Vera sat behind the great mahogany desk in what used to be her stepfather's study in Hartley Manor, the morning sun illuminating her sanctuary with a lovely golden glow. A fire crackled invitingly in the hearth, tempting her to leave the estate ledgers and come sit by it. She cast a forlorn look at the warmth and turned her head back to the ledger on her desk. Numbers had never been her strongest subject, she had always been more interested in reading about great heroes of Greek myths and the great romance of Byron and Shakespeare, but she found herself thanking her Papa for forcing her to learn how to keep books. She would have her steward compile a report for Benedict, as she did every quarter, though she very much doubted he bothered to read them. It was likely his once-every-three-month reminder that she existed, not entirely conducive to his strategy of pretending he did not have a wife while he sowed his wild oats in London.

A knock sounded on the door and once she had given her permission to enter, Astley strode in through the doors.

'Good Morning, Your Grace.'

'Good Morning, Astley.' She offered him a smile.

'Shall I have breakfast sent here in a tray?'

'Just tea, thank you. I will have breakfast in the dining room, in an hour. Have a carriage prepared, I will go see the tenants and then I will go to the village.'

'Very good, Your Grace. Shall I have Cook pack some cakes and sweetmeats for the children on the farms?'

'I think that's a splendid idea, Astley.'

The butler nodded, then presented a pristine envelope bound with some twine. Minerva's heart leapt with excitement. She already knew who it was from before Astley continued. 'A letter from Boston.'

Her ledger lay forgotten on her desk as she unraveled the twine on the letter as though it was a present, a giddy smile playing on her lips. It was as if God had known exactly what she needed at the time – though that was rather the point of omnipotence- and had sent her word from her dearest friend in the whole world, the very woman who had saved her life and had kept her safe in the dark days before her mother had met Papa.

Dearest Vera,

I had to bribe my youngest grandnephew to write this letter for you with those lemon sweets you loved so much as a child. You would think that these brats would have some mercy on an aging crone, but alas, no such luck. I am unable to work with the church regularly, my arthritis makes me more of a nuisance to the younger Sisters than a help, but they are kind enough to humor me. My brother has taken it upon himself to care for me and he is an absolute fusspot. It is quite endearing, if I am honest.

It was hard for Vera to imagine that the unstoppable woman she had known was now a lady well into her dotage. Her eyes wrinkled and her back bent. It had seemed impossible that Sister Agatha was quite as mortal as all that.

I saw the architect's sketch you included in your last correspondence and I am awed by how lovely it was. I am sure the little children will be beyond happy to have such lovely living quarters. I hope young Nicholas's health is well and that he is still engaged with his paints. I imagine that boy will become quite the artist once he is grown. He will be the toast of Paris in ten years.

Nicky had actually quite the talent for arts and Vera had already begun to set aside a small fund for him if he wished to go to France to further hone his craft.

I imagine Robert is old enough to start looking for work, and that Michael and Timothy are still up to their mischiefs. I hope Prudence and Elizabeth are taking to the new governess well, and education is an important part of a young lady's arsenal.

I often think back to the days when you were so small that you barely came to my hips and wonder how that shy little girl could have ended up a duchess. You make me a proud old lady with all the good you have set out to do when so many would have forgotten their roots and those below them.

Vera felt a little guilt coil around her gut as she wondered how proud saintly and virtuous Sister Agatha, formerly of the New Hope Church, would really be if she learned about Richard. She'd likely fix her stern stare at her and tell her that her embarrassment was well deserved. Sister Agatha was also unconvinced of God's very personal relationship with Minerva, so she would refrain from telling the woman of her latest misfortune.

Your strength humbles me and fills me with joy. Each day I pray for your health and happiness. Your letters are such a lovely gift in my increasingly dull life.

Do write again soon.

All my love,

Agatha.

She immediately reached for the paper on her desk and wrote out her reply, telling Sister Agatha about Prudence's increasing passion for dressmaking, Elizabeth's wonderful head for mathematics and geography, Robert's tendre for the vicar's daughter and all the mischief the younger boys were getting up to. After that, she wrote another letter to her solicitors in America to take care of any medical bills or extra needs that Sister Agatha had. Once she was done, she descended from her study to the dining room and helped herself to a hearty breakfast, for she knew she had her day cut out for her.

