little pieces of myself

I posted a bunch of entries throughout @choicesmcappreciationweek, but I wanted to group all of Alex's together here.

Fashion || Relationships || Day in the Life || Home Decor || AU

Art featured in collage by: ArtbyAinna (IG), irdeinfierno (IG), and @oh-so-youre-a-nerd, and one edit with Addi I made in Photoshop

Some Asks Answered during the event

Favorite Planet: Alex's favorite planet is absolutely Pluto! Size doesn't matter. Pluto was once a planet, it will always be a planet to her. She refuses to accept any criticism to the contrary. [x]

Tea, coffee, juice, or water?: Alex always has a coffee/espresso drink (typically iced) and sometimes (read always) even has a back up coffee, just in case.[x]

Can she dance? Alex is somewhat classically trained. She took dance classes as a child, but also in collage, and then more training for different roles. Hunt is also an extremely talented dancer so he practices with her and she is definitely capable. Maybe she'd even win Dancing with the Stars. [x]

Her thumb brushed over his tiny hand. His fingers were so impossibly small. It was hard to believe Malia was once this small, too. It didn't seem possible. She'd grown so much. "Do you think Malia will be okay? She really had her hopes up."

Bryce let out a quiet breath, his gaze fixed on the newborn sleeping comfortably in Olivia's arms. "She'll love him. How can she not? He's perfect."

"To us, of course." Olivia's smile never faltered. "To an imaginative toddler who has spent the past several months expecting her baby brother to be Nemo, it might be another story entirely."

Bryce leaned forward, brushing a reassuring kiss on Olivia's forehead. "She'll be okay. She might be a little disappointed, but it'll probably last a minute, three tops. Then she'll fall in love with him, just like we have. She's going to be a great big sister."

"Yeah... you're right," she whispered. Despite her tired eyes, her gaze was bright with adoration as she rocked Makoa gently in her arms. "She's going to love you, isn't she?"

Bryce adjusted his son's hat, tucking it carefully over his tiny ears. "Ready for me to get her?"

Olivia nodded.

****

"An' den Aunt Kiki said we go see the penwins. We go to aquarum tomowwow."

"That sounds like a really fun day you two have planned, but right now, we have someone we want you to meet. He returned to the room a few minutes later with Malia in his arms and his sister following closely behind.

"Fishy?" Her eyes widened with hope.

"We want you to meet your little brother. Can you say hi to Makoa?" He kept her in his arms as he sat in the chair beside the bed so she could get a closer look.

"That's no Fishy. He have no tail!" A puzzled look crossed her face as she shook her head. "Hmm. Funny looking Fishy."

Olivia winced. Bryce was ready to run interference. Keiki was busy on her phone. Makoa stirred softly in Olivia’s arms, completely unaware of it all.

"I like him. He have squishy cheeks!" She pressed her hands to her cheeks, trying to make the same face.

Tears filled Olivia's eyes as she breathed easier, letting go of the pent-up worry she'd been holding on to. She never doubted Malia would come to love her brother, but the uncertainty of how she'd take it had been weighing on her.

Keiki lowered her phone, holding it to her chest. "So, I wasn't sure how this was going to go. Obviously, it's going pretty well, better than expected, but—" She turned her phone screen toward the others, revealing a picture of Malia's room with a new aquarium on her dresser, complete with a little orange clownfish. "Should I tell the pet store we won't be needing this one?"

Bryce shifted closer. "What am I looking at? Is that—"

"I had a contingency plan," Keiki interupted.

"Fishy!" Malia perked up.

"You bought my daughter a backup brother?"

Keiki stifled a laugh, chewing the corner of her lower lip. "When you put it that way, it might seem a bit weird, but think of it more as a backup fish, in case this Fishy was not fishy enough. They're very different things when you think about it."

"We're going to talk about this later." Bryce frowned.

"In my defense, you left me unsupervised in a city with lots of pet stores." Keiki shrugged. "We should probably question why it didn't happen sooner. Could've solved this whole 'fishy' thing a lot earlier. Look at me, solving all kinds of problems. You can thank me any time."

Bryce's gaze narrowed at her. He wanted to protest, but wondered if she had a point about getting a fish earlier.

"Can we keep him?" Malia marveled.

"Sure," Olivia smiled. "What's one more fish?"

"Two fishies!" Malia cheered. "Best day ever!!!!"

“When?”  

“When you fall in love.”  

“You're the only woman I love... And I like Mrs. Lewis too, I guess. And a bit of Nanny Sarah.” 

“I'm flattered, but one day you'll change your mind. And it will be wonderful.” Mrs. Sinclaire caressed her boy’s curls.  

Suddenly, there were several people around him, asking if he was okay and wanting to help him. However, Ernest only thought about his book. 

∭ 

Ernest delicately turned another page in the book. The heat from the fireplace was accelerating the process, revealing the damage. He was upset but somewhat relieved. A damaged book was better than a destroyed one.  

Mrs. Lewis would certainly tell him something like that when he got home. He admired her resilience. No matter how great the darkness, she always found the stars to move forward with.  

Her husband had been in a coma for about a month after the accident, but unfortunately, he succumbed to his injuries and died.  

She had also lost the love of her life. They met at Ledford Park. There they fell in love and got married. The Sinclaire were their wedding godparents. 

Unlike his father, she didn't let grief consume her. Constance fought her sadness by loving everyone around her. He was aware that if it weren't for her love and dedication, he would have been sent back to boarding school the next day.  

He heard the library door opening softly. Turning his head, he saw one of the girls of the lake walking towards him. She froze for a moment when she looked into his eyes, probably out of embarrassment. 

The young Sinclaire looked at her for a while with curiosity. He soon noticed the Foredale features. So that was the famous Beatrice. The way his father had talked about her, Ernest had assumed she was older, but she was just a child. 

‘Are you Beatrice, right?’ he asked. 

The girl nodded. An intense blush coloured her cheeks. She tried to apologize for what happened as best she could.  

He tried to maintain a straight face but couldn’t avoid a little smile. It was hard to stay upset after such a cute apology. They shook hands as sign of peace. 

It was the girl's turn to look at him inquisitively. “What are you doing in Edgewater, by the way? Don’t you have your own home?” she asked bluntly. 

Ernest raised his eyebrow. He couldn't deny that it was a pertinent question. “Yes, but Edgewater’s Lake used to be a quiet place to read.” 

That's when the Foredale girl saw the soaked book. The girl apologized repeatedly and even offered to buy him a new one. 

If it had been any other child, Ernest wouldn't have bothered to explain his reasons. However, he knew she would understand. 

While listening to his story, some tears threatened to come out of her eyes, but she held them back. The tears made the colours of her eyes stand out — a chocolate brown streaked with green, as if it were an immense, dense forest. 

‘I miss her so much that it hurts in my chest. Does this get easier over time?’ Beatrice asked upon learning his loss story. 

No child should have to face those feelings. At first, he considered lying to her. Then, his book gave him an idea. “Look at the pages of the book. They’re wet. I’m drying them with the heat of the fire. After drying, these pages will be wrinkled. While some of them will be impossible to read, others will still be readable. The book is marked forever, but it is still in one piece. The same happens with us, I think. After such a thing happened, we are marked, but we survive.” It was the most honest response he could give her. 

At some point, Ernest noticed her eyes turned up, fixed on something. Her lips twitched in amusement. 

“Did you find anything funny?” 

“Your hair. You seem to have a disheveled sheep on your head,” she responded directly and without any trace of shame. 

Ernest did not expect such a response at all. He frowned. That girl has got a lot to learn in order to survive in her father’s world, the young Sinclaire thought.

 Quick, witty, and frank tongues were not appreciated  in high society. 

After their philosophical moment, he expected her to leave him alone, but she didn’t. She remained seated there, silent. Ernest would have preferred to be alone to mourn his book, but he didn't have the courage to send her away. After all, she was in her house, and he was the intruder. As Ernest turned the pages to dry, he caught her reading the sonnets. 

“Do you like poetry?” he asked her to make small talk.  

“I like it when the verses rhyme, but this is weird.” 

He chuckled. “You’re too young to understand it.” 

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? / Thou art more lovely and more temperate:” Beatrice read aloud. 

“Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, /And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;” he completed, by heart. 

“Can you understand it?” 

The question caught him off guard. It reminded him of his mother's words on the night she had given him the book. “Not everything, I must confess. But I like to read them, anyway.” 

The girl was about to question him again, but fortunately, a knock on the door interrupted her. A girl peered inside. It was her partner in crime. She was waiting for her.  

“I’ve to go. Sorry again for everything.” She said with a playful smile. He offered a hand to help her get up. “See you around," she said, running to the door. 

That girl was going to be a problem, he thought. Fortunately, she wouldn’t be his problem. Good luck to the Earl. 

∭ - Fisrt Year in Cambridge

Although spring was just a couple of days away, it was an overcast day, and a cold draft hung between the walls. 

Ernest left the library to clear his head. He had been studying for hours. The first term exams didn't go as well as he had hoped, so he was making an extra effort. He had worked very hard to be there. 

Cambridge University was his dream, and after Eton, Ernest thought it would be a smooth transition. 

His problem wasn't studying. He even enjoyed it. However, it was proving difficult to reconcile all parts of his world. 

He hadn't spoken to Minera in days. He missed her, but he also didn't want to distract her during exams season. For now, he would have to make do with the memories of the holidays to comfort him. 

Ernest spotted two figures in the shadows conversing in low tone. 

Ernest was about to turn around; however, upon recognizing Tristan Richards' voice, he stopped there. 

They had crossed paths a few times already. Fortunately, since Ernest was in his first year, it was rare, and when it did happen, he chose to pretend he didn't see him. Not out of fear, but to protect his nerves. 

Tristan had became everything Ernest had been taught not to be: arrogant, pompous, a bull, and rude. His lack of respect for others, often masked as good manners, irritated him deeply. 

Another thing he couldn't stand was Tristan's behaviour towards girls. Based on what he'd seen of it in Cambridge, the situation with the math teacher wasn't just some silly teenage revenge. Tristan spoke and acted as if all the girls belonged to him. All disguised with bright smiles and sweet talk. 

Despite his rake's past, Ernest always observed in his father an exemplary behaviour with all the women he dealt with. Mrs. Lewis, his secretary, the housemaids, the wives of his friends... even with Beatrice. He never raised his voice to them, never condescending, but always chivalrous, sincerely praising whenever he could. 

Tristan raised his voice, allowing Ernest to hear the last few words, “I want the assignment in my hands within a week, without a second of delay! Make sure you do a good job!” He walked away, but the young man who stayed behind seemed about to pass out.  

“Are you okay? Do you want me to call someone?” Ernest asked. 

“I am…fine.” He answered in a trembling voice. 

“I heard him threaten you. Are you doing the assignments for him?” 

“No…of…course…not. That would be against the rules…Please, don’t tell a soul. He pays me…I need that money to pay my fees. It's a last effort... I'm months away from finishing my degree.” The young man was distressed. 

“Don’t you have to do one yourself too?” 

“I do, but…I can do this. I just will need some more caffeine. Please, keep the secret.” The young man disappeared into the hallways. 

Fortunately, Ernest couldn't say he understood his colleague's distress. However, he couldn't remain indifferent to the situation. Tristan was exploiting him, and Ernest couldn't allow him to continue abusing his colleague. 

Tristan needed a lesson, but first, Ernest had to safeguard his colleague's future. He made a call. “Father…I'm sorry to bother you…Yes…Yes…I'm fine…I need your help to help someone else…What would be the possibility of you sponsoring a colleague of mine?

The oral presentation of the assignment was public, and Ernest wanted to see Tristan's downfall from the front row. 

Part of him knew it was wrong to humiliate him. It was playing into Tristan's own game. However, he chose to disregard moral honour this time. 

Ernest instructed the fellow student to give Tristan his own assignment, but with subtle scientific errors, though noticeable to the professors. 

Tristan began the presentation full of enthusiasm and confidence. However, as he advanced the slides, the professors' brows furrowed more and more.  

Some in the auditorium were also noticing the errors in the calculations and data. 

Eventually, Tristan noticed some mistakes in the slide he was presenting. He became furious. “There's a mistake here. This isn't my assignment!” 

“I'm glad you finally noticed it, Mr. Richards. You're absolutely right. It's not yours. It belongs to your colleague, Mr. Norris, who gave a brilliant presentation earlier this afternoon.” One of the teachers stood up, “Not only did you plagiarize your colleague, but you couldn't even disguise your incompetence. You made unacceptable mistakes. Please leave our presence. But be aware that this will have serious consequences.” 

All eyes were on him. Tristan had a desperate look and was red with anger. He rushed out of the room. 

Unconsciously, Ernest smiled with satisfaction. 

∭ 

There are moments when we feel our lives are about to change. Ernest had one of those intuitions when he saw Mr. Carter invading the party, yelling at the Foredale’s butler. 

The Earl approached them. The man told him something that made Vincent lose his colours. He motioned Ernest to come closer. 

Ernest could clearly hear the words coming from the man's mouth, but it was as if he were speaking an alien language. When he finally processed what he was hearing, his body froze. That couldn't be true. 

“I've already called the firefighters before coming here.” Mr. Carter said.  

The Earl's guests were in an uproar hearing what was going on. 

Ernest ran out the door. Other acquaintances who were at the party were preparing to do the same. Some to flee, some to watch the horror in the first hand…surely a couple of them with good intentions.  

“It's safer to stay here.” Vincent stopped them. “I know you have good intentions, but we don't know the gravity of the situation. It can be dangerous. Ernest and I are going there. Those who can, please leave by the other road. The fire could spread in our direction. Those who must stay, please follow the instructions of my staff. Gather my children and other children together and get them to the emergency room.” 

Ernest was trying to start the car, but he was too nervous to do it. Just as he was about to leave on foot, Vincent grabbed him by the coat. “Let's go in the jeep.” The Earl said. 

Vincent took every shortcut he knew, trampling through some wild bushes along the way. 

It wasn't long before they started seeing black smoke staining the colours of the late afternoon sky. 

“How many people are at home?” Vincent asked. 

“Mrs. Lewis gave all the employees the night off. She didn't want to come in to rest,” Ernest's voice trembled. “I hope she's okay… My father is going to kill me!” 

They could hear the fire truck sirens in the distance. 

“Ernest, whatever is happening is not your fault!” The Earl reassured him. “Even if something very bad happens... it's just walls and old things. You are the greatest treasure in his life.” 

The path they took led them to the back of the mansion. The fire was already engulfing the orchard. 

It looked like hell on earth. The smoke was as black as a starless night. The red flames were devouring everything in their path. The windows were shattering like bombs. Ernest felt every crackle of the flames as if it were in his own body. 

He tried to enter the house, but the firefighters stopped him. 

“There's someone in there! You must save her!” Ernest screamed. 

“Where she could be?” A firefight asked.  

“Never mind, I am going there!” Despite the firefighters' orders and Vincent’s efforts to restrain Ernest from doing something foolish, he went inside. The front of the house was still mostly intact, but there was smoke everywhere. Ernest heard a bang and a scream. Following the sound, he soon found Mrs. Lewis coming from the servants' quarters. She had almost made it to the entrance hall alone, but a picture fell on her head, dazing her. Ernest took her in his arms. 

More fire trucks and some ambulances had arrived in the meantime. Mrs. Lewis could barely breathe. The paramedics tried to put the oxygen mask on her. She took it off and, almost fainting, she uttered, “Your father... he... is at home.” 

“That’s impossible!” Ernest refused to believe the scenario she was presenting.  

“He came home to see you… he’s better.” Mrs. Lewis passed out.  

Ernest was running inside again, but someone grabbed him, holding him back. The firefighters rushed into the manor. 

The minutes that followed seemed like hours. Ernest's heart was pounding wildly, yet it felt frozen with terror. That couldn't happen again. Another loss, and he would lose his mind. 

When he saw the firefighters come out the door, Ernest almost jumped on them. Somehow, his father seemed fine. Ernest tried to touch him.  

A firefighter grabbed his hand. “I am so sorry… It’s too late.”  

∭ 

The pathologist's assistant approached them. “He's ready, but we need someone to officially identify the body.” 

“I will,” Vincent said. 

“Are you related?” 

“I’m his best friend,” 

“It should preferably be someone from the family.” The pathologist's assistant objected. 

“I am his son.” Ernest stepped forward. 

“Are you sure, Ernest?” Vincent asked him.  

“I am. It's the last thing I can do for him.” 

Ernest followed the pathologist's assistant into the room. “When you're ready, I'll take the sheet off.” 

Ernest was afraid of what he would find under the white sheet. “Did he suffer?” Ernest asked, his voice trembling. 

“I don’t believe so. The smoke inhalation... took him before the fire could touch him.” The doctor explained gently. 

“You may take it off, please.” For a few seconds, Ernest's heart imagined it wasn't him. Part of him still hoped it was all a mistake. A case of mistaken identity, like happens in films. Although he hadn't been able to see him well when firefighters pulled him out of the manor, Ernest could swear he had heard him groan in pain. 

The pathologist's assistant removed the sheet. Ernest looked closely. There were some singed hairs. His father also had some burns on his face and hands. 

Ernest lightly touched his hand. He knew it would be cold, but Ernest had never felt anything like it. “Why do you leave me alone?” He murmured. “This is my father. Can I take him home?” 

∭ 

Those days were lived in a parallel reality. Ernest felt like he was trapped in a nightmare from which he couldn't wake up.  

The days seemed endless. The nights weren't long enough. People spoke to him, but he didn't understand what they were saying. He made decisions he didn't remember. He was standing, but he couldn't feel his body. Not even his heart  beating.  

Beatrice's hug made Ernest feel like emerging from dark waters. For the first time in days, he could breathe. 

