and they certainly didn't stop drinking, smoking or gambling over inheritances, horses and whores. He supposed nothing much would be different about married-life, apart from the dull conversation and the fact he would have to bed and eventually father a child with the aforementioned Miss Rogers, who was practically a child herself. But at least, he thought, he was not limited to her bed alone, and indeed she was not limited to his. Illicit liaisons were the norm for both the husbands and the wives of the ton. In fact, he had a certain mistress in mind already.

"Is there a reason you asked the governess to come with the girl today?"

Chid's voice permeated his rapidly meandering thoughts. "Mm?"

"Hitomi." The duke's heir repeated, "Is there a reason her presence was required today when it would have been entirely acceptable to speak to the girl alone?"

"Why, my friend, I'm just being thoughtful, as per usual."

Chid raised a brow.

"Moral support." Van grinned before taking another cigarette out of his pocket, "It's for moral support." He took it between his lips, before adding, "For the girl, of course." He attempted to light it with a match, "I'm not nervous. I don't need moral support. You're only here to amuse the governess while I'm talking to Merle." It felt wrong to use her first name. Chid stood up easily from his chair and sauntered over. He took the unlit cigarette from Van's mouth and threw it neatly into the Ming vase which Van had abused earlier.

"You're going to use-up the whole damned shipment if you keep smoking at this rate."

"Bugger off will you."

"Van." Chid's voice held a sudden gravity.

The dark-eyed Viscount rolled his eyes.

"What's your p—"

"I just want you to be sure."

The words hung, heavy in the air. Van knew exactly what they meant. He turned away, to the drinks cabinet, and poured himself out a snifter of brandy. Chid was asking him whether he was making the right decision. Whether resigning himself to a life with Merle Rogers was what he really wanted. Whether it was what he had to do. He was asking whether there was another way. Another choice.

There wasn't.

"I'm sure." Van took a swig of brandy. It felt like fire. He relished it.

Neither moved for a few moments. Then a warm hand fell upon Van's shoulder, a comfort of sorts, and shook it gently. Was it pity? Empathy? What did it matter.

Both men turned at the sound of somebody knocking on the door.

"Enter." Van downed the last of the brandy. Chid made his way back to the armchair by the window.

A footman came in. He snapped down into a bow before addressing his master.

"Announcing the arrival of Lady Rogers, sir, and a Miss Kanzaki. Shall I bring them in, my Lord?"

"Please."

A few seconds later, the first foot over the threshold of the front parlour was that of Merle Rogers, as was the second. The governess followed close behind.

Van could only swallow at the sight of the latter. She looked particularly beautiful today, her hair having grown long enough now to be pulled back into a simple knot. He tried not to focus on the wisps that still fell rebelliously about her eyes.

"Good morning, Ladies." Chid stood up to greet the women, inducing Van to stop staring at the governess and echo his greeting before they both bowed slightly. Merle giggled. Hitomi merely glanced around the room, her eyes widening when they fell upon Chid before quickly darting back to the floor.

"Good morning, Gentlemen." She said quietly, curtseying, and probably would have encouraged Merle to do the same, had the young girl not already bounded over to Van.

"Oh, my Lord!" The debutante exclaimed, beaming from ear to ear, "I could hardly wait to leave the house when I'd heard you'd requested my presence this morning!" She stuck her hand towards him. The Viscount laughed and took it delicately, raising it to his lips and placing a practiced kiss over her knuckles. His eyes darted up to Merle's, wide and innocent, before surreptitiously glimpsing over to where the governess was standing. He had perfected the art of looking at her without anybody else noticing.

Their gazes met for barely a second. She looked casually to the upholstery of a nearby chaise. But a second was all he had needed. The spark, the shiver, the joy that ran through him would last all day.

God, what was happening to him? He'd never had to sneak a glance at anybody. When he wanted something, needed something, he took it, stole it, owned it. He didn't even recognise himself anymore.

"It is always a pleasure to see you, Merle."

He watched as the young girl blushed prettily, before relinquishing her small gloved hand. And as he searched her bright, smiling face for a moment, without warning his mind flashed forward a year, perhaps two, and he wondered whether her face would still be smiling. Whether she would still blush when he took her hand. He wondered, whilst looking at the veritable child in front of him, whether this time next year they would have a screaming child of their own in the nursery upstairs, and whether either of them would want anything to do with it. And, quite unexpectedly, he realised something.

