Sitting across from Oscar on the train to Edenbridge, where they would catch a car to Hever Castle, was intolerable. She would much rather have had Oscar beside her, where she could show him the book she was reading and talk to him about it, but her father was insistent that Oscar not be allowed too close. He had even taken the week off to ensure it, sitting beside Penelope and carefully watching her beau.

Oscar, for his part, appeared not to care about it too much. He spent most of the train ride looking out the window, occasionally catching Penelope's eye and gracing her with a slow smile. She enjoyed that, and she smiled back once or twice. But then her father would look over and she would dart her eyes back down to her book, trying to calm her thoughts.

This was the last of her expeditions, the last chance to find something that no one else had. Walking through the Tower of London had been helpful, and she had spent a good ten minutes staring at the spot where the scaffold that Anne climbed had once rested. The Yeoman escorting her had respectfully stood back as she pondered that spot, where the woman Penelope had studied for years had been beheaded.

He had also handed over a handkerchief when she had come back, not saying a word as he led her on.

She had visited so many old castles over the summer, sweating when there were no walls to keep out the elements and shivering when the dank rooms still stood for her to explore. Oscar hadn't accompanied her on those trips, nor had her father. A female chaperone had been engaged, a student of another professor. But digging through those old castles, wandering the overgrowth that had once been manicured lawns and gardens, none of it had touched her. Even standing in the rooms of Hampton Court had brought nothing.

She knew Anne had walked there, that such great events in her country's history had been decided there, but there was no feeling of reverence. Once she had thought that when she would stand where Anne had stood that a great feeling of connection would fall upon her, the way it had when she had once attended services at Westminster Abbey. Through the stretch of history, she would be connected with Anne in some way, would suddenly have some insight into her life that no other person had ever realized. Spiritualists said that ghosts could reach out and inspire those living, but no inspiration had struck.

Mostly, Penny felt foolish, and rather sweaty.

So she had thrown herself back into the sources, into the books she had read so many times their spines were falling apart. Stories that had once been old friends, a source of comfort, now seemed to taunt her. They had lived closer to Anne in time than she was, they spoke to people who had known her, could touch things that she had. Inspiration lay thick and heavy in the very air they breathed, but not for her. Hever Castle was her last hope, Anne's childhood home had to provide something to her.

Oscar had warned her that not much of it had been left when the Astors had bought it, while they had restored it at great expense to how it appeared in the Tudor days, he didn't want her to be disappointed if nothing could be found. He always appeared to take her frustration more dramatically than she did, sending her more books to read, bothering museum curators to come visit her and suggest new routes for her to proceed along. He had even volunteered to come to Hever, hoping that having someone friendly with the Astor family would open up new avenues for her. Penelope almost wished he hadn't come, no matter how many slow smiles he sent her way.

She didn't want him to see her fail.

If she couldn't find some new facet, a new viewpoint, something, then all her paper would be was a collection of quotes. Her father didn't notice her nervousness as they left the train, but when they were in the car, Oscar took her hand. His voice was soft, "It will be all right, Pen, the Astors really aren't that scary. Not since Mrs. Astor passed, now she was frightening." She tried to give him a smile, but it didn't last.

William Waldorf Astor himself met them on the steps, his dark hair and mustache peppered with gray. He was patient as Penelope explained the reason for their visit, and offered them the hospitality of the house for the three days they would be there. He even showed Penelope to her room himself, pointing out various features of the house. "I had these panels carved exactly as they would have been during Tudor times."

She looked closely at them, noting the carved roses spread throughout. "They're lovely."

"If you're looking for something related to Anne, I would look away from the main rooms." They had come to a window, and he gestured across the grounds. "The gardens are new, but the moat is original. Some of the walls of the house date back to her time, but they've been renovated over the years." He pointed towards a door, "And here is your room. Just ring for a servant if you find yourself in need of anything."

