CHAPTER 5

The Sea Siren was moving steadily through the dark ocean water. The ship itself seemed very still, the ocean quiet and calm. It was Mercer's favorite sort of night: silent, starry, and tranquil. Nights like these didn't come altogether often onboard a ship. Certainly they hadn't been frequent for the past three weeks as the Siren journeyed towards India and the port of Bombay. Savage had a habit of staying up late and wandering around the deck, talking noisily with anyone still awake. Some of the crewmen followed his example, wandering about the decks at all hours of the night and cursing loudly.

But past few days had been exhausting ones for the entire crew. The sea had grown fretful and stormy, as it was wont to do, and they had been fighting the raging squall nearly three days. It had poured rain, and the sea had heaved, and the sky and ocean both had roared. They were battered with waves and rain and constantly soaked to the bone – Mercer was still waiting for his clothes to dry off. They had lost ten crewmen, which, although not an enormous loss considering the amount of crew onboard, was still causing trouble when it came time to distribute the workload. They'd lost a canon, too, and had nearly been battered to pieces by the violence of the waves.

Worst of all, Cat had been locked away in Mercer's cabin, borderline hysterical, throughout the entire storm. Never had Cat had to survive anything so fearsome, and Mercer was fairly certain Cat had expected to die more than once. But they were still alive and well, thank God. He had refused to let her out of the cabin until the sea had at last settled. Yet, even when he'd told her she was safe to come out, she'd refused, curled up in a ball in the corner and holding herself.

He'd left her there to stand in the still and quiet darkness, admiring the bright stars that hung in the now-clear sky. The rest of the crew was below deck, sleeping, even Savage; they were exhausted from the fight they had had to put up over the past few days, and they needed to sleep and recover their energy.

Mercer found that standing outside was enough to rejuvenate him. The darkness curled around him like a blanket, and the silence was comfortable for him. It gave him time to think, or, if he didn't want to think, time to simply be.

At the moment, his mind was as still as the sea, a quiet, flat, blank surface stirred only by the thought of Bombay drawing ever closer. The thought steadied and comforted him, reminded him of the assignment at hand and the treasure he would bring back for Beckett. He felt surer of himself than he had in a long time. He was on a mission at which he was fairly certain he would succeed; he was entirely in control, even if the ever-sullen Savage occasionally challenged his authority; and he didn't need to worry about Cat, because she was there with him.

Mercer frowned slightly, his calm momentarily disturbed. At the moment it was convenient – nice, even, he confessed to himself – to have Cat here. She was ridiculously grateful to him that he had allowed her to come and treated him as though he was a hero, which he liked a good deal more than he cared to admit. And she was warm and affectionate and so full of life and youth, which gave him a similar buoyancy. But he knew when they arrived at Bombay – when they finally made port and set off to hunt for the pirates – Cat would no longer be safe. When they were on the chase, he would constantly be worried about her, trying to watch her back, trying to protect her from all the dangers of the foreign land to which they were headed, and that would distract him. But he couldn't leave her with the ship and the sailors; not all of them were gentlemen, and quite a few of them probably wouldn't hesitate to take advantage of the girl's vulnerability. The thought made his fists clench and his teeth grind. No, he couldn't leave her behind. She would have to come with him, for better or worse…

Mercer glanced back at his cabin, where the girl in question remained. Light spilled out from a lantern onto the deck from the door, for it was standing open. Cat was standing just inside the doorway, watching him. Her face was entirely in shadows, so he couldn't read her expression, but he made an effort to smile at her, as though to reassure her. Apparently comforted, she stepped out of the door and walked slowly across the deck towards him, looking about for other crewmen. Seeing none, she came to stand beside him at the rail, staring down into the water. "It's so quiet," she whispered.

Mercer nodded. "It's like this sometimes, after a storm." His voice was hushed, too; it seemed a pity to disturb the silence with conversation.