Perhaps this marriage was not only the wrong decision from his point of view, but from hers as well.

His face must have betrayed something of his thoughts, for Merle's smile had lost some of its radiance.

"Are you quite alright, my Lord?"

Of course, the girl would deny having second thoughts of her own if he asked her. And at this late stage, after everything he had given up, was there even any way he could deny her a proposal? Was there any way he could deny his dying father an heir to his legacy?

No. No, there wasn't.

But surely he was entitled to some happiness. To some… recompense.

"…sweetheart, we can never do this…"

"My lord?" Merle prompted for the second time.

Van blinked, fixing his charming smile back in place.

"Pardon me, Miss Rogers, but your beauty rather dazzled me for a moment. Shall I call for tea?"

He tried not to wince at the girl's high-pitched titter.

It was going to be a long day.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-8-8-8-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

They made small talk for almost half an hour once the tea had arrived. Van had talked of his mother coming to town in the next week, Merle had talked of an adorable poodle she had seen the previous afternoon in Hyde Park, and Hitomi and Chid… well, Van had been rather taken aback to see that all they had done was talk to each other. Something inside him had coiled tightly when she had laughed, the sound soft and lovely, at something the blonde-haired lord had said quietly near her ear. And a hot, swift, jolt of jealousy had speared his gut when, a few seconds afterwards she had looked away, smiled… and blushed.

In moments, his thoughts had fled, the conversation around him had faded into silence, and the only sounds in his head were of her. Of her soft sighs, her pleas to him…

"Do you want to kiss me?" The pressure of her mouth over his sent his pulse racing.

His breath caught against hers.

"You know the answer to that."

"—and then I said to Hitomi, 'Why, I have never seen such a poodle'—"

"Then for God's sake… do it. Do it now."

The words haunted him then, just as they had haunted him for the past three weeks. It was unbearable. In his dreams she would whisper such words against his lips, touch his skin with an innocence so charged with unknown wanting that he would wake up sweating, aroused and furious that he had dreamt again of her. Always of her. He had tried everything he could think of to forget her, recalled the passion he had felt with others, remembered the thrill of having a different woman every night. Those were the days, he tried to tell himself. But he didn't believe those words anymore. He had never felt this way about any woman. His body begged for her touch, for release and pleasure and so much more than that… and now…now… watching her laughing, smiling, blushing with another man… it was agonizing. It was… wrong. The thought of a man touching her, just like that bastard Hemington had done, made him blind with white hot fury. He felt the beginnings of something similar begin to smoulder in his gut.

He had to do something.

"Van?"

His head snapped to where the voice had come from. Chid was watching him, a look of concern crossing over his features.

Don't do anything stupid, it seemed to say.

"I was just suggesting that I take Miss Kanzaki for a stroll in the garden…" He sent another meaningful glance towards the Viscount before turning back to the governess and smiling in a way Van had not seen him do in years. Something was definitely not right. "So perhaps you and Miss Rogers can—"

"That won't be necessary, Aston." Van said, crisply, before he could even think about what he was doing, "I would like to speak to Miss Kanzaki myself if I may."

He felt, rather than saw, Hitomi's gaze fall upon him. Felt the surprise and confusion in her eyes. Her voice echoed around the spacious room.

"Well maybe we could all go for a stroll in the garden togeth—"

"Alone." Van interrupted calmly, before turning to Merle, who's joyful countenance had dimmed somewhat.

"There are things," He started, with a forced yet reassuring half-smile, "that we must discuss."

Merle's grin returned.

Charles Aston's did not.

"Excuse my forwardness, Miss Kanzaki, but might I talk with you in private?" Van addressed her directly for the first time in weeks. He was strangely displeased when she did not seem to fluster at all. He had expected her to play with the folds of her dress in her lap, or perhaps for her eyes to dart around the room nervously. He expected her to blush.

"Of course." She said, looking resolutely back into his eyes.

Several moments of silence passed between them. Van utterly forgot the presence of the other two humans in the room. He utterly forgot what it was he'd even asked her.

"Then," Chid's voice permeated his mind once again, "I shall take Miss Rogers out to view the gardens." He stood, lifting his arm to signal Merle should take it, "Shall we?"

The debutante bounced up out of her chair.