She thanked him, more glad to hide in the room than for his advice. The room was sumptuous, and for a moment, Penelope let herself revel in the velvet counterpane, the down pillows and the tea spread laid out for her. A private dinner was brought, and the pillows proved to be so comfortable she fell asleep instantly. In the morning, she ate a quick breakfast before beginning her search.

It was late afternoon when Oscar found her, testing every brick on the edge of the moat. He knelt down by her, "Found anything yet?"

She sat up from where she had been laying, setting the knife she had been using to test the mortar aside. "Not yet, Mr. Astor said the moat was original. I was hoping a loose brick would lead to something, but I haven't found anything."

"You've found mud." He teased, holding out a handkerchief. "Here, and is there anything I can do to help?"

Penelope mopped the mud from her fingers, "If you like, I'm hoping someone hid something beside a loose brick and it's still visible."

He leaned back, his fingers touching hers. "You don't think it would have been repaired over the years?"

"Maybe." She shrugged, wrapping her fingers around his. "Or it was walled up, or there's nothing."

"I'm sure there's something." Oscar helped her test the rest of the bricks that day, and the entire next day he was by her side as she fruitlessly tapped her way along the walls of the first two floors. The last day, Penelope said a quick prayer as she left her room before the sun rose to head to the last floor.

It seemed an endless period of tapping, listening for some kind of hollowness and being disappointed, when something was off. She almost didn't notice, too used to the same solid sound, when a brick she had tapped with the knife resonated. Blinking, she tapped it again. The same hollow sound echoed through the drawing room she was in, there was some kind of cavity behind the brick.

She hardly cared that the mortar she dug at quickly spread dust over the room, or that she carelessly threw the brick onto the carpet. There was a definite hole, and large enough for her to thrust her entire arm inside. She grabbed at anything in there, the solid feeling of carved wood in her hand. Penelope feared she must have looked a fright as she hurtled down the stairs with the carved falcon in her hands, almost sprinting for the library. She needed light, bright light and it was the first place she thought of.

It was deserted, which meant no one cared as she cleared a desk and brought over half a dozen lamps. A dusting cloth left behind by a maid was quickly put to work, ever so gently. Layers and layers of dust were removed, staining the desk and her hand. But inch by inch, the details of the falcon began to emerge. A crown on its head, a scepter in its claw and the Tudor rose it was roosting upon.

It was Anne's personal badge, an intertwined H and A beneath the rose.

Penelope knew that Henry had issued orders every time he took a new wife for carvings of their initials and the wife's badge to be placed in all his palaces, the old ones removed and likely burned. How had this survived? Henry had hated none of his wives like had had hated Anne, but somehow this falcon had survived the destruction of its fellows.

It was while Penelope was admiring it that she noticed the seam.

At some point the front of the Tudor Rose had been cut away, only to be reattached. When she pressed her fingers gently against it, she felt it move very slightly. She tested it again, terrified that if she pushed too hard the wood would disintegrate. But it was strong English oak, even after all these years, and ever so slowly, the front of the rose shifted. Penelope had to resist moving it faster when she caught sight of something that looked decidedly like parchment underneath it.

Her hands shook as the wooden cover came fully away, and she gently set it aside before reaching into the carved-out cavity it had protected. A square of parchment, a package wrapped in fabric, she couldn't wait. The parchment was flipped over, the ink faded but still legible as she translated the older form of English in her mind.

Elizabeth,

I have entrusted this to your aunt, the Lady Mary, as I will not be around to give it to you once you are grown. My time is short, but perhaps I deserve it for not doing what I could to protect your mother. I have included some letters that was found among one her servants belongings, and some jewels she had once given to her ladies. They would want you to have them.

Do not think your mother was not loved when she died.

Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland.

If her hands had shook before, now they were impossible to keep still as she carefully unfolded the fabric package. Folded parchment fluttered to the desk, flaking at the edges but remarkably whole, but what drew her attention was the jewelry. Hundreds of years after they had last been worn, the stones were still bright and flashing. The gold shone, and while the silver was tarnished, time seemed to have barely touched them.

She only lifted one up, a small B hanging from a rope of pearls, even more pearls dangling below it.