Cat leaned away from the rail, tilting her head as far back as it would go so she could stare upwards. "The stars are out," she murmured, smiling. "I love the stars."

Mercer tilted his head back as well to look up at them. "I don't get to see them much," he told her. "I'm usually inside at night – or in places where the stars can't be seen at all."

"That's sad," Cat said with a small frown. "My father used to take me out to one of the country houses during the summer just so we could see them. He'd wake me up in the dead of night and carry me out to the gardens and we'd lay on our backs and point out the constellations to each other."

Mercer smiled bitterly. "I suppose there'll be no more of that for you now," he said. He studied her curiously in the moonlight, then impulsively blurted out, "Do you regret it? Losing the country houses and the fine dresses and the fortune that would've been yours without me?"

For a moment he was horrified that he'd even asked such a question, but to his relief Cat didn't seem offended; she simply looked thoughtful. "I don't know," she said slowly. "I suppose I do, somewhat. But I haven't really had to live without them yet." When Mercer snorted incredulously, she said, "No, really, I haven't much. Onboard this ship… well, it feels sort of like some kind of dream, or adventure story. It's like home is still waiting for me, back in London… that when this is over I can go back to the manor and this will all be some wild fantasy."

Mercer sighed. "It's not a dream, Catie."

"I know," she said with a nod. "And I know that I'll feel the situation's reality when we return to London again. I can't go home, after all; my parents don't want me anymore. And I haven't got Lawless to depend on either, though I hardly count that as a loss." She tapped her fingers against the rail as she thought over the question again. "I think it will be a difficult adjustment to make, but not so difficult, now that I've lived onboard a ship and spent months dressed like a man. And I imagine running across India chasing after pirates and the Hand will serve to help me get used to the idea of a different lifestyle."

Her wry tone made Mercer laugh. "I suppose that will help," he conceded.

"Really, the comforts and money of course matter, but I can adjust to living without them," she concluded. "It's not them I'll miss so much. But… but I'll miss my parents. And my friends. I know Tori will always stand by me; she's proven that beyond a doubt – but I had other friends in the aristocracy, and none of them will speak to me anymore. It's like I don't exist, or never did. And that's worse than being poor – having no friends and no parents. It's as though my life, who I was, was entirely erased, and nobody remembers or cares. And I can't stand that." A tear slipped down her cheek, tracing a curve down to the corner of her lips.

Mercer traced the path of the tear with his eyes, then hesitantly lifted a gloved hand and brushed it away. "Maybe… maybe your old life has been erased," he said carefully. "Or maybe… maybe that's what should happen. When we return to London."

She blinked at him in surprise. "What do you mean?" she asked.

Mercer looked away, staring off across the vast expanse of ocean. "If you took on a new identity… if you changed your name and your rank… then you could start a new life. You'd create a different world for yourself – the life of a servant, maybe, or a governess, or something like that – and then the other life will just disappear."

There was a tense silence for a moment. Then, Cat said shakily, "I'm… I'm not… not sure. Maybe that would be best. But… but I can't imagine living like that."

"You may not have a choice," Mercer told her, a little harshly. "Beckett most likely won't be happy at the idea of supporting us both. You'll have to find some sort of job to bring in a little money, at least for now. And if you had a different name… if you were part of the invisible lot of lower class that the aristocracy always ignores… then maybe Beckett wouldn't be so averse to the idea of helping take care of you."

"I don't see how his opinion matters," Cat said resentfully.

"His opinion matters because he employs and pays me," Mercer said tersely, "And if he so desires, he can discharge me from his services whenever he wishes. I can't afford to anger him if we're to live together."

Cat's face seemed to light up. "You'd want me to live with you?" she said.

He was taken aback. "Well, yes," he said, suddenly cautious. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

She smiled happily and very suddenly hugged him. "Of course," she said, settling her head against his chest. "I just… wasn't sure you approved of the idea."

"And what did you think I'd do – throw you onto the street?"

"I wouldn't put it past you."