"We shall!" She grinned, taking the proffered arm with untempered glee and total ignorance as to why she was doing so. Thankfully, they left the room without another word, though Van saw Charles look back anxiously as they went out the door, obviously wondering whether leaving was an irrevocable mistake. But leave, they did, and soon there was only silence.

When Van finally turned back, he saw the governess looking out of the window, to the street beyond, where carriages passed every few minutes and passers-by strolled along the pavements, oblivious to what was happening within the lavish townhouses so near. The Viscount studied her face briefly, tried to read her eyes, her thoughts. He could see nothing. His own anxiety was blinding him. Christ, what was he even doing? Why had he called her in here?

Just say something.

"You look well." He began, casually, "How have you b—"

"I know what it is you're going to ask me." The governess broke in plainly, before he could finish his paltry line of small talk. Her gaze was firmly fixed upon the window. "But you should know that it is entirely unnecessary, and that I give my permission for you to propose to Merle and consequently consent to anything you may wish to propose thereupon."

Van blinked. Not entirely what he'd been going to ask her but good enough.

"Well…" He began, fairly taken aback. "That is—"

"I have something else to say." She said over him, abruptly. His eyes darted to her hands, to her fingers clasping the fabric of her dress in a way he recognised. She was nervous now. A sense of foreboding settled in the pit of his stomach.

Don't go to her, a voice in his head commanded. Don't go near her. Don't comfort her. Don't touch her.

Avoiding his gaze resolutely, she continued. "Until the wedding…" she paused, "After the wedding… I've been thinking, and I… I think it best that I leave the Rogers' employ."

The words, undisguised, bare, struck him without warning.

"I know what is expected of me, but I hope you understand why I cannot stay on in your household as Merle's ladies maid, I…" She faltered, but was seemingly desperate to finish. Finally, she looked to him, her eyes determined, her voice hushed. "I… hope you understand why I could not do such a thing."

The words cut him, pierced his gut over and over again, until he could only stand there, eyes wide in shock from what he had just heard. He hadn't… he hadn't expected this. He hadn't expected her to leave.

Their gazes locked.

"Why?" Was all he could manage. His heart thudded heavily.

Hitomi frowned.

"You know why." The words were filled with a silent plea. Don't make me say it, they seemed to utter.

Of course he knew why. He knew that if they were in the same house together, day and night for months on end, that something would eventually happen. One of them would break. One of them would refuse to stand it anymore. They may not have talked in three weeks, but the attraction between them was still burning. Unbearably hot and impossible to ignore. As he looked at her now, gazing at him, he could only remember the times he had held her body close, felt the warmth of her skin through nothing but a cotton chemise. His hands physically twitched at the thought of exploring her body fully, of feeling every inch of her. Not being able to speak to her for so long had only made him ache more deeply for her, had made him ache for the taste of her breath, of her lips, of her—

"I will start making arrangements from tomorrow. After everything that's happened I hope you'll agree that this is the best way to say goodbye."

Yet again the words shook him to the core.

"Goodbye?" He found himself repeating. He could barely speak. He didn't understand. "Hitomi, I never intended for you to leave, I—"

"Don't call me that, it's no longer appropriate."

He couldn't help himself, he approached the sofa where she sat, "Hitomi, please—"

"Stop!" She stood up to evade him, walking the other way around the table so they stood opposite each other. The teacups clattered. "Just… stop." She said again, calmer. Clearer. "There's no point in doing this again. I don't know why you asked to see me alone but it was absolutely inappropriate and—"

"I only intended to ask for your consent!" He countered defensively, irritation building up behind his eyes like a bad migraine. "I didn't expect you to start going off on one about running away!"

"Running aw—!" She cut herself off with a sound of indignation, "Well if you only wanted my consent then why couldn't you have asked for it in the company of Merle and Charles!"

Van's eyes narrowed at the sound of Aston's first name.

"Because I thought you'd appreciate the privacy. Christ, I'm only trying to be a bloody gentleman." He gestured to the empty room as if it were an adequate basis for his argument. The line between his brows only furrowed deeper when she guffawed in disbelief. His irritation heightened, his teeth gritted.

"And of course I didn't want to interrupt your little conversation with, what did you call him? Charles." He drawled his friend's name, cruelly, attempting to make the governess feel humiliated. "From the way you were blushing at his every other word, I thought it best to leave you to it."

The governess's mouth popped open to form a small "o", before she hesitated, closed it again, and blushed on cue.