∭ 

Part of him regretted getting involved in the matter. What had happened at Ascot was a matter between her, Luke, and the Earl.  

However, his brotherly instinct couldn't help but try to help. Maybe he had exaggerated in his sermon, but Ernest couldn't remain undaunted and calm watching her dig her grave by her own hands before ‘Crème de la crème’ of English society.  

She had avoided him since that day. Ernest accepted the tantrum. Not long ago, he was a moody teenager too. In fact, lately, he was feeling more like a lost child. Another loss, more shards to pick up, and many decisions to make… Ernest felt very confused most of the time.  

That day, Ernest left home early to spend the day in Moorfield, wandering around the streets of the small town, trying to clear his head.  

Back home, Mrs. Lewis informed him Beatrice was there doing research work for her father. Surprised, he couldn’t miss the chance to find out what the Earl was drafting… and clearing the air with Beatrice.  

He wouldn't admit it, but he missed talking to her. Now he understood why Edmund complained about missing his siblings at Eton.  

Ernest found her hidden among piles of books with Sunny snoring at her feet, curled up in a dusty sheet. 

For a few seconds, his heart stopped. The books and files she was handling were hundreds of years old. They had not survived the fire to perish from neglect. He was relieved that she was wearing gloves.

“May I help you?” His voice echoed in the library, awakening her from the trance of her readings. She could barely articulate a coherent sentence, but the colour of her cheeks betrayed her feelings.

After breaking the ice, the conversation between them flowed as always.

He was very curious when she mentioned his ancestor, Alfred of Wessex. Alfred wasn’t exactly a figure who starred in the history books.

Therefore, he did not hesitate to show her one of the house's treasures —'The Chronicles of Alfred of Wessex.' He took her to his makeshift study and opened the huge safe. While he was looking for the book, Ernest noticed that the portrait inside the safe had not gone unnoticed. Thinking he would not catch her, she stood on tiptoe to peek inside.

“It was found in a chest a few weeks ago. Even Mrs. Lewis thought it no longer existed.” He smiled.  

Ernest hadn't believed it when Mrs. Lewis told him they had discovered it in a trunk. Mathew Sinclaire, unable to deal with the grief, had ordered all images of Lydia Sinclaire to be removed from his sight. As he grew older, Ernest feared he would begin to lose the memory of his mother's features. 

Despite the many drawings he made of her face, Ernest was aware they were shadows compared to her. The young man could not hold back his tears when he saw the portrait. 

When the works on Ledford Park were completed, Ernest was planning to put that portrait in a prominent place, not to mourn them, but to remember the happy days they lived together. 

“I wasn't looking at it with the intention of...” Beatrice tried to excuse herself. Ernest loved to see the fearless Beatrice embarrassed. 

“It’s okay, I know you weren’t. Here they are, the oldest chronicles of this family, ‘The Chronicles of Alfred of Wessex’. Take them as long as you need. Do you mind if I stay here for a while? It's not to watch you. I trust you to be alone with anything here. I have some important documents to read, and this is the quietest place in the house at the moment.” 

The pile of documents was endless, but he couldn't concentrate. Ernest was more curious than ever about the Earl’s new story. 

Beatrice's grumblings about the book only increased his curiosity. 

“Don't be so hard on him. It was an old friend of his who wrote part of the chronicles. It was a turbulent period, and Alfred didn't have time to write a sequential narrative. Is the Earl working on a novel about Richard of Caen?”  Ernest threw the bait, trying to find out more. 

“Not exactly. It's about his firstborn daughter, Aurelia of Kent, our ancestress.” 

As Beatrice explained her father's ideas, Ernest had an epiphany. “Maybe she is the mysterious woman.” 

As he summarized what he knew for her. In the middle of the conversation about their ancestors, he ended up blurting out his full name, something avoided as much as possible. “I am not joking. My full name is Ernest Mathew Alfred William.” 

Even without asking direct questions, that girl had the power to poke holes in his wall of discretion. No wonder she wanted to be a journalist. 

“For a moment I thought you were going to say Fitzwilliam …” Beatrice teased.  

“That was my mother's wish, but my father did not agree. Mrs Lewis says that the first time she saw them argue was because of my name. They only reached a consensus after I was born.” 

Returning to the investigation, their joint efforts to connect the dots led them to a remarkable discovery. 

“That’s the connection! They were…lovers.” After the excitement of her conclusion, Beatrice was quiet for a few seconds. Ernest noticed her cheeks blushing. 

Excited about such revelations as well, Ernest showed her in the book Alfred's poem dedicated to his impossible love. Ernest read it, translating the verses into modern English at the same time.  

It could not be considered an erotic text, but the elements were there. Ernest felt somehow embarrassed while reading it to her. 

Suddenly, they were arguing again. Quarrels between them seemed to start out of nowhere, like a summer storm. It wasn't the first time something like this had happened, especially since Beatrice became a teenager. A civilized conversation could suddenly turn into an argument. She was more stubborn than ever. The tiredness and worries swirling around in his head diminished his patience. 

“Sometimes you are impossible, Sinclaire!” She groaned. 

“Why? Because I do contradict you?” 

“Trust me, you are the least of my problems.” 

“You are an expert at getting yourself into trouble.” He pointed out. 

“Are you still talking about Ascot, Sinclaire?”  

“Are you still sulking at me because of Ascot, Beatrice?” 

“I know I am wrong, okay? I messed things up , including with you.” Beatrice admitted. 

Ernest didn't expect her to give in. So, that way, he decided to admit his share of the guilt. “I know you get mad when I scold you. Perhaps I was a little harsh at Ascot. Nevertheless, I will not apologize to you for what I did and what I said. Although deep down, as you said, it's none of my business, I would do it all over again if I had to, because I am your friend.” 

“Did I get promoted to your friend? How kind of you, Mr. Sinclaire!” There was still some bitterness in her voice. 

Was it possible that girl had a remark for everything? It was as annoying as it was admirable. “Don’t mock me! I am being honest with you.” 

“I am not. The truth is, I am glad to hear that. I thought I was never going to pass the ‘little brat’ category.” 

How could Beatrice assume he thought so little of her? He needed to clarify things. “You are more than a friend, Beatrice. The Foredale’s are like family to me. Families support and take care of each other. I don't have many relatives, but I have everything I need just a fence jump away.” 

“I can’t imagine you jumping a fence.” Beatrice laughed. 

“You have no idea what my little self was capable of. Mrs. Lewis was a victim at my hands.” 

“I always thought you came out of your mother's womb in a tie and waistcoat.”  

It wasn't the first time she'd said that to him. Little did she know there was a photograph of him as a baby wearing a full suit. He could not remain indifferent to such a response and burst out laughing for the first time in a long time. Beatrice followed him. They just couldn't stop laughing.  

Ernest felt enormous relief in his body and mind. For a few minutes, he completely forgot all his qualms. 

After the laughing session, they went back to Alfred and Aurelia. According to Beatrice, Vincent had still only defined the general lines of the plot. Ernest couldn’t resist making a few suggestions. 

“First kiss on the first night?”  

“Of course not, Sinclaire! Papa is the king of the ‘slow burn.' The first kiss never takes place before page one hundred and one. I am picturing it on a summer night, under the stars, by the lake.” 

“Or in the ring of stones, in the middle of our forest. That piece of land has always belonged to my family. It’s secluded but very beautiful.” 

“Are you speaking from experience?” She smiled mischievously.  

“I am trying to be helpful.” Ernest was almost certain that a light shade of pink had appeared on his cheeks. Beatrice was an expert at guessing his sins. 

He was in fact speaking from personal experience. Ernest had waited months to take Minerva there. He prepared a picnic, studied the stars, and picked out the softest blankets. Ernest was convinced that he had prepared the most romantic of encounters under the shooting stars. As it turned out, they couldn’t see any shooting stars. But there were fireworks all night.  

“All right then, keep your secrets, Casanova.” 

He knew she didn't intend to offend in any way; however, he didn't like the association. For Ernest, love was something too serious to joke about. “I don’t aspire to be a Casanova, a Romeo, or a Heathcliff… Actually, I think some of these called ‘romantic heroes’ have distorted the concept of love.” 

“So, what does love mean to you, Sinclaire? And to be clear, I am asking about romantic love.” 

And there was one of her difficult questions again. And once again, he couldn't run away. So, he chose the honest path. “Love cannot be impulsive, fickle, or lust -driven, nor does it need to be tragic or complicated to be true. In fact, love is simple and natural. It's feeling happy next to someone while putting the other's happiness first. Love does not ignore problems and differences. Love builds bridges and clears paths to face them. He could see in her eyes that something was restless in her mind. It was dying to come out, but his lips were afraid to let it go. He would probably regret prolonging the conversation, but Ernest was worried about what he was seeing in her eyes. “What do you want to ask, Beatrice?”  

“I … well … How about intimacy… I mean… love has a physical side.” 

Ernest found the question strange. She was too smart to be ignorant about the matter. And, knowing the Earl, Ernest was sure he wouldn't have neglected that part of her education. It was obvious her feelings for Luke were deep. It wasn't just a whim or an infatuation. Beatrice was seriously in love with Luke. Maybe that was why she needed those answers.  

“You are not naïve, Bea; you know intimacy can include physical acts of love —kisses, hugs, tender touches, snuggles… Is sex a manifestation of intimacy? Yes. Is it the main one ? No, far from that. It’s like cake frosting. It looks good. It can taste good, but if the cake underneath it isn't good; it's a deception, with consequences more serious than a stomach.” 

“How am I supposed to live the rest of my life with that image in my mind, Sinclaire?” 

“It was you who asked for my opinion.” He imitated her cockiness. 

“Indeed. It was very enlightening.” 

On any other occasion, his decorum would have demanded that he graciously change the topic of conversation. It wasn't in his nature to intrude on others' privacy, but Ernest could see that she was still uneasy. 

“Have you ever felt pressured into any kind of intimacy that made you feel uncomfortable?” He asked worriedly. Ernest didn't imagine Luke capable of such a thing. However, unfortunately, evil could be hidden behind anyone who surrounded her. 

“No, never. Luke is the kindest, gentlest soul I have ever met. He is incapable of hurting anyone, not even an ant. We...We have discussed those matters. We share the same ideas about it.” 

If the problem wasn't between them, then it must be someone outside. Ernest had a hunch. 

 “Bea, I can imagine how much they brag about it. I have been dealing with smug rich girls and boys all my life. If I recall, I am one of them.” From the expression on her face, he knew he got her problem right. “In addition to the fact that half of what they say is untrue or exaggerated, this is not something that should be motivated by what others think, even if it is our partner. It deeply affects our bodies and our emotions. The heart is always eager to please and to feel pleasure. I have learned that we can't always trust it. We must always ask ourselves if we will be happy or at peace with the consequences of what we do. And above all, we must never do anything that we are not comfortable with. If our body give us signals that it's not good for us, it's because it isn’t. If we insist, we will hurt ourselves and probably the ones we love.” 

“Have you ever felt that?”  

His propriety did not permit him to tell more details, nor did he wish to burden her with his ghosts. “I usually refrain from giving opinions on subjects I am not familiar .” Ernest gently took her hand in his. “Please, promise you will take care of yourself.” 

 “Thank you, Sinclaire. You are annoyingly wise.” She smiled. 

“I am taking it as a ‘I will follow your advice’.” 

After the break for Beatrice's existential crisis, they returned to their ancestors, getting lost in the plot with new ideas and hypotheses for what may have happened between Aurelia and Alfred. 

Only when Mrs. Lewis in her nightdress and disheveled hair, found them in the library did Ernest realize how late it was — the sun was about to rise. 

He had to get her home as quickly as possible. To his exasperation, Beatrice insisted on walking home. Despite not agreeing with the option, Ernest went along with her.  

As they walked out the door, the early morning breeze embraced them. Beatrice's thin dress was no match for the cool waft, letting it run over her body without mercy. He put his jacket over her shoulders. God forbid that something happens to Beatrice along the way. The Earl would have no pity or mercy on him. Nor would he forgive himself. 

“I'm glad we are friends again, Sinclaire. Someone has to be brave enough to lecture me.” Beatrice said when they arrived. 

“The Dowager Countess does that job very well. Besides, I don't have the presumption to consider that I have any authority to do such a thing. I am just a concerned friend with more life experience. Have a good day, Beatrice.” 

“Have a nice day, Sinclaire. Thank you again. For everything.” Ernest stayed there until she closed the kitchen door behind her. 

He hoped no one had seen him taking Beatrice home in the early hours of the morning. Ernest preferred not to even think about what could be invented about it. 

On the way to Ledford Park, worries came back to haunt his mind. Was he choosing the right path? Would it be worth such a sacrifice? 

On that afternoon, he went to Edgewater. Vincent had invited him to do some fencing.  

The Earl repeatedly expressed thanks for his help with the research and for bringing Beatrice home safe and sound. He had loved the ideas they had outlined.  

“I have done no more than my duty as a friend and gentleman.”  Ernest answered. 

"You're one of the few people I blindly trust Beatrice care. Talking about it, have you told her about your departure?"  

“I haven't told anyone yet, except those who strictly had to know.” 

“She would rather know from you. In case you haven't noticed, she sees you like a big brother.” 

“I'll do it in the next few days, I promise.” 

When Earl left, Ernest stayed a little longer, practicing some moves. Fencing was a great way for him to relieve his heavy feelings. It was relaxing him. He was so engrossed in his dance with the rapier that Ernest only noticed Beatrice's presence when he heard her voice mumbling about her singing lessons. Since he was still wearing his helmet, she mistook him for her fencing teacher. 

He wanted to say something, but Ernest couldn't articulate any sentence. 

“You are right, Mr. Jones; I can talk and fight at the same time.” She put herself in position. “En garde! Prêts? Allez!” Beatrice lunged at him, putting all the frustrations into every engagement. 

She rambled about various topics. Beatrice clearly needed to get some things off her chest that afternoon, and he didn't have the heart to interrupt. 

“Speaking of people who are getting on my nerves...There is a person close to me who will move abroad next autumn. We are friends...at least he says we are, and I feel the same. However, during all summer he hasn't had the heart to say a word to me about it. Can you believe it?”  

How would she have found out? Distracted by this question, he gave her room to hit him. 

Distracted, Ernest stopped, and Beatrice hit him. “Touché!” she laughed.  

There was no point in continuing to hide. He took off his helmet. Beatrice was speechless for a moment. 

“How did you find out? I have tried to keep my plans secret.” 

“Before you insinuate anything, I didn't hear behind the door. Luke and I were under the bridge when you were telling Bart about it.” 

“Oh! Well, I guess it's officially no longer a secret.” Ernest signed and explained his reasons. 

“I can understand that. I just don't understand why you didn't tell me. I am your friend, Sinclaire! Talking about friends, have you told Edmund about it?” 

She was indignant, and rightly so. Ernest played with the clasps on his helmet, looking for the answers hidden under his rational level. Ernest didn't feel right not telling her the whole truth. “No. I didn't tell you, or your brother, or others because... because I feel I’m at sea.” 

She seemed taken aback by his frankness. “I don’t see it that way. I see, and I think everybody sees, you are trying your best to solve these problems. Your plans for the house are incredible. Unless you are thinking of becoming a mason's apprentice, I don't think they need you around. Besides, I have seen Mrs. Lewis dealing with workers. They won't dare to change even a millimeter of your project.” 

“There's also the fear of the unknown, of course. I will be on the other side of the world, far away from everything I have ever known, for a long time. As you might have noticed, I'm anything but adventurous.” Her words were comforting. However, he had opened the door to fears and could not stop them. 

“I wouldn’t say that. I think ‘very cautious’ is the right definition. It's a bit of an exasperating trait sometimes, I won't deny it. Nevertheless, your cautious instincts have gotten you well this far. You just have to learn to ignore them from time to time.” 

“Are you sure you are my friend?” He tried to look offended, but a suppressed smile betrayed him. “Your view of things usually turns mine upside down, showing me a world I would never see. Maybe it helps me gather my thoughts. Thank you, Beatrice.” 

“Now would be the appropriate time to say that above anything else, you will miss all of us terribly.” She teased him. 

“I'm taking that out of the equation. Otherwise, I don't think I could go.” 

Mr. Jones arrived, interrupting their conversation. 

“Don't think you're getting rid of me that easily, Sinclaire!” She pointed the rapier at him. 

Watching her petite figure trying to threaten him was a comical sight. “I have lived enough to know when a girl has a rapier pointed at us, she is to be taken seriously.” 

∭ 

At E.P.W  (Edgewater Polo Weekend) 

After the defeat, Ernest wanted to go home alone on foot. He needed to calm down before arriving home and helping with the preparations for dinner. 

again, despite the warning he had given him at Ascot. 

Ernest quickened his pace to catch Tristan. Tristan stopped when he saw Ernest walking towards him, flashing a mocking smile on his face. 

“We need to talk, Tristan.” 

“I suppose you're going to invite me to the victors' dinner. You can't imagine how funny it was to see you lose and know that you're still going to pay for my dinner.” 

“Don't you dare set foot in my house!” 

“Your pride is hurt, so I'm not going to take this one personally. You're the one who loses out. Anyway... That's two defeats in one day. Poor Ernest,” Tristan scorned. “I only regret not having the opportunity to spend more time with the ladies of Edgewater. They are all so agreeable.” 

“Stay away from them!”  

“Especially the bastard one, right?” Tristan smirked. “Women gravitate towards me; I can’t help it. You love playing the knight in shining armor. It was cute when you were a teenager, but now it's pathetic...” 

“Leave her alone. She's just a child. I'm warning you, Tristan...stay away from her...and all of them!” Ernest was losing his patience. 

Duke Richards laughed cynically. “A child, you say? She's a young lady. There's fire and opportunism in her blood. She'll fall. And I'll make sure to seize the opportunity.” 

