Given the nature of the vows that nuns tended to take upon entering the convent or sometime thereafter, I wasn't a welcome guest as a man. But after a whole morning of standing just outside their gates and asking every nun or priest that entered if I could speak with someone inside, eventually a wrinkled old woman with a wicked scowl and shrewd eyes came to shoo me off. She was, in fact, the Abbess in charge of the whole convent. And I interrupted her lecture regarding my harassment of the women in her charge with a request to speak to her privately and an assurance that I had not done anything inappropriate with regards to the other members of her sisterhood. Rather than making a few of them blush or giggle with a simple smile on my part.

As another pair of women walked by, grinning and hiding their faces from me, the Abbess relented, throwing her hands into the air with a sigh and barking for me to follow her inside. I did as I was told, striding through the halls at an acceptable distance behind her. I should have looked away from the women we passed but I couldn't help myself. Every wink and smirk brought our giggles and grins. It was far too easy amongst women who hadn't seen a man other than a priest in God knew how long.

The Abbess' office was at the end of the main hall. An enormous set of old wooden double doors preceded it and she strode through them, shooing away the nun cleaning inside. She took one look at me and scurried out with her head down. I waited until she had gone before settling myself in the seat across from the old Abbess who stood over her own desk across from me, watching me with suspicion.

"I am here to inquire about a certain member of your sisterhood," I informed her.

"Who?" she asked immediately. "And what do you want with her?"

I blinked, unaccustomed to such blatant speech. Apparently, the nuns had dispensed with the idle prattle and double talk of polite society. I could respect that.

"Her name is Anne Withersby," I said and did my best to ignore the way she tensed at the name so that I might continue. "And I have reason to suspect that she did not find herself within the confines of your convent willingly."

She frowned, her wrinkled lips pulling low as her brow furrowed along with them as if the movement pulled her whole face downward.

"Regardless of the circumstances of her joining our cause, she has made peace with our Lord and is behind the reach of mere mortals," the Abbess said piously. "Your plea is thoughtful but unnecessary. Anne is doing just fine here, I assure you."

"Has she taken her perpetual vows?" I asked and the Abbess blinked at me in surprise.

"You're Catholic?"

"Born and raised."

Technically. But she didn't need to know my whole sordid history regarding my parents and the church.

"Well, then, I will be frank with you," she said and I nodded for her to continue. "Anne has not taken her vows. She is not permanently committed but she has every intention of remaining here in the convent. Every time it comes up, she extends her stay with us and we are pleased to have her. She is a fervent warrior in prayer and excellent in the kitchens."

I nodded. That didn't sound like someone who ran off to France to have a dalliance with a married man to me. I smiled for the Abbess' benefit and leaned forward.

"This is not a prison, correct?" I asked and her lips parted in shock.

"I-I don't-whatever do you–"

"And if it is not a penitentiary, the girl is permitted to leave. After so long remaining here and not taking her perpetual vows, it sounds like she's been looking for a way out. I am only here to offer her that option. Shouldn't we at least allow her to choose?"

The Abbess' gaze narrowed in assessment at my words.

"And who are you?" she asked. "Not her father. Too young and I met the man when he brought her here. A brother, perhaps?"

"I am a friend of a friend. Elena Langley's friend to be precise. You can tell her that when you speak to her."

"And how do I know you're telling the truth? I do not know this Elena Langley. A friend of a friend is no relation at all. I cannot release one of my sisters into the company of a cad."

My lips spread into a wild grin as I leaned back in my chair.

"All men are cads, are they not, Abbess?" I asked, coolly.

It was the first hint of a smile I'd seen on her lips.

"Very well," she said, clearing her throat as she stood, as though she couldn't believe it herself that she had actually smiled. "I will tell Anne that you came. I will give her three days to make her decision. You may return then to inquire about her."