The necklace that Anne was well known for, in her hands. Anne had held this, and Penelope was careful as she admired it. Her fingers had touched the surface, her breath had brushed across it, and Penelope could almost feel the woman herself admiring how well her pendant had held up. She was reverent as she set it aside, turning to one of the letters. She unfolded it slowly, angling the lights so she could read it.

Penelope took out a sheet of paper, her hand shaking as she transcribed the letter. It took time, Anne's handwriting was elaborate and the paper had darkened with age. But Pen kept at it, hour after hour as she considered every single letter and patiently rewrote it. Once the full letter had been transcribed, she gently moved the original, drew out another sheet of paper and set to translating her transcription. Everything had been spelled phonetically, and the grammar was unfamiliar to a modern reader, but eventually she had a good copy that anyone would be able to understand.

My Lord Northumberland,

I can hardly explain why I have addressed this letter in such a manner when it shall never be sent. Perhaps being cooped up in Hever has made me long for the days Henry Percy and I used to spend together out in the sun, when the world was simple. Now, nothing is simple and everything is complicated. The King loves me, Henry Percy loves me, and I can imagine that many other men consider themselves in love with me.

I suppose my time in the French court taught me well, although my morals stayed intact. The King tries to persuade me, but I shall not give in. If I cannot find it in myself to love him, then I will at least gain that which I desire above all. He beseeches me for my affection, for my love, for my body. I do not believe he understands me, my goal is to keep his love and advance myself. It is my dearest hope that I shall marry the King, I shall become Queen, and I will grow to truly love the King. But love can be fickle, a man's eye wanders and a woman needs security.

The title of Queen will grant me security, and the means to achieve my goal. The church in England is in desperate need of reform, and a break with Rome is needed most of all. Would the King's Great Matter be lasting so long if our spiritual head was in England and not Rome? Is not the King truly the head of all matters in his realm, both temporal and spiritual? If I can use a King's love to free the people of England from the yoke of Rome, then perhaps I will have all the security I need.

I will be remembered.

Oh Henry, the both of them. The King, trapped beside the Queen and pilfering the treasury to send me trinkets. I have placed some of them with this letter, they are not to my taste and he will no doubt send me more. As it is, jewels are one form of security for a woman. But the King, if he knew that all my letters of love and affection were merely forms I go through, he would be angry. But you, my dear beloved Henry, it was never about forms and security with you. I know that I can get a man to love me, but none as purely as you once did. I wonder what you would do if I sent you this letter, and if you knew that even after all these years my heart still aches for you.

I must hide this letter,

Anne Boleyn

Penelope was so focused on the letter, on every word, that she didn't notice she wasn't alone until she felt a hand on her shoulder. Her pen skittered away as she whirled around, finding Oscar standing behind her. "I should have figured I would find you in the library."

She didn't wait a moment, grabbing for the necklace. "Oscar, I found it! Her letters, her jewelry, it was here. Look."

He gently took the necklace, brushing his hand over it. "This was hers?"

"Yes, there's a portrait of her wearing it."

A smile appeared on his face, and he stepped closer. "Turn around." Her heart was hammering as she did, for she knew what he was doing. One hand swept her hair aside, the other strung the necklace around her throat. He didn't clasp it, simply holding it in place. "Perfect."

Penelope snuck a hand into the bag she had carried with her, mostly so she could carry the knife around without looking like a madwoman. But it did have a compact in it, and the mirror showed her what she looked like wearing Anne's necklace. "Oscar, you shouldn't."

The hand not holding the necklace rested on her shoulder, and his lips pressed against her cheek. "No one deserves to wear it more than you, even if it's just for a moment." He kept holding the necklace, even as he angled himself so he could take her in. "You're so beautiful, even covered in dust." He smirked, "In fact, you're even better looking like this, happy and fulfilled." His eyes held hers, brown and warm. "I love you, Pen."