Ernest was about to punch him when Felicity approached them. “Your Grace, shall we see each other later at dinner?” 

“Unfortunately, no. I have an unavoidable appointment. I'm having dinner with my cousin, Charles.” 

“The prince?” Felicity asked, dazzled. 

“Of course. Who else could be?  Now if you excuse me.” He walked away. 

Felicity was going to turn her attention to Ernest; however, he wasn't in the mood for civilities. “I must go. See you later, Felicity.” Before leaving, he thought he should add, “As a friend, I beg you: please don't be dazzled by the wrapping paper and the ribbon on the box. There are many rotten things in his kingdom.” 

∭ 

Ernest threw himself onto the bed, tired, overwhelmed, and frustrated. How was he supposed to move an entire life to the other side of the world? He had made a few lists. However, the more he tried to organise himself, the more confused he became.  

He could simply put his clothes in a couple of suitcases and buy everything there. He might as well send all his stuff there. However, he didn't want to risk losing anything on the trip. On the other hand, he also knew he would need some references from home.  

Ernest had the temptation to take his mother's book with him but thought it was better to leave it in the Ledford Park safety. It wouldn't survive another accident. The very thought made him shiver. He randomly opened a page and came face-to-face with Sonnet 116. 

“Love is not love 

Which alters when it alteration finds, 

Or bends with the remover to remove: 

O no! it is an ever-fixed mark 

That looks on tempests and is never shaken.” 

These old words made the young man wonder if he would ever fall in love again. Minerva had been his first crush, passion, love, and girlfriend. With her, everything was so passionate. She starred in all his first times.  

Every now and then, he still questioned if he'd made the right decision, if he should have fought harder for her and their relationship. However, he couldn’t say if such thoughts were remnants of love or loneliness playing a monologue in his head. Too many emotions had invaded his heart lately.  

He was a romantic guy and unashamed of it. In the few years he'd lived with both his parents, he'd seen so much love between them that he couldn't help but dream of something like that for himself.  

He already knew he wanted a family one day. Small steps filling Ledford Park with life. Would he have to wait many more years? Who would she be? Would he meet her in the USA?  

Nevertheless, Ernest also knew that the size of the loss was proportional to the size of the love. And that scared him. He had resisted until then, but he feared what might happen if life dealt him another blow. Looking at himself in the mirror, he saw in his mind images of his father, lost, sunk in grief. Crossing the bridge of pain was a path back, and Ernest felt his foot touch the first plank several times.  

He jumped out of bed, trying to shake off such thoughts. In doing so, he dropped a frame onto the floor. It was a photo from his graduation day at Cambridge.Surrounded by people who loved him and were proud of him, it was one of his happiest days in recent times. 

There was also a funny story behind it. Although there weren't many (just the Foredale, Mrs Lewis and Bart), the photographer had difficulty getting everyone in the photo due to the height differences. The photographer tried different combinations; however, someone always ended up cut out the pic. Fortunately, Bart had the idea of holding Beatrice in his arms, lifting her off the ground a few inches, solving the framing problem, just in time to avoid a riot in the line to take photos at that place. 

On that day, Beatrice had placed on his cape a red rose, the Sinclaire colour, decorated with a ribbon in her mother's Scottish pattern. It was a simple gesture, but it touched him so much that he had the rose preserved in wax. It has been in his desk ever since. It was better to stay where it was. It could get damaged on the trip. 

After hours of reflection, Ernest finally came up with his art kit, a Manchester United scarf, a photo of him, Bart, and Edmund at Eton, a pen that had belonged to his father, and a painting with dried flowers from the Ledford Park gardens.  

Rummaging through the drawers, he found a hat and a pair of woollen gloves that Beatrice had given him last winter. They weren't the most elegant set, but Ernest puts them in his bag anyway. Boston was very cold. Certainly, no piece of clothing would be too much. 

∭ 

No one dares to call it a farewell. It's a dinner at his London townhouse, like so many others.  

The seats at the massive table are not all occupied; however, the people who matter most to him are there. No one dares to mention the subject, even though it imposes itself on the room like a giant elephant.  

Dinner lingered between drawn-out conversations, as if this could slow down the inexorable march of time.  

Anyone who passes by on the street and sees the host escorting guests to the door would assume that it was an ordinary evening: bidding farewell, shaking hands with gentlemen, kissing hands with ladies… the whole ritual of good English politeness.  

When the young girl's turn arrives, the host stands with her hand in his, undecided on how to say goodbye.  

The young girl comes forward and kisses his cheek. If the passerby had been closer, he could have heard the girl whisper in his ear, ‘Who am I going to vex now?’  

A lot had happened between that first impression and that moment of goodbye. He would miss everyone so much. However, he would miss that ray of sunshine dearly.  

Much would certainly change in the coming years. Ernest would love to freeze that moment in time. The wheel of life that had denied him a little sister made up for it with such unexpected friendship. 

“When?”  

“When you fall in love.”  

“You're the only woman I love... And I like Mrs. Lewis too, I guess. And a bit of Nanny Sarah.” 

“I'm flattered, but one day you'll change your mind. And it will be wonderful.” Mrs. Sinclaire caressed her boy’s curls.  

Suddenly, there were several people around him, asking if he was okay and wanting to help him. However, Ernest only thought about his book. 

∭ 

Ernest delicately turned another page in the book. The heat from the fireplace was accelerating the process, revealing the damage. He was upset but somewhat relieved. A damaged book was better than a destroyed one.  

Mrs. Lewis would certainly tell him something like that when he got home. He admired her resilience. No matter how great the darkness, she always found the stars to move forward with.  

Her husband had been in a coma for about a month after the accident, but unfortunately, he succumbed to his injuries and died.  

She had also lost the love of her life. They met at Ledford Park. There they fell in love and got married. The Sinclaire were their wedding godparents. 

Unlike his father, she didn't let grief consume her. Constance fought her sadness by loving everyone around her. He was aware that if it weren't for her love and dedication, he would have been sent back to boarding school the next day.  

He heard the library door opening softly. Turning his head, he saw one of the girls of the lake walking towards him. She froze for a moment when she looked into his eyes, probably out of embarrassment. 

The young Sinclaire looked at her for a while with curiosity. He soon noticed the Foredale features. So that was the famous Beatrice. The way his father had talked about her, Ernest had assumed she was older, but she was just a child. 

‘Are you Beatrice, right?’ he asked. 

The girl nodded. An intense blush coloured her cheeks. She tried to apologize for what happened as best she could.  

He tried to maintain a straight face but couldn’t avoid a little smile. It was hard to stay upset after such a cute apology. They shook hands as sign of peace. 

It was the girl's turn to look at him inquisitively. “What are you doing in Edgewater, by the way? Don’t you have your own home?” she asked bluntly. 

Ernest raised his eyebrow. He couldn't deny that it was a pertinent question. “Yes, but Edgewater’s Lake used to be a quiet place to read.” 

That's when the Foredale girl saw the soaked book. The girl apologized repeatedly and even offered to buy him a new one. 

If it had been any other child, Ernest wouldn't have bothered to explain his reasons. However, he knew she would understand. 

While listening to his story, some tears threatened to come out of her eyes, but she held them back. The tears made the colours of her eyes stand out — a chocolate brown streaked with green, as if it were an immense, dense forest. 

‘I miss her so much that it hurts in my chest. Does this get easier over time?’ Beatrice asked upon learning his loss story. 

No child should have to face those feelings. At first, he considered lying to her. Then, his book gave him an idea. “Look at the pages of the book. They’re wet. I’m drying them with the heat of the fire. After drying, these pages will be wrinkled. While some of them will be impossible to read, others will still be readable. The book is marked forever, but it is still in one piece. The same happens with us, I think. After such a thing happened, we are marked, but we survive.” It was the most honest response he could give her. 

At some point, Ernest noticed her eyes turned up, fixed on something. Her lips twitched in amusement. 

“Did you find anything funny?” 

“Your hair. You seem to have a disheveled sheep on your head,” she responded directly and without any trace of shame. 

Ernest did not expect such a response at all. He frowned. That girl has got a lot to learn in order to survive in her father’s world, the young Sinclaire thought.

 Quick, witty, and frank tongues were not appreciated  in high society. 

After their philosophical moment, he expected her to leave him alone, but she didn’t. She remained seated there, silent. Ernest would have preferred to be alone to mourn his book, but he didn't have the courage to send her away. After all, she was in her house, and he was the intruder. As Ernest turned the pages to dry, he caught her reading the sonnets. 

“Do you like poetry?” he asked her to make small talk.  

“I like it when the verses rhyme, but this is weird.” 

He chuckled. “You’re too young to understand it.” 

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? / Thou art more lovely and more temperate:” Beatrice read aloud. 

“Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, /And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;” he completed, by heart. 

“Can you understand it?” 

The question caught him off guard. It reminded him of his mother's words on the night she had given him the book. “Not everything, I must confess. But I like to read them, anyway.” 

The girl was about to question him again, but fortunately, a knock on the door interrupted her. A girl peered inside. It was her partner in crime. She was waiting for her.  

“I’ve to go. Sorry again for everything.” She said with a playful smile. He offered a hand to help her get up. “See you around," she said, running to the door. 

That girl was going to be a problem, he thought. Fortunately, she wouldn’t be his problem. Good luck to the Earl. 

∭ - Fisrt Year in Cambridge

Although spring was just a couple of days away, it was an overcast day, and a cold draft hung between the walls. 

Ernest left the library to clear his head. He had been studying for hours. The first term exams didn't go as well as he had hoped, so he was making an extra effort. He had worked very hard to be there. 

Cambridge University was his dream, and after Eton, Ernest thought it would be a smooth transition. 

His problem wasn't studying. He even enjoyed it. However, it was proving difficult to reconcile all parts of his world. 

He hadn't spoken to Minera in days. He missed her, but he also didn't want to distract her during exams season. For now, he would have to make do with the memories of the holidays to comfort him. 

Ernest spotted two figures in the shadows conversing in low tone. 

Ernest was about to turn around; however, upon recognizing Tristan Richards' voice, he stopped there. 

They had crossed paths a few times already. Fortunately, since Ernest was in his first year, it was rare, and when it did happen, he chose to pretend he didn't see him. Not out of fear, but to protect his nerves. 

Tristan had became everything Ernest had been taught not to be: arrogant, pompous, a bull, and rude. His lack of respect for others, often masked as good manners, irritated him deeply. 

Another thing he couldn't stand was Tristan's behaviour towards girls. Based on what he'd seen of it in Cambridge, the situation with the math teacher wasn't just some silly teenage revenge. Tristan spoke and acted as if all the girls belonged to him. All disguised with bright smiles and sweet talk. 

Despite his rake's past, Ernest always observed in his father an exemplary behaviour with all the women he dealt with. Mrs. Lewis, his secretary, the housemaids, the wives of his friends... even with Beatrice. He never raised his voice to them, never condescending, but always chivalrous, sincerely praising whenever he could. 

Tristan raised his voice, allowing Ernest to hear the last few words, “I want the assignment in my hands within a week, without a second of delay! Make sure you do a good job!” He walked away, but the young man who stayed behind seemed about to pass out.  

“Are you okay? Do you want me to call someone?” Ernest asked. 

“I am…fine.” He answered in a trembling voice. 

“I heard him threaten you. Are you doing the assignments for him?” 

“No…of…course…not. That would be against the rules…Please, don’t tell a soul. He pays me…I need that money to pay my fees. It's a last effort... I'm months away from finishing my degree.” The young man was distressed. 

“Don’t you have to do one yourself too?” 

“I do, but…I can do this. I just will need some more caffeine. Please, keep the secret.” The young man disappeared into the hallways. 

Fortunately, Ernest couldn't say he understood his colleague's distress. However, he couldn't remain indifferent to the situation. Tristan was exploiting him, and Ernest couldn't allow him to continue abusing his colleague. 

Tristan needed a lesson, but first, Ernest had to safeguard his colleague's future. He made a call. “Father…I'm sorry to bother you…Yes…Yes…I'm fine…I need your help to help someone else…What would be the possibility of you sponsoring a colleague of mine?

The oral presentation of the assignment was public, and Ernest wanted to see Tristan's downfall from the front row. 

Part of him knew it was wrong to humiliate him. It was playing into Tristan's own game. However, he chose to disregard moral honour this time. 

Ernest instructed the fellow student to give Tristan his own assignment, but with subtle scientific errors, though noticeable to the professors. 

Tristan began the presentation full of enthusiasm and confidence. However, as he advanced the slides, the professors' brows furrowed more and more.  

Some in the auditorium were also noticing the errors in the calculations and data. 

Eventually, Tristan noticed some mistakes in the slide he was presenting. He became furious. “There's a mistake here. This isn't my assignment!” 

“I'm glad you finally noticed it, Mr. Richards. You're absolutely right. It's not yours. It belongs to your colleague, Mr. Norris, who gave a brilliant presentation earlier this afternoon.” One of the teachers stood up, “Not only did you plagiarize your colleague, but you couldn't even disguise your incompetence. You made unacceptable mistakes. Please leave our presence. But be aware that this will have serious consequences.” 

All eyes were on him. Tristan had a desperate look and was red with anger. He rushed out of the room. 

Unconsciously, Ernest smiled with satisfaction. 

∭ 

There are moments when we feel our lives are about to change. Ernest had one of those intuitions when he saw Mr. Carter invading the party, yelling at the Foredale’s butler. 

The Earl approached them. The man told him something that made Vincent lose his colours. He motioned Ernest to come closer. 

Ernest could clearly hear the words coming from the man's mouth, but it was as if he were speaking an alien language. When he finally processed what he was hearing, his body froze. That couldn't be true. 

“I've already called the firefighters before coming here.” Mr. Carter said.  

The Earl's guests were in an uproar hearing what was going on. 

Ernest ran out the door. Other acquaintances who were at the party were preparing to do the same. Some to flee, some to watch the horror in the first hand…surely a couple of them with good intentions.  

“It's safer to stay here.” Vincent stopped them. “I know you have good intentions, but we don't know the gravity of the situation. It can be dangerous. Ernest and I are going there. Those who can, please leave by the other road. The fire could spread in our direction. Those who must stay, please follow the instructions of my staff. Gather my children and other children together and get them to the emergency room.” 

Ernest was trying to start the car, but he was too nervous to do it. Just as he was about to leave on foot, Vincent grabbed him by the coat. “Let's go in the jeep.” The Earl said. 

Vincent took every shortcut he knew, trampling through some wild bushes along the way. 

It wasn't long before they started seeing black smoke staining the colours of the late afternoon sky. 

“How many people are at home?” Vincent asked. 

“Mrs. Lewis gave all the employees the night off. She didn't want to come in to rest,” Ernest's voice trembled. “I hope she's okay… My father is going to kill me!” 

They could hear the fire truck sirens in the distance. 

“Ernest, whatever is happening is not your fault!” The Earl reassured him. “Even if something very bad happens... it's just walls and old things. You are the greatest treasure in his life.” 

The path they took led them to the back of the mansion. The fire was already engulfing the orchard. 

It looked like hell on earth. The smoke was as black as a starless night. The red flames were devouring everything in their path. The windows were shattering like bombs. Ernest felt every crackle of the flames as if it were in his own body. 

He tried to enter the house, but the firefighters stopped him. 

“There's someone in there! You must save her!” Ernest screamed. 

“Where she could be?” A firefight asked.  

“Never mind, I am going there!” Despite the firefighters' orders and Vincent’s efforts to restrain Ernest from doing something foolish, he went inside. The front of the house was still mostly intact, but there was smoke everywhere. Ernest heard a bang and a scream. Following the sound, he soon found Mrs. Lewis coming from the servants' quarters. She had almost made it to the entrance hall alone, but a picture fell on her head, dazing her. Ernest took her in his arms. 

More fire trucks and some ambulances had arrived in the meantime. Mrs. Lewis could barely breathe. The paramedics tried to put the oxygen mask on her. She took it off and, almost fainting, she uttered, “Your father... he... is at home.” 

“That’s impossible!” Ernest refused to believe the scenario she was presenting.  

“He came home to see you… he’s better.” Mrs. Lewis passed out.  

Ernest was running inside again, but someone grabbed him, holding him back. The firefighters rushed into the manor. 

The minutes that followed seemed like hours. Ernest's heart was pounding wildly, yet it felt frozen with terror. That couldn't happen again. Another loss, and he would lose his mind. 

When he saw the firefighters come out the door, Ernest almost jumped on them. Somehow, his father seemed fine. Ernest tried to touch him.  

A firefighter grabbed his hand. “I am so sorry… It’s too late.”  

∭ 

The pathologist's assistant approached them. “He's ready, but we need someone to officially identify the body.” 

“I will,” Vincent said. 

“Are you related?” 

“I’m his best friend,” 

“It should preferably be someone from the family.” The pathologist's assistant objected. 

“I am his son.” Ernest stepped forward. 

“Are you sure, Ernest?” Vincent asked him.  

“I am. It's the last thing I can do for him.” 

Ernest followed the pathologist's assistant into the room. “When you're ready, I'll take the sheet off.” 

Ernest was afraid of what he would find under the white sheet. “Did he suffer?” Ernest asked, his voice trembling. 

“I don’t believe so. The smoke inhalation... took him before the fire could touch him.” The doctor explained gently. 

“You may take it off, please.” For a few seconds, Ernest's heart imagined it wasn't him. Part of him still hoped it was all a mistake. A case of mistaken identity, like happens in films. Although he hadn't been able to see him well when firefighters pulled him out of the manor, Ernest could swear he had heard him groan in pain. 

The pathologist's assistant removed the sheet. Ernest looked closely. There were some singed hairs. His father also had some burns on his face and hands. 