Sensing that was as good as I was going to get from this wizened old Abbess, I stood, tipped my hat, and exited her office. She followed me closely all the way to the gates where she saw me off with a curt nod and returned inside, hopefully going directly to Anne to relay my offer. I hadn't the faintest clue if the girl would accept it. I was a complete stranger and she had been here so long she might have grown too comfortable to consider leaving. But the circumstances surrounding her arrival had been wrong. This was the only thing I could do to attempt to make it right. Whether she decided to leave with me or not, at least I tried.

Knowing that I now had three days in France before I received my answer, I headed to Paris where I spent the week making contacts of my own, negotiating a few trade deals, discussing designs with some of the industry's finest, and examining more than a fair share of pieces in various shops around the city.The stitching was so fine on one garment that I stumbled across that I purchased it and packed it away in my luggage to take home. Perhaps my own seamstresses could imitate it, once I had them, or improve on the design entirely with something utterly unique to our brand.

It was invigorating, this newfound interest of mine in the family's clothier business. I'd never hung around the shop much in my youth, considering it to be one of my father's more boring investments and something I thought he only maintained to appease my mother's incessant need for all things luxury. But, in truth, it might have been the only business he had actually run legally. Sure, it was also a front for all of the shadier dealings he had on the side, but it was also an actual, fully functioning men's clothiers with fine, tasteful pieces and a service-centered atmosphere. And now, it had become my one saving grace, one of the few things I was able to salvage from the wreckage of my family's collapse, one of the few good things we had done in this city. But I knew I could make it better. I would.

I heard from Jasper only a day after I'd arrived. His letter had come wrapped around one from Samuel ensuring me that business was well and thriving and to take as long as I liked in France. Jasper's was far shorter. Just a name and an address. But I smiled down at that paper knowing exactly what my oldest friend had given me.

I wasted no time at all going to that address. I knocked on the door only once before a demure young maid opened it, bowed swiftly, and led me inside. Pierre-Louis Magnier, as Jasper's note had claimed the man was called, was at work in his office surrounded by bolts of various luxurious fabrics, a few antique sewing machines, multiple handcrafted perfume bottles, and a few scattered jewels. He looked over his wire-rimmed glasses at me as I entered and nodded a grinning, the lips beneath his bushy gray-brown mustache set in a firm line.

"Mr. Keene?" he asked as I approached, hand stuck out in greeting.

"Camden, if you please," I introduced with a friendly smile. "And you are Monsieur Magnier?"

"Indeed, I am. Mr. Rouse tells me you are in the business of crafting a fine luxury brand of your own in England and have come to France for inspiration as well as buying purposes?"

He raised a brow and I kept the grin on my face as best as I could. This man didn't mince words. Rather, he preferred to get right to the point. I could appreciate that.

"May I?" I asked, gesturing to the chair behind me, in front of the desk which he sat on the other side of.

"Oui," he answered, nodding graciously, and we sat.

"My father opened his own men's clothiers when I was very young. He spent years gathering the finest fabrics from around England and crafting them into unique pieces, custom pieces. But he never sought to elevate the business past the streets of London. I am hoping to use the foundation he built to create something new, something better. And there is no better fashion than what already exists in Paris."

"That, we can agree on," Monsieur Magnier said with a smile. Flattery, I knew, would get you everywhere.

"I am here to learn, here to gather inspiration and ideas for my own brand, and, yes, should the occasion arise, I am here to purchase as well. I am particularly interested in scents for men. Cologne to rise in popularity the way of the woman's perfume."

"I thought Englishmen preferred to smell of horses and brandy."

I smiled despite the obvious contempt in the Frenchman's tone.

"They do," I confessed. "But their wives don't."

He watched me for a moment, straight-faced and indifferent. Then, slowly, his mustache lifted ever so slightly and he began to chuckle.

"Yes, I imagine they don't," he agreed through his mirth.

"And I find that I can sell a man damn near anything by promising the woman in his life will love him better for it," I said.

He raised a hand to his chin and scratched it once. Twice.