"I— That is… that is none of your business, Lord Aston and I are acquaintances and nothing more."

"Then why in God's name are you calling him Charles when we both know you despise first name terms?"

"Because!" She began with confidence, though faltered somewhat. "Because I… he is a gentleman and has shown me great kindness of late."

The Viscount's eyes widened, white hot jealousy beating hard through his blood. He found he could not control the darkening of his gaze. Or of his words.

"Great kindness." He repeated, his voice dry. "How exceedingly generous of him."

Tension wafted through the room. Tight. Hot.

Unable to ignore the sudden hostility exuding from the man opposite her, Hitomi's lips parted once again as if to say something, as if to defend herself. But she appeared utterly lost for words. Eventually she just sighed and brushed down her skirts.

"I don't know why we're discussing this; I'm ringing the bell pull." She took several steps away from the table, swiftly approaching the corner of the room, next to the door, where a thick chord hung from the ceiling, attached to the bells in the kitchen where the servants awaited instruction. "You shouldn't have called me here. I can only hope that we can forget this and—"

Without considering the consequences of his actions, Van strode briskly across the room behind her, catching her wrist as she reached for the bell pull and hauling her back firmly. She made a noise of surprise, but didn't struggle as he set her in front of him effortlessly, so they were face to face. It was only then he fully comprehended what he had done. She stood, barely a nose-length away from him, her body practically running along his; his hand still gripped her wrist, holding it at shoulder level next to them. His senses caught, just barely, the scent of her skin. She was breathing slightly erratically from all but running across the room away from him, and his eyes couldn't help but dart down to her somewhat heaving décolletage. He looked back up to her eyes immediately, but cursed as he felt the inevitable tightness take his body, and heat suffuse his blood. She looked down, away from him.

It's just like the night of the masquerade, he realised. The thought made him heat all the more.

Slowly, he let their hands drop but did not let go. Sparks suffused the skin where he touched her.

"Sorry." He breathed. "I just need you to listen for a moment, I—"

"Please let go of me."

"Hitomi—"

Her eyes rose up to hold his. "Let. Go."

He challenged her silently for a moment, but obeyed, surprised to find she did not move back upon his doing so.

"You have thirty seconds." She said, plainly. "Then I'm leaving. Or screaming until somebody comes here. Understood?"

He fought the urge to smile at her practiced 'school mistress' tone.

"Understood." He replied.

He searched her eyes for a sign to start. He found them perfectly blank.

"I…" He began anyway, hesitantly, nervous for the first time in… well, years. He was definitely regretting pulling her so close. His mind was filled with only one instruction: kiss her. For god's sake kiss her. He didn't.

"I'm sorry for shouting, I didn't intend to." He paused. "I had only… I had hoped, since the masquerade, that your hatred of me had eased. I had hoped, like a fool, that you'd forgiven me for everything." His hands twitched at his sides, desperate to run the length of her arms, tuck the stray wisps of hair behind her ears. "But if you haven't," He continued, noticing her eyes soften under his gaze, "Then I can only apologise once more for everything that's happened between us, for every time I have wronged you, and for every time I have wronged Merle. She is lucky to have such a loyal and caring companion."

Hitomi watched him, her gaze exploring his face. When she seemingly realised he was being sincere, she exhaled unsteadily before looking away again, and saying a quiet, "Thank you."

The movement of her lips, so close, ruined everything. He felt himself lean in fractionally closer to her.

Kiss her.

"Is that all you have to say?" She asked, still not meeting his gaze.

Perhaps she hoped it wasn't.

"Don't go."

Her eyes came up to meet his at that moment, full of sadness, full of… pain.

"I have no choice."

He watched her, silently.

"There is always a choice, Hitomi."

"No, no there isn't." She batted his feelings aside relentlessly, dodging his probing gaze once more, looking round the room helplessly. "Please don't make me scream for the servants, I really can't do this—"

"Listen." He took her face in his hands gently, but with a desperation he could not hold back. She froze and closed her eyes, clearly refusing to acknowledge his words.

"Don't look at me." She breathed.

He had been thinking about what he was about to say for weeks now. Weeks. Despite the fact he had denied her on the night of the masquerade, he had been… reconsidering. Wondering. They could be together, he thought. They could have something, if it were only in secret. But secret was enough, it had to be. If she stayed on in the house, he could make her his mistress. He could see her every day. And every night. They could have something.

