Desperate people are the most dangerous. ~ Frank Herbert.

Chapter 27.

Mamma Takes Action.

It was a card party. One of those boring events that Charles attended only because he was a man of society and men of society for some reason or another did these sort of things. Today he was also attending because he knew little Catrin Llewelyn was going to be there. And as usual she was surrounded by a host of suitors.

Charles grumbled under his breath. He needed to get Catrin alone. How could he ask her the questions he wanted if there were all these other gentlemen around? He wanted to sit in a nice, quiet corner and chat with Miss Llewelyn. Much as he had with Miss Morton when she had been here.

Only while it had been surprisingly easy to get Miss Morton to sit and talk, it wasn't quite the same with Miss Llewelyn.

"It's just like all of fate is against me," Charles grumbled. Right from the start, right from the moment he had met this Cinderella, it was impossible to really get close to her. Midnight always struck before he realized it and she was running off.

"I wonder if the Prince in the story had more trouble trying to find her with only a shoe," he concluded. If Charles were to behave as he usually behaved he would have just given up, accepted defeated, and moved on. But not this time. He didn't want to accept defeat this time. Miss Llewelyn was far too interesting to make him accept defeat. He would get to know her better, even if he had to walk through hell or high water...or in this case walk through a crowd of gentlemen.

Dancing was announced in an adjoining room and Charles decided the only way to get Catrin alone was to ask her to dance. Then maybe they could play chess, a game that was sure to keep anyone else out, and talk nicely without other people interrupting them. He was a little too slow in asking her, and had to wait a whole three rounds of dances before it finally was his turn. When her last partner walked her to a bench, it was all Charles could do to keep from running up before someone else did. He kept his pace quick, but not fast enough to make it obvious how desperate he was.

"Miss Llewelyn," he said when he was near her. "May I have the honor of the next dance."

As usual, she blushed when he came up. It seemed to be a habit of hers. He only had to look at her and she started coloring up. That said something.

"Of course, Your Lordship," she stammered out.

They walked out to the dance floor and joined in.

"I was thinking about what you said the other day while we were standing at St. Paul's." Charles began.

There, she blushed again.

"Really?"

"Yes," he nodded. "You said you wanted to make the ugly parts of the world beautiful. How exactly do you plan to do that? Throw flowers everywhere?"

"Maybe not throw them," Catrin laughed. "Maybe plant them, it would make more sense, don't you think? Flowers growing in places you least expect them does add color to the world."

She had a very pretty laugh. It sounded like thousands of little silver bells all ringing a merry tune. It was an innocent sort of laugh, and Charles wanted to keep listening to it. He should come up with things to say that were funny and have her continue laughing. Only he was a rather dull man and wasn't good at coming up with funny things.

In fact he couldn't come up with anything to say at all. Which was strange because only a few minutes ago he was bursting with questions and now his mind went blank. Maybe it was those big brown eyes that made him forget all the thoughts in his head. She didn't seem to be much of a talker either at the moment and the rest of the dance was silent.

When it finished he didn't let her go. Rather he suggested. "Miss Llewelyn, do you play chess?"

"I do," Catrin replied.

"Then perhaps we shall see if you are any better than your stepsister."

"Oh, I am much better, I can assure you that."

Charles laughed. "Then you must prove it to me! I believe actions and not words."

She smiled that pretty, innocent smile that had caught his attention the first time he met her. Together they walked to a table and Charles had a chess set brought out. Once they had set up the pieces, they began the game. At last he had her complete and undivided attention. Mrs. Fairfax sat not far away, keeping an eye on Catrin, but letting the two of them talk in peace.

"Why did you ask about how I wanted to make the world beautiful?" Catrin asked.

Charles shrugged. "It was just the first time anyone had ever told me such a thing. I don't approve of the fact that you would want to go to the London slums, but I admire your desire to make things better. I have met many a young lady in my travels, but no one like you. Perhaps you are this way because of all those fairy tales you read."

"Perhaps," Catrin let out another laugh that Charles loved so much. "But you know, when it comes to making the word a better place, you can do it so much better than I. You are a man of influence and power."

"No," Charles smiled. "I don't think anyone could do it better than you. You are all innocence with no corruption inside; your motives are wholly pure, wholly good. Who else could make the world beautiful? Miss Llewelyn. I cannot understand your nature any more than I can understand you, but I do admire both."

Catrin blushed deeply. "Lord Woodworth, you must not flatter me."

"I am not flattering, Miss Llewelyn," Charles quietly replied. "I meant every word."

By now her face seemed to be turning purple, and she giggled nervously. "You have just put your queen in danger, your lordship," she stated, turning attention away from herself.

Charles studied the consequences of the move he had just made. "So it would seem," he agreed. "I was too busy talking to you. Allow me to try and focus on the game." He moved his hand as if to take his queen back but Catrin stopped him.

"No, no, your lordship," she teased. "The deed has been done, now you'll just have to try to get yourself out of trouble after my turn."

She moved her knight and cornered the queen. "There!" She stated. "No matter what you do, the next move will have your most powerful figure in my hand. Now do you believe I am better at chess than Beatrice?"

"I am not in checkmate yet," Charles laughed. "And just you wait, I'll figure a way to save my queen."

"I would not count on it, Your Lordship." Catrin gave a rather smug smile. "That queen is at my mercy."

They both laughed. Charles so busy enjoying Catrin's voice and contemplating his next move, he failed to notice the pair of eyes gazing with hate and anger at the duo playing. Failed to realize it was not just his queen he was in danger of losing.

