The day of Rowan's arrival at my house was rather frustrating. Mr. Collins had shown up to help, but when Rowan had learned he would be sleeping right next to my own bedroom, he had balked. "It's not appropriate, ma'am."

Mr. Collins had rolled his eyes, "We all know nothing will happen, it's just until you save up enough to find your own place, like I did."

"But you're married sir," Rowan shifted, he had a tendency to hide his scarred side when talking. "People will talk if she has an unmarried man right next to her bedroom."

I held up a hand, stopping Mr. Collins before he could say anything. "Where would you propose to sleep then? The parlor? The kitchen? The office is really the only place that will work."

Rowan shook his head, "The workroom in your garage, I can shove the shelves up against a wall and we can move the cot down here." I had grumbled about the cold of the garage while Mr. Collins had complained about moving the cot. In the end it had taken both Rowan and Mr. Collins to wrestle the cot downstairs while I followed with a stack of blankets that should smother Rowan when he laid down to sleep.

He must have heard me muttering to myself while I was laying them out, because he had chuckled. "Mrs. Murdoch, I'll be more than happy here. I won't even tell you where I've slept before." He stretched his arms out, doing his best to give me a cheeky grin. "Compared to those places this is a palace."

I took in the work room, which smelled vaguely of grease. "Remind me to bring you to New York when all this is done. You can sleep in something closer to a palace then."

"Oh I would gladly take you up on that," Rowan chuckled, then grimaced. "I can't imagine your parents would be glad to see me come through the doors though."

"Mother would be glad to have you visit," I patted his arm. "She's written that she's glad I have people around me, she hates when I'm alone."

"I'd be glad to meet her." He grew quiet, reaching for his bag. "I should write my own mother about my change in circumstances."

I smiled slightly, "I'll have to find a desk to bring in here then, and get you plenty of paper."

He shrugged, pulling a box out of his bag. "My lap desk works fine, and I grabbed plenty of paper at the hospital."

"She could come and visit."

He started, the lap desk falling to the floor and the contents spilling out. "No!" He fell to his knees, scrambling for the wooden box. "No, no, I can't see her."

"Rowan," I knelt down to help collect the various pens and papers that had been strewn everywhere. "I'm not going to force you." It didn't take a genius to realize that Rowan more than likely didn't want his mother to see him in his current state.

He stilled, accepting the stationary I handed over. "They kept wanting me to, at the hospital. I told her I was alive, but that's it."

"I'm sure she's glad to know that." I stood, dusting of my skirt. "I know my mother was thrilled to hear that I had made it off the Lusitania, but I didn't tell her the details of it. Some things are best kept to ourselves."

He nodded, "Yes, they are."

"I'm headed back to the house, could I bring you anything?"

"I'll come in and look through the kitchen soon, I saw a tin of biscuits in there."

"You're welcome to them," I reached for the door knob. "However, you will be expected to take your meals in the house."

"So long as that girl you have working is as good with dinner as she was with those sandwiches, that won't be a hardship." He laughed as I left. I shook my head, reminding myself to give Kate a call and tell her that she had a fan. She was awfully busy, but she still made time to come by at least once a week.

Mr. Collins came by far more often.

He was glowering out the window at the garage when I came back in, "Honestly, sleeping in the garage like an animal. What's wrong with the man?"

I pursed my lips, coming closer. "You must keep this secret, understand?" At his nod, I spoke quietly. "According to Dr. Humphry he often suffers from nightmares but wouldn't accept comfort from any of the nurses. If I had to guess, I would say that he doesn't want to scare me during the night."

Collins snorted. "Anyone who's been in the war has nightmares, and I can tell you from experience that having my wife by my side helps with them a good deal."

"Well, he doesn't have a wife." I sighed, "Although I'm hopeful that if I find him coming out of one, he'll let me calm him down. Will lets me, and he calms me when I have one."

"The benefits of marriage." He chuckled, "Although I can think of a few others."

I rolled my eyes, "Enough of that. You'll help Rowan settle in, won't you?"

