"Traditionally, babies have to be born in the country where they are due to inherit titles."

I was lying in my marital bed, blankets wrapped around me, while William lay behind me, his hands upon my belly, as if feeling for any presence of movement, despite Claire having told us time and again that it likely wouldn't occur for several more weeks into the pregnancy. "Oh?" I asked. "And if it is a girl? She would only be eligible to inherit your barony..."

"Which is attached to the Ellesmere titles," William said softly, leaning down and pressing his lips to my shoulder.

I shivered, desire roaring through me; I had been relieved that William had listened to everything that Claire, Jamie, and I had said when it came to time travel. I wasn't altogether sure if he believed me, which led Papa to come into the conversation, the following morning, and show him two letters that Mama had written, the night after they had wed. It came as a relief that William, then, seemed to believe us, and it was also pleasant that Papa had willingly written to General Howe, who accepted William's resignation from service, in the event of our eventual return to England.

"You've never been to England, have you?"

I pursed my lips, angling my head so that I could see William's face. "Remember how Claire and I described airplanes to you?"

William nodded, a smile pulling at his lips. "Of course. They fascinate me. It is a shame I shall never see one for myself."

"Well, that is, of course, if you are unable to travel. Just because Jamie can't..." I shrugged my shoulders. "Well, it could come from the Dunsany line. My mother inherited it from her mother's side of the family, the Morrison family, as her aunt, her mother's twin sister, had the ability to travel. By process of elimination, my mother's mother, Erica, likely could travel as well."

William considered this for a moment. "I never thought of that..."

"So airplanes," I said, and his eyes snapped back to mine. "I had to take one from Scotland to England, and then another from England to Virginia."

"So, that was your only time in England, then?"

I shook my head at him. "No. Sometimes, Uncle Roger... Your brother-in-law," I reminded him, and William sighed, still a bit shocked from all of the familial information, "would have lectures in England. He went to university and became a historian, or, as we call them, a history professor, much like my mother was, although for teenagers, at what we call secondary schools, your academies."

"And you went to secondary school, with boys and girls," William said, his mind catching up a bit, as it had done, in the days since Claire, Jamie, and I had told him everything.

I nodded. "Yes. In the twentieth century, especially in the latter half, it became common practice for mixed-gender schools to crop up everywhere."

"And that was where you met the boys you kissed," William continued, although, this time, he wrapped his arms in a possessive manner around me.

I giggled at that. "Yes, one or two. But, as I said, it was merely to inform people that yes, I had indeed kissed a boy..."

William blinked. "That is something girls spoke about?" he asked.

I nodded. "Oh, yes. It is considered a rite of passage."

"And your closest friend... Theresa?" he asked.

"Yes, who went by her nickname, Tessa. She was Dr. Craig's daughter, the doctor who helped me with my illness I had as a child," I told him. "There is something you should know about Tessa, she... She did not... She liked women."

William raised his eyebrows. "Oh. Sappho, then?" he asked.

I very nearly began shrieking with laughter. "In this day and age, I suppose that is a nicer term, but we call them lesbians in the twentieth century."

"And did... Did she have... A companion?"

I leaned upwards and kissed William on the cheek. "Girlfriend," I told him patiently, "and yes, she did. They were going to attend university together when I left, and they were very happy together. She was called Maeve."

"And they will not hang for such a thing?"

I nuzzled closer to my husband, relief flooding through me. "Thank you for not considering it a crime," I said softly, "and no, they won't. Some people, and society, are still prejudiced against individuals in relationships like that, in the 1990s, and, while they cannot marry or register as partners officially, let alone still be terminated from their positions if they are found out, it is not illegal for them to be together, live together, that sort of thing."

"What can you be hung for, then?" William asked.

"Well, nothing, not anymore. At least, nowhere in the British Isles, what is referred to when it comes to England, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales," I said quietly. "England, Scotland, and Wales abolished execution in 1965, while Ireland was more slow-going, not abolishing it completely until 1990, just eight years before I came here."

"And the..." At this, William cleared his throat. "...the United States?"