Penelope couldn't find her voice, could barely believe what she heard. "Oscar, I-" Her voice died in her throat, for she couldn't say it. She couldn't say she loved him, because she didn't know. She cared for him, deeply, but Anne's letter had made her aware of something she hadn't considered. Was she simply fooling herself with her feelings, was she really just ambitious and seeking a secure future? He had paid for her studies to continue, were her feelings just her trying to make it up to him?

Did she only want to see him for his money?

She looked away from the hurt in his eyes, "Oscar, I'm sorry. I need to think about it."

"Of course," The necklace slipped away from her throat, returned to the rest of the jewels. "I'm sorry if I put you in an awkward spot. You have so much to do now. I'll go get William, he'll likely want to see everything. And your father, he's going to be excited. We can talk once things calm down."

Penelope found herself far too busy to even consider her feelings. First the find had to be documented, she had to relate how she had discovered it, what was there and what condition it had been in. The rest of the letters had to be transcribed and then it all had to be carefully packed. Cambridge would take custody of the items for now, later there would be a discussion of if she had a right to it and which museum it should go to. Then she was writing her paper, getting ready to submit her final copy, and once that was done, she was alone with her thoughts.

There had to be some way to figure out her feelings. While Penelope didn't think she was ambitious as Anne, seeking power and hoping love would grow, she hadn't had many relationships. Perhaps there was a part of her that schemed and plotted to gain some kind of security for the future. There had to be someone who could help her, who knew what she was going through.

When Oscar showed up to take her to dinner, her father already waiting at the restaurant, she turned to him. "You said Mrs. Murdoch's birthday is coming up. I'd like to take her a present."

He blinked, "It's at the end of the month, I'm sure she would appreciate it."

"She's with her husband, correct?"

"In Scotland, but I'm sure you can send it through the post."

She gave his arm a squeeze, glad that he was being patient with her working through her feelings. "Actually, I think a trip to Scotland sounds lovely. I'm sure she'd like a visit from us." That was who she could speak to, the only person she knew who had married into money and knew their emotions well enough to be confident that it was love, not greed, that had driven that decision.

Captain Murdoch.

Will sat in the sitting room, the fire built up and a blanket around his shoulders. He had made the mistake of sneezing in front of Ana after he had come in from outside, she had immediately insisted he change into dry clothes and spend the rest of the day resting. He had endured a lecture about how the cold weather was likely to make him sick if he didn't warm himself up at once. He had counted himself lucky that he had talked her down to him merely working on a model ship as opposed to sleeping all day.

She had wrapped the blanket around his shoulders herself, leaving him with a kiss.

That had been an hour ago, now the table was filled with wood shavings and he was admiring the turret he had finished carving. Ana had expressed a desire for a model of the Unicorn for her office, and Will was only too happy to oblige. He had taken up modeling when he was a boy, learning to carve each various part and fit them all together. It had proven to be a useful hobby back when he had worked on clippers, something to take up the downtime.

He set the turret down, lining it up with the other three. Each of them were identical from a distance, he knew he was the only one who could spot the slight imperfections. Ana wouldn't care that one barrel had a slight line to it where his knife had slipped, she would just be glad to have the model. He shunted the turrets to the side where they rested beside the carved funnel and bridge. He had more to go, but he also had all winter to work on it.

Ana would finally be able to stay in Edinburgh, the convoys having been put into practice. In bed she had whispered to him how her ships had participated in a trial version, proving to Jellicoe and the American admirals that merchantmen were just as disciplined in their maneuvers as the navy. With her ships safer than they had been before, Ana had felt confident enough to decamp to Scotland for the winter. She would miss being around for the birth of the newest Lightoller, but it had been far too long since she had spent time with her husband.

Will planned to take her out shopping for presents for the new baby and the rest of the children. He was even hoping that Lights would be able to get leave and their little makeshift family could spend a few days together. But for now, he was warm and comfortable. The only thing that would make it better would be a glass of whiskey, and he was just about to pour himself one when he heard a knock at the front door.

He stepped out of the sitting room, leaving the blanket behind. He was halfway down the stairs when he heard a familiar voice, and he furrowed his brow as he came around to the parlor. "Oscar?"