"I am looking at you. I've been looking at you every single day for the past three weeks. For months now, I have been looking at you. I can't help myself. Every time I was with Merle, I ached for you to walk with us, sit with us. I ached to look at you. Ached to watch you."

"No—"

"And I know you watched me, too. I know you did."

"I didn't, I—"

"After the night of the masquerade I thought we could put everything behind us. But I can't. I can't…" His thumb caressed her cheek. A frisson of pleasure ran through him when he felt her shiver. "I can't… forget the way you taste. Or the way your skin feels. Or the way… the way you make me feel alive. I can't ignore the fact that I want you more than anything I have ever wanted in my life. Cannot stand the thought of another man touching you or making you blush. I can't stop thinking, dreaming about having you beneath me, pleasuring you until you beg me to stop."

"No—" Her breaths were coming light and fast. His, too, were becoming erratic.

He moved his lips to her ear.

"Just now, you asked me not to make you scream," Sinful images filled his mind, of teasing her, of drinking in each breathless sigh as if it were the sweetest honey.

"But darling… making you scream is all I can think about."

The governess let out an almost imperceptible gasp. Her body swayed slightly into his. Jesus, he was fast losing what little self-restraint he had. What was he doing?

"Stay." He breathed.

Her eyes remained closed.

"I thought we put this behind us."

Van was staring at her lips, desperately trying to quell the hunger inside him.

"Christ, I want you." He said without even meaning to. He felt her body shake once more. His mouth hovered millimetres from hers. "Give me a reason… one reason why we shouldn't try."

"After everything you said—"

"Forget what I said. I was wrong. We… We'll have a place in the house just for us. A secret, away from the rest of the world." So close to her lips now. "Merle will never know."

Unfortunately, he did not realise that the last four words he had uttered would have quite such a negative effect upon the Governess. He did not realise, as he closed his eyes to finally kiss her, that hers would open, her mind would awaken from its sensual slumber, and her hand would rise from her side, draw back in the air and—

SLAP

He staggered backwards in shock, his right cheek burning red from the violent smack of her hand. Hitomi was breathing heavily, no longer from arousal, but from pure, sheer anger.

"What the bloody hell was that for?"

"You just can't help yourself, can you!" She shouted over him.

"Hitomi—"

"You are finally five minutes away from proposing to my charge, with my permission no less, and then you ask me to be your mistress? How many times do I have to tell you that I am not your toy!" She gestured, wildly. "See this, this is exactly why I'm leaving!"

"I am not treating you like a toy, I'm treating you like a damned grown woman!" He countered, straightening. He was furious, humiliated.

"You're treating me like a whore!"

He recoiled as if she had slapped him again. His face darkened.

"A whore? Oh really?" He approached her, large, intimidating, "And are you saying that on the night of the masquerade when you were begging me to take you then and there, or just now when you were arching into my body, you didn't react to me like one?"

Her jaw dropped.

"I-I-…"

"Or are you just bitter I denied you that night?" He continued, relentlessly, "Because sweetheart, if I'd really treated you like a whore, if I'd had you, taken you over and over again in the firelight until you'd cried out my name, filled you, fucked you…" His eyes were black. Lethal. "Perhaps then you would not be refusing me."

Hitomi only stared back, silent, stunned. A few seconds later, she found her voice.

"How dare you."

"How dare I? How dare you!" He retorted instantly. "Three weeks ago you danced with me, you kissed me, you thanked me for saving your life, not to mention your dignity, and now—!" He threw his arms up in the air in a gesture of aggravation, "Now you slap me and call me a cad for telling you I want you to stay?"

"I do not owe you anything." She said, her teeth gritted.

"Of course you don't!" He agreed, simply, "You don't owe me anything. Not a damned thing. But I'm putting myself on the line here, and you owe it to yourself to take a bloody chance. You owe it to yourself to give into your desires, for once in your life!"

The governess only blinked in reaction.

After a moment, the Viscount shook his head almost imperceptibly.

"I'm through with playing games, Hitomi. I'm done." His eyes held her, didn't let her go. "Make. Your. Choice."

A carriage rattled past the window. The clattering of horses hooves broke the taut, deathly silence. Neither spoke. The stare between them was unblinking, unflinching, intense and furious. So fraught with emotion, they knew, because this really was the last chance they had. The decision she made at this moment would be final. It would be the end. He would stop chasing, stop asking, stop wanting. She could end it all.