"That's harsh," Mercer said, rolling his eyes, "Though probably intelligent on your part." Uncertainly, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, looking up at the stars again. "I've never looked at the constellations," he said casually.

Cat looked up. "Really? You've been quite deprived," she said disapprovingly. "I'll have to teach them to you."

Mercer smiled slightly. "You might as well start now," he suggested. "Nobody's here, after all."

Cat shook her head slightly. "No, the constellations look best when you're lying on your back in the grass looking up at them," she said certainly. "And it has to be a summer night."

Mercer laughed. "Whatever you say, milady," he chuckled.

Cat settled back against him with a small smile. "Milady," she murmured. "I like that."

Her eyes fluttered close, and her mouth opened ever so slightly to take in small breaths. Mercer chuckled again, bent, and swept Cat off the deck. "I think you need some sleep," he told her.

"Mmm," she murmured. "If you think so…"

He carried her into the cabin and set her down on the bed, grabbing a blanket and lightly laying it over her. She snuggled beneath it, immediately grabbing hold of it and curling up into a small ball. He smiled lopsidedly and whispered to her, "Don't forget you have to teach me the constellations someday."

She sighed softly in her state of near sleep and mumbled, "I won't…"

Mercer stood watching her for a moment; then he turned, lifted the lantern and blew out the candle inside. He left Cat inside the cabin, and headed for the deck to stare at the stars.

The day after Victoria had successfully managed to move all of her possessions back into the main house, she chose to sleep in to an unusually ridiculous hour of the day. She had awoken briefly when Beckett got out of bed in the morning to leave for Company headquarters, but she had instantly decided to fall back asleep. She couldn't believe Beckett had decided to rise so early; both of them had been up rather late the night before alternately talking, teasing, and arguing with one another, and then making up for the arguments in passionate encounters buried beneath the blankets. Victoria was beyond exhausted from the combination and so slept like the dead.

In fact, Victoria was still asleep when Rosemary Wellington arrived at the house at one o'clock sharp. When Oscar made to block the door, Rose shoved a letter against his chest, simultaneous pushing him out of the way as she walked through the door, nose in the air. She went to sit in the parlor and wait for her hostess to be summoned, neatly arranging her elegant green skirt. The dress was subdued, stylish, and tasteful; Rosemary's cleavage was even covered by a buffon, a halfway transparent kerchief, which was draped about the upper neck and shoulders, that was quite popular with more modest women. She looked almost – respectable.

Oscar stared at her in disbelief for a few moments, quite certain that she must be feeling out of sorts today to be wearing such sensible clothing, but then opened the letter she had handed him. It said simply:

Oscar:

Rose has my permission to see Victoria. I believe she has a right to visit with her friend, and anyway Tori deserves some kind of reward for her willingness to apologize. Let her stay.

Lord Cutler Beckett

Oscar stared at the letter in suspicion, but the signature was right, and the seal was accurate as well; there was no way to contest the letter's legitimacy. He sighed, looked at Rose, and mumbled, "I'll fetch the missus then."

He wandered up the stairs and into the Becketts' chambers, well aware that Victoria hadn't arisen yet. He knocked hesitantly on the bedroom door; when he got no response, he heaved another sigh and headed back downstairs to find Eleanor.

Eleanor didn't pause to knock as Oscar had, once he'd retrieved her; she walked right into the bedroom and shook Victoria forcefully. "Wake up, sleepyhead," she said in a light, teasing tone.

"Go 'way," Victoria grumbled into her pillow, tugging the blankets over her head.

"Now, you mustn't be so stubborn, milady," Eleanor said, grabbing the blankets and pulling them off Victoria. Victoria gave an indignant cry and began to reach blindly for the covers, trying to find them while still keeping her eyes closed.

"Oh, no you don't," Eleanor said, grabbing her hands. "Come on, milady, you must get up. Miss Wellington's here to see you!"