I gave him a soft smile as I patted his arm. "It is still implemented here," I told him softly, "but several states have abolished it, including Michigan, Wisconsin, Rhode Island, and Maine. There are five recorded methods within each state, with hanging and firing squad likely the ones you are familiar with."

William looked a bit uncomfortable at the mention of the latter. "And what are the three other methods?" he asked me, his voice filled with trepidation.

"Lethal injection is the most popular," I said quietly. "Claire showed you the glass syringes that she kept hidden in her medical kit."

William nodded. "She did."

"Well, the executioner will put something into the syringe which will stop the heart. That way, the condemned individual will usually fall asleep, as they are also administered something for that as well. It is a common method, with most states who still have capital punishment on their books employing it."

"And the other two are...what?"

"Gas chamber, which is exactly how it sounds—"

"Dear God, no!" William cried, his eyes wild.

I sighed. "Yes, I'm afraid so. You are locked in a room, after typically being strapped down to a chair, blindfolded, and then poisonous fumes are emitted into the closed-off room. There are windows, however, so that the executioner, and anyone else who has come to view the execution, can...well, watch."

William dragged a hand down his face. "I am almost afraid to ask what the last method is."

I swallowed. "I don't have to tell you, if you don't wish to hear it."

William shook his head. "It is all right. I wish to hear it."

"All right," I said quietly, rubbing his arm. "Just remember that I am here, and you are safe. You will likely never see this method, as it wasn't employed until over a hundred years from now."

William sighed, straightening slightly. "Very well. You may tell me."

"The electric chair," I said, and William looked horrified. "Much like the gas chamber, you are strapped to a chair, and these things called electrodes are taped onto the condemned prisoner's body. Then, a switch is flipped, giving the prisoner a jolt, as electricity goes through their body, killing them."

William shifted from behind me. "Perhaps we can discuss other things," he said at last. "Perhaps I may inform you of all the estates I inherited from Ludovic."

I blinked, amazed that it was even a conversation. "There is more than Helwater?"

William chuckled. "Yes, I inherited that from my mother's family, as well as Mount Josiah, an estate in Virginia that Papa managed for me. However, as I hold the titles of earl, viscount, and baron from Ludovic, I have a great many estates to my name."

"Very well, then," I answered, knowing entirely well that I would likely see them someday, and that our son, whenever he was born, would inherit them from William. "I know that Helwater is in the Lake District. What of the others?"

"There is a rather beautiful Tudor-style manor house, Great Fangley Manor, dating back from the eleventh century, located in Surrey," William began, and I lay more comfortably against him, fully prepared to listen about my future homes. "A castle overlooking the Derwent Valley, in Derbyshire, called Derwent Castle, which I inherited with the barony. Ashness House in Gloucestershire, which is typically used as a country, summertime residence. Ellesmere Hall in Northumberland is a very impressive estate, done up in the style of a medieval castle. Ellesmere Lodge in Nottinghamshire, which is one of the older properties. And, finally, Glastonbury Estate, located in Somerset, which is one of the largest properties to my name, and boasting over twenty bedrooms."

I shook my head, mulling it over for a moment.

"Are you well?" William asked softly.

I let out a bit of nervous laughter. "I can see why you didn't advertise your estates before we were married," I said softly, peering over my shoulder. "Just so you know, none of them matter to me. I'm sure they're all beautiful, and I don't want to change a thing about them. Not to mention the notion that we will likely form wonderful memories there with our children, once they come..."

William tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "You were the most forbidden of forbidden fruits, Henrietta," he whispered, causing me to shiver with desire. "Had you not been taken to the twentieth century by your mama, to be raised by my sister, you would still be a baby. A baby that I had never met, I grant you, but a baby nonetheless. A baby that would have been raised as my half-sister, whom I never would have looked twice at. But then, you came into my path, foolishly without an escort and dressed as a man, and I..." He broke off then, his fingers tracing the scar just underneath my collar bone.

"Does it... Does it really bother you?" I asked quietly.

William sighed. "Of course it does."

I sighed. "Well," I said, straightening up a bit, "if it truly bothers you so much, when we return to England, and after the baby is born, I can go through the stones in Scotland, and stay with Roger and Brianna for a while..."

William's arms tightened around me. "Why would you do that?"

I looked over my shoulder, facing him. "There are doctors in the twentieth century, known as plastic surgeons, who could likely remove the scar somehow. You wouldn't have to be reminded of what happened—"

"Don't," William said, his voice breaking, and I felt my eyes widening as he reached outwards to cup my cheek. "Don't leave me, Henrietta. Please."

I nodded, temporarily shocked by his demeanor. "Then, I won't," I answered, smiling at him. "I shall ask Claire to make me some kind of concealer... Oh, it is a kind of makeup," I explained, seeing William's confused expression. "I know she will know ingredients which will not harm the baby. Then, I won't have to leave you, but I can still cover the scar."

William stroked my cheek. "It only bothers me because, due to the scar, I hurt you," he told me quietly, eyes downcast, a great amount of shame radiating from him. "Now that you are my wife, I shall never seek to hurt you, deliberately, ever again, Henrietta, never."

I leaned closer, pressing my lips to his. "And I shall not deliberately seek to hurt you, William," I assured him, feeling relieved when he smiled at me.

William suggested that we begin to make preliminary plans to go to live in England, if only to look around his estates, and I agreed, knowing it would please him. We decided that we would hold a dinner party to bid our extended family farewell, unknowing when we would see any of them again. We would likely receive visits from Uncle Hal and Aunt Minnie, or be invited to Argus House, and William seemed eager for me to meet our grandmother, Benedicta. I only hoped that the elderly woman, Lady Stanley, approved of me, but also realizing that she was, to my knowledge, unaware of the aspect of time travel in my background.

"Thee must be terribly excited," Rachel said, as she and I walked to the market together, ostensibly to do some shopping for the dinner party.

I turned and looked at her, askance for a moment; I could see the flush in her cheeks, the happiness in her eyes, and knew that could only mean one thing. "Rachel, are you with child?" I found myself asking.

Rachel positively beamed at my question. "I am," she confirmed.

I reached outwards, clasping her hand. "I am so pleased for you," I told him. "I'll just bet that Ian was over the moon."

Rachel blinked. "Over the moon? What does thee mean?"

I raised my eyebrows, slightly surprised that she did not know it, although it was mainly a literary expression in these times, so it was entirely possible that she was unaware of it. "It simply means very excited," I told her patiently, knowing a bit about Ian's history with the Mohawk, and how much he wanted a child to call his own.

"He is," Rachel confirmed, smiling softly. "And, perhaps, one day, thee's child and mine will play together."

I thought it was a splendid idea, although I was unknowing if it would come to pass. I knew I would miss Rachel terribly, however, and, since she and Ian had already established themselves upon Fraser's Ridge, it would be cruel to ask them to accompany me. I knew I would be fine with Lottie and William by my side, however, as well as anyone else who would prove to be a welcome addition to our household.

Rachel and I fared well at the market, knowing entirely well that Papa and Jamie had arranged a hunting trip with William and Ian to get us some meat for the celebrations. We did, meanwhile, purchase some chicken and beef from the market, knowing that Mrs. Figg, on loan from Papa, would make something especially delicious. I also procured plenty of vegetables, bread, and cheese, so that Rachel would have plenty to eat. Now that she was with child, she would need even more energy.

I parted ways in an amicable manner, as always, with Rachel, taking a shortcut I had found through Carpenter's Woods to get back to William's and my lodgings at Elfreth's Alley. However, as I was about midway through them, I heard several gunshots overhead, a murder of crows becoming startled immediately thereafter, and flying away in desperate amounts. I could hear several men seemingly congratulating themselves on their kill, and, as I walked by, saw them carrying out a hulking beast of a black panther. I knew that, in my time, the only wild cats still found in Pennsylvania were bobcats, as other large cats species had been wiped out entirely by the late-1800s. It seemed that hunting had done that, and I knew that the beautiful pelt of the panther would likely be brought to a tanner any time now, cut up accordingly, and sold.

Once the hunters left the woods, I shook my head at the notion, something telling me to find the spot of their kill. They hadn't explicitly identified, in what little I'd heard of their conversation, whether or not the panther they'd taken down was male or female, but I'd seen and read too many horror stories of mothers being shot, which left their babies to fend for themselves out in the wild. It wasn't too terribly difficult to find the kill sight, given the pool of blood I found in a clearing of frozen leaves, and I crossed myself.

"May God keep and protect you," I said softly. I turned my head at the sound of a small squeak, just behind a massive rock, and ventured towards it. I peered behind it, where, in yet another pile of frozen leaves, was the murdered panther's cub. "Oh, you poor baby," I said quietly, my heart going out to it, and crouched down, extending my hand, but not moving closer. "It's all right," I said to it, making myself as small as possible. "I won't hurt you."

The cub was cautious, naturally; however, courage seemed to be the order of the day, so it inched forward, hesitantly sniffing at my outstretched hand. Slowly, once it lowered its head, I scratched it behind the ear, and it seemed altogether pleased with the situation. Finally, I had seemed to gain its trust enough to lift it, judging it to be about ten pounds, meaning that it was around eight weeks old. The little thing snuggled into my arms, and I wrapped my cloak around it, not wanting to scare off other passersby with my wild animal in tow.

"Lottie? Mrs. Figg?" I called, stepping into the house in Elfreth's Alley, and venturing immediately towards the kitchen, basket of purchases in hand.

Mrs. Figg's attention was immediately upon me, while Lottie rushed into the kitchen, likely from attending to her other chores in the house. "Lady Ellesmere," she said softly, and they both curtsied to me, their movements revenant.

"How may we serve you, my lady?" Lottie asked, catching sight of the basket and taking it from me, before beginning to put the various items away.

I slowly unhooked my furred cloak, and both of them looked shocked at what lay within. "I came upon the hunters who killed its mother," I explained, as the panther wrapped its paws around my neck, and would not be brought down. I pressed a kiss onto its head, and it let out a soft yawn before it fell asleep in my arms. "I know that William was keen on me getting an animal to keep me company, but I'm sure he did not mean this. However, the poor thing will be afflicted with malnourishment, and could die, if left alone, especially at this early age."

Mrs. Figg sighed. "You are kind, indeed, Lady Ellesmere," she said softly, looking over at Lottie, who appeared more shocked than she was. "Lottie, dear, go and put what needs to be placed in the icehouse outside, please. We still need to finalize the menu for the dinner party at the end of the week."

Lottie immediately picked up the meats to be stored first, and beamed at Mrs. Figg. "Yes, Mrs. Figg," she responded, and hurried outside.

"Dear child," Mrs. Figg said, smiling after her. "It is a shame what happened to her mother, and how that Mr. Clyde and his boys treated her. You and His Grace were right to get her out of there and bring her into this household."

I rolled upon the balls of my feet, in the classic swaying motion one does whenever they have a sleepy, or sleeping, baby in their arms, to keep them calm. "Have you given any further thought to joining our household permanently?" I asked.

Mrs. Figg sighed. "I am grateful to His Lordship for giving me a suitable position, but I have considered it at length," she said softly. "I believe Phaedre or Venus could easily assume control of the household, and they could hire another ladies maid or nursery maid to help in tending to the children." She looked up at me from her position beside the kitchen counter, her hands covered with flour, amid kneading the dough. "I would very much appreciate it if His Grace wouldn't mind speaking to His Lordship on my behalf. You do intend to return to England before the child is born, do you not, Your Grace?"

"That is what William has intended, yes," I replied. "He is surveying potential ships for the journey, and, if you do accompany us, you may have to share a cabin with Lottie. Will that prove to be an issue? I am sure I can speak to William about you and Lottie not having to share a cabin together—"

Mrs. Figg held up her hand. "I wouldn't mind sharing with Lottie; I quite like the girl," she assured me, her tone motherly and kind. She hesitated for a moment, looking out into the back garden, where the icehouse, but not Lottie, could be seen. "You are very different, my dear... I first noticed it when your mother married His Lordship."

My jaw dropped at her words. "What, you...? You know that John and Alexandra are my biological parents?"

Mrs. Figg smiled. "I do, my dear. It was quite a coincidence when Master Han's twin sister disappeared so soon after her second birthday, only for a young woman to show up at Chestnut Street, looking so like her. I had my suspicions, but Lord John loved your mother, and then His Grace fell in love with you..."

I swallowed. "How did you come to the conclusion, then?"

Mrs. Figg lowered her eyes to the dough, still kneading it skillfully. "Are you familiar with a place called Abandawe?"

I very nearly dropped the cub, soothing it as it awakened briefly, but managed to lull it to sleep quickly thereafter. "I am," I said at last, remembering Grandmama Claire, as well as Mama, telling me of all the locations of time portals, with Grandmama Claire having been there and seen it for herself, and Mama just hearing of it. "It's in Jamaica..."

Mrs. Figg nodded. "It is, Your Grace. It is also where my family is from. There were many tales about people disappearing from the island, only to return years later, or, in some circumstances, not at all. Of course, as more stories were told, more locations became known to us, such as in Scotland, and two locations here in the Thirteen Colonies—Bangor, where your mother came into contact with the eighteenth century, and the Outer Banks, where you traveled from."

I absentmindedly stroked the cub in my arms; its fur was soothing to me as I fully came to the conclusion that Mrs. Figg was not only aware of time travel, but seemed completely at ease with the very notion of it. "Is there anything you wish to know, then?" I found myself asking, my voice as calm as hers.

Mrs. Figg considered it for a moment. "From which year did you come?"

"It was 1998 when I traveled back here," I answered, "and my intention was to fight in the Continental Army for their battle at Yorktown. Even in the year when I traveled back from, it is still forbidden for woman to have combat roles in any military."

Mrs. Figg seemed slightly taken aback at that. "What laws are different?"

"Slavery isn't outlawed in this country until the next major war after this one, known as the Civil War, which doesn't end until 1865," I said quietly. "The British Empire, as it is known in that time period, ends it in 1838."

"And is this place..." Mrs. Figg continued, looking around us all, as well as out towards the back garden again. "...is it still the Thirteen Colonies?"

"No," I responded, shaking my head. "It is known as the United States of America. This war is called the Revolutionary War, and will formally end in 1783, with something known as the Treaty of Paris, declaring victory over Britain."

Mrs. Figg began to spread the dough upon the countertop. "Is much changed in the world? There is certainly no monarchy here, and I cannot fathom that changing..."

"No, there is never a monarchy here. General George Washington becomes the first leader, or, rather, Father of our Country. He is what's known as a president."

Mrs. Figg looks intrigued by the title. "I suppose other monarchies still exist, while others have the potential to fail..."

"Two readily come to mind that no longer exist in my time—Russia and France," I told her, and Mrs. Figg appeared shocked. "In France, something transpires known as the Reign of Terror, wherein King Louis and Queen Marie Antoinette are stripped of their power and positions, imprisoned, found guilty of treason, and both beheaded by guillotine."

Mrs. Figg appeared horrorstruck. "And Russia?"

"Much the same, I'm afraid, except far more brutal," I said quietly. "In France, the last remaining royal children of King Louis and Queen Marie Antoinette are merely imprisoned, with their son dying from the deplorable conditions and their daughter being released and exiled. As for Russia, their last tsar abdicates the throne, but he, his wife, their four daughters, and their son are kept imprisoned together. Then, the new regime decides to execute them all, and they are all subsequently shot, one after the other." I pursed my lips, truly feeling for the last tsar's family. "I cannot understand why the daughters were executed, though. It wasn't as if they could legally inherit the throne themselves, and the final tsar had plenty of brothers and nephews..."

"Likely the government believed that they could marry and father potential heirs," said Mrs. Figg, her eyes haunted. "Do any other monarchies end?"

"Germany, known as part of kingdoms of the Holy Roman Empire, Prussia, and the Franks, is no longer a monarchy," I said quietly. "The Austrian monarchy no longer exists either. Spain is still a monarchy, as is Great Britain, known as the United Kingdom in my time, although they no longer hold leverage over India, as it gains independence in 1947. There are two wars, the First World War and the Second World War, that displace many monarchies, as well as kill a great number of people. My mother came back during the Second World War, where six million people of Jewish origin were exterminated en masse."

Mrs. Figg had since stopped spreading the dough and had fetched her marble rolling pin, only to nearly drop it when I spoke about the Second World War. "I may not be of that faith, but that is no excuse to exterminate those who are," she said, shaking her head. "Who in their right mind would sanction such a thing?"

"Adolf Hitler," I said, growling the name, as most people from my time rightfully did, and although Mrs. Figg seemed to detest it, it was not because she knew of the toll all his deeds had done, but what he would end up doing. "He becomes the Chancellor of Germany and Head of the Nazi Party, and orders that death camps be set up for the extermination process. And it isn't only those who are Jewish; you were also targeted if you were black, accused of disobedience, those who were not considered heterosexual—"

"What?" Mrs. Figg asked.

"Oh," I said, realizing that the term likely hadn't been coined yet. "It means when you experience attraction for the opposite gender, and only the opposite gender."

Mrs. Figg appeared shocked. "I had no idea that word existed. Is there a word if you experience the opposite?"

"Homosexual is the opposite term, although I'm sure that the term sodomite is still in use today, although I'll never use it disparagingly," I informed her, my tone firm. "As for other groups affected by Hitler's regime, they included Jehovah's Witnesses, disabled individuals, those who were Romani—"

Mrs. Figg cocked her head to one side. "Sorry, what group?" she asked, confused by the term, although her voice shook, likely understanding that she would have been a target.

I grimaced, knowing that I would have to say the word they were currently known by, and asked them to forgive me as I gave Mrs. Figg the explanation. "Sorry, Gypsies," I said, and Mrs. Figg nodded her head.

"I take it that Romani is the term you use in your timeline? It is..." She pursed her lips, judging it for a moment. "More polite?"

"Yes, the word you know them by is considered derogatory, meaning that it is insulting and used to hurt their group of people, as well as their way of life."

Mrs. Figg nodded. "Ah, yes. I suppose I can understand that."

"So, as you can see, almost anyone could be made into a target," I told her softly. I turned my head, suddenly realizing that Lottie had yet to return. "Where is that girl?"

Mrs. Figg smirked, completing the rolling task and proceeded to put it perfectly into one of the pie dishes we had. "Knowing her, it's His Grace's valet," she said, nodding outside in a knowing manner, and I followed her gaze, seeing that Mrs. Figg was indeed current.

"Ah, yes. Andrew," I said; I liked the young man, and he seemed very keen on Lottie, not at all prejudiced against the notion that she was of mixed heritage. "Why didn't he accompany William, Grandda, and Papa on the hunt?"

"Sore ankle, or so he claimed, rendering temporarily unable to ride," Mrs. Figg said, shaking her head with amusement, leading me to believe that she didn't think a word of it was true. "That boy should make an honest woman of her before we go to England, if my suspicions about him prove correct..."

I blinked; Andrew Havermeyer came from a good family of yeoman farmers, and was the second son, so he was not required to remain on the farm to inherit it and, instead, had been fostered out early on to be a companion for William, all under Papa's orders, where he was then trained as his valet when the time came. I knew that William thought quite a bit of him, even though he would frequently make himself scarce, ever since he had been summoned from England once William had settled in Elfreth's Alley. He provided good conversation for William, as well as assisted him in dressing each morning, collecting his correspondence, and managing his schedule for any given day.

"Lottie, dear girl that she is, could do a lot worse than His Grace's valet," Mrs. Figg was saying, clicking her tongue. "Although that wee mite of yours will be clamoring for some warm milk. I do hope she has the foresight to bring in a bottle after their conversation."

I had wandered closer to the window, and noticed that Andrew didn't appear to be at all suffering from a sore ankle, instead putting the normal amount of pressure upon it. I shook my head with amusement, just hoping that William was in on the minor subterfuge, and caught him whispering something into her ear, leading Lottie's cheeks to warm. I pushed open the door, directly causing them both to spring apart, much to my amusement. "I do hope you were finally working up your nerve to asking an opportune question, Mr. Havermeyer," I informed Andrew in a rather pointed manner.

Andrew turned red to his ears and hastily bowed to me. "Begging your pardon, Your Grace," he said, taking Lottie by the hand and kissing it. "Miss Maragh," he said, rather awkwardly, before he dashed past me and back into the house, likely attending to other duties William had set out for him, since he'd declined to join in on the hunt.

Lottie sighed, looking longingly after him.

"Lottie, if you would," I said, snapping her attention back to me, "I would very much appreciate it if you could collect a bottle of milk from the icehouse. Mrs. Figg will warm it so that this little one can have a meal."

Lottie shook her head to clear it, and quickly curtsied. "Yes, Your Grace. Apologies, Your Grace, I meant no harm..."

I smiled slowly at Lottie. "I see no harm in you speaking to Mr. Havermeyer, Lottie," I told her patiently. "In fact, I think the pair of you look wonderful together."

Lottie beamed. "Do you truly think so, Your Grace?"

"I do," I told her. "Next time the seamstress comes to see me will be just before we're due to set sail for England. Perhaps a new dress or two for you will make Mr. Havermeyer ask you something rather important."

Lottie giggled as only a young girl would before she made a mad dash to the icehouse to collect the bottle of milk for me. She hurried back, her cheeks and fingers slightly red, and ventured back into the kitchen, handing over the bottle to Mrs. Figg, who gave her a knowing smile. She curtsied to me before she returned to the rest of her chores, and Mrs. Figg warmed the bottle of milk before finding a baby bottle and giving it to me.

"Good practice," Mrs. Figg said, nodding knowingly in my direction, "though we'll have to wean it soon, and provide it with meat."

I nodded my head, taking the opportunity to examine it as it fed from the bottle, seemingly pleased for the nourishment. I was able to deduce from my knowledge of felines that I would have to examine the rear end of the large cat, which I did, seeing a small black spot and quickly deducing that it was a female. This relieved me, as I knew that the little cub I held likely wouldn't urinate to mark her territory, although I would have to come up with a way for her not to do so on expensive pieces of furniture, carpets, or other things. Perhaps I could figure out a suitable box of some kind and fill it with dirt or ashes, which were suitable alternatives, knowing that litter boxes weren't invented until the Second World War.

"What to call you?" I asked, sitting in the rocking chair, placed beside the window in the parlor, as I stared down into the dark eyes of my newest friend. I knew I would have to get William to purchase a sturdy collar for her, perhaps with a dangling pendant, with her name engraved upon it, and, perhaps, teach her to walk on a lead. I considered deities and goddesses, anything that reeked of power, really, until it came to me. "Selene?" I asked, and the great beast's eyes widened for a moment, much to my delight.

I was still sitting in the chair, Selene having finished her bottle, and was napping in my arms as I rocked back and forth in the chair. I turned and looked out the window, peering through the curtains, as I heard three sets of footsteps drawing nearer upon the cobblestones. I saw that it was William, Papa, and Grandda, and I knew it would be best to introduce Selene sooner rather than later to them, as they could live close to thirty years in captivity, if treated well.

Mrs. Figg was there to open the door and collect their cloaks, praising them for their kills—I had seen a mighty buck, an assortment of pheasants, some quail, grouse, and turkey among them, so I knew it had been successful. I knew that black bears could be hunted, but I told William never to go near them, and he readily agreed, thank goodness. I looked up as they came into the parlor, with Papa and Grandda looking shocked, and William merely breezing inside and past them, not noticing for a moment.

"A successful hunt, then?" I asked, angling myself more into the light, wondering if William hadn't seen Selene, now awake again, resting in my arms.

William nodded, and was about to speak, only to be interrupted.

"Where did ye come by that, lassie?" Grandda asked, looking stunned. "Looks tae be some sort of wild animal..."

"I should say so," Papa said, looking altogether worried.

William, finally seeing what they were looking at, appeared gobsmacked. "Henrietta Elizabeth Lydia Ransom, what in God's name is that thing?" he demanded.