Ana gave him a smile, "And his sweetheart, you remember Penelope from the party, don't you?"

He did, a studious looking girl who was currently staring at him. "I do, I hope you're doing well Miss Featherstone."

"I am," She suddenly blinked, "I was hoping to speak with you, actually. Privately, if we could."

"And here I thought you brought a present for Ana's birthday." Oscar teased, dangling a wrapped package from his fingers. "Your father won't be pleased that you've tricked him up here to talk to a married man."

Ana rolled her eyes, plucking the parcel from him. "Oh hush, you and I both know it's entirely innocent."

Will was not pleased at the thought of Ana and Oscar alone in the parlor while he talked to Penelope, but when the girl's green eyes turned to him, she looked utterly pitiable. "Of course, Miss Featherstone. There's a sitting room upstairs, we can talk there if you like." He was aware of the girl following him upstairs as Ana and Oscar began gossiping in the parlor. He swept the wood shavings from the table, tossing them in the fire. "My apologies, I wasn't expecting visitors."

She shook her head, "It's quite all right." Her hands twisted around each other as she sat, "I'm given to understand you were just in a battle?"

Will snorted, "Barely, I never even saw the German ships. Our faster ships got up to their minesweepers and sent them running before we could get close."

"Ah," She fiddled with a shaving that had escaped his attention. "I'm sure Mrs. Murdoch was pleased to have you come back safely. Oscar told me she plans to stay the whole winter."

"The fleet doesn't put out to sea much given how bad the weather is, so I have more time to see her." Will raised a brow. "What was it you wanted to speak to me about?"

The shaving flipped in her hands, turning and twisting. "How did you know you loved your wife for herself and not her money?"

He blinked, stunned. "I, ah, what exactly brought this mind, Miss Featherstone."

"Just Penelope is fine." She leaned forward, fingers reaching for specks of sawdust and lining them up. "Oscar said he loves me, but I don't know if I love him or if I just want a rich husband."

Will pinched the bridge of his nose, "Do you want a rich husband?"

"No," She rocked her head from side to side. "Yes, maybe, I don't know. I worry that there's some underlying part of me that only likes him for his money and that I've only convinced myself that I have feelings for him to hide that part of myself."

He let out a breath, the girl was confused about quite a bit. "Well, I went into my courtship of Ana knowing that she was wealthy, far wealthier than I could ever be." He thought back to those first few days, "I won't deny that there was the occasional thought about how I would live if I had money like she did. It's only natural. But it wasn't her fortune that drew me to her, I would still have wanted to court her even if she didn't have a fortune."

Penelope chewed her lip, "What about your first wife?"

"Ada," He sighed, "She did not have a fortune, but I loved her anyway. I knew my feelings for Ana weren't greed because I remembered the way I felt for Ada and realized those feelings had returned."

"I don't know what those feelings are." She pursed her lips. "Could you tell me what you feel for Mrs. Murdoch? It might help if I have something to compare my own feelings to."

Will took a moment to respond, trying to organize his thoughts. "The main thing I feel, above anything else, is a desire for Ana to be safe and happy. I don't want her to face a single day of sadness, and if she does, I want to be there to cheer her up. If she wants to go to a party, I want her to be beautiful, not just for my own pride but because I know she enjoys it. I want to spend the rest of my life with her, to raise a family together." He ran a hand through his hair. "There's so much more, but it's rather hard to put into words."

She nodded, "I understand."

"And it's not as if I haven't dealt with her wanting to spend too much money on me." He chuckled, "There was a point early on in our courtship where I showed up on her doorstep with nothing to my name but the clothes on my back. She was kind enough to buy me an entire wardrobe, and stubborn enough to insist on it even after I told her it was unnecessary."

"Oscar seems to enjoy doing that too."

"It's how they show affection," He leaned back in his chair. "There was a moment of great distress early on in our courtship, when Ana's money wouldn't have helped her. I was the only one who could help her then and she trusted me to do so. She knew she loved me then, and I loved her. We cared for each other, we helped each other and our marriage is all the stronger for it." He tried to focus on the fire, to banish the cold night that was plucking at the edge of his mind. "But Penelope what you need to ask yourself is, do you care for Oscar?"