Now onto the tenants and her meetings with the steward.

About four hours later, Minerva exited the carpenter's shop looking inordinately pleased with herself, checking off the last of her tasks for the day. The two footmen that had accompanied her that day carried out the new writing desk she had commissioned for the vicar as a gift. She bade them to take the carriage to deliver the desk, though they made their discomfort at leaving her alone in town known but she reassured them that it was daylight still and she would be perfectly safe.

Just as she had predicted, the man had been unable to refuse her request to take on Robert as an apprentice. She fought the twinge of sadness she felt when she recalled how small and distrustful he had been when he first came to the orphanage. A proper young man now, the first of her fledglings to find their wings. They would all find their own paths, she was sure of it. It was her very purpose, in fact, making sure these children had a secure future, and yet, the thought that they would all eventually leave made her feel immensely bereft and rather self-pitying.

Self-pity was a sensation she was becoming rather annoyingly familiar with, no matter her conviction to not indulge in it. How absolutely annoying.

So engrossed was she in her musings that she did not notice the hulking brute of a man that had followed her from behind as she left the busy town square to the relatively quiet path that lead to the orphanage until his meaty hand was clapped in a vise grip around her wrist, the other coming to clamp over her mouth.

Oh, God. Dear God.

'Wot's a pretty gel like ye doin all alone? Let me keep ye company.' He snickered in her ear, his rancid breath tickling her cheek. 'Never 'ad a taste of anyfink as fine as ye.'

She struggled in vain against his strength as he made to drag her away from the road. She opened her mouth and bit his palm as hard as she could. He let out a pained yell and stumbled backward. He swore an oath so filthy Vera was shocked by its vileness.

'YE LITTLE TOFF BITCH!' He snarled and made to grab her as she inhaled in order to scream. That was her mistake, the one that would take this situation from dangerous to lethal, because the second the air hit her lungs she was assaulted by the smell of it. Gin. The one thing in the world that could steal all of her senses and return her to a frightened little girl instead of the strong grown woman she was. She felt the fight leave her body as she began to shake with uncontrollable fear.

The memories came like a vengeful tsunami, drowning everything in their wake.

If you come out now, I won't hurt you as badly. The sinister voice whispered in her ears. Rough hands caressing her prepubescent body. On her chest, between her legs, on her behind; pinching, caressing, and tugging. The sensation of a fist half the size of her face striking her. She felt her vision begin to blacken and her awareness begin to leave her. Far, far away she watched as the man who had attacked her cast a horrid look to the right and took off as if the very devil was at his heels. She stumbled back to the center of the road, her vision fading in and then out. Too late for her to notice the gigantic beast heading towards her with its rider yelling something indiscernible at her. She felt her knees go weak, helpless to get out of the way of her impending doom. Her vision blackened again and the next thing she knew the horse was rearing up a few feet away, its owner thrown off its back in one devastating moment. When her vision next returned she was being shaken, two wrathful dark eyes, so dark they were almost black, stared right into her soul.

Familiar dark eyes, on a familiar well-cut face.

'What the goddamn hell is wrong with you, madam?! Jumping in front of my mount like that?' He demanded, his familiar voice gruff with fury. 'I could have died, you fool! And so could you!'

Understanding began to dawn, her shock too great for her to form words. Her body still trembled as the man- the entirely too familiar man- ranted at her for her recklessness. His dark hair fell across his brow as his handsome features twisted in distaste.

What was he doing here?!

Little by little, Minerva's mind began to work even as she felt her stomach fight to keep the contents of her breakfast. She had to warn him, if only her teeth would stop chattering.

'Well?!' He demanded. 'Are you entirely addled, madam?!'

'Ben-Benedict.' She ground out, even as she suspected she was too late. She saw the flash of recognition in his eyes.

'I'm going to be sick.'

His eyes widened in horror and he made to get away, but alas it was far too late. She heaved the contents of her stomach onto his undoubtedly expensive jacket and then fainted into her husband's arms.