"I like you, Camden," he told me then, his accent heavy. "You have a unique way of thinking. That will go a long way in seeing these lofty goals to the end. Very well. If it is cologne which interests you, I have a veritable catalog of vendors. We might visit a few this very afternoon, if you are free. We can decide on a set of signature fragrances for your brand, order them to be shipped back to England."

"That would be incredible, Monsieur. Thank you."

"It will be a test of our partnership. As you can see, I stock nearly every luxury item Paris has to offer. If our arrangement is mutually beneficial, perhaps you would return to France to discuss expansion."

"Such a partnership would be my honor."

"Then it is done. Meet me in the square in two hours. We will visit the perfumeries and select your scents."

I nodded, rising from my seat and shaking Monsieur Magnier's hand once more before exiting his home, grinning broadly at the blushing maid as I did. Then I grabbed some lunch and waited until such time as I would meet Monsieur Magnier again.

As it so happened, Jasper sent me the best contact he possibly could have. Pierre-Louis Magnier knew everything there was to know about Paris and about the fashion industry within it. As we walked through the busy city streets, he informed me of which shops to avoid, which used shoddy materials and made false claims about their products, and which to idolize. He took me into various perfumeries and had me smell scents until I could no longer distinguish between them. In the end, we selected six colognes and I purchased two more garments for their stitching, embellishments, and unique makes. When Monsieur Magnier said goodbye to me on the corner of the street leading up to his home, he was smiling. And I left him behind, returning to my own lodgings, feeling as though I had just spent a very productive afternoon making a very important business contact.

Before I knew it, three days had passed and it was time to return to the convent. I packed up all my belongings and headed back to Burgundy, uncertain of what to expect when I arrived. Whatever I was assuming I would see when I strode toward the convent, it was not what I did.

The Abbess stood out front, her expression set in a tight scowl, squinting against the morning sun as she glared at me all the way from the front doors. But standing in front of her, a small, tidy suitcase packed by her feet, was the woman I presumed to be Anne Withersby herself.

She was far prettier than I remembered, with long, unbound auburn hair full of rich, copper waves that glowed in the sun. Her eyes were keen and bright and they tracked my progress all the way from the end of the road. She stood perfectly still, hands clasped in front of her and chin held high, her lips set in a friendly but wary smile. She wore no habit, no long black robes or apron. Instead, she was dressed in the modern fashions of the English court, if not a year or two out of style, a pale yellow dress with fine embellishments and light and airy skirts.

"Mr. Keene," she nodded a greeting as I approached.

"Miss Withersby," I answered with a smile, bending to retrieve her case from where it rested on the dirt beside her. "A pleasure to meet you. I am happy to know you have accepted my offer."

"Elena's offer," she contended and my grin broadened.

"Elena's offer," I agreed and then glanced back to the Abbess as I lifted her suitcase and held it at my side. It was remarkably light for a case meant to contain every last scrap of a woman's belongings. "Abbess."

I nodded in thanks and then turned and made my way back down the road from the convent to where my carriage was waiting at the end. Without a word, Anne followed at my side, walking casually, staring straight ahead. She didn't dare speak to me again until the Abbess had finally turned away and headed back into the convent, apparently satisfied that her former charge wasn't planning on whirling around and fleeing back into the safety of the nuns.

"I always thought that when a man came to get me from this place, it would be my father," she said, her voice soft, quiet.

I glanced sideways toward her. So she had always intended to leave.

"Do you still speak to him?" I asked.

"He died," she answered softly.

"I am sorry to hear that."

"I remember you," she said then, changing the subject entirely as she cast her shrewd glance my way. "But why are you here? Did Elena truly send you?"

"What happened to you was wrong," I answered simply, tossing her case into the back of the carriage once we had reached it before opening the door for her to clamber inside. "Elena and I both think it's time you returned home."

She did not say another word at that. Just cocked her head to the side, ran her gaze over me once more in examination, and climbed into the open carriage without looking back.