"Yes."

"Enough that it might be love?"

"I think so." She crossed her arms, shrinking into the chair. "But how can I be sure that truly love him and not his money?"

Will looked to the fire, thinking. "If you were only after Oscar for his money, you would not be torturing yourself over the purity of your feelings. I love Ana, I would love her even if she lost her fortune tomorrow. If Oscar wasn't a man of means, would you still care for him?"

She was quiet for a long moment, the crackling of the fire suddenly loud in the silence. "Yes."

"Then I believe you have your answer." He stood, "Would you like to go tell him?" She nodded, and Will held the door for her. The shy little thing that had followed him up the stairs was gone, a smile on her lips as she stepped into the parlor.

Will watched with a grin of his own as she stepped forward, "Oscar?" The man in question immediately turned to her, his eyes bright. She took a breath, seeming to tremble slightly, but her voice was firm. "I love you."

"Pen," He sprung to his feet, catching her around her waist and pulling her to him. "You do?"

She nodded, "Yes." She was the one to pull him down for a kiss, but Oscar was the one to cradle her head when he pulled back. "I'm sorry it took me so long to say it."

He sniffed, "It's all right, I would rather you be sure." A slight cough from Ana drew his attention to the fact that they had an audience. "Oh, I'm sorry. I, ah-"

"It's fine, Oscar." Ana smirked, "Your father might put you back in the will if you come home with a fiancée."

"That is hardly what this is about." Oscar shot back, but he was smiling too widely for it to have any venom. "I, just, I'm very happy."

"You should be," Will stepped around them to wrap an arm around Ana. "Finding a woman to love you can make everything seem perfect."

Ana was about to reply when a loud knocking sounded, Penelope paling. Her voice shook now, "It's likely my father. We weren't supposed to be out this long."

"I'll handle it," Ana placed a hand on her shoulder. "Will, you and Oscar bring down the model and join us in the parlor. Penelope, we've been having a wonderful conversation over your studies." The younger girl nodded, and Will and Oscar quickly made it look like the four of them had been spending an afternoon downstairs. Ana answered the door herself, "Why Professor Featherstone, I wasn't aware that you were coming over!"

The professor, looking rather damp, stamped into the parlor. "Penelope, you were supposed to be back at the hotel hours ago."

"I'm afraid we're to blame." Will caught Ana's eye, "Ana and Penelope were so involved in their conversation that we simply lost track of time."

"Not to mention gossip." Oscar looked up from where he had been examining the miniature bridge. "Especially about Admiral Beatty, and his wife."

"Oscar," Ana teased, "We don't need to be discussing their affairs in front of the Professor." She turned her smile to the man, "Would you allow my husband and I to take you all out to dinner to make up for this little mistake?"

The man was rather dumbfounded, but by the time the three of them had been ensconced in a cab, he had agreed to a dinner at the North British Station hotel. Will had to laugh as Ana came back in from seeing them off, "You played him like a fiddle, my dear."

"I understand his concern," She returned to the parlor, sitting on his lap. "But those two deserve a little time without a chaperone."

"You don't think they'll be as debauched as we were?"

"Hardly," She snorted, "I assume she wanted to talk to you about the fact that she loves Oscar?"

"Yes, and how to deal with the fact that he's rich." He pulled her closer to lean on him, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Apparently, I'm the expert to consult. What did you and Oscar talk about?"

"The affairs of Admiral Beatty and Ethel," She snuggled tighter against him. "Their individual affairs. Oscar apparently spotted Ethel at the party, and he's heard that Beatty has taken one of his captain's wives as a mistress."

"I'll have to keep an eye out." He let his head lean back, utterly content. "Although if he's turning to captain's wives you may need to stay out his eye." He gently nipped at her ear, "You're far too beautiful for him."

"I've already refused him once, I'll have no problem doing it again."