***

Mrs. Llewelyn had seen Charles ask Catrin to dance. She had seen them sit quietly at a table engaged in chess. Mrs. Fairfax dutifully sat not far away, keeping an eye on them. As far as propriety was concerned, everything was perfect. As far as Mrs. Llewelyn was concerned, everything was terrible.

She could swear by the hair on her head that Lord Woodworth was constantly seeking out her stepdaughter's company. Even though there were always many gentlemen eager to speak and dance with Catrin, Charles managed to weasel her away. A few minutes here, a dance or two there, and now he had her playing chess. Why, in Bath it had been her daughter he had sought out, her daughter he had danced with, her daughter who was always occupied at the chess table. Now? Now? Now Beatrice was goodness knew were and Catrin was one step away from capturing Lord Woodworth for good.

"And that absent minded father of his," Mrs. Llewelyn grumbled. "I told him Catrin would make a poor wife for his son and he is completely blind to the fact that his son is one step away from courting Catrin. At this rate Lord Woodworth will have proposed to Catrin and married her right under the Duke's nose. Men! You can never count on them to do anything but make more trouble!" Setting her lips in a firm line, Mrs. Llewelyn determined to get Beatrice here.

"She will marry that Duke by the time she is twenty one, or else regret the day she was ever born. I did not spend years making her into the lady she is now just to have some silly country bumpkin steal the catch of the century. Beatrice will be Duchess of Denster, and I will be set for life with all the comforts in the world. Heaven knew what it was doing when it gave me a daughter, they really can give you so much more than sons could."

Tonight after the party she would write Beatrice, and if Beatrice didn't come of her own accord, Mrs. Llewelyn would bring her by force. She had given Beatrice the time the doctor required, now Beatrice had a big, big, big debt to pay.

***

Beatrice sat fumbling with the pages of the book she had just finished reading.

It was something she had never done before and it was enough to tell Elwyn she was upset about something.

"You are not your usual self," he pointed out. "Has something happened, Miss Morton?"

Beatrice let out a sigh and glanced up at him. "Mamma has written me from London and demanded that I come to her. The month the doctor said I needed to rest is long over and she orders me to travel directly. If I do not I can be sure she will come and fetch me."

Elwyn slowly nodded his head. Of course he had known that Miss Morton wouldn't be able to keep coming up to his tower forever, but now that he was really losing her company, he didn't quite know how to handle it. He had gotten so used to her coming over every day, reading to him, learning how to win at chess, conversing with him on so many topics. He had never met such an educated woman with such a mind for politics and science. Most ladies wanted to chat about the weather, or the latest gossip, but when speaking to Beatrice, it was almost like speaking to man. Only he was speaking to a woman, a beautiful woman; what was more, she was a beautiful woman who wanted his company, who enjoyed it. After all those years of loneliness and seclusion, Elwyn simply could not get enough of it.

"If it were up to me I would not go," Beatrice went on. "But I must, or she truly will come for me. I've been putting it off as long as possible. I do so detest going to London."

"Why?"

In his day, Elwyn had loved London.

"It is all fickle," Beatrice bitterly explained. "All husks, husks, husks. A charade of high society, pretending to be perfect, but full of rotting bones on the inside. The only thing I ever find there are lies and contradiction." She let out another sigh before pulling herself together. "What I wanted to know, Captain, is...well...is there any way I could remain in contact with you? Could I possibly write you letters? I am not sure how they would reach you, seeing as no one knows about you hiding up here, but I should not want to lose all communication with you." Beatrice could feel her face heating up, and she wrung her hands nervously.

A slow smile crept onto Elwyn's face. "You wish to corresponde with me, Miss Morton?"

Embarrassed, Beatrice nodded her head. "I have come to greatly value your company, Captain Fleets, and I shall be very sorry to lose it. Is there any way?"

Elwyn looked at the blushing face. Why? Why would she come to value his company? Was there really something about him that made her like to be around him? Like talking to him? Make her actually want to spend time in this dark and dingy room?

"You may address your letters to Mrs. Tyrwyn," he said at last. "She is the housekeeper of the castle. There is not much to do here, most of the place is shut down, but she does watch out for it with her husband, who is the butler. They know I live up here, and would be happy to pass on any letters. Simply put Mary Tywryn on the address and add a C.F. at the bottom for them to understand it is meant for me."

Beatrice tucked away the part about the houskeeper and the butler. She had almost come to believe that the castle had been left to wreck and ruin, but it turned out someone actually sort of looked out for it.

"Very well, Captain," she said, rising and placing the book on the table. "I fear I will have to leave tomorrow, but I shall write you the day I arrive. Here," she pulled a pencil from her bag and scratched down an address on the side of one the book's pages. "This is where I stay in London. Please, write back to me."

"Won't people..."

"Who will know, Captain?" Beatrice cut him off. "You only put my name down when you address it to me. I recieve post as it is, and no one reads it but me. Who is to say it is not a letter from a relative? Or a friend in Bath?"

She had a point.

"Very well," he gave in. "I shall be sure to respond to your letters."

Beatrice smiled and Elwyn rose to escort her to the door, where she turned to bid him farewell.

He kissed the hand she had offered and wished her a pleasant journey. In turn Beatrice said she looked forward to hearing from him, and for Elwyn to be sure to say how Raj was getting along.

She had already begun descending the stairs when he called after her.

"Miss Morton, what was it that you were sick with again?"

Beatrice turned to him, her eyes twinkling a little. "I'm a good liar," she simply said and with a final smile departed from his tower.

It had been a month of paradise, and now it was time to return to hell.