Amber careered wildly, I leaned forward, holding on to her neck to avoid the low branches. I should have been safe sitting astride but the side-saddle position failed me. I fell to the ground in a heap, crying out in shock as a bank of moss broke my fall. I lay like a broken doll, my blue silk dress quickly absorbing the moisture from the moss forming dark patches. Sat in a sodden bed of amber leaves I groaned, holding my head in my hands. I needed Amber back, I must pull myself together, ensure I have no injuries. Most fearful of all, how do I head back to Tarrick Hall in this state? I look like every pamphlet whore I have ever glanced at across his study desk. My dress is soiled, my sleeve ripped, my bosom only just held in after being vaulted through the air. My brown curls are wild and ragged. There is no other word for it, I look fallen. Wanton and sinful, my mothers favourite insults racing to the forefront of my mind. This was my punishment. This was God looking upon my impu

Satisfied with Lady Cawley’s disgrace, Edmund continued my supposed birthday fun at the Tarrick Gallery. Though I had never known her socially the image of her stayed with me instead of the shop wares. Fitz followed behind, his eyes burning into the nape of my neck. Disguised as a birthday present this outing was Edmund's reminder to the good and great of the town that he was Duke of Tarrick. The richest landowner for fifty miles and nearly everyone's landlord. Wearing a charcoal grey suit with a pearl waistcoat, he looked distinguished, if frail. I was his trinket. The sapphire brooch drawing gasps from onlookers as I reluctantly modelled his wealth. “Happy birthday Vanessa!” Kitty cried, waiting for us outside the entrance. “Your Grace,” was my mothers cordial greeting, a cold kiss on the cheek my sole greeting. Edmund took my mothers arm to guide her around the new landscape collection, I held Kitty’s. “So, who is the new livery!” she whispered. “I have never seen such a man bef

What was I thinking, to be so bold as to declare to Fitz I was heading to his room tonight. He may well have his door locked after the thunderous slap I gave him. Of course Edmund inevitably appeared. I made sure I looked ill-tempered and flustered, fanning myself by the hearth as he hobbled into my sunny parlour. "Are you well Vanessa" he said quietly, not fully entering the room. By leaning against the door frame he became an audience, studying my performance within the parlour with his thin face. "To tell the truth I have just rowed with Mr Fitz..he has not been at the stables recently so I thought it pleasant to feed Amber some apples. He was there and he, oh he was not proper!" "What was said?" "He…he was crude." "Vanessa I want you to tell me what was said-" "Edmund please do not ask that of me. I confess I slapped him but it was deserved!" Dropping my voice for fear of servants or the ever-present Doctor Farrers I kept my eyes to the floor. "I am doing what you asked.

***FTIZ POV*** After she leaves, I simply watch the sun come up. There is no use in trying to sleep for my heart is racing. I already miss her presence. Not just the lustful, moaning sensual goddess that unfurled before me in the dark. I adore the witty, teasing clever little fox who at every turn has a ready answer or a tart little tone to her voice. She has so much spirit that I do not have the first idea of how she survived here for three years in such isolation. Pulling some white cotton drawers on I open my small window and inhale the fresh air. Another hour and dawn will arrive. I rest my arms on the sill, the cold air tingling at the scratches and nips my darling lavished on me. War wounds and battle scars I shall tease her, when really, they are a trophy. To have enraptured her senses so thoroughly she clawed into me for survival makes me grin like the worst kind of devious rogue as rest my chin on my arms. Edmund is to go to Bath. I must see my brother in London. Damni

***FITZ POV*** I am teetering on the edge of ruining everything. Thank God we are returning soon. The pair of them are nothing but loathsome gargoyles. Neither of them fit to be called gentlemen. How Vanessa remains safe under a roof with them is a mystery. I have borne witness to the worst excesses. If Edmund returns miraculously cured it won't be through the hot spring waters of Bath. It will be through the power of port and whores. Three nights of debauchery, tonight is the fourth. Watching Doctor Farrers, if the man is even qualified to call himself such a thing, ply the arrogant Duke with ever stronger draughts of opioids is concerning. Each night his pupils were black holes, empty voids as I carried him to his room. Somehow every morning he was somehow dressed and plied into the carriage. I suspect the good Doctor is supplying him with an alternative medication for the mornings, to ensure he is sprightly and energetic. Almost manic as he chatters his way through the papers a