The sun shone bright, heating up the air inside the house. Victoria was standing in a beam of light, enjoying the feel of heat through the layers of her dress.

She was wearing a pale blue dress, the smallest crinoline she owned underneath it. The blue fabric was decorated with white lace and embroidery. Twas not a dress she adored, which made it her favourite one for baking.

She knew a lady should not bake, that it was not her place, but Victoria loved it. The love had started when she was very young and their cook was passionate about food. Whenever her father would be too busy, Victoria would sneak in the kitchen and watch the cook bake whatever she asked for.

When she was older, she got the courage to ask the cook for lessons. The woman only agreed after Victoria's father did, and invited the young lady to her kitchen every two days. In her own estate, she had a different cook, but just like her, the staff was special. So instead of looking odd at their mistress or offering their help, they all sat at the kitchen table while Victoria made apple cake.

"Tis quite a nice hat, wouldn't you say?" the cook asked. In the middle of the table stood a hat one of the young stable boys found. He said lord Brompton had thrown the hat away while running for his horse as if he was winning a race.

The butler looked at the cook. "Tis a hat, Melany."

"Aye, tis a hat. Tis a nice hat, I tell you."

"Melany, George doesn't understand fashion," the maid, Sophie, said. "Do not ask him about a hat."

"But he ought to know about fashion as his mistress loves it so much. Wouldn't you say, lady Victoria?"

Victoria simply laughed. She knew other ladies and lords would be shocked when servants conversed with them in such easy fashion. But Victoria was used to it. In fact, she wanted her servants to call her Victoria, not lady Victoria. But she had not yet convinced them.

"I do not expect you to love the things I love," she said as she poured the batter in a bowl.

"Love?" the cook said. "My lady, you adore fashion!"

"And you adore over exaggeration," Victoria said laughing. "I will bring lord Brompton his hat this afternoon. But first, I wish to finish this cake and head to the market."

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Victoria descended the stairs in a deep green walking gown. Her hair was tucked inside a hat that was secured on her head with a purple ribbon. She wore black gloves, matching the decorations on the bottom of the dress. She liked the dress for its original colour, yet it did not catch the eye of people who were not looking for it.

As she reached the last step, she saw Mr. Lennard coming toward her.

"Lady Victoria," he said formally, "you have a guest in the parlor."

Victoria sighed. She had hoped on leaving the house and not being seen by noble lords and ladies, but it seemed her hope was lost. Even if she wanted Mr. Lennard to tell the visitor she was not at home, it would be quite unrealistic, for the butler had let the visitor inside the estate.

"I have had quite enough of all these useless visitors. If they do not wish to know why I do not live with lord Brompton, they ask me when the babe will come."

Mr. Lennard chuckled silently, but Victoria heard it anyway.

"Tis not a joke, Mr. Lennard," he said as she walked toward the parlor, planning on wrapping up the guest's visit and sending her home. "All these ladies will one day be the death of me."

"I certainly hope not, my lady. But the visitor is not a lady-"

Victoria did not hear the rest of her butler's words for she had already thrown open the door. He was correct, the visitor was not a lady - nor a gossipmonger.

"Lord Brompton," Victoria said surprised.

"Please, call me Andrew," the handsome man said.

"Lord Andrew." She motioned for Mr. Lennard to close the door. "I did not expect you. I expected more gossiping ladies."

"My apologies, lady Victoria. I merely wanted to fetch my hat. I seem to have left it here yesterday."

"Yes, my stable boy brought it to me this morning. I shall ask Mr. Lennard to fetch it for you so you can be on your way again."

"I am in no rush," he said before Victoria could call for her butler. "I just came back from an errand, I have no reason to be home quickly."

"Then mayhap you would like a cup of tea?" she offered.

He shook his head. "No, I did not mean to interrupt your day. You seem ready to leave the house."

"Oh, yes, but I was merely going to the-" she stopped herself and cleared her throat. "For a walk."

"I could use a walk myself," lord Andrew said with a smile, "if you don't mind me going with you."

"Not at all," she lied. "We could walk about Hyde park, if you wish."

"Mayhap you would like more privacy. You could show me your endless garden instead. We have passed them on horseback, but we drove too fast for me to enjoy."

Victoria smiled and hoped he saw it as a true smile, and not as one that hid her disappointment for not being able to visit the market. "Very well. Then I shall send Sophie to the market."

She rang the small bell that stood on the table, and not much later, Mr. Lennard entered the parlor with lord Andrew's hat in his hand. He gave it back to its owner while she told the butler to tell Sophie to go to the market while she and her guest walk around the garden. Mr. Lennard nodded and left, after which she and lord Andrew did the same.

The sun was not yet at its warmest for this day, yet Victoria was happy for the bonnet that brought some shade on her face. Lord Andrew put his hat on his head, shielding his eyes from the sun.

"Where were you planning on walking, if I may be so blunt to ask," he asked, breaking the silence that had settled between them. They walked at an easy pace over a path that would lead them to an arbour Victoria enjoyed quite a lot.

"I did not know yet," she lied - again.

"I am quite certain you did," lord Andrew said with a smile. "Were you planning on going to the market, instead of Mrs. Sophie?"

Victoria did not know what to answer. She could lie to him again, but since he asked the question, he must be aware of her visits to the market. But if she told him the truth, she was afraid of how he would react toward her. He was probably already aware that she was not like most ladies, but how different could one be without being pushed away?

"Tis not a secret," lord Andrew said before she had made up her mind on what to tell him. "All the servants in London talk about it."

"I did not think all of London would believe their servants."

"We do not. But when I see you riding horseback like a man, I am more tempted to believe them." He looked at her. "So it is true, then? You visit the market?"

She took a deep breath. "Yes, I do." When he did not immediately react, she added: "I quite enjoy it."

He raised both his hands as if in defence. "I do not judge you, my lady. Tis only not quite common for a lady to visit the market."

"I am aware of that, but I do not let it bother me. Servants can be much friendlier than noble ladies and lords."

"Truly?" he asked, surprised. "They do not beg you for more money or more purchases?"

Victoria laughed. "I believe you are thinking of beggars, my lord, not servants. But yes, some might ask for food for their children or money for a medicine."

"And what do you do then?"

"Well, if they are kind and honest, I might give them something."

"Truly? You give money to people who will waste it?"

"They do not waste it, my lord. They spend it on what they need, or what they want. I have everything I could ever want, so what am I to do with all my money?"

"You could buy more dresses," he said in jest.

Victoria laughed again. Twas only now that she realized she had never had a friend with whom she could laugh about all the pieces of clothing she owned. Her brother knew of her collection, but he did not care much. This man, although he mostly jested about it, seemed to enjoy the knowledge of her adoration.

"And what do you spend your money on? What collections do you have?"

"I have a love for rare wine."

Victoria chuckled. "That is a waste of money."

Lord Andrew stopped walking and turned to look at her. "I believe you have never tried good wine."

"I have tried many wines, my lord," she said without slowing down her pace. He caught up with her quite quickly. "I have drunk many wines at many useless balls, and they all tasted the same to me."

He shook his head as if in disbelieve. "You have very bad taste, then."

She looked at him. She was not quite certain if he was jesting or not, but when she saw him laughing, she allowed a untrue look of insult on her face. "I merely do not understand wine, my lord. I have a very keen tongue when it comes to food."

"You do now?" he asked, still in disbelieve. Now he was certainly jesting.

"I shall prove it to you."

She motioned for him to go to the outside parlor, while she hurried back inside to ask Mr. Lennard to bring the cake she had just made to the arbour.

Only a few minutes later, both were enjoying her still warm apple cake under the hot sun. She had taken off her hat since they were now shaded by the arbour.

"What did you think of the cake?" she asked him. She was curious of his answer, for she knew he would be honest. After all, he did not know she had made it.

One corner of his lips curled into a smile. "Not as good as my collection of wine." She chuckled. "But quite delicious nevertheless."

She smiled proudly and looked at him. "I added cinnamon to the batter. The combination with apples is magnificent."

He smiled at her and his eyes met hers. "You added cinnamon?"

She gasped hard. She had not realized she had admitted to him that she made the cake. Walking through the market was one thing, but utilizing the kitchen and serving a self-made cake to guests, was a very different situation.

Lord Andrew's smile did not waver, and he did not seem to mind her confession. "You truly are one special lady."

She looked down, trying to hide her cheeks that were turning red. "I like baking," was all she could say.

"Do you make all your pastries yourself, or does your cook still have a job?"

She laughed, her voice shaking from embarrassment. "She cooks," Victoria admitted, "but I bake."

"Then I ought to give you lord Hawthorne's compliments," he said. "He said he would return for a visit so that he could have more of your pastries."

Her eyes were suddenly on his face, trying to discover if he was telling the truth. "He did?" she asked incredible.

"Yes," he answered with a laugh. She could not help but laugh as well. Never had anyone given her complements about her baking. Probably because they did not know it was hers, but she did not know it would feel this incredible to get credit for something she liked to do.

He dropped his fork on his plate and looked at Victoria. "You make me really curious. Why are you so different from the ton? Did your parents not teach you how to please the people?"

She smiled, but she knew it did not reach her eyes. Though her life ended up carefree and without worry, it was not planned like that. She became the way she was through one big tragedy. "My mother died when I was..." she swallowed. The story was harder to tell than she thought it would be. "When I was being born. My father had a hard time finding a nursemaid good enough to care for his children, and when he did find one, I did not deem her worthy as a replacement-mother. So my father had to teach me everything he knew, which means I never learned the lady-like things. I do not know how to ride side-saddle, I can't dance, I don't even know how to hold a parasol properly." Her eyes flickered to his and she gave him a small smile. "I guess I grew up a man with stays."

His eyes searched her face for a while before he said: "you cannot dance?"

She sighed. She had let another confession slip to this man. What was wrong with her?

"No, I cannot," she admitted, squaring her shoulders. "My father never taught me, my brother could not and I never had a nursemaid. But I do not have the feeling that I am missing out on anything. Tis just moving on music."

He looked at her, the incredibility was obvious. "Dancing is much more than moving on the music. It is about showing people what you are capable of. Tis about outshining them."

"Tis about finding a husband or a wife - something I do not desire."

"You do not desire feeling wholly a woman?"

"I do not desire being tied down. What man sees a woman as what she truly is?"

He leaned back in his chair, seemingly enjoying there argument. "And what is a woman truly?"

The question was rather hard for someone to give a proper answer to, but she had thought about it more than once. She knew the perfect answer to his question. Confidently, she leaned back in her chair as well and looked him straight in the eyes. "A woman is the difference between living in Heaven or in Hell."

He looked at her, one eyebrow raised. He did not answer her right away. Instead, he looked away from her, his brown eyes frowning as he thought over her words. He moved his head and thought some more. Finally, after a few minutes of silence, he looked at her again. "Fair enough. A woman can make the difference between Heaven and Hell. But can a man not?"

She smiled at him. "Not in a way a woman can, no."

He moved forward, leaning his arms on the table in between them. "And what makes you the expert on men?"

"I lived with two of them my whole life," she said, copying his movement by leaning on the table as well.

He raised one eyebrow. "And you see your brother and your father as the norm? Was it not you who asked me about tying a cravat so that you can know what the norm is?"

She did not have an answer to that question, really, so instead of answering it, she dodged it. "You say it as if you know what the norm is. I thought you - also - did not have any friends. How can you know the norm then?"

"I never said I have no friends. I have a list of five friends, while you, I believe, have only one."

"And that is where you are wrong. Malcolm may be my only friend to society, but I have many more."

He moved his head to have a better look at her. "Such as?"

A mischievous smile played her lips. "Servants."

"Servants?" he asked. "And yet you believe to know the norm."

She looked at him, and thought of his question. When she realized how correct he was, she could not help but laugh. "That is not very convincing, is it?"

He chuckled, a sound she must admit she quite liked. "No, not really."

"But you seem to know it." She motioned with her hands. "Please, enlighten me."

He slowly shook his head. "That is the thing. There is no norm that involves everyone. All you must do is pretend there is, and that you know it."

"So that is how you have been surviving at balls, then," she asked, moving back in her chair. "Pretending."

He smiled, it seemed she was not the only one unwillingly admitting things that should not be known. "Yes, that is how I have been surviving every aspect of my life."

She tried to catch his eyes, but they stayed glued on the table in front of him. "That is quite harsh. I believe there are moments in your life where you were not pretending."

Though the statement sounded like a question, she knew it was the truth. Not because she knew this man all too well, but because no one could pretend all their life. Not even she could, although she wished she could.

He looked up again and his eyes met hers. "Yes," he answered, his eyes serious, yet full of unspoken words, "sometimes I do not pretend."

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Victoria and lord Andrew were walking back toward the house. She was wearing a smile on her face, and she had had a great time. Mayhap is was that bad to have a friend.

Though she had enjoyed her time with lord Andrew, she was also somewhat happy to be alone again. She needed some time for herself every once in a while.

Side by side, they walked to the front door of her estate, where they stopped and turned to each other.

"Thank you for the great time, lady Victoria," lord Andrew said. "I believe I shall come back to try more of your baking."

She smiled. He had not condemned her for doing what a proper lady should not be doing. Instead, he seemed to be encouraging her to do it more.

"Thank you for interrupting my day."

He chuckled. "Mayhap next time we could go to the market together."

"And be seen by the servants," she jested. "Do you have no shame?!"

He laughed at her impression of proper ladies gossiping.

He looked at her and put his hat on his head. "Mayhap I should leave my hat here once again."

She smiled at his jest. He was a good man, she thought as she watched him walk down the steps of her house and into his carriage. Was he really the man the newspaper wrote about? The one stealing from rich people's houses? They had written he could not behave, but she was inclined to believe otherwise. Or mayhap her standards were not as high as the ton's.

She sighed. Finally she was alone. She could have some calmness in her mind now.

But what could she do?