Or she could take a chance.

The moment tipped…

"I wish you and Merle happiness with all my heart."

…. and vanished.

She left the room without another word.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-8-8-8-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

As Hitomi closed the door behind her, she fought the urge to collapse to the floor. An almost unbearable wave of exhaustion swept over her, as if she had run a hundred miles. The last ten minutes had been as surreal and arduous to her as the first time they had met.

His words stayed with her even now, making her body warm, her belly tighten.

"…pleasuring you until you beg me to stop…"

For a few moments she had been lost in his voice, lost in the sensual promises he had whispered to her lips. She'd had no doubt… no doubt that he would act on them. The thought of being so close, so impossibly close to him, was both utterly terrifying and absolutely wonderful. Indescribable. She had never been with a man, never experienced any of the acts he had so willingly described. But she was fascinated by how easily he had conjured images in her mind; images that made her breath catch, that made sensation spear the most intimate parts of her body.

But then he had mentioned Merle, and suddenly the promises had crumbled into dust, the words had rotted away.

He's going to marry Merle.

Finally, it was happening. It was really happening. He was going to marry Merle.

He was going to kiss her, father children with her. Lie with her. Lie to her. The thought of him touching her caused a dull pain to grip Hitomi's heart. She had made the right choice. She could never be his mistress. She had already withheld the truth from Merle for months now; it was time to stop lying. It was time to stop. It was over. She would leave as soon as possible.

She almost jumped out of her skin when a footman appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and bowed sharply to her. She dipped her head in automatic response, wide eyed.

"Miss Kanzaki, a Mr Williams is waiting for you in the blue parlour. He offers his apologies for seeking you out here, but it appears he has urgent business that cannot wait. Will you follow me please?"

Hitomi's stomach dropped, her heart thudding to a stop. It was the solicitor. She had completely forgotten about the calling card he'd left in the front hall this morning. Icy dread took her veins. Solicitors were notorious for never bringing good news. Not in London, where death, debt and damning gossip were understood to be daily perils. It was only a matter of time before one of them (often all of them) found its way to your doorstep, or in this case, the nearest parlour.

"O-Of course." The governess followed him, racking her brains for who on earth she knew in London that could be in trouble, besides Liddy. She prayed her friend was safe. Perhaps it was Merle's parents. Dear lord, she prayed everyone was safe.

The footman led her down the short corridor to a back parlour, opening the door and gesturing for her to enter. Hitomi curtseyed her thanks before going in.

The first thing she saw, other than the bright blue walls and azure upholstery on all of the furniture, was an enormous stack of papers on the low table in the centre of the room. Behind this towering pile stood a rather short bald man with small eyes, half-moon spectacles and an impressively thick, greying handlebar moustache. The governess, slightly taken aback, could not help but liken this strange man to… well, a mole. It was probably not an inaccurate description of most solicitors, sitting day after day in an office somewhere, burrowed deep in paperwork and books.

He bowed.

"Miss Kanzaki?" He asked once he'd straightened.

Hitomi nodded before curtseying in response.

"Jonathan Richard Williams, at your service. I am sorry to trouble you like this when you are clearly in the middle of a visitation, however I have urgent matters I must discuss with you."

Mr Williams gestured for her to sit down.

Hitomi moved to the chaise longue wordlessly, tucking her skirts under her before she sat, a sense of foreboding gnawing its way into her gut. She stared at the tea-set laid out on the table, watching the steam rising from the spout of the pot.

This all feels rather surreal.

The solicitor took her silence as a sign to continue, sitting down opposite her before removing a white handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his sweating forehead. "Tea?" He asked, following the line of her gaze, before returning the handkerchief to his its rightful place.

"No, thank you."

He smiled briefly.

"Very well." He cleared his throat. "In that case, may I ask, before we begin, for you to please state the name of your Father?"

"My Father?"

"If you please."

The governess swallowed, wondering what on earth her Father had to do with anything. Normally she wouldn't divulge his name to anybody, but since this solicitor clearly had some business with her, it became apparent that she hadn't a choice.

"Farquar. Lord Edward Farquar."

Mr Williams nodded, "Thank you. It is just a formality that I ask you, however one must be certain of these things."

"What things?"

She watched as the mole-man slowly removed his glasses. His eyes seemed even smaller.

"Miss Kanzaki." His tone betrayed a gravity she had not experienced personally for many years. Twenty years, to be exact.

"I am sorry to be the bearer of such grave news. I am afraid Lord Farquar passed away last night..."

Her mind froze. Her breath stopped. She saw the solicitor's mouth moving. Words. He was saying words. And yet she heard nothing. She blinked. Focused.

"…several weeks of suffering. You have my utmost condolences."

"Suffering?" She caught only the one word.

Mr Williams replaced his glasses, as if he were aware of a set pattern to their meeting. Hitomi supposed he must have done this many times before. Indeed, he seemed rather… practiced.

"Yes, my Lady." He nodded. The title bewildered her. "He took ill last month. It was thought to be consumption, though the doctors could do nothing. It took him very quickly. More quickly than most, I heard."

Hitomi swallowed.

"I… see."

She wasn't surprised she hadn't been sent for. Wasn't surprised he hadn't thought of her in his dying moments. Why would he? He hadn't thought of her for the last ten years. He had rarely thought of her when she had lived in his house.

"Well, thank you for coming to tell me." She managed to say after a moment, too stunned to form anything more complicated. "Is there anything… anything I can do?" She knew there would be nothing.

It was at this moment that Mr Williams finally gestured to the pile of papers lying in between them. He lifted a page, covered from top to bottom in the neat scrawl of a practiced calligrapher. He glanced to her.

"I must own that sharing the news of your father's untimely death is not the only reason for the hastiness of my visit today." The sunlight glinted off his glasses. "There is… another pressing matter."

Hitomi's eyes were drawn up to his again. Her mouth went dry. What more was there? What more could there possibly be? Her father was dead. She was alone. Completely alone in the world. Edward Farquar had been a cold man. Indeed, he had been cold and cruel to her for a large portion of the time she had lived in his household; he had refused to discuss any memories of her mother, refused to acknowledge her as his daughter for her entire life. But, regardless of all of this, she was grateful. He had given her a bed, an education. A chance. She owed him everything.

She owed him her life.

And now he was gone, and she had never thanked him. The governess was shocked to feel the sting of tears behind her eyes. She was… deeply saddened.

What more could there be?

Mr Williams peered down at the paper in his hands. He cleared his throat again. "After going through Lord Farquar's will and testament," glanced up at her, "several times", peered down again, "I have come to the unmistakable conclusion that he… well, Miss Kanzaki, he has left his entire estate and considerable fortune to his closet living relative." He paused. "You."

He removed his glasses again.

Hitomi blinked. She had barely been listening.

"I beg your pardon?"

The solicitor sighed, anxiety passing over his features.

"Please understand, Miss Kanzaki, this has come as quite a shock to me as well as you. I had no idea Lord Farquar even had a daughter, and I have been his solicitor for over thirty years."

Her eyes narrowed, her mouth opening to form words. Yet she could form none.

"What shocked me more," He saw she was struggling, "was the fact that you are not even illegitimate."

She almost choked.

"There must be some mis—"

Mr Williams read from the page in front of him. "'This hereby decrees the honourable marriage of Miss Erena Kanzaki to Lord Edward Farquar on January 4th, year of our Lord 1815.'" He handed the page to her. Still frozen with shock, she did not think to take it from him. After a moment, he simply put it next to the pile.

"There is a marriage license also." He picked another page off the stack, "Your parents were clearly in a rush to get married. May I ask for your date of birth?"

"I… July 12th 1815."

He nodded, reaching for another piece of paper from the pile, when he stopped abruptly, looking up.

"I say… isn't that today's date?"

Hitomi nodded mutely.

"Well," He smiled kindly, "Ideally I would wish you a happy birthday under less… trying circumstances. Nevertheless, many happy returns."

The governess thanked him, her voice barely more than a whisper.

"So," Mr Williams continued, pushing on, "There is no record of a divorce, therefore you are legitimate, you are a Farquar by blood and by name, and since the latter is all that matters, there is no problem."

A memory flashed through her mind. Her father's voice. Her father's words.

"It seems that she expected me to believe I am your… father… Well I may be by blood, but not by name and that's what matters in this life."

She didn't understand. Surely if he had married her mother, he should have known Hitomi wasn't his bastard child. He should have known she was his daughter. His true daughter.

So why had he refused to admit it?

"However."

Mr William's voice drew her thoughts back to reality. Crushing reality.

"Although you will now live in his London home, have access to all his land and estates in the country and, under my supervision, be given an extremely generous allowance each month, there is one… issue."

The solicitor pushed his spectacles further up his nose. Hitomi waited for him to continue. She had no idea what was going on. She had no idea who in hell she was. No idea how to go about processing all the information she had been told in the last five minutes. So she just waited.

"Your father's fortune cannot be secured indefinitely. As his solicitor, I can only handle his finances for the next six months. Not a day more." He attempted to gauge her reaction. She sat motionless. "Miss Kanzaki, if you are not married within these six months, Lord Farquar's estates, and his money, will be passed over to the nearest male relative. You will no longer be supported. Do you understand me?"

The governess only stared at the pile of papers.

"Live… in his house?" She muttered.

Mr Williams sighed helplessly.

"… Indeed."

"Twenty Seven Grosvenor Gardens."

"Indeed."

She only shook her head. The thought of going back to that house… the thought of running that house after she had practically been a servant there for ten years.

"I don't want it." She said, after a few moments of silence. "I don't want any of it, I never… I never asked for this."

Mr Williams gave her what could only be classed as a look of the utmost pity.

"It is rare to see somebody so upset by the thought of an inheritance." He said, sitting forward slightly. "But please do not despair. I will make all the arrangements as far as I am able. I will do my best to help you in any way I can." He smiled kindly again before adding, "Lady Farquar."

Hitomi shook her head again.

"No."

Her father was dead.

"It's going to be fine—"

She had inherited a fortune.

"No." She stood up. Too fast. Her head spun.

"Lady Farquar, please sit d—"

"You are mistaken, sir, I am not who you think I am, there is a mistake—"

The world began to fade to deathly black.

"Miss—"

"Somebody has made a mistake!"

"Madam, you look quite ill, please—"

"I can't— I'm not… I'm not…"

She crumpled to the floor. Felt her head hit something hard. The table.

The papers, those damning papers, fluttered around her, branding her as she fell into unconscious bliss.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-8-8-8-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

She dreamt of being held. Of strong arms lifting her, holding her tightly. She felt so safe in those arms. But, too soon perhaps, that dream had melted away. The arms had faded. There was only darkness. Darkness for hours. And then… then her father's voice.

"You are not my daughter and I am not your father and we will never speak of this again."

Her eyes shot open.

Still, there was darkness. Darkness and moonlight.

She was in an enormous bed.

Déja vu.

The right side of her head throbbed.

She looked down the length of her body, tucked up in the coverlet. This wasn't her bed. Was that somebody's arm draped over her leg?

Before her thoughts could gather, sleep stole over her senses once more, and she surrendered to its black embrace.

Soon another voice came. A voice she knew. A voice which often crept into her dreams. And yet, words which she did not remember.

The sky is dark tonight, it seems. And yet the air is full of stars. I can feel them upon my skin, like drops of rain.

These words… they sounded like something from a fairytale. But they were real. Somebody was speaking to her as she lay on that unfamiliar bed. She just… she just couldn't open her eyes.

One star, I see, is shining brighter than the others. One star burns fiercer on my flesh. Gaea.

The voice was soft, as if it were reading her a lullaby.

I see her, and yet she is invisible to my eyes. Gaea; a world amidst the stars. And what might wait for me upon her? Perhaps fate's fingertips will pluck me from my sleep and lift me to her shadowed shores.

Van?

Am I to meet my love upon that land? Does she wait for me there? A goddess of wings; a guardian of that mystic moon.

Such words… such beautiful words. His voice. She tried to search for it in the heady black, tried to turn towards it, to no avail. She was lost to it.

And when I sleep… when I fall into that abyss, will she fall with me? Will she fall… or will she fade away with the morning, with the stars, with the mist. Will she fade into the sunlight, and blind me to the day?

No… I will see her in my dreams. I will feel her creep there. Those angelic footsteps shall possess me through the night.

I will find her once more.

And I will whisper to her, those falling stars as my witness, that she is my dream. My secret world. My angel.

My own.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-8-8-8-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-


Well. There we are.

Did you... did you like it?

HOW DID I DO? From the bottom of my heart, I hope you enjoyed it and were duly satisfied.

Thanks to everybody again for being looooovely.

Toodles!