"The best one to help him settle in is that one," He cocked his head toward Rigel, trotting up. Collins reached a hand into his pocket, pulling out a dirty piece of fabric. "Meant to give this to you earlier, but well, we got a bit distracted with the cot. Your dog there brought it in earlier, looks as if it has been outside for a couple days."

I took the fabric, looking closely at it. Under the pieces of grass and sticks it was navy blue, and I furrowed my brow. "This can't be from one of Will's, they're all put away."

"Well he must have brought it in from the yard." Collins peered out the window again, "Someone must have been back there and he scared them off." He gave a gruff chuckle. "Perhaps it's not such a bad thing you're having a man stay here."

I crumpled the fabric in my hand, "You don't think someone really jumped the fence?"

"I think they did." He crossed his arms, "You're a wealthy woman living on her own with only a dog, a thief could have easily tried to break in and Rigel scared him off."

I had never felt unsafe in the house before, but at Collins's words I shivered. He was right, I could be burgled or worse quite easily here. Rowan's presence, even if he stayed out in the garage, would be quite welcome. I was still holding onto the fabric when a knock at the door sounded, and I quickly moved to answer it, but not before peeking through the window.

I regretted my actions immediately, seeing Lieutenant Campbell in a perfectly pressed uniform with a starched collar waiting outside. He must have seen the movement in the window, for he looked over and smiled. "Come now Mrs. Murdoch, we need to talk and it would be far more comfortable inside."

Collins came up beside me, "Who's this?"

"An unwelcome guest." I sighed, reaching for the door. "And it will only get worse if I don't let him in."

"Good thing I'm here." Collins did his best to glare at Campbell as he entered, sitting at the dining table without an invitation.

I sat across from him, remaining silent. Campbell simply snorted, drew out a cigarette and lit up. He blew a cloud of smoke at the ceiling before speaking. "The hospitality here is quite lacking, you know. Never would have thought a lady of your standing would deliberately be a bad hostess."

Collins reached for the cigarette, easily pulling it from Campbell's fingers before stamping it out in a bowl. "Mrs. Murdoch doesn't allow smoking inside."

"Your new protector?" Campbell raised a brow, leaning back in his chair. "Would have thought you'd shack up with a man with two arms." His head whipped around as the kitchen door opened, Rowan coming out with the tin of biscuits he had wanted. "And a grotesque, my, my, you really have collected quite the little freak show here."

I glanced over to Rowan, seeing him glaring at Campbell and only stopped by Collins holding up a hand. "If you're only here to insult veterans then you can leave. Your blackmail attempts won't work, Beatty already knows about Titanic and doesn't care."

"Oh, I've already moved on past that." Campbell turned his grin on me. "And of course I know about your veterans, even if I had to find another source." I stayed silent, and he continued. "I require your assistance with a certain matter."

I barked out a laugh, drawing Rigel over. "What makes you think I would help you?"

Campbell was clearly trying to not flinch as Rigel let out a growl as he settled by me. "Because you care about your precious veterans. You wouldn't want to see them back at the front, would you?"

Rowan cackled at that, coming up behind me. "You think they'd want this back in the trenches?"

"Why not?" Campbell still hadn't lost his grin. "You have two hand and likely still remember how to shoot a gun." He gestured towards Collins, "Even the cripple here could lay barbed wire or drag bodies back. The British Army would be glad to have you both back in service."

I felt a cold twinge of fear in my heart. "You can't force them back into service, they've both been discharged."

"Paperwork often gets lost or the wrong line filled." Campbell snorted, "Really, Mrs. Murdoch, the task I have for you is quite simple. I can't see any way you could screw it up, but as usual you are in need of encouragement."

I pursed my lips, "What?"

"I need information on a possible black market being run out of an estate, some cousin of the earl of Essex." Campbell placed a folder on the table, using a finger to shove it towards me. "You'll go to a country party he's hosting, ascertain if the black market is indeed running, and report back to me."