Ernest lightly touched his hand. He knew it would be cold, but Ernest had never felt anything like it. “Why do you leave me alone?” He murmured. “This is my father. Can I take him home?” 

∭ 

Those days were lived in a parallel reality. Ernest felt like he was trapped in a nightmare from which he couldn't wake up.  

The days seemed endless. The nights weren't long enough. People spoke to him, but he didn't understand what they were saying. He made decisions he didn't remember. He was standing, but he couldn't feel his body. Not even his heart  beating.  

Beatrice's hug made Ernest feel like emerging from dark waters. For the first time in days, he could breathe. 

∭ 

Part of him regretted getting involved in the matter. What had happened at Ascot was a matter between her, Luke, and the Earl.  

However, his brotherly instinct couldn't help but try to help. Maybe he had exaggerated in his sermon, but Ernest couldn't remain undaunted and calm watching her dig her grave by her own hands before ‘Crème de la crème’ of English society.  

She had avoided him since that day. Ernest accepted the tantrum. Not long ago, he was a moody teenager too. In fact, lately, he was feeling more like a lost child. Another loss, more shards to pick up, and many decisions to make… Ernest felt very confused most of the time.  

That day, Ernest left home early to spend the day in Moorfield, wandering around the streets of the small town, trying to clear his head.  

Back home, Mrs. Lewis informed him Beatrice was there doing research work for her father. Surprised, he couldn’t miss the chance to find out what the Earl was drafting… and clearing the air with Beatrice.  

He wouldn't admit it, but he missed talking to her. Now he understood why Edmund complained about missing his siblings at Eton.  

Ernest found her hidden among piles of books with Sunny snoring at her feet, curled up in a dusty sheet. 

For a few seconds, his heart stopped. The books and files she was handling were hundreds of years old. They had not survived the fire to perish from neglect. He was relieved that she was wearing gloves.

“May I help you?” His voice echoed in the library, awakening her from the trance of her readings. She could barely articulate a coherent sentence, but the colour of her cheeks betrayed her feelings.

After breaking the ice, the conversation between them flowed as always.

He was very curious when she mentioned his ancestor, Alfred of Wessex. Alfred wasn’t exactly a figure who starred in the history books.

Therefore, he did not hesitate to show her one of the house's treasures —'The Chronicles of Alfred of Wessex.' He took her to his makeshift study and opened the huge safe. While he was looking for the book, Ernest noticed that the portrait inside the safe had not gone unnoticed. Thinking he would not catch her, she stood on tiptoe to peek inside.

“It was found in a chest a few weeks ago. Even Mrs. Lewis thought it no longer existed.” He smiled.  

Ernest hadn't believed it when Mrs. Lewis told him they had discovered it in a trunk. Mathew Sinclaire, unable to deal with the grief, had ordered all images of Lydia Sinclaire to be removed from his sight. As he grew older, Ernest feared he would begin to lose the memory of his mother's features. 

Despite the many drawings he made of her face, Ernest was aware they were shadows compared to her. The young man could not hold back his tears when he saw the portrait. 

When the works on Ledford Park were completed, Ernest was planning to put that portrait in a prominent place, not to mourn them, but to remember the happy days they lived together. 

“I wasn't looking at it with the intention of...” Beatrice tried to excuse herself. Ernest loved to see the fearless Beatrice embarrassed. 

“It’s okay, I know you weren’t. Here they are, the oldest chronicles of this family, ‘The Chronicles of Alfred of Wessex’. Take them as long as you need. Do you mind if I stay here for a while? It's not to watch you. I trust you to be alone with anything here. I have some important documents to read, and this is the quietest place in the house at the moment.” 

The pile of documents was endless, but he couldn't concentrate. Ernest was more curious than ever about the Earl’s new story. 

Beatrice's grumblings about the book only increased his curiosity. 

“Don't be so hard on him. It was an old friend of his who wrote part of the chronicles. It was a turbulent period, and Alfred didn't have time to write a sequential narrative. Is the Earl working on a novel about Richard of Caen?”  Ernest threw the bait, trying to find out more. 

“Not exactly. It's about his firstborn daughter, Aurelia of Kent, our ancestress.” 

As Beatrice explained her father's ideas, Ernest had an epiphany. “Maybe she is the mysterious woman.” 

As he summarized what he knew for her. In the middle of the conversation about their ancestors, he ended up blurting out his full name, something avoided as much as possible. “I am not joking. My full name is Ernest Mathew Alfred William.” 

Even without asking direct questions, that girl had the power to poke holes in his wall of discretion. No wonder she wanted to be a journalist. 

“For a moment I thought you were going to say Fitzwilliam …” Beatrice teased.  

“That was my mother's wish, but my father did not agree. Mrs Lewis says that the first time she saw them argue was because of my name. They only reached a consensus after I was born.” 

Returning to the investigation, their joint efforts to connect the dots led them to a remarkable discovery. 

“That’s the connection! They were…lovers.” After the excitement of her conclusion, Beatrice was quiet for a few seconds. Ernest noticed her cheeks blushing. 

Excited about such revelations as well, Ernest showed her in the book Alfred's poem dedicated to his impossible love. Ernest read it, translating the verses into modern English at the same time.  

It could not be considered an erotic text, but the elements were there. Ernest felt somehow embarrassed while reading it to her. 

Suddenly, they were arguing again. Quarrels between them seemed to start out of nowhere, like a summer storm. It wasn't the first time something like this had happened, especially since Beatrice became a teenager. A civilized conversation could suddenly turn into an argument. She was more stubborn than ever. The tiredness and worries swirling around in his head diminished his patience. 

“Sometimes you are impossible, Sinclaire!” She groaned. 

“Why? Because I do contradict you?” 

“Trust me, you are the least of my problems.” 

“You are an expert at getting yourself into trouble.” He pointed out. 

“Are you still talking about Ascot, Sinclaire?”  

“Are you still sulking at me because of Ascot, Beatrice?” 

“I know I am wrong, okay? I messed things up , including with you.” Beatrice admitted. 

Ernest didn't expect her to give in. So, that way, he decided to admit his share of the guilt. “I know you get mad when I scold you. Perhaps I was a little harsh at Ascot. Nevertheless, I will not apologize to you for what I did and what I said. Although deep down, as you said, it's none of my business, I would do it all over again if I had to, because I am your friend.” 

“Did I get promoted to your friend? How kind of you, Mr. Sinclaire!” There was still some bitterness in her voice. 

Was it possible that girl had a remark for everything? It was as annoying as it was admirable. “Don’t mock me! I am being honest with you.” 

“I am not. The truth is, I am glad to hear that. I thought I was never going to pass the ‘little brat’ category.” 

How could Beatrice assume he thought so little of her? He needed to clarify things. “You are more than a friend, Beatrice. The Foredale’s are like family to me. Families support and take care of each other. I don't have many relatives, but I have everything I need just a fence jump away.” 

“I can’t imagine you jumping a fence.” Beatrice laughed. 

“You have no idea what my little self was capable of. Mrs. Lewis was a victim at my hands.” 

“I always thought you came out of your mother's womb in a tie and waistcoat.”  

It wasn't the first time she'd said that to him. Little did she know there was a photograph of him as a baby wearing a full suit. He could not remain indifferent to such a response and burst out laughing for the first time in a long time. Beatrice followed him. They just couldn't stop laughing.  

Ernest felt enormous relief in his body and mind. For a few minutes, he completely forgot all his qualms. 

After the laughing session, they went back to Alfred and Aurelia. According to Beatrice, Vincent had still only defined the general lines of the plot. Ernest couldn’t resist making a few suggestions. 

“First kiss on the first night?”  

“Of course not, Sinclaire! Papa is the king of the ‘slow burn.' The first kiss never takes place before page one hundred and one. I am picturing it on a summer night, under the stars, by the lake.” 

“Or in the ring of stones, in the middle of our forest. That piece of land has always belonged to my family. It’s secluded but very beautiful.” 

“Are you speaking from experience?” She smiled mischievously.  

“I am trying to be helpful.” Ernest was almost certain that a light shade of pink had appeared on his cheeks. Beatrice was an expert at guessing his sins. 

He was in fact speaking from personal experience. Ernest had waited months to take Minerva there. He prepared a picnic, studied the stars, and picked out the softest blankets. Ernest was convinced that he had prepared the most romantic of encounters under the shooting stars. As it turned out, they couldn’t see any shooting stars. But there were fireworks all night.  

“All right then, keep your secrets, Casanova.” 

He knew she didn't intend to offend in any way; however, he didn't like the association. For Ernest, love was something too serious to joke about. “I don’t aspire to be a Casanova, a Romeo, or a Heathcliff… Actually, I think some of these called ‘romantic heroes’ have distorted the concept of love.” 

“So, what does love mean to you, Sinclaire? And to be clear, I am asking about romantic love.” 

And there was one of her difficult questions again. And once again, he couldn't run away. So, he chose the honest path. “Love cannot be impulsive, fickle, or lust -driven, nor does it need to be tragic or complicated to be true. In fact, love is simple and natural. It's feeling happy next to someone while putting the other's happiness first. Love does not ignore problems and differences. Love builds bridges and clears paths to face them. He could see in her eyes that something was restless in her mind. It was dying to come out, but his lips were afraid to let it go. He would probably regret prolonging the conversation, but Ernest was worried about what he was seeing in her eyes. “What do you want to ask, Beatrice?”  

“I … well … How about intimacy… I mean… love has a physical side.” 

Ernest found the question strange. She was too smart to be ignorant about the matter. And, knowing the Earl, Ernest was sure he wouldn't have neglected that part of her education. It was obvious her feelings for Luke were deep. It wasn't just a whim or an infatuation. Beatrice was seriously in love with Luke. Maybe that was why she needed those answers.  

“You are not naïve, Bea; you know intimacy can include physical acts of love —kisses, hugs, tender touches, snuggles… Is sex a manifestation of intimacy? Yes. Is it the main one ? No, far from that. It’s like cake frosting. It looks good. It can taste good, but if the cake underneath it isn't good; it's a deception, with consequences more serious than a stomach.” 

“How am I supposed to live the rest of my life with that image in my mind, Sinclaire?” 

“It was you who asked for my opinion.” He imitated her cockiness. 

“Indeed. It was very enlightening.” 

On any other occasion, his decorum would have demanded that he graciously change the topic of conversation. It wasn't in his nature to intrude on others' privacy, but Ernest could see that she was still uneasy. 

“Have you ever felt pressured into any kind of intimacy that made you feel uncomfortable?” He asked worriedly. Ernest didn't imagine Luke capable of such a thing. However, unfortunately, evil could be hidden behind anyone who surrounded her. 

“No, never. Luke is the kindest, gentlest soul I have ever met. He is incapable of hurting anyone, not even an ant. We...We have discussed those matters. We share the same ideas about it.” 

If the problem wasn't between them, then it must be someone outside. Ernest had a hunch. 

 “Bea, I can imagine how much they brag about it. I have been dealing with smug rich girls and boys all my life. If I recall, I am one of them.” From the expression on her face, he knew he got her problem right. “In addition to the fact that half of what they say is untrue or exaggerated, this is not something that should be motivated by what others think, even if it is our partner. It deeply affects our bodies and our emotions. The heart is always eager to please and to feel pleasure. I have learned that we can't always trust it. We must always ask ourselves if we will be happy or at peace with the consequences of what we do. And above all, we must never do anything that we are not comfortable with. If our body give us signals that it's not good for us, it's because it isn’t. If we insist, we will hurt ourselves and probably the ones we love.” 

“Have you ever felt that?”  

His propriety did not permit him to tell more details, nor did he wish to burden her with his ghosts. “I usually refrain from giving opinions on subjects I am not familiar .” Ernest gently took her hand in his. “Please, promise you will take care of yourself.” 

 “Thank you, Sinclaire. You are annoyingly wise.” She smiled. 

“I am taking it as a ‘I will follow your advice’.” 

After the break for Beatrice's existential crisis, they returned to their ancestors, getting lost in the plot with new ideas and hypotheses for what may have happened between Aurelia and Alfred. 

Only when Mrs. Lewis in her nightdress and disheveled hair, found them in the library did Ernest realize how late it was — the sun was about to rise. 

He had to get her home as quickly as possible. To his exasperation, Beatrice insisted on walking home. Despite not agreeing with the option, Ernest went along with her.  

As they walked out the door, the early morning breeze embraced them. Beatrice's thin dress was no match for the cool waft, letting it run over her body without mercy. He put his jacket over her shoulders. God forbid that something happens to Beatrice along the way. The Earl would have no pity or mercy on him. Nor would he forgive himself. 

“I'm glad we are friends again, Sinclaire. Someone has to be brave enough to lecture me.” Beatrice said when they arrived. 

“The Dowager Countess does that job very well. Besides, I don't have the presumption to consider that I have any authority to do such a thing. I am just a concerned friend with more life experience. Have a good day, Beatrice.” 

“Have a nice day, Sinclaire. Thank you again. For everything.” Ernest stayed there until she closed the kitchen door behind her. 

He hoped no one had seen him taking Beatrice home in the early hours of the morning. Ernest preferred not to even think about what could be invented about it. 

On the way to Ledford Park, worries came back to haunt his mind. Was he choosing the right path? Would it be worth such a sacrifice? 

On that afternoon, he went to Edgewater. Vincent had invited him to do some fencing.  

The Earl repeatedly expressed thanks for his help with the research and for bringing Beatrice home safe and sound. He had loved the ideas they had outlined.  

“I have done no more than my duty as a friend and gentleman.”  Ernest answered. 

"You're one of the few people I blindly trust Beatrice care. Talking about it, have you told her about your departure?"  

“I haven't told anyone yet, except those who strictly had to know.” 

“She would rather know from you. In case you haven't noticed, she sees you like a big brother.” 

“I'll do it in the next few days, I promise.” 

When Earl left, Ernest stayed a little longer, practicing some moves. Fencing was a great way for him to relieve his heavy feelings. It was relaxing him. He was so engrossed in his dance with the rapier that Ernest only noticed Beatrice's presence when he heard her voice mumbling about her singing lessons. Since he was still wearing his helmet, she mistook him for her fencing teacher. 

He wanted to say something, but Ernest couldn't articulate any sentence. 

“You are right, Mr. Jones; I can talk and fight at the same time.” She put herself in position. “En garde! Prêts? Allez!” Beatrice lunged at him, putting all the frustrations into every engagement. 

She rambled about various topics. Beatrice clearly needed to get some things off her chest that afternoon, and he didn't have the heart to interrupt. 

“Speaking of people who are getting on my nerves...There is a person close to me who will move abroad next autumn. We are friends...at least he says we are, and I feel the same. However, during all summer he hasn't had the heart to say a word to me about it. Can you believe it?”  

How would she have found out? Distracted by this question, he gave her room to hit him. 

Distracted, Ernest stopped, and Beatrice hit him. “Touché!” she laughed.  

There was no point in continuing to hide. He took off his helmet. Beatrice was speechless for a moment. 

“How did you find out? I have tried to keep my plans secret.” 

“Before you insinuate anything, I didn't hear behind the door. Luke and I were under the bridge when you were telling Bart about it.” 

“Oh! Well, I guess it's officially no longer a secret.” Ernest signed and explained his reasons. 

“I can understand that. I just don't understand why you didn't tell me. I am your friend, Sinclaire! Talking about friends, have you told Edmund about it?” 

She was indignant, and rightly so. Ernest played with the clasps on his helmet, looking for the answers hidden under his rational level. Ernest didn't feel right not telling her the whole truth. “No. I didn't tell you, or your brother, or others because... because I feel I’m at sea.” 

She seemed taken aback by his frankness. “I don’t see it that way. I see, and I think everybody sees, you are trying your best to solve these problems. Your plans for the house are incredible. Unless you are thinking of becoming a mason's apprentice, I don't think they need you around. Besides, I have seen Mrs. Lewis dealing with workers. They won't dare to change even a millimeter of your project.” 

“There's also the fear of the unknown, of course. I will be on the other side of the world, far away from everything I have ever known, for a long time. As you might have noticed, I'm anything but adventurous.” Her words were comforting. However, he had opened the door to fears and could not stop them. 

“I wouldn’t say that. I think ‘very cautious’ is the right definition. It's a bit of an exasperating trait sometimes, I won't deny it. Nevertheless, your cautious instincts have gotten you well this far. You just have to learn to ignore them from time to time.” 

“Are you sure you are my friend?” He tried to look offended, but a suppressed smile betrayed him. “Your view of things usually turns mine upside down, showing me a world I would never see. Maybe it helps me gather my thoughts. Thank you, Beatrice.” 

“Now would be the appropriate time to say that above anything else, you will miss all of us terribly.” She teased him. 

“I'm taking that out of the equation. Otherwise, I don't think I could go.” 

Mr. Jones arrived, interrupting their conversation. 

“Don't think you're getting rid of me that easily, Sinclaire!” She pointed the rapier at him. 

Watching her petite figure trying to threaten him was a comical sight. “I have lived enough to know when a girl has a rapier pointed at us, she is to be taken seriously.” 

∭ 

At E.P.W  (Edgewater Polo Weekend) 

After the defeat, Ernest wanted to go home alone on foot. He needed to calm down before arriving home and helping with the preparations for dinner. 

again, despite the warning he had given him at Ascot. 

Ernest quickened his pace to catch Tristan. Tristan stopped when he saw Ernest walking towards him, flashing a mocking smile on his face. 

“We need to talk, Tristan.” 

“I suppose you're going to invite me to the victors' dinner. You can't imagine how funny it was to see you lose and know that you're still going to pay for my dinner.” 

“Don't you dare set foot in my house!” 