That woke Victoria up in an instant. "What?" she cried, sitting up. "She's here? Does Beckett know about this?"

"Apparently he's the one who sent for her, milady," Eleanor said, now confident that Victoria would get out of bed. She hurried over to Victoria's wardrobe and selected a simple, informal outfit – a bright yellow skirt and a long blue bodice. They would be much easier to put on than the gowns Victoria usually wore, and they would be faster as well.

Victoria leapt out of bed and came to stand by Eleanor, tugging her nightgown over her head and throwing it onto the bed. "Sometimes, that man is a god," she sighed happily. She grabbed for her stockings and sat on the trunk at the end of the bed, pulling them on hurriedly.

Eleanor grabbed her stays and a fresh shift, turning around to face her. "That's blasphemy, milady," she scolded. "And anyways I think it was more than a bit ridiculous of him to bar you from seeing her anyway. He's only doing the sensible thing, letting her come here."

"But something must have changed his mind," Victoria said, drawing in a sharp breath as the laces of her stays were pulled tight. "I suppose my apology did the trick."

"I would imagine so, milady," Eleanor said. "Will you be wanting to do anything with your hair?"

"It's just Rose," Victoria laughed. "I don't see any reason to bother. She won't mind. She's used to seeing – " Victoria stopped abruptly and drew in a sharp breath. "Oh, no…" she whispered.

Eleanor frowned. "What is it, milady?" she asked, starting to set down her armful of petticoats.

Victoria raised a hand to her face. "She… she hasn't seen them," she said quietly. "The scars."

Eleanor cringed. "Oh, that," she mumbled, looking away. Eleanor had had the shock of her life when she'd seen Victoria's face upon arriving to the Beckett manor; she'd had no idea what had caused the scars, and it terrified her. But she had guessed – rightly, as Victoria later told her – that the pirates who had kidnapped her had given the scars to her. Nonetheless, they still horrified Eleanor, and it was hard for her to look at her mistress. Beckett had promised that one day they would disappear, but Eleanor didn't believe that that was possible. "I'm sure she'll understand, milady," Eleanor said brightly, trying to cheer Victoria. "After all, she was the first to see the cuts that gave them to you. She ought to be prepared."

"I don't think anything can prepare anyone for what I look like now," Victoria said dejectedly, glancing at herself in the mirror. Her green eyes were sad, but hard – she had grown used to the reflection she was seeing now, and it wasn't the face itself that troubled her. It was the reactions she received when others saw her face…

"Well, don't worry about it," Eleanor said soothingly, lifting the bundle of petticoats and starting to pull them over Victoria's head. "She'll accept you no matter what them pirates did to you."

Victoria didn't say anything for the rest of their time together. She was silent as Eleanor finished lacing up her bodice and stayed so as she brushed out her hair with several quick strokes. She shook it back over her shoulders, studied herself one final time in the mirror, and then hurried downstairs to the drawing room.

Rosemary was no longer sitting on the divan, as she had been when she arrived; she was looking through a sketchbook that sat on the piano in the room. The sketchbook in question was not Victoria's, but Beckett's. Victoria had no talent for drawing. She liked to paint, but only dewy, unclear, fairy-like landscapes – nothing with the realism that might have been most appreciated in young women. Beckett, on the other hand, was a talented artist, but had little free time to nourish the talent. He had taken to drawing pictures of Victoria while she slept, as this was the only time he had to do whatever he pleased, and it was these sketches that Rosemary was looking at in silence when Victoria entered the room.

"Rose?" Victoria's voice was tremulous, betraying a considerable amount of fear.

Rose wasn't quite ready to turn around and see the damage that had been done in its fully reality. She continued to stare instead at the final sketch in Beckett's book, one of Victoria asleep on her side, the blankets pulled up over her naked chest and held just below her arm. "Your husband is quite the artist," she said casually.

Victoria seemed surprised. "Is he? I didn't realize. I've never seen him paint before."

"Draw, actually," Rose said, tracing the dark lines that marked up the sketched Victoria's face. "And I don't imagine you have. He seems to like to draw you as you sleep."

There was a slight edge to Victoria's voice as she spoke again. "He draws me?"

"You appear to be his favorite subject." Rose closed the sketchbook and set it back on the piano and drew in a deep breath. "They're bad, aren't they?" she said softly.

"You saw them in the sketches, I presume."

"I imagine they're worse in reality." Rose folded her arms over her stomach and closed her eyes tightly. "I'm going to apologize in advance for the way I'll probably look when I see them. I know it… can't be pleasant. To be looked at like…"

"It's not." Victoria's voice was a little cold.

Rose drew in a deep breath, opened her eyes, and turned.

She was honestly surprised. They weren't as bad as she had expected. Maybe the sketches had braced her for them, or maybe her imagination had made them infinitely worse. Anyway, they were much better, she realized, than the enormous bloody cuts that she had seen that first night after the kidnapping. Anything was better than the blood. And Victoria appeared so much calmer, so much more settled now than she had at that horrible moment when she'd crawled into the light.

Rose smiled tearfully and hurried over to her friend, throwing her arms around her. "I've been so worried about you," she whispered.

"You've been worried?" Victoria snorted, hugging Rose back. "When I heard you were to marry Presbery, I felt awful. I thought for certain you'd been forced into it. Please tell me that isn't true."

Rose laughed and pulled back. "It isn't," she promised. "It's completely wrong. Oh, Tori, Will is just… he's so warm and – and witty and charming and – !"

Victoria arched a brow – the brow through which a large white scar sliced. "Dear God," she laughed. "She calls him by his first name, she's stumbling to get out all of his charms, and," she added with a laugh, "She is wearing modest clothing. Where in God's name did this dress come from?"

Rose threw back her head and laughed. "Oh, I have so much to tell you, Tori," she said elatedly. "How many times I wished I could see you to tell you all about the things Will did for me while we were courting…"

"Well then, before you share all of your stories and good news, let me share mine with you," Victoria said, stopping her.

"Your good news?" Rose said in surprise.

Victoria smiled. "Next time you see Cutler, tell him you think it's a girl. You'll infuriate him."

It took a moment for the words to sink in, but suddenly Rose squealed and hugged Victoria again. "You're having a baby!" she cried.

Victoria's smile widened. "I am," she confirmed. "And Cutler refuses to believe me that it will be a girl."

"What does he know?" Rose said dismissively. "He's not going to give birth to her, is he? What are you going to name her?"

"We're not sure yet," Victoria said, leading Rose over to the divan. "Cutler's insistent on naming our son Alexander, but since I'm more than certain it's a girl, that obviously isn't the issue at the moment."

"Out of curiosity," Rose asked, "How do you know it's a girl?"

Victoria shrugged. "Mother's instinct," she said simply. "What do you think of the name 'Helena'?"

Rosemary wrinkled her nose. "It's too upstanding," she said. "It sounds like a well-behaved girl."

"And you think I want my daughter to misbehave?" Victoria exclaimed.

"She's your daughter. She will misbehave, no matter what you do."

Victoria laughed brightly. "I suppose you're right," she said in amusement. "But enough about the baby. Tell me about Presbery!"

Rosemary did not need further encouragement. She was singing his praises in an instant, and she spent the rest of the afternoon telling Victoria all about their marvelous courtship. She described his house and his parents and how lovely they were; his older sister Julianna, with whom Rose was now very close; Julianna's husband, Adam, who was a Duke and who was very fond of his wife; the lovely birthday ball they had held for Rosemary a month ago, and the absolutely outrageous engagement ball they had also hosted; and all the events of Rose and Presbery's courtship, not necessarily in the order in which they occurred.

Victoria's favorite story of the entire courtship involved a fistfight between Presbery and Lawless; the duo had gotten into a ferocious argument at the engagement ball and had come to blows after something Lawless had said regarding Rosemary's faithfulness. The fighting had gotten so bad that some guests came outside, Beckett included – and then Beckett had leapt into the fray and broken Lawless's nose.

"He never told me that!" Victoria cried, after she had choked on the tea she had been sipping up until that point.

"Oh, it was wonderful," Rosemary laughed. "I apologize, Victoria; I kissed your husband after that."

"How dare you?!" Victoria exclaimed in mock outrage. "But I suppose I wasn't there to do it myself, so I'm glad you did. I'm sure he was astonished."

"I don't think he knew what to do with himself," Rose chuckled. "Presbery said something about not wanting to have to punch Beckett too, and Beckett said something about breaking Presbery's nose as well, and then Charlotta Harris had to come and interrupt everything to fawn on Beckett and tell him how brave he was. Which is what led to him telling her to go to hell so loudly that the entire ballroom heard."

"That I heard about," Victoria said with a wide smile. "I'm sure Charlotta was horrified."

"Well, she did run off crying, but that apparently hasn't stopped her from flirting outrageously with him," Rose said with a sigh. "She was following him about at the theater last week, when he went. I think she asked if he wanted her to sit in his box with him, since he had no one to accompany him, and if I'd liked him more at the time I would have interrupted and told her that he was sitting with Presbery and I. But I didn't like him at the time, so I didn't try to help him."

Victoria looked troubled. "I suppose a lot of women will have been throwing themselves at Beckett, what with my conspicuous absence," she murmured.

"People do tend to talk, dear," Rose said sadly, taking a sip of tea. "Most people don't even believe you're still in town. They think you came back for maybe a few days and then went off to France with Captain Chevalle again."

Victoria glared darkly at her tea. "I've had quite enough of pirates," she said harshly.

Rosemary laid a hand on her friend's knee. "I know you have," she said softly. She hesitated, then asked, "Are you certain it's best for you to… to stay shut up like this? I know you don't want the aristocracy to see what you look like, but until they know you're here they won't stop talking."

"I know," Victoria said dejectedly. "But… well… Beckett believes he may have found a way to heal me – to make the scars go away."

Rosemary looked incredulous. "I don't know of any cure that can do that, short of magic or a deal with the Devil," she said skeptically.

Victoria decided that mentioning said cure involved magic was probably not wise. "It may not work," she said with a little shrug, "And if doesn't… well, we'll decide what to do from there. Originally I had thought he could use me to further his extermination of the pirates – strike fear into the hearts of the rich and all that, you know – but he opted not to."

"I'm glad he's not using you for his own nefarious purposes," Rose said disgustedly. "I had worried about that for awhile, you know."

"You needn't have," Victoria said, finishing off her tea. "Generally speaking, we've been on very good terms the past few months."

Rose raised an eyebrow and glanced significantly at Victoria's lower belly. "So I gathered," she said.

Victoria laughed, and then said, "Of course we've still had our differences, and when the pair of us fight… well, neither of us have mild tempers. Things tend to get a bit explosive. But I imagine you know how that goes. You and Presbery have had some wonderful fights, I'm sure."

"Oh, God," Rose snorted, rolling her eyes. "You should hear how bad things get sometimes. The first time he came for tea, I took him out into the gardens for a walk -"

"A walk… or a 'walk'?" Victoria asked, adding a certain inflection to the second 'walk.'

Rose laughed. "The latter," she said. "A tryst, if you want to call it that. But, stubborn little bastard that he is, he refused. Can you believe that? Lord William Presbery rejected me. He told me he wanted to marry me… that he didn't see me as a simple tool to rid himself of his lust." She sighed romantically. "At the time I was ridiculously offended," she admitted. "But… oh, he's just so sweet. I adore him."

Victoria smiled. "I'm glad to see you so happy," she said sincerely. "I was worried for a long time that you'd been manipulated into a marriage you didn't want."

"I feared the same thing for you," Rose said, studying her curiously, "But you seem happy enough." She looked hard at Victoria. "You really love him, don't you?"

"Strangely enough, I do," Victoria said calmly, pouring herself another cup of tea. "Despite his being a cold-blooded, heartless, soulless bastard…"

"Oh, darling, I'm flattered," Beckett's voice said from the doorway. "You're so very sweet."

Victoria turned on the divan and saw Beckett leaning casually against the frame of the door, smiling in amusement. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything important," he said. "A discussion of all my various faults, for example?"

"I've said almost nothing about your faults today," Victoria said with a laugh, rising off the couch and going over to him, "But I did hear a very interesting story about you and Lawless. You never told me you liked to get into fistfights!"

Beckett winced. "I don't, particularly," he said, "But it was Lawless, and you know how much I hate him."

"I do." Victoria stopped just in front of him, leaned forward, and kissed him lightly. "Hello, my Lord," she murmured.

"My Lady," he replied with a grin. The smile disappeared, and he held up an envelope. "We have something important to discuss," he said very quietly. "You should finish up here quickly and come see me in my library as soon as you're done."

"As you wish, sir," she said with a mocking curtsy.

He snorted and shoved her back into the room. "Nice seeing you, Miss Wellington," he called to Rosemary, and then turned and headed up the stairs. Victoria stared after him with an amused smile on her face before turning back to her guest.

Rose raised an eyebrow. "He wants me to leave, doesn't he?" she said.

Victoria nodded with a sigh. "He has something to discuss with me," she said. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. We had all afternoon together," Rose pointed out, glancing out at the darkening sky. "And I should be getting back home anyway. Father wants to spend all the time with me that he can before I'm no longer his little girl."

Victoria laughed and hugged Rose. "It was wonderful to see you," she said happily. "Come back soon."

"At least once a week," Rose promised. "I haven't even told you half of the good stories…"

"I'll look forward to it," Victoria said, walking with Rose to the door. She stopped by the doorway and hugged Rose one last time. "Good night, Rose. Tell Presbery I said hello."

"I'll do that. And tell Beckett he's a gutless dandyprat."

"I'll do that, and I'll also thank him for you for finally letting you visit," Victoria laughed as Rose slipped out the door. "Good night!"

She watched as Rosemary stepped into her carriage, and then waved back when Rose leaned from the carriage window and waved good-bye.

As soon as the carriage was out of sight, Victoria closed the door and hurried up the two flights of stairs to the third floor, rushing down the enormous corridor until at last she arrived at Beckett's personal library. She paused outside the door, trying to catch her breath; apparently Beckett had heard her, because the door opened a second later. "You didn't have to run," he said in amusement, sweeping her up off the floor and carrying her into the room.

"It sounded urgent – and I'm perfectly capable of walking on my own even if I can't breathe," Victoria retorted indignantly, but the words only made her shorter of breath, so she gave up and settled comfortably against her husband's chest. Beckett smirked slightly as he noticed the gesture, but set her down on the divan in the room rather than continuing to hold onto her. He then settled into the chair opposite the divan, arranging himself so that he almost appeared a king in the high-backed, heavily cushioned seat. He studied Victoria for a moment to make certain she was paying attention, and then removed the letter from his frock coat. He unfolded it with great pageantry, and then read:

"To Lord Cutler Beckett of the EITC:

I have returned to London after a long and trying mission in France. As you may recall, there was an item of some interest to you that I was meant to retrieve for you there. Said item is now in my possession, and has been brought back with me to London. If you would like to retrieve it, meet me at Baxley's coffeehouse next Wednesday at seven o'clock. You know the spot. There is a back room that Baxley keeps; I will be there waiting for you. Bring a substantial amount of payment; this item is highly valuable.

Sincerely

Mr. Dalton Thompson

Company Merchant."

Beckett folded the letter again and looked at Victoria with a confident smile. "I think," he said quietly, "That we may be able to heal your scars much sooner than we thought…"