I glanced towards the folder, not opening it. "And how exactly am I to do that?"

Campbell smirked, "Lord Robert has a penchant for fair faced blondes," He smirked, "And pillow talk is such a lovely way to confirm things."

It took everything I had to not shove myself away from the table. "You want me to seduce him!"

"I thought that was obvious." Campbell stood, brushing off his shoulders. "But if you find yourself unable to bring yourself to a round of dispassionate lovemaking, I'm sure these gentlemen here would be glad for your moral fortitude when they're back in the trenches."

I looked from Campbell to Rowan, my stomach twisting. "I'll do it." Campbell snorted, slamming the door behind him. I immediately stood, looking to those two. "I was lying through my teeth right there. We'll figure out some way to do what he wants without, well, that."

Rowan's cheek was bright red, contrasting the pitted, shiny scars of the other side of his face. "And how are we to do that? Find some blonde girl and throw her at him instead?"

I took a breath, trying to calm myself. "We don't have to take this on alone. Rowan, Mr. Collins, if you're both up for it, I think a trip to London is called for."

Penelope Featherstone took a little extra time readying herself before joining her father for the ride to Oscar's. She did not primp and preen in front of the mirror, but she did take a little extra time pinning her black curls back and she may have dusted a little powder across her cheeks. Her father gave her a smile as she joined him in the car, "You look lovely, Penelope. Is that a new dress?"

She blushed a bit, brushing down the bodice of her green dress. "I took an old one and made it over, I thought it was time."

"And is that perfume I smell?"

"Just a little," She anxiously brushed her fingers through her hair, stirring up the scent of Florida water inside the cab. "I didn't get a chance to wash earlier, I wouldn't want to offend Mr. Vanderbilt if he smelled something."

Her father nodded absentmindedly, looking out the window. "Of course, a good thought my dear. It would be a shame to lose out on his lovely dinners due to an unlucky odor."

Penelope bit her tongue, because it wasn't as if she hadn't cleaned herself up. She had scrubbed herself down with a rag as best as she could, but she hadn't washed her hair for a few days. Her father always looked forward to what Oscar's cook managed to grace his table with and a glass of brandy after, but Penelope was looking forward to sitting with him after her father nodded off.

Some people might find that scandalous, but Oscar never did anything improper. But he was kind, he filled her wine glass, he listened to her describing her previous research and offered his own opinions. He told her stories from New York and his late night dinners in London, often acting them out and theatrically embellishing them.

He also touched her.

Usually it was simple a brush of fingers against hers as he handed her a wine glass, or he gently touched her shoulder as he moved by. Once when she had been laughing at something he said a curl of her hair had escaped its pins. Oscar had reached over and gently tucked it behind her ear, smiling as he did so. If that hadn't been enough to make her heart skip a beat, he had then remarked on how pretty she was when she laughed.

That night Penelope had chastised herself for allowing even the slightest thought of fancying him into her mind. She didn't have time to focus on a flight of fancy, not with the war and her work. And when all that was done she had her studies, there was no time for those things. And she was a fool is she thought Oscar Vanderbilt would do anything than toy with her to amuse himself.

He was a rich boy, like so many who had passed through her father's classes, and she had no doubt he amused himself in the same ways they all did. Drinking, smoking, breaking hearts for fun and despoiling maidens, they were all villains. Every time he reached out a hand or said a kind word, it was all for the ultimate purpose of ruining her for his own enjoyment.

He would be disappointed on that account.

The fact that she even entertained those thoughts for a moment was her own failing. After what she had been through she should have been stronger than to think about Oscar in that way. But still, she couldn't deny the way her heart swelled when Oscar bent over her hand. "Why Penelope, you look absolutely stunning this evening. Dare I hope that the mythical fiancé is close at hand?"

She blushed, "Not yet, but I thought well," Penelope found herself floundering for words as Oscar actually pressed a kiss to her fingers before straightening up. "Sometimes when you make yourself look nice, you feel better."

"Then I will always be in perfect health with you around." Oscar winked, a grin on his face as he turned to her father. "Nigel, lovely to see you again."

"Dare I hope for lamb tonight?" He was already sniffing the air.

Oscar laughed, "Well, there is a rack of lamb in the oven, but I'm afraid the cook is running a bit behind. We do have enough wine though, so we can share a glass in the parlor until it's ready."

They settled down into the plush chairs of the parlor, a small fire burning to ward off the last of the chill. March so far had been decent, the rain had been enough to start the growth of Spring but not enough to drown the flower buds. Penelope tried to keep her eyes from lingering on Oscar, the light in his eyes, the way his brown curls bobbed as he moved his head, the elegant way his fingers rested on his wine glass.

And then he looked at her, cocking his head. "What a lovely necklace, Penelope, I don't believe I've seen it before."

Penelope brushed her fingers against the thin gold chain around her neck. "I inherited it from my mother."

"It's always comforting to have something to remember those we lost." He gave her a soft smile, "My mother has a ring she got from her grandmother, I don't think I've ever seen her without it."

Penelope had been about to ask for more detail when Oscar's butler entered, and her father came to attention. "Is dinner ready?"

The butler hesitated, then addressed Oscar. "Sir, a Mrs. Murdoch is requesting to speak to you. Two men are with her."

Oscar perked up, "Anastasia? Show her in immediately." He stood, straightening his clothes. "Set another place for dinner and bring a glass of white wine for her, the sweet one!" Penelope watched as he raked a hand through his hair, doing his best to comb it into something resembling order. His eyes were brighter than she had ever seen them, a delighted smile was on his face, and his happiness could almost be felt.

Her heart fell when Mrs. Murdoch walked though the door and she felt stupider than ever for thinking Oscar actually cared for her.

Anastasia Murdoch was so beautiful that Penelope felt like a crow next to her. Her hair fell in waves, shining as gold as the rings on her fingers. Her clothes were perfectly tailored, her brown eyes sparkled and a sculptor would weep that he could not capture the perfect bow of her lips. The only things disturbing the vision was the massive black dog at her side and the two men behind her. An older man with only one arm who glowered at Oscar and a young man who had pulled his hat low over his face, but it still couldn't hide the scars.

Oscar took Anastasia's hands, squeezing them. "You should have called!"

"And you should have told me to wait," She teased, "You have guests."

Oscar turned to Penelope and her father, "I'm sure they won't mind the company, would you?"

Penelope's voice felt brittle, "Not at all."

"I'm imposing," Anastasia sighed, "Forgive me, I only came because it's urgent."

Oscar was immediately at her side, guiding her to a chair next to Penelope. "It's not William, is it?"

"Oh no, thank God." She pressed a hand to her breast, pulling out a silver pendant. "But, well, Oscar this isn't exactly something to speak about in polite company."

"Oh don't worry about them." Oscar waved a hand, "Professor Featherstone and his daughter I would trust with my life, and with a few of my secrets."

Anastasia giggled, then sobered. "Professor Featherstone?" She turned to him, "Thank you for sending word about the Navy's activities at the start of the war. You have no idea how much I appreciate it."

Penelope bit her tongue before she commented that she had been the one to write up the reports for her father, he was already enthusing about his appreciation for her husband's service. Any attention that Oscar had shown her had vanished, he followed every word Anastasia said as if it was holy writ. Penelope gave a delicate cough, "What matter so distressed you that you came here so suddenly?"

If Anastasia was offended by her being direct she didn't show it, "Oh, well, it's rather awkward to speak about." It took a good ten minutes for her to divulge the whole story about a Naval Intelligence officer overreaching his authority. Her cheeks were a perfect petal pink as she blushed. "I need to find some way to get his information but not in the way he wants me to."

The one armed man, Mr. Collins, gave a slight cough. "We all would appreciate any help that you would be willing to provide."

"And you shall have it!" Oscar stood, "I'm quite sure that between the four of us we can come up with some way to ensure that Anastasia doesn't have to lower herself to that." He reached down and ruffled the dog's ears. "But for now, why don't you two, and Rigel here, take a rest in the kitchen? I'm sure the cook has something warm to offer."

Mr. Collins and Rowan, deliberately keeping his scarred side away from them, headed off and Penelope found herself following the others into the dining room. Of course she was sat next to Anastasia, who Oscar insisted sit in what had been Penelope's spot. Oscar and her father fell into immediate conversation over what could be done, leaving the ladies to themselves. Penelope found herself wishing that Anastasia could at least be a little mean, because then it would be easy to hate her.

But no, she turned a kind smile on her. "Miss Featherstone, thank you for putting up with all this."

"It's not a problem." Penelope took another sip of wine.

Anastasia lifted her own glass, "It's just, I've known Oscar for so long and he's always been so helpful."

"Indeed."

"Oh, look at me." She set her wine glass down, "Dominating the conversation, my apologies. Oscar hasn't said much about you, but he did mention you were in university. What are you studying?"

"History." Penelope quieted as the footman set to serving all of them. "English history."

Anastasia gave a smile after sampling the lamb. "I enjoy history as well, although recently it's been naval history."

Penelope sampled her own lamb, perfectly rich and succulent. "I didn't realize you were interested in history."

"I always have been, the books I read now are to see if I can find any way to help my husband." She brought a hand up to cover her mouth briefly, "In fact, I've begun a correspondence with Lord Fisher to discuss ideas that I have."

Penelope pursed her lips, she could come up with ideas for naval strategy but not how to get herself out of playing the whore. "How interesting."

"He's a character." She chuckled, then looked more closely at Penelope. "That is a lovely dress by the way, where ever did you get it?"

"I made over an old dress of mine."

"The shade suits you perfectly," Anastasia graced her with a beautiful, genuine smile. "You're really very pretty Penelope, if you don't mind me saying so."

Of course she would say that, and Penelope felt her cheeks burn. More than likely her ugly blotchy blush was all over her face, and she quickly looked down to her plate. "That's very kind of you."

Anastasia was about to reply, but was interrupted when her father loudly smacked his hand on the table. "That should do it!" Penelope looked to her father, who was beaming the way he did once he had figured out a puzzle. "I believe we've hit upon how to solve this situation."

Oscar leaned back, grinning. "I'll accompany Anastasia to the party, although it sounds almost more like it's a series of parties, and help gather information by getting close to this Lord Robert. We'll bring along Collins and Harrow as manservants and between the three of us we can intervene if anything is attempted."

Penelope stayed quiet throughout all the discussion that followed, the logistics and details of what would be needed. Eventually they moved back to the parlor, Anastasia effusively thanked Oscar and left, and her father was nodding off over his brandy like usual. When Oscar brought over the sherry bottle, she covered her glass. "Not tonight."

He actually had the gall to look hurt, but that quickly turned to concern. "Are you alright? Usually we both enjoy a glass after dinner."

"I'm not feeling well," Penelope looked away. "My head is throbbing."

"Then let me arrange for a cab." Oscar stood, "And I'll bring you some aspirin." Penelope took the aspirin, did pointedly not thank Oscar, and collected her father. Once she had gotten him to bed, she went to her own room and closed the door firmly.

She was not going to cry over Oscar Vanderbilt. It was better that his attention was obviously aimed elsewhere. She didn't need attention from him. She kept repeating that to herself as she pulled every pin from her hair, dropping them into the glass cup on her vanity one by one, each plinking against the glass. Her dress, so loved by Anastasia, was thrown into a corner. Penelope could still smell the damn Florida water in her hair as she took her necklace off, carefully setting it down.

She wouldn't be stupid enough to try and pretty herself for Oscar again, not if he was so quick to turn away from her. Now she could focus on her work with no distractions, no feelings, it would be for the best. She wouldn't get hurt again, not ever again. She would close herself off from any feelings for Oscar and become stronger. The morning would dawn bright and new and she would forget tonight.

But her pillow was still stained with tears.