“Your pride is hurt, so I'm not going to take this one personally. You're the one who loses out. Anyway... That's two defeats in one day. Poor Ernest,” Tristan scorned. “I only regret not having the opportunity to spend more time with the ladies of Edgewater. They are all so agreeable.” 

“Stay away from them!”  

“Especially the bastard one, right?” Tristan smirked. “Women gravitate towards me; I can’t help it. You love playing the knight in shining armor. It was cute when you were a teenager, but now it's pathetic...” 

“Leave her alone. She's just a child. I'm warning you, Tristan...stay away from her...and all of them!” Ernest was losing his patience. 

Duke Richards laughed cynically. “A child, you say? She's a young lady. There's fire and opportunism in her blood. She'll fall. And I'll make sure to seize the opportunity.” 

Ernest was about to punch him when Felicity approached them. “Your Grace, shall we see each other later at dinner?” 

“Unfortunately, no. I have an unavoidable appointment. I'm having dinner with my cousin, Charles.” 

“The prince?” Felicity asked, dazzled. 

“Of course. Who else could be?  Now if you excuse me.” He walked away. 

Felicity was going to turn her attention to Ernest; however, he wasn't in the mood for civilities. “I must go. See you later, Felicity.” Before leaving, he thought he should add, “As a friend, I beg you: please don't be dazzled by the wrapping paper and the ribbon on the box. There are many rotten things in his kingdom.” 

∭ 

Ernest threw himself onto the bed, tired, overwhelmed, and frustrated. How was he supposed to move an entire life to the other side of the world? He had made a few lists. However, the more he tried to organise himself, the more confused he became.  

He could simply put his clothes in a couple of suitcases and buy everything there. He might as well send all his stuff there. However, he didn't want to risk losing anything on the trip. On the other hand, he also knew he would need some references from home.  

Ernest had the temptation to take his mother's book with him but thought it was better to leave it in the Ledford Park safety. It wouldn't survive another accident. The very thought made him shiver. He randomly opened a page and came face-to-face with Sonnet 116. 

“Love is not love 

Which alters when it alteration finds, 

Or bends with the remover to remove: 

O no! it is an ever-fixed mark 

That looks on tempests and is never shaken.” 

These old words made the young man wonder if he would ever fall in love again. Minerva had been his first crush, passion, love, and girlfriend. With her, everything was so passionate. She starred in all his first times.  

Every now and then, he still questioned if he'd made the right decision, if he should have fought harder for her and their relationship. However, he couldn’t say if such thoughts were remnants of love or loneliness playing a monologue in his head. Too many emotions had invaded his heart lately.  

He was a romantic guy and unashamed of it. In the few years he'd lived with both his parents, he'd seen so much love between them that he couldn't help but dream of something like that for himself.  

He already knew he wanted a family one day. Small steps filling Ledford Park with life. Would he have to wait many more years? Who would she be? Would he meet her in the USA?  

Nevertheless, Ernest also knew that the size of the loss was proportional to the size of the love. And that scared him. He had resisted until then, but he feared what might happen if life dealt him another blow. Looking at himself in the mirror, he saw in his mind images of his father, lost, sunk in grief. Crossing the bridge of pain was a path back, and Ernest felt his foot touch the first plank several times.  

He jumped out of bed, trying to shake off such thoughts. In doing so, he dropped a frame onto the floor. It was a photo from his graduation day at Cambridge.Surrounded by people who loved him and were proud of him, it was one of his happiest days in recent times. 

There was also a funny story behind it. Although there weren't many (just the Foredale, Mrs Lewis and Bart), the photographer had difficulty getting everyone in the photo due to the height differences. The photographer tried different combinations; however, someone always ended up cut out the pic. Fortunately, Bart had the idea of holding Beatrice in his arms, lifting her off the ground a few inches, solving the framing problem, just in time to avoid a riot in the line to take photos at that place. 

On that day, Beatrice had placed on his cape a red rose, the Sinclaire colour, decorated with a ribbon in her mother's Scottish pattern. It was a simple gesture, but it touched him so much that he had the rose preserved in wax. It has been in his desk ever since. It was better to stay where it was. It could get damaged on the trip. 

After hours of reflection, Ernest finally came up with his art kit, a Manchester United scarf, a photo of him, Bart, and Edmund at Eton, a pen that had belonged to his father, and a painting with dried flowers from the Ledford Park gardens.  

Rummaging through the drawers, he found a hat and a pair of woollen gloves that Beatrice had given him last winter. They weren't the most elegant set, but Ernest puts them in his bag anyway. Boston was very cold. Certainly, no piece of clothing would be too much. 

∭ 

No one dares to call it a farewell. It's a dinner at his London townhouse, like so many others.  

The seats at the massive table are not all occupied; however, the people who matter most to him are there. No one dares to mention the subject, even though it imposes itself on the room like a giant elephant.  

Dinner lingered between drawn-out conversations, as if this could slow down the inexorable march of time.  

Anyone who passes by on the street and sees the host escorting guests to the door would assume that it was an ordinary evening: bidding farewell, shaking hands with gentlemen, kissing hands with ladies… the whole ritual of good English politeness.  

When the young girl's turn arrives, the host stands with her hand in his, undecided on how to say goodbye.  

The young girl comes forward and kisses his cheek. If the passerby had been closer, he could have heard the girl whisper in his ear, ‘Who am I going to vex now?’  

A lot had happened between that first impression and that moment of goodbye. He would miss everyone so much. However, he would miss that ray of sunshine dearly.  

Much would certainly change in the coming years. Ernest would love to freeze that moment in time. The wheel of life that had denied him a little sister made up for it with such unexpected friendship. 

“When?”  

“When you fall in love.”  

“You're the only woman I love... And I like Mrs. Lewis too, I guess. And a bit of Nanny Sarah.” 

“I'm flattered, but one day you'll change your mind. And it will be wonderful.” Mrs. Sinclaire caressed her boy’s curls.  

Suddenly, there were several people around him, asking if he was okay and wanting to help him. However, Ernest only thought about his book. 

∭ 

Ernest delicately turned another page in the book. The heat from the fireplace was accelerating the process, revealing the damage. He was upset but somewhat relieved. A damaged book was better than a destroyed one.  

Mrs. Lewis would certainly tell him something like that when he got home. He admired her resilience. No matter how great the darkness, she always found the stars to move forward with.  

Her husband had been in a coma for about a month after the accident, but unfortunately, he succumbed to his injuries and died.  

She had also lost the love of her life. They met at Ledford Park. There they fell in love and got married. The Sinclaire were their wedding godparents. 

Unlike his father, she didn't let grief consume her. Constance fought her sadness by loving everyone around her. He was aware that if it weren't for her love and dedication, he would have been sent back to boarding school the next day.  

He heard the library door opening softly. Turning his head, he saw one of the girls of the lake walking towards him. She froze for a moment when she looked into his eyes, probably out of embarrassment. 

The young Sinclaire looked at her for a while with curiosity. He soon noticed the Foredale features. So that was the famous Beatrice. The way his father had talked about her, Ernest had assumed she was older, but she was just a child. 

‘Are you Beatrice, right?’ he asked. 

The girl nodded. An intense blush coloured her cheeks. She tried to apologize for what happened as best she could.  

He tried to maintain a straight face but couldn’t avoid a little smile. It was hard to stay upset after such a cute apology. They shook hands as sign of peace. 

It was the girl's turn to look at him inquisitively. “What are you doing in Edgewater, by the way? Don’t you have your own home?” she asked bluntly. 

Ernest raised his eyebrow. He couldn't deny that it was a pertinent question. “Yes, but Edgewater’s Lake used to be a quiet place to read.” 

That's when the Foredale girl saw the soaked book. The girl apologized repeatedly and even offered to buy him a new one. 

If it had been any other child, Ernest wouldn't have bothered to explain his reasons. However, he knew she would understand. 

While listening to his story, some tears threatened to come out of her eyes, but she held them back. The tears made the colours of her eyes stand out — a chocolate brown streaked with green, as if it were an immense, dense forest. 

‘I miss her so much that it hurts in my chest. Does this get easier over time?’ Beatrice asked upon learning his loss story. 

No child should have to face those feelings. At first, he considered lying to her. Then, his book gave him an idea. “Look at the pages of the book. They’re wet. I’m drying them with the heat of the fire. After drying, these pages will be wrinkled. While some of them will be impossible to read, others will still be readable. The book is marked forever, but it is still in one piece. The same happens with us, I think. After such a thing happened, we are marked, but we survive.” It was the most honest response he could give her. 

At some point, Ernest noticed her eyes turned up, fixed on something. Her lips twitched in amusement. 

“Did you find anything funny?” 

“Your hair. You seem to have a disheveled sheep on your head,” she responded directly and without any trace of shame. 

Ernest did not expect such a response at all. He frowned. That girl has got a lot to learn in order to survive in her father’s world, the young Sinclaire thought.

 Quick, witty, and frank tongues were not appreciated  in high society. 

After their philosophical moment, he expected her to leave him alone, but she didn’t. She remained seated there, silent. Ernest would have preferred to be alone to mourn his book, but he didn't have the courage to send her away. After all, she was in her house, and he was the intruder. As Ernest turned the pages to dry, he caught her reading the sonnets. 

“Do you like poetry?” he asked her to make small talk.  

“I like it when the verses rhyme, but this is weird.” 

He chuckled. “You’re too young to understand it.” 

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? / Thou art more lovely and more temperate:” Beatrice read aloud. 

“Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, /And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;” he completed, by heart. 

“Can you understand it?” 

The question caught him off guard. It reminded him of his mother's words on the night she had given him the book. “Not everything, I must confess. But I like to read them, anyway.” 

The girl was about to question him again, but fortunately, a knock on the door interrupted her. A girl peered inside. It was her partner in crime. She was waiting for her.  

“I’ve to go. Sorry again for everything.” She said with a playful smile. He offered a hand to help her get up. “See you around," she said, running to the door. 

That girl was going to be a problem, he thought. Fortunately, she wouldn’t be his problem. Good luck to the Earl. 

∭ - Fisrt Year in Cambridge

Although spring was just a couple of days away, it was an overcast day, and a cold draft hung between the walls. 

Ernest left the library to clear his head. He had been studying for hours. The first term exams didn't go as well as he had hoped, so he was making an extra effort. He had worked very hard to be there. 

Cambridge University was his dream, and after Eton, Ernest thought it would be a smooth transition. 

His problem wasn't studying. He even enjoyed it. However, it was proving difficult to reconcile all parts of his world. 

He hadn't spoken to Minera in days. He missed her, but he also didn't want to distract her during exams season. For now, he would have to make do with the memories of the holidays to comfort him. 

Ernest spotted two figures in the shadows conversing in low tone. 

Ernest was about to turn around; however, upon recognizing Tristan Richards' voice, he stopped there. 

They had crossed paths a few times already. Fortunately, since Ernest was in his first year, it was rare, and when it did happen, he chose to pretend he didn't see him. Not out of fear, but to protect his nerves. 

Tristan had became everything Ernest had been taught not to be: arrogant, pompous, a bull, and rude. His lack of respect for others, often masked as good manners, irritated him deeply. 

Another thing he couldn't stand was Tristan's behaviour towards girls. Based on what he'd seen of it in Cambridge, the situation with the math teacher wasn't just some silly teenage revenge. Tristan spoke and acted as if all the girls belonged to him. All disguised with bright smiles and sweet talk. 

Despite his rake's past, Ernest always observed in his father an exemplary behaviour with all the women he dealt with. Mrs. Lewis, his secretary, the housemaids, the wives of his friends... even with Beatrice. He never raised his voice to them, never condescending, but always chivalrous, sincerely praising whenever he could. 

Tristan raised his voice, allowing Ernest to hear the last few words, “I want the assignment in my hands within a week, without a second of delay! Make sure you do a good job!” He walked away, but the young man who stayed behind seemed about to pass out.  

“Are you okay? Do you want me to call someone?” Ernest asked. 

“I am…fine.” He answered in a trembling voice. 

“I heard him threaten you. Are you doing the assignments for him?” 

“No…of…course…not. That would be against the rules…Please, don’t tell a soul. He pays me…I need that money to pay my fees. It's a last effort... I'm months away from finishing my degree.” The young man was distressed. 

“Don’t you have to do one yourself too?” 

“I do, but…I can do this. I just will need some more caffeine. Please, keep the secret.” The young man disappeared into the hallways. 

Fortunately, Ernest couldn't say he understood his colleague's distress. However, he couldn't remain indifferent to the situation. Tristan was exploiting him, and Ernest couldn't allow him to continue abusing his colleague. 

Tristan needed a lesson, but first, Ernest had to safeguard his colleague's future. He made a call. “Father…I'm sorry to bother you…Yes…Yes…I'm fine…I need your help to help someone else…What would be the possibility of you sponsoring a colleague of mine?

The oral presentation of the assignment was public, and Ernest wanted to see Tristan's downfall from the front row. 

Part of him knew it was wrong to humiliate him. It was playing into Tristan's own game. However, he chose to disregard moral honour this time. 

Ernest instructed the fellow student to give Tristan his own assignment, but with subtle scientific errors, though noticeable to the professors. 

Tristan began the presentation full of enthusiasm and confidence. However, as he advanced the slides, the professors' brows furrowed more and more.  

Some in the auditorium were also noticing the errors in the calculations and data. 

Eventually, Tristan noticed some mistakes in the slide he was presenting. He became furious. “There's a mistake here. This isn't my assignment!” 

“I'm glad you finally noticed it, Mr. Richards. You're absolutely right. It's not yours. It belongs to your colleague, Mr. Norris, who gave a brilliant presentation earlier this afternoon.” One of the teachers stood up, “Not only did you plagiarize your colleague, but you couldn't even disguise your incompetence. You made unacceptable mistakes. Please leave our presence. But be aware that this will have serious consequences.” 

All eyes were on him. Tristan had a desperate look and was red with anger. He rushed out of the room. 

Unconsciously, Ernest smiled with satisfaction. 

∭ 

There are moments when we feel our lives are about to change. Ernest had one of those intuitions when he saw Mr. Carter invading the party, yelling at the Foredale’s butler. 

The Earl approached them. The man told him something that made Vincent lose his colours. He motioned Ernest to come closer. 

Ernest could clearly hear the words coming from the man's mouth, but it was as if he were speaking an alien language. When he finally processed what he was hearing, his body froze. That couldn't be true. 

“I've already called the firefighters before coming here.” Mr. Carter said.  

The Earl's guests were in an uproar hearing what was going on. 

Ernest ran out the door. Other acquaintances who were at the party were preparing to do the same. Some to flee, some to watch the horror in the first hand…surely a couple of them with good intentions.  

“It's safer to stay here.” Vincent stopped them. “I know you have good intentions, but we don't know the gravity of the situation. It can be dangerous. Ernest and I are going there. Those who can, please leave by the other road. The fire could spread in our direction. Those who must stay, please follow the instructions of my staff. Gather my children and other children together and get them to the emergency room.” 

Ernest was trying to start the car, but he was too nervous to do it. Just as he was about to leave on foot, Vincent grabbed him by the coat. “Let's go in the jeep.” The Earl said. 

Vincent took every shortcut he knew, trampling through some wild bushes along the way. 

It wasn't long before they started seeing black smoke staining the colours of the late afternoon sky. 

“How many people are at home?” Vincent asked. 

“Mrs. Lewis gave all the employees the night off. She didn't want to come in to rest,” Ernest's voice trembled. “I hope she's okay… My father is going to kill me!” 

They could hear the fire truck sirens in the distance. 

“Ernest, whatever is happening is not your fault!” The Earl reassured him. “Even if something very bad happens... it's just walls and old things. You are the greatest treasure in his life.” 

The path they took led them to the back of the mansion. The fire was already engulfing the orchard. 

It looked like hell on earth. The smoke was as black as a starless night. The red flames were devouring everything in their path. The windows were shattering like bombs. Ernest felt every crackle of the flames as if it were in his own body. 

He tried to enter the house, but the firefighters stopped him. 

“There's someone in there! You must save her!” Ernest screamed. 

“Where she could be?” A firefight asked.  

“Never mind, I am going there!” Despite the firefighters' orders and Vincent’s efforts to restrain Ernest from doing something foolish, he went inside. The front of the house was still mostly intact, but there was smoke everywhere. Ernest heard a bang and a scream. Following the sound, he soon found Mrs. Lewis coming from the servants' quarters. She had almost made it to the entrance hall alone, but a picture fell on her head, dazing her. Ernest took her in his arms. 

More fire trucks and some ambulances had arrived in the meantime. Mrs. Lewis could barely breathe. The paramedics tried to put the oxygen mask on her. She took it off and, almost fainting, she uttered, “Your father... he... is at home.” 

“That’s impossible!” Ernest refused to believe the scenario she was presenting.  

“He came home to see you… he’s better.” Mrs. Lewis passed out.  

Ernest was running inside again, but someone grabbed him, holding him back. The firefighters rushed into the manor. 

The minutes that followed seemed like hours. Ernest's heart was pounding wildly, yet it felt frozen with terror. That couldn't happen again. Another loss, and he would lose his mind. 

When he saw the firefighters come out the door, Ernest almost jumped on them. Somehow, his father seemed fine. Ernest tried to touch him.  

A firefighter grabbed his hand. “I am so sorry… It’s too late.”  

∭ 

The pathologist's assistant approached them. “He's ready, but we need someone to officially identify the body.” 

“I will,” Vincent said. 

“Are you related?” 

“I’m his best friend,” 

“It should preferably be someone from the family.” The pathologist's assistant objected. 

“I am his son.” Ernest stepped forward. 

“Are you sure, Ernest?” Vincent asked him.  

“I am. It's the last thing I can do for him.” 

Ernest followed the pathologist's assistant into the room. “When you're ready, I'll take the sheet off.” 

Ernest was afraid of what he would find under the white sheet. “Did he suffer?” Ernest asked, his voice trembling. 

“I don’t believe so. The smoke inhalation... took him before the fire could touch him.” The doctor explained gently. 

“You may take it off, please.” For a few seconds, Ernest's heart imagined it wasn't him. Part of him still hoped it was all a mistake. A case of mistaken identity, like happens in films. Although he hadn't been able to see him well when firefighters pulled him out of the manor, Ernest could swear he had heard him groan in pain. 

The pathologist's assistant removed the sheet. Ernest looked closely. There were some singed hairs. His father also had some burns on his face and hands. 

Ernest lightly touched his hand. He knew it would be cold, but Ernest had never felt anything like it. “Why do you leave me alone?” He murmured. “This is my father. Can I take him home?” 

∭ 

Those days were lived in a parallel reality. Ernest felt like he was trapped in a nightmare from which he couldn't wake up.  

The days seemed endless. The nights weren't long enough. People spoke to him, but he didn't understand what they were saying. He made decisions he didn't remember. He was standing, but he couldn't feel his body. Not even his heart  beating.  

Beatrice's hug made Ernest feel like emerging from dark waters. For the first time in days, he could breathe. 

∭ 

Part of him regretted getting involved in the matter. What had happened at Ascot was a matter between her, Luke, and the Earl.  

However, his brotherly instinct couldn't help but try to help. Maybe he had exaggerated in his sermon, but Ernest couldn't remain undaunted and calm watching her dig her grave by her own hands before ‘Crème de la crème’ of English society.  

She had avoided him since that day. Ernest accepted the tantrum. Not long ago, he was a moody teenager too. In fact, lately, he was feeling more like a lost child. Another loss, more shards to pick up, and many decisions to make… Ernest felt very confused most of the time.  

That day, Ernest left home early to spend the day in Moorfield, wandering around the streets of the small town, trying to clear his head.  

Back home, Mrs. Lewis informed him Beatrice was there doing research work for her father. Surprised, he couldn’t miss the chance to find out what the Earl was drafting… and clearing the air with Beatrice.  

He wouldn't admit it, but he missed talking to her. Now he understood why Edmund complained about missing his siblings at Eton.  

Ernest found her hidden among piles of books with Sunny snoring at her feet, curled up in a dusty sheet. 

For a few seconds, his heart stopped. The books and files she was handling were hundreds of years old. They had not survived the fire to perish from neglect. He was relieved that she was wearing gloves.

“May I help you?” His voice echoed in the library, awakening her from the trance of her readings. She could barely articulate a coherent sentence, but the colour of her cheeks betrayed her feelings.

After breaking the ice, the conversation between them flowed as always.

He was very curious when she mentioned his ancestor, Alfred of Wessex. Alfred wasn’t exactly a figure who starred in the history books.

Therefore, he did not hesitate to show her one of the house's treasures —'The Chronicles of Alfred of Wessex.' He took her to his makeshift study and opened the huge safe. While he was looking for the book, Ernest noticed that the portrait inside the safe had not gone unnoticed. Thinking he would not catch her, she stood on tiptoe to peek inside.

“It was found in a chest a few weeks ago. Even Mrs. Lewis thought it no longer existed.” He smiled.  

Ernest hadn't believed it when Mrs. Lewis told him they had discovered it in a trunk. Mathew Sinclaire, unable to deal with the grief, had ordered all images of Lydia Sinclaire to be removed from his sight. As he grew older, Ernest feared he would begin to lose the memory of his mother's features. 

Despite the many drawings he made of her face, Ernest was aware they were shadows compared to her. The young man could not hold back his tears when he saw the portrait. 

When the works on Ledford Park were completed, Ernest was planning to put that portrait in a prominent place, not to mourn them, but to remember the happy days they lived together. 

“I wasn't looking at it with the intention of...” Beatrice tried to excuse herself. Ernest loved to see the fearless Beatrice embarrassed. 

“It’s okay, I know you weren’t. Here they are, the oldest chronicles of this family, ‘The Chronicles of Alfred of Wessex’. Take them as long as you need. Do you mind if I stay here for a while? It's not to watch you. I trust you to be alone with anything here. I have some important documents to read, and this is the quietest place in the house at the moment.” 

The pile of documents was endless, but he couldn't concentrate. Ernest was more curious than ever about the Earl’s new story. 

Beatrice's grumblings about the book only increased his curiosity. 

“Don't be so hard on him. It was an old friend of his who wrote part of the chronicles. It was a turbulent period, and Alfred didn't have time to write a sequential narrative. Is the Earl working on a novel about Richard of Caen?”  Ernest threw the bait, trying to find out more. 

“Not exactly. It's about his firstborn daughter, Aurelia of Kent, our ancestress.” 

As Beatrice explained her father's ideas, Ernest had an epiphany. “Maybe she is the mysterious woman.” 

As he summarized what he knew for her. In the middle of the conversation about their ancestors, he ended up blurting out his full name, something avoided as much as possible. “I am not joking. My full name is Ernest Mathew Alfred William.” 

Even without asking direct questions, that girl had the power to poke holes in his wall of discretion. No wonder she wanted to be a journalist. 

“For a moment I thought you were going to say Fitzwilliam …” Beatrice teased.  

“That was my mother's wish, but my father did not agree. Mrs Lewis says that the first time she saw them argue was because of my name. They only reached a consensus after I was born.” 

Returning to the investigation, their joint efforts to connect the dots led them to a remarkable discovery. 

“That’s the connection! They were…lovers.” After the excitement of her conclusion, Beatrice was quiet for a few seconds. Ernest noticed her cheeks blushing. 

Excited about such revelations as well, Ernest showed her in the book Alfred's poem dedicated to his impossible love. Ernest read it, translating the verses into modern English at the same time.  

It could not be considered an erotic text, but the elements were there. Ernest felt somehow embarrassed while reading it to her. 

Suddenly, they were arguing again. Quarrels between them seemed to start out of nowhere, like a summer storm. It wasn't the first time something like this had happened, especially since Beatrice became a teenager. A civilized conversation could suddenly turn into an argument. She was more stubborn than ever. The tiredness and worries swirling around in his head diminished his patience. 

“Sometimes you are impossible, Sinclaire!” She groaned. 

“Why? Because I do contradict you?” 

“Trust me, you are the least of my problems.” 

“You are an expert at getting yourself into trouble.” He pointed out. 

“Are you still talking about Ascot, Sinclaire?”  

“Are you still sulking at me because of Ascot, Beatrice?” 

“I know I am wrong, okay? I messed things up , including with you.” Beatrice admitted. 

Ernest didn't expect her to give in. So, that way, he decided to admit his share of the guilt. “I know you get mad when I scold you. Perhaps I was a little harsh at Ascot. Nevertheless, I will not apologize to you for what I did and what I said. Although deep down, as you said, it's none of my business, I would do it all over again if I had to, because I am your friend.” 

“Did I get promoted to your friend? How kind of you, Mr. Sinclaire!” There was still some bitterness in her voice. 

Was it possible that girl had a remark for everything? It was as annoying as it was admirable. “Don’t mock me! I am being honest with you.” 

“I am not. The truth is, I am glad to hear that. I thought I was never going to pass the ‘little brat’ category.” 

How could Beatrice assume he thought so little of her? He needed to clarify things. “You are more than a friend, Beatrice. The Foredale’s are like family to me. Families support and take care of each other. I don't have many relatives, but I have everything I need just a fence jump away.” 

“I can’t imagine you jumping a fence.” Beatrice laughed. 

“You have no idea what my little self was capable of. Mrs. Lewis was a victim at my hands.” 

“I always thought you came out of your mother's womb in a tie and waistcoat.”  

It wasn't the first time she'd said that to him. Little did she know there was a photograph of him as a baby wearing a full suit. He could not remain indifferent to such a response and burst out laughing for the first time in a long time. Beatrice followed him. They just couldn't stop laughing.  

Ernest felt enormous relief in his body and mind. For a few minutes, he completely forgot all his qualms. 

After the laughing session, they went back to Alfred and Aurelia. According to Beatrice, Vincent had still only defined the general lines of the plot. Ernest couldn’t resist making a few suggestions. 

“First kiss on the first night?”  

“Of course not, Sinclaire! Papa is the king of the ‘slow burn.' The first kiss never takes place before page one hundred and one. I am picturing it on a summer night, under the stars, by the lake.” 

“Or in the ring of stones, in the middle of our forest. That piece of land has always belonged to my family. It’s secluded but very beautiful.” 

“Are you speaking from experience?” She smiled mischievously.  

“I am trying to be helpful.” Ernest was almost certain that a light shade of pink had appeared on his cheeks. Beatrice was an expert at guessing his sins. 

He was in fact speaking from personal experience. Ernest had waited months to take Minerva there. He prepared a picnic, studied the stars, and picked out the softest blankets. Ernest was convinced that he had prepared the most romantic of encounters under the shooting stars. As it turned out, they couldn’t see any shooting stars. But there were fireworks all night.  

“All right then, keep your secrets, Casanova.” 

He knew she didn't intend to offend in any way; however, he didn't like the association. For Ernest, love was something too serious to joke about. “I don’t aspire to be a Casanova, a Romeo, or a Heathcliff… Actually, I think some of these called ‘romantic heroes’ have distorted the concept of love.” 

“So, what does love mean to you, Sinclaire? And to be clear, I am asking about romantic love.” 

And there was one of her difficult questions again. And once again, he couldn't run away. So, he chose the honest path. “Love cannot be impulsive, fickle, or lust -driven, nor does it need to be tragic or complicated to be true. In fact, love is simple and natural. It's feeling happy next to someone while putting the other's happiness first. Love does not ignore problems and differences. Love builds bridges and clears paths to face them. He could see in her eyes that something was restless in her mind. It was dying to come out, but his lips were afraid to let it go. He would probably regret prolonging the conversation, but Ernest was worried about what he was seeing in her eyes. “What do you want to ask, Beatrice?”  

“I … well … How about intimacy… I mean… love has a physical side.” 

Ernest found the question strange. She was too smart to be ignorant about the matter. And, knowing the Earl, Ernest was sure he wouldn't have neglected that part of her education. It was obvious her feelings for Luke were deep. It wasn't just a whim or an infatuation. Beatrice was seriously in love with Luke. Maybe that was why she needed those answers.  

“You are not naïve, Bea; you know intimacy can include physical acts of love —kisses, hugs, tender touches, snuggles… Is sex a manifestation of intimacy? Yes. Is it the main one ? No, far from that. It’s like cake frosting. It looks good. It can taste good, but if the cake underneath it isn't good; it's a deception, with consequences more serious than a stomach.” 

“How am I supposed to live the rest of my life with that image in my mind, Sinclaire?” 

“It was you who asked for my opinion.” He imitated her cockiness. 

“Indeed. It was very enlightening.” 

On any other occasion, his decorum would have demanded that he graciously change the topic of conversation. It wasn't in his nature to intrude on others' privacy, but Ernest could see that she was still uneasy. 

“Have you ever felt pressured into any kind of intimacy that made you feel uncomfortable?” He asked worriedly. Ernest didn't imagine Luke capable of such a thing. However, unfortunately, evil could be hidden behind anyone who surrounded her. 

“No, never. Luke is the kindest, gentlest soul I have ever met. He is incapable of hurting anyone, not even an ant. We...We have discussed those matters. We share the same ideas about it.” 

If the problem wasn't between them, then it must be someone outside. Ernest had a hunch. 

 “Bea, I can imagine how much they brag about it. I have been dealing with smug rich girls and boys all my life. If I recall, I am one of them.” From the expression on her face, he knew he got her problem right. “In addition to the fact that half of what they say is untrue or exaggerated, this is not something that should be motivated by what others think, even if it is our partner. It deeply affects our bodies and our emotions. The heart is always eager to please and to feel pleasure. I have learned that we can't always trust it. We must always ask ourselves if we will be happy or at peace with the consequences of what we do. And above all, we must never do anything that we are not comfortable with. If our body give us signals that it's not good for us, it's because it isn’t. If we insist, we will hurt ourselves and probably the ones we love.” 

“Have you ever felt that?”  

His propriety did not permit him to tell more details, nor did he wish to burden her with his ghosts. “I usually refrain from giving opinions on subjects I am not familiar .” Ernest gently took her hand in his. “Please, promise you will take care of yourself.” 

 “Thank you, Sinclaire. You are annoyingly wise.” She smiled. 

“I am taking it as a ‘I will follow your advice’.” 

After the break for Beatrice's existential crisis, they returned to their ancestors, getting lost in the plot with new ideas and hypotheses for what may have happened between Aurelia and Alfred. 

Only when Mrs. Lewis in her nightdress and disheveled hair, found them in the library did Ernest realize how late it was — the sun was about to rise. 

He had to get her home as quickly as possible. To his exasperation, Beatrice insisted on walking home. Despite not agreeing with the option, Ernest went along with her.  

As they walked out the door, the early morning breeze embraced them. Beatrice's thin dress was no match for the cool waft, letting it run over her body without mercy. He put his jacket over her shoulders. God forbid that something happens to Beatrice along the way. The Earl would have no pity or mercy on him. Nor would he forgive himself. 

“I'm glad we are friends again, Sinclaire. Someone has to be brave enough to lecture me.” Beatrice said when they arrived. 

“The Dowager Countess does that job very well. Besides, I don't have the presumption to consider that I have any authority to do such a thing. I am just a concerned friend with more life experience. Have a good day, Beatrice.” 

“Have a nice day, Sinclaire. Thank you again. For everything.” Ernest stayed there until she closed the kitchen door behind her. 

He hoped no one had seen him taking Beatrice home in the early hours of the morning. Ernest preferred not to even think about what could be invented about it. 

On the way to Ledford Park, worries came back to haunt his mind. Was he choosing the right path? Would it be worth such a sacrifice? 

On that afternoon, he went to Edgewater. Vincent had invited him to do some fencing.  

The Earl repeatedly expressed thanks for his help with the research and for bringing Beatrice home safe and sound. He had loved the ideas they had outlined.  

“I have done no more than my duty as a friend and gentleman.”  Ernest answered. 

"You're one of the few people I blindly trust Beatrice care. Talking about it, have you told her about your departure?"  

“I haven't told anyone yet, except those who strictly had to know.” 

“She would rather know from you. In case you haven't noticed, she sees you like a big brother.” 

“I'll do it in the next few days, I promise.” 

When Earl left, Ernest stayed a little longer, practicing some moves. Fencing was a great way for him to relieve his heavy feelings. It was relaxing him. He was so engrossed in his dance with the rapier that Ernest only noticed Beatrice's presence when he heard her voice mumbling about her singing lessons. Since he was still wearing his helmet, she mistook him for her fencing teacher. 

He wanted to say something, but Ernest couldn't articulate any sentence. 

“You are right, Mr. Jones; I can talk and fight at the same time.” She put herself in position. “En garde! Prêts? Allez!” Beatrice lunged at him, putting all the frustrations into every engagement. 

She rambled about various topics. Beatrice clearly needed to get some things off her chest that afternoon, and he didn't have the heart to interrupt. 

“Speaking of people who are getting on my nerves...There is a person close to me who will move abroad next autumn. We are friends...at least he says we are, and I feel the same. However, during all summer he hasn't had the heart to say a word to me about it. Can you believe it?”  

How would she have found out? Distracted by this question, he gave her room to hit him. 

Distracted, Ernest stopped, and Beatrice hit him. “Touché!” she laughed.  

There was no point in continuing to hide. He took off his helmet. Beatrice was speechless for a moment. 

“How did you find out? I have tried to keep my plans secret.” 

“Before you insinuate anything, I didn't hear behind the door. Luke and I were under the bridge when you were telling Bart about it.” 

“Oh! Well, I guess it's officially no longer a secret.” Ernest signed and explained his reasons. 

“I can understand that. I just don't understand why you didn't tell me. I am your friend, Sinclaire! Talking about friends, have you told Edmund about it?” 

She was indignant, and rightly so. Ernest played with the clasps on his helmet, looking for the answers hidden under his rational level. Ernest didn't feel right not telling her the whole truth. “No. I didn't tell you, or your brother, or others because... because I feel I’m at sea.” 

She seemed taken aback by his frankness. “I don’t see it that way. I see, and I think everybody sees, you are trying your best to solve these problems. Your plans for the house are incredible. Unless you are thinking of becoming a mason's apprentice, I don't think they need you around. Besides, I have seen Mrs. Lewis dealing with workers. They won't dare to change even a millimeter of your project.” 

“There's also the fear of the unknown, of course. I will be on the other side of the world, far away from everything I have ever known, for a long time. As you might have noticed, I'm anything but adventurous.” Her words were comforting. However, he had opened the door to fears and could not stop them. 

“I wouldn’t say that. I think ‘very cautious’ is the right definition. It's a bit of an exasperating trait sometimes, I won't deny it. Nevertheless, your cautious instincts have gotten you well this far. You just have to learn to ignore them from time to time.” 

“Are you sure you are my friend?” He tried to look offended, but a suppressed smile betrayed him. “Your view of things usually turns mine upside down, showing me a world I would never see. Maybe it helps me gather my thoughts. Thank you, Beatrice.” 

“Now would be the appropriate time to say that above anything else, you will miss all of us terribly.” She teased him. 

“I'm taking that out of the equation. Otherwise, I don't think I could go.” 

Mr. Jones arrived, interrupting their conversation. 

“Don't think you're getting rid of me that easily, Sinclaire!” She pointed the rapier at him. 

Watching her petite figure trying to threaten him was a comical sight. “I have lived enough to know when a girl has a rapier pointed at us, she is to be taken seriously.” 

∭ 

At E.P.W  (Edgewater Polo Weekend) 

After the defeat, Ernest wanted to go home alone on foot. He needed to calm down before arriving home and helping with the preparations for dinner. 

again, despite the warning he had given him at Ascot. 

Ernest quickened his pace to catch Tristan. Tristan stopped when he saw Ernest walking towards him, flashing a mocking smile on his face. 

“We need to talk, Tristan.” 

“I suppose you're going to invite me to the victors' dinner. You can't imagine how funny it was to see you lose and know that you're still going to pay for my dinner.” 

“Don't you dare set foot in my house!” 

“Your pride is hurt, so I'm not going to take this one personally. You're the one who loses out. Anyway... That's two defeats in one day. Poor Ernest,” Tristan scorned. “I only regret not having the opportunity to spend more time with the ladies of Edgewater. They are all so agreeable.” 

“Stay away from them!”  

“Especially the bastard one, right?” Tristan smirked. “Women gravitate towards me; I can’t help it. You love playing the knight in shining armor. It was cute when you were a teenager, but now it's pathetic...” 

“Leave her alone. She's just a child. I'm warning you, Tristan...stay away from her...and all of them!” Ernest was losing his patience. 

Duke Richards laughed cynically. “A child, you say? She's a young lady. There's fire and opportunism in her blood. She'll fall. And I'll make sure to seize the opportunity.” 

Ernest was about to punch him when Felicity approached them. “Your Grace, shall we see each other later at dinner?” 

“Unfortunately, no. I have an unavoidable appointment. I'm having dinner with my cousin, Charles.” 

“The prince?” Felicity asked, dazzled. 

“Of course. Who else could be?  Now if you excuse me.” He walked away. 

Felicity was going to turn her attention to Ernest; however, he wasn't in the mood for civilities. “I must go. See you later, Felicity.” Before leaving, he thought he should add, “As a friend, I beg you: please don't be dazzled by the wrapping paper and the ribbon on the box. There are many rotten things in his kingdom.” 

∭ 

Ernest threw himself onto the bed, tired, overwhelmed, and frustrated. How was he supposed to move an entire life to the other side of the world? He had made a few lists. However, the more he tried to organise himself, the more confused he became.  

He could simply put his clothes in a couple of suitcases and buy everything there. He might as well send all his stuff there. However, he didn't want to risk losing anything on the trip. On the other hand, he also knew he would need some references from home.  

Ernest had the temptation to take his mother's book with him but thought it was better to leave it in the Ledford Park safety. It wouldn't survive another accident. The very thought made him shiver. He randomly opened a page and came face-to-face with Sonnet 116. 

“Love is not love 

Which alters when it alteration finds, 

Or bends with the remover to remove: 

O no! it is an ever-fixed mark 

That looks on tempests and is never shaken.” 

These old words made the young man wonder if he would ever fall in love again. Minerva had been his first crush, passion, love, and girlfriend. With her, everything was so passionate. She starred in all his first times.  

Every now and then, he still questioned if he'd made the right decision, if he should have fought harder for her and their relationship. However, he couldn’t say if such thoughts were remnants of love or loneliness playing a monologue in his head. Too many emotions had invaded his heart lately.  

He was a romantic guy and unashamed of it. In the few years he'd lived with both his parents, he'd seen so much love between them that he couldn't help but dream of something like that for himself.  

He already knew he wanted a family one day. Small steps filling Ledford Park with life. Would he have to wait many more years? Who would she be? Would he meet her in the USA?  

Nevertheless, Ernest also knew that the size of the loss was proportional to the size of the love. And that scared him. He had resisted until then, but he feared what might happen if life dealt him another blow. Looking at himself in the mirror, he saw in his mind images of his father, lost, sunk in grief. Crossing the bridge of pain was a path back, and Ernest felt his foot touch the first plank several times.  

He jumped out of bed, trying to shake off such thoughts. In doing so, he dropped a frame onto the floor. It was a photo from his graduation day at Cambridge.Surrounded by people who loved him and were proud of him, it was one of his happiest days in recent times. 

There was also a funny story behind it. Although there weren't many (just the Foredale, Mrs Lewis and Bart), the photographer had difficulty getting everyone in the photo due to the height differences. The photographer tried different combinations; however, someone always ended up cut out the pic. Fortunately, Bart had the idea of holding Beatrice in his arms, lifting her off the ground a few inches, solving the framing problem, just in time to avoid a riot in the line to take photos at that place. 

On that day, Beatrice had placed on his cape a red rose, the Sinclaire colour, decorated with a ribbon in her mother's Scottish pattern. It was a simple gesture, but it touched him so much that he had the rose preserved in wax. It has been in his desk ever since. It was better to stay where it was. It could get damaged on the trip. 

After hours of reflection, Ernest finally came up with his art kit, a Manchester United scarf, a photo of him, Bart, and Edmund at Eton, a pen that had belonged to his father, and a painting with dried flowers from the Ledford Park gardens.  

Rummaging through the drawers, he found a hat and a pair of woollen gloves that Beatrice had given him last winter. They weren't the most elegant set, but Ernest puts them in his bag anyway. Boston was very cold. Certainly, no piece of clothing would be too much. 

∭ 

No one dares to call it a farewell. It's a dinner at his London townhouse, like so many others.  

The seats at the massive table are not all occupied; however, the people who matter most to him are there. No one dares to mention the subject, even though it imposes itself on the room like a giant elephant.  

Dinner lingered between drawn-out conversations, as if this could slow down the inexorable march of time.  

Anyone who passes by on the street and sees the host escorting guests to the door would assume that it was an ordinary evening: bidding farewell, shaking hands with gentlemen, kissing hands with ladies… the whole ritual of good English politeness.  

When the young girl's turn arrives, the host stands with her hand in his, undecided on how to say goodbye.  

The young girl comes forward and kisses his cheek. If the passerby had been closer, he could have heard the girl whisper in his ear, ‘Who am I going to vex now?’  

A lot had happened between that first impression and that moment of goodbye. He would miss everyone so much. However, he would miss that ray of sunshine dearly.  

Much would certainly change in the coming years. Ernest would love to freeze that moment in time. The wheel of life that had denied him a little sister made up for it with such unexpected friendship. 

It was so nice to see all those previous stories coming together here, seeing it by Ernest's perspective. He certainly had an eventful life and such unspeakable losses, but it's lovely to see him going through them, building new relationships...

I absolutely loved that you took us back to the incident at the lake and his first meeting with Beatrice 😍. I love to see how their relationship grew over time, and i laughed when he calls her a friend and Bea shoots this one:

I thought I was never going to pass the ‘little brat’ category.” 

And then this

“I always thought you came out of your mother's womb in a tie and waistcoat.”  

Her teasing is always on point 😅

And that ending! How soft and cute and fitting!

The wheel of life that had denied him a little sister made up for it with such unexpected friendship. 

“When?”  

“When you fall in love.”  

“You're the only woman I love... And I like Mrs. Lewis too, I guess. And a bit of Nanny Sarah.” 

“I'm flattered, but one day you'll change your mind. And it will be wonderful.” Mrs. Sinclaire caressed her boy’s curls.  

Suddenly, there were several people around him, asking if he was okay and wanting to help him. However, Ernest only thought about his book. 

∭ 

Ernest delicately turned another page in the book. The heat from the fireplace was accelerating the process, revealing the damage. He was upset but somewhat relieved. A damaged book was better than a destroyed one.  

Mrs. Lewis would certainly tell him something like that when he got home. He admired her resilience. No matter how great the darkness, she always found the stars to move forward with.  

Her husband had been in a coma for about a month after the accident, but unfortunately, he succumbed to his injuries and died.  

She had also lost the love of her life. They met at Ledford Park. There they fell in love and got married. The Sinclaire were their wedding godparents. 

Unlike his father, she didn't let grief consume her. Constance fought her sadness by loving everyone around her. He was aware that if it weren't for her love and dedication, he would have been sent back to boarding school the next day.  

He heard the library door opening softly. Turning his head, he saw one of the girls of the lake walking towards him. She froze for a moment when she looked into his eyes, probably out of embarrassment. 

The young Sinclaire looked at her for a while with curiosity. He soon noticed the Foredale features. So that was the famous Beatrice. The way his father had talked about her, Ernest had assumed she was older, but she was just a child. 

‘Are you Beatrice, right?’ he asked. 

The girl nodded. An intense blush coloured her cheeks. She tried to apologize for what happened as best she could.  

He tried to maintain a straight face but couldn’t avoid a little smile. It was hard to stay upset after such a cute apology. They shook hands as sign of peace. 

It was the girl's turn to look at him inquisitively. “What are you doing in Edgewater, by the way? Don’t you have your own home?” she asked bluntly. 

Ernest raised his eyebrow. He couldn't deny that it was a pertinent question. “Yes, but Edgewater’s Lake used to be a quiet place to read.” 

That's when the Foredale girl saw the soaked book. The girl apologized repeatedly and even offered to buy him a new one. 

If it had been any other child, Ernest wouldn't have bothered to explain his reasons. However, he knew she would understand. 

While listening to his story, some tears threatened to come out of her eyes, but she held them back. The tears made the colours of her eyes stand out — a chocolate brown streaked with green, as if it were an immense, dense forest. 

‘I miss her so much that it hurts in my chest. Does this get easier over time?’ Beatrice asked upon learning his loss story. 

No child should have to face those feelings. At first, he considered lying to her. Then, his book gave him an idea. “Look at the pages of the book. They’re wet. I’m drying them with the heat of the fire. After drying, these pages will be wrinkled. While some of them will be impossible to read, others will still be readable. The book is marked forever, but it is still in one piece. The same happens with us, I think. After such a thing happened, we are marked, but we survive.” It was the most honest response he could give her. 

At some point, Ernest noticed her eyes turned up, fixed on something. Her lips twitched in amusement. 

“Did you find anything funny?” 

“Your hair. You seem to have a disheveled sheep on your head,” she responded directly and without any trace of shame. 

Ernest did not expect such a response at all. He frowned. That girl has got a lot to learn in order to survive in her father’s world, the young Sinclaire thought.

 Quick, witty, and frank tongues were not appreciated  in high society. 

After their philosophical moment, he expected her to leave him alone, but she didn’t. She remained seated there, silent. Ernest would have preferred to be alone to mourn his book, but he didn't have the courage to send her away. After all, she was in her house, and he was the intruder. As Ernest turned the pages to dry, he caught her reading the sonnets. 

“Do you like poetry?” he asked her to make small talk.  

“I like it when the verses rhyme, but this is weird.” 

He chuckled. “You’re too young to understand it.” 

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? / Thou art more lovely and more temperate:” Beatrice read aloud. 

“Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, /And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;” he completed, by heart. 

“Can you understand it?” 

The question caught him off guard. It reminded him of his mother's words on the night she had given him the book. “Not everything, I must confess. But I like to read them, anyway.” 

The girl was about to question him again, but fortunately, a knock on the door interrupted her. A girl peered inside. It was her partner in crime. She was waiting for her.  

“I’ve to go. Sorry again for everything.” She said with a playful smile. He offered a hand to help her get up. “See you around," she said, running to the door. 

That girl was going to be a problem, he thought. Fortunately, she wouldn’t be his problem. Good luck to the Earl. 

∭ - Fisrt Year in Cambridge

Although spring was just a couple of days away, it was an overcast day, and a cold draft hung between the walls. 

Ernest left the library to clear his head. He had been studying for hours. The first term exams didn't go as well as he had hoped, so he was making an extra effort. He had worked very hard to be there. 

Cambridge University was his dream, and after Eton, Ernest thought it would be a smooth transition. 

His problem wasn't studying. He even enjoyed it. However, it was proving difficult to reconcile all parts of his world. 

He hadn't spoken to Minera in days. He missed her, but he also didn't want to distract her during exams season. For now, he would have to make do with the memories of the holidays to comfort him. 

Ernest spotted two figures in the shadows conversing in low tone. 

Ernest was about to turn around; however, upon recognizing Tristan Richards' voice, he stopped there. 

They had crossed paths a few times already. Fortunately, since Ernest was in his first year, it was rare, and when it did happen, he chose to pretend he didn't see him. Not out of fear, but to protect his nerves. 

Tristan had became everything Ernest had been taught not to be: arrogant, pompous, a bull, and rude. His lack of respect for others, often masked as good manners, irritated him deeply. 

Another thing he couldn't stand was Tristan's behaviour towards girls. Based on what he'd seen of it in Cambridge, the situation with the math teacher wasn't just some silly teenage revenge. Tristan spoke and acted as if all the girls belonged to him. All disguised with bright smiles and sweet talk. 

Despite his rake's past, Ernest always observed in his father an exemplary behaviour with all the women he dealt with. Mrs. Lewis, his secretary, the housemaids, the wives of his friends... even with Beatrice. He never raised his voice to them, never condescending, but always chivalrous, sincerely praising whenever he could. 

Tristan raised his voice, allowing Ernest to hear the last few words, “I want the assignment in my hands within a week, without a second of delay! Make sure you do a good job!” He walked away, but the young man who stayed behind seemed about to pass out.  

“Are you okay? Do you want me to call someone?” Ernest asked. 

“I am…fine.” He answered in a trembling voice. 

“I heard him threaten you. Are you doing the assignments for him?” 

“No…of…course…not. That would be against the rules…Please, don’t tell a soul. He pays me…I need that money to pay my fees. It's a last effort... I'm months away from finishing my degree.” The young man was distressed. 

“Don’t you have to do one yourself too?” 

“I do, but…I can do this. I just will need some more caffeine. Please, keep the secret.” The young man disappeared into the hallways. 

Fortunately, Ernest couldn't say he understood his colleague's distress. However, he couldn't remain indifferent to the situation. Tristan was exploiting him, and Ernest couldn't allow him to continue abusing his colleague. 

Tristan needed a lesson, but first, Ernest had to safeguard his colleague's future. He made a call. “Father…I'm sorry to bother you…Yes…Yes…I'm fine…I need your help to help someone else…What would be the possibility of you sponsoring a colleague of mine?

The oral presentation of the assignment was public, and Ernest wanted to see Tristan's downfall from the front row. 

Part of him knew it was wrong to humiliate him. It was playing into Tristan's own game. However, he chose to disregard moral honour this time. 

Ernest instructed the fellow student to give Tristan his own assignment, but with subtle scientific errors, though noticeable to the professors. 

Tristan began the presentation full of enthusiasm and confidence. However, as he advanced the slides, the professors' brows furrowed more and more.  

Some in the auditorium were also noticing the errors in the calculations and data. 

Eventually, Tristan noticed some mistakes in the slide he was presenting. He became furious. “There's a mistake here. This isn't my assignment!” 

“I'm glad you finally noticed it, Mr. Richards. You're absolutely right. It's not yours. It belongs to your colleague, Mr. Norris, who gave a brilliant presentation earlier this afternoon.” One of the teachers stood up, “Not only did you plagiarize your colleague, but you couldn't even disguise your incompetence. You made unacceptable mistakes. Please leave our presence. But be aware that this will have serious consequences.” 

All eyes were on him. Tristan had a desperate look and was red with anger. He rushed out of the room. 

Unconsciously, Ernest smiled with satisfaction. 

∭ 

There are moments when we feel our lives are about to change. Ernest had one of those intuitions when he saw Mr. Carter invading the party, yelling at the Foredale’s butler. 

The Earl approached them. The man told him something that made Vincent lose his colours. He motioned Ernest to come closer. 

Ernest could clearly hear the words coming from the man's mouth, but it was as if he were speaking an alien language. When he finally processed what he was hearing, his body froze. That couldn't be true. 

“I've already called the firefighters before coming here.” Mr. Carter said.  

The Earl's guests were in an uproar hearing what was going on. 

Ernest ran out the door. Other acquaintances who were at the party were preparing to do the same. Some to flee, some to watch the horror in the first hand…surely a couple of them with good intentions.  

“It's safer to stay here.” Vincent stopped them. “I know you have good intentions, but we don't know the gravity of the situation. It can be dangerous. Ernest and I are going there. Those who can, please leave by the other road. The fire could spread in our direction. Those who must stay, please follow the instructions of my staff. Gather my children and other children together and get them to the emergency room.” 

Ernest was trying to start the car, but he was too nervous to do it. Just as he was about to leave on foot, Vincent grabbed him by the coat. “Let's go in the jeep.” The Earl said. 

Vincent took every shortcut he knew, trampling through some wild bushes along the way. 

It wasn't long before they started seeing black smoke staining the colours of the late afternoon sky. 

“How many people are at home?” Vincent asked. 

“Mrs. Lewis gave all the employees the night off. She didn't want to come in to rest,” Ernest's voice trembled. “I hope she's okay… My father is going to kill me!” 

They could hear the fire truck sirens in the distance. 

“Ernest, whatever is happening is not your fault!” The Earl reassured him. “Even if something very bad happens... it's just walls and old things. You are the greatest treasure in his life.” 

The path they took led them to the back of the mansion. The fire was already engulfing the orchard. 

It looked like hell on earth. The smoke was as black as a starless night. The red flames were devouring everything in their path. The windows were shattering like bombs. Ernest felt every crackle of the flames as if it were in his own body. 

He tried to enter the house, but the firefighters stopped him. 

“There's someone in there! You must save her!” Ernest screamed. 

“Where she could be?” A firefight asked.  

“Never mind, I am going there!” Despite the firefighters' orders and Vincent’s efforts to restrain Ernest from doing something foolish, he went inside. The front of the house was still mostly intact, but there was smoke everywhere. Ernest heard a bang and a scream. Following the sound, he soon found Mrs. Lewis coming from the servants' quarters. She had almost made it to the entrance hall alone, but a picture fell on her head, dazing her. Ernest took her in his arms. 

More fire trucks and some ambulances had arrived in the meantime. Mrs. Lewis could barely breathe. The paramedics tried to put the oxygen mask on her. She took it off and, almost fainting, she uttered, “Your father... he... is at home.” 

“That’s impossible!” Ernest refused to believe the scenario she was presenting.  

“He came home to see you… he’s better.” Mrs. Lewis passed out.  

Ernest was running inside again, but someone grabbed him, holding him back. The firefighters rushed into the manor. 

The minutes that followed seemed like hours. Ernest's heart was pounding wildly, yet it felt frozen with terror. That couldn't happen again. Another loss, and he would lose his mind. 

When he saw the firefighters come out the door, Ernest almost jumped on them. Somehow, his father seemed fine. Ernest tried to touch him.  

A firefighter grabbed his hand. “I am so sorry… It’s too late.”  

∭ 

The pathologist's assistant approached them. “He's ready, but we need someone to officially identify the body.” 

“I will,” Vincent said. 

“Are you related?” 

“I’m his best friend,” 

“It should preferably be someone from the family.” The pathologist's assistant objected. 

“I am his son.” Ernest stepped forward. 

“Are you sure, Ernest?” Vincent asked him.  

“I am. It's the last thing I can do for him.” 

Ernest followed the pathologist's assistant into the room. “When you're ready, I'll take the sheet off.” 

Ernest was afraid of what he would find under the white sheet. “Did he suffer?” Ernest asked, his voice trembling. 

“I don’t believe so. The smoke inhalation... took him before the fire could touch him.” The doctor explained gently. 

“You may take it off, please.” For a few seconds, Ernest's heart imagined it wasn't him. Part of him still hoped it was all a mistake. A case of mistaken identity, like happens in films. Although he hadn't been able to see him well when firefighters pulled him out of the manor, Ernest could swear he had heard him groan in pain. 

The pathologist's assistant removed the sheet. Ernest looked closely. There were some singed hairs. His father also had some burns on his face and hands. 

Ernest lightly touched his hand. He knew it would be cold, but Ernest had never felt anything like it. “Why do you leave me alone?” He murmured. “This is my father. Can I take him home?” 

∭ 

Those days were lived in a parallel reality. Ernest felt like he was trapped in a nightmare from which he couldn't wake up.  

The days seemed endless. The nights weren't long enough. People spoke to him, but he didn't understand what they were saying. He made decisions he didn't remember. He was standing, but he couldn't feel his body. Not even his heart  beating.  

Beatrice's hug made Ernest feel like emerging from dark waters. For the first time in days, he could breathe. 

∭ 

Part of him regretted getting involved in the matter. What had happened at Ascot was a matter between her, Luke, and the Earl.  

However, his brotherly instinct couldn't help but try to help. Maybe he had exaggerated in his sermon, but Ernest couldn't remain undaunted and calm watching her dig her grave by her own hands before ‘Crème de la crème’ of English society.  

She had avoided him since that day. Ernest accepted the tantrum. Not long ago, he was a moody teenager too. In fact, lately, he was feeling more like a lost child. Another loss, more shards to pick up, and many decisions to make… Ernest felt very confused most of the time.  

That day, Ernest left home early to spend the day in Moorfield, wandering around the streets of the small town, trying to clear his head.  

Back home, Mrs. Lewis informed him Beatrice was there doing research work for her father. Surprised, he couldn’t miss the chance to find out what the Earl was drafting… and clearing the air with Beatrice.  

He wouldn't admit it, but he missed talking to her. Now he understood why Edmund complained about missing his siblings at Eton.  

Ernest found her hidden among piles of books with Sunny snoring at her feet, curled up in a dusty sheet. 

For a few seconds, his heart stopped. The books and files she was handling were hundreds of years old. They had not survived the fire to perish from neglect. He was relieved that she was wearing gloves.

“May I help you?” His voice echoed in the library, awakening her from the trance of her readings. She could barely articulate a coherent sentence, but the colour of her cheeks betrayed her feelings.

After breaking the ice, the conversation between them flowed as always.

He was very curious when she mentioned his ancestor, Alfred of Wessex. Alfred wasn’t exactly a figure who starred in the history books.

Therefore, he did not hesitate to show her one of the house's treasures —'The Chronicles of Alfred of Wessex.' He took her to his makeshift study and opened the huge safe. While he was looking for the book, Ernest noticed that the portrait inside the safe had not gone unnoticed. Thinking he would not catch her, she stood on tiptoe to peek inside.

“It was found in a chest a few weeks ago. Even Mrs. Lewis thought it no longer existed.” He smiled.  

Ernest hadn't believed it when Mrs. Lewis told him they had discovered it in a trunk. Mathew Sinclaire, unable to deal with the grief, had ordered all images of Lydia Sinclaire to be removed from his sight. As he grew older, Ernest feared he would begin to lose the memory of his mother's features. 

Despite the many drawings he made of her face, Ernest was aware they were shadows compared to her. The young man could not hold back his tears when he saw the portrait. 

When the works on Ledford Park were completed, Ernest was planning to put that portrait in a prominent place, not to mourn them, but to remember the happy days they lived together. 

“I wasn't looking at it with the intention of...” Beatrice tried to excuse herself. Ernest loved to see the fearless Beatrice embarrassed. 

“It’s okay, I know you weren’t. Here they are, the oldest chronicles of this family, ‘The Chronicles of Alfred of Wessex’. Take them as long as you need. Do you mind if I stay here for a while? It's not to watch you. I trust you to be alone with anything here. I have some important documents to read, and this is the quietest place in the house at the moment.” 

The pile of documents was endless, but he couldn't concentrate. Ernest was more curious than ever about the Earl’s new story. 

Beatrice's grumblings about the book only increased his curiosity. 

“Don't be so hard on him. It was an old friend of his who wrote part of the chronicles. It was a turbulent period, and Alfred didn't have time to write a sequential narrative. Is the Earl working on a novel about Richard of Caen?”  Ernest threw the bait, trying to find out more. 

“Not exactly. It's about his firstborn daughter, Aurelia of Kent, our ancestress.” 

As Beatrice explained her father's ideas, Ernest had an epiphany. “Maybe she is the mysterious woman.” 

As he summarized what he knew for her. In the middle of the conversation about their ancestors, he ended up blurting out his full name, something avoided as much as possible. “I am not joking. My full name is Ernest Mathew Alfred William.” 

Even without asking direct questions, that girl had the power to poke holes in his wall of discretion. No wonder she wanted to be a journalist. 

“For a moment I thought you were going to say Fitzwilliam …” Beatrice teased.  

“That was my mother's wish, but my father did not agree. Mrs Lewis says that the first time she saw them argue was because of my name. They only reached a consensus after I was born.” 

Returning to the investigation, their joint efforts to connect the dots led them to a remarkable discovery. 

“That’s the connection! They were…lovers.” After the excitement of her conclusion, Beatrice was quiet for a few seconds. Ernest noticed her cheeks blushing. 

Excited about such revelations as well, Ernest showed her in the book Alfred's poem dedicated to his impossible love. Ernest read it, translating the verses into modern English at the same time.  

It could not be considered an erotic text, but the elements were there. Ernest felt somehow embarrassed while reading it to her. 

Suddenly, they were arguing again. Quarrels between them seemed to start out of nowhere, like a summer storm. It wasn't the first time something like this had happened, especially since Beatrice became a teenager. A civilized conversation could suddenly turn into an argument. She was more stubborn than ever. The tiredness and worries swirling around in his head diminished his patience. 

“Sometimes you are impossible, Sinclaire!” She groaned. 

“Why? Because I do contradict you?” 

“Trust me, you are the least of my problems.” 

“You are an expert at getting yourself into trouble.” He pointed out. 

“Are you still talking about Ascot, Sinclaire?”  

“Are you still sulking at me because of Ascot, Beatrice?” 

“I know I am wrong, okay? I messed things up , including with you.” Beatrice admitted. 

Ernest didn't expect her to give in. So, that way, he decided to admit his share of the guilt. “I know you get mad when I scold you. Perhaps I was a little harsh at Ascot. Nevertheless, I will not apologize to you for what I did and what I said. Although deep down, as you said, it's none of my business, I would do it all over again if I had to, because I am your friend.” 

“Did I get promoted to your friend? How kind of you, Mr. Sinclaire!” There was still some bitterness in her voice. 

Was it possible that girl had a remark for everything? It was as annoying as it was admirable. “Don’t mock me! I am being honest with you.” 

“I am not. The truth is, I am glad to hear that. I thought I was never going to pass the ‘little brat’ category.” 

How could Beatrice assume he thought so little of her? He needed to clarify things. “You are more than a friend, Beatrice. The Foredale’s are like family to me. Families support and take care of each other. I don't have many relatives, but I have everything I need just a fence jump away.” 

“I can’t imagine you jumping a fence.” Beatrice laughed. 

“You have no idea what my little self was capable of. Mrs. Lewis was a victim at my hands.” 

“I always thought you came out of your mother's womb in a tie and waistcoat.”  

It wasn't the first time she'd said that to him. Little did she know there was a photograph of him as a baby wearing a full suit. He could not remain indifferent to such a response and burst out laughing for the first time in a long time. Beatrice followed him. They just couldn't stop laughing.  

Ernest felt enormous relief in his body and mind. For a few minutes, he completely forgot all his qualms. 

After the laughing session, they went back to Alfred and Aurelia. According to Beatrice, Vincent had still only defined the general lines of the plot. Ernest couldn’t resist making a few suggestions. 

“First kiss on the first night?”  

“Of course not, Sinclaire! Papa is the king of the ‘slow burn.' The first kiss never takes place before page one hundred and one. I am picturing it on a summer night, under the stars, by the lake.” 

“Or in the ring of stones, in the middle of our forest. That piece of land has always belonged to my family. It’s secluded but very beautiful.” 

“Are you speaking from experience?” She smiled mischievously.  

“I am trying to be helpful.” Ernest was almost certain that a light shade of pink had appeared on his cheeks. Beatrice was an expert at guessing his sins. 

He was in fact speaking from personal experience. Ernest had waited months to take Minerva there. He prepared a picnic, studied the stars, and picked out the softest blankets. Ernest was convinced that he had prepared the most romantic of encounters under the shooting stars. As it turned out, they couldn’t see any shooting stars. But there were fireworks all night.  

“All right then, keep your secrets, Casanova.” 

He knew she didn't intend to offend in any way; however, he didn't like the association. For Ernest, love was something too serious to joke about. “I don’t aspire to be a Casanova, a Romeo, or a Heathcliff… Actually, I think some of these called ‘romantic heroes’ have distorted the concept of love.” 

“So, what does love mean to you, Sinclaire? And to be clear, I am asking about romantic love.” 

And there was one of her difficult questions again. And once again, he couldn't run away. So, he chose the honest path. “Love cannot be impulsive, fickle, or lust -driven, nor does it need to be tragic or complicated to be true. In fact, love is simple and natural. It's feeling happy next to someone while putting the other's happiness first. Love does not ignore problems and differences. Love builds bridges and clears paths to face them. He could see in her eyes that something was restless in her mind. It was dying to come out, but his lips were afraid to let it go. He would probably regret prolonging the conversation, but Ernest was worried about what he was seeing in her eyes. “What do you want to ask, Beatrice?”  

“I … well … How about intimacy… I mean… love has a physical side.” 

Ernest found the question strange. She was too smart to be ignorant about the matter. And, knowing the Earl, Ernest was sure he wouldn't have neglected that part of her education. It was obvious her feelings for Luke were deep. It wasn't just a whim or an infatuation. Beatrice was seriously in love with Luke. Maybe that was why she needed those answers.  

“You are not naïve, Bea; you know intimacy can include physical acts of love —kisses, hugs, tender touches, snuggles… Is sex a manifestation of intimacy? Yes. Is it the main one ? No, far from that. It’s like cake frosting. It looks good. It can taste good, but if the cake underneath it isn't good; it's a deception, with consequences more serious than a stomach.” 

“How am I supposed to live the rest of my life with that image in my mind, Sinclaire?” 

“It was you who asked for my opinion.” He imitated her cockiness. 

“Indeed. It was very enlightening.” 

On any other occasion, his decorum would have demanded that he graciously change the topic of conversation. It wasn't in his nature to intrude on others' privacy, but Ernest could see that she was still uneasy. 

“Have you ever felt pressured into any kind of intimacy that made you feel uncomfortable?” He asked worriedly. Ernest didn't imagine Luke capable of such a thing. However, unfortunately, evil could be hidden behind anyone who surrounded her. 

“No, never. Luke is the kindest, gentlest soul I have ever met. He is incapable of hurting anyone, not even an ant. We...We have discussed those matters. We share the same ideas about it.” 

If the problem wasn't between them, then it must be someone outside. Ernest had a hunch. 

 “Bea, I can imagine how much they brag about it. I have been dealing with smug rich girls and boys all my life. If I recall, I am one of them.” From the expression on her face, he knew he got her problem right. “In addition to the fact that half of what they say is untrue or exaggerated, this is not something that should be motivated by what others think, even if it is our partner. It deeply affects our bodies and our emotions. The heart is always eager to please and to feel pleasure. I have learned that we can't always trust it. We must always ask ourselves if we will be happy or at peace with the consequences of what we do. And above all, we must never do anything that we are not comfortable with. If our body give us signals that it's not good for us, it's because it isn’t. If we insist, we will hurt ourselves and probably the ones we love.” 

“Have you ever felt that?”  

His propriety did not permit him to tell more details, nor did he wish to burden her with his ghosts. “I usually refrain from giving opinions on subjects I am not familiar .” Ernest gently took her hand in his. “Please, promise you will take care of yourself.” 

 “Thank you, Sinclaire. You are annoyingly wise.” She smiled. 

“I am taking it as a ‘I will follow your advice’.” 

After the break for Beatrice's existential crisis, they returned to their ancestors, getting lost in the plot with new ideas and hypotheses for what may have happened between Aurelia and Alfred. 

Only when Mrs. Lewis in her nightdress and disheveled hair, found them in the library did Ernest realize how late it was — the sun was about to rise. 

He had to get her home as quickly as possible. To his exasperation, Beatrice insisted on walking home. Despite not agreeing with the option, Ernest went along with her.  

As they walked out the door, the early morning breeze embraced them. Beatrice's thin dress was no match for the cool waft, letting it run over her body without mercy. He put his jacket over her shoulders. God forbid that something happens to Beatrice along the way. The Earl would have no pity or mercy on him. Nor would he forgive himself. 

“I'm glad we are friends again, Sinclaire. Someone has to be brave enough to lecture me.” Beatrice said when they arrived. 

“The Dowager Countess does that job very well. Besides, I don't have the presumption to consider that I have any authority to do such a thing. I am just a concerned friend with more life experience. Have a good day, Beatrice.” 

“Have a nice day, Sinclaire. Thank you again. For everything.” Ernest stayed there until she closed the kitchen door behind her. 

He hoped no one had seen him taking Beatrice home in the early hours of the morning. Ernest preferred not to even think about what could be invented about it. 

On the way to Ledford Park, worries came back to haunt his mind. Was he choosing the right path? Would it be worth such a sacrifice? 

On that afternoon, he went to Edgewater. Vincent had invited him to do some fencing.  

The Earl repeatedly expressed thanks for his help with the research and for bringing Beatrice home safe and sound. He had loved the ideas they had outlined.  

“I have done no more than my duty as a friend and gentleman.”  Ernest answered. 

"You're one of the few people I blindly trust Beatrice care. Talking about it, have you told her about your departure?"  

“I haven't told anyone yet, except those who strictly had to know.” 

“She would rather know from you. In case you haven't noticed, she sees you like a big brother.” 

“I'll do it in the next few days, I promise.” 

When Earl left, Ernest stayed a little longer, practicing some moves. Fencing was a great way for him to relieve his heavy feelings. It was relaxing him. He was so engrossed in his dance with the rapier that Ernest only noticed Beatrice's presence when he heard her voice mumbling about her singing lessons. Since he was still wearing his helmet, she mistook him for her fencing teacher. 

He wanted to say something, but Ernest couldn't articulate any sentence. 

“You are right, Mr. Jones; I can talk and fight at the same time.” She put herself in position. “En garde! Prêts? Allez!” Beatrice lunged at him, putting all the frustrations into every engagement. 

She rambled about various topics. Beatrice clearly needed to get some things off her chest that afternoon, and he didn't have the heart to interrupt. 

“Speaking of people who are getting on my nerves...There is a person close to me who will move abroad next autumn. We are friends...at least he says we are, and I feel the same. However, during all summer he hasn't had the heart to say a word to me about it. Can you believe it?”  

How would she have found out? Distracted by this question, he gave her room to hit him. 

Distracted, Ernest stopped, and Beatrice hit him. “Touché!” she laughed.  

There was no point in continuing to hide. He took off his helmet. Beatrice was speechless for a moment. 

“How did you find out? I have tried to keep my plans secret.” 

“Before you insinuate anything, I didn't hear behind the door. Luke and I were under the bridge when you were telling Bart about it.” 

“Oh! Well, I guess it's officially no longer a secret.” Ernest signed and explained his reasons. 

“I can understand that. I just don't understand why you didn't tell me. I am your friend, Sinclaire! Talking about friends, have you told Edmund about it?” 

She was indignant, and rightly so. Ernest played with the clasps on his helmet, looking for the answers hidden under his rational level. Ernest didn't feel right not telling her the whole truth. “No. I didn't tell you, or your brother, or others because... because I feel I’m at sea.” 

She seemed taken aback by his frankness. “I don’t see it that way. I see, and I think everybody sees, you are trying your best to solve these problems. Your plans for the house are incredible. Unless you are thinking of becoming a mason's apprentice, I don't think they need you around. Besides, I have seen Mrs. Lewis dealing with workers. They won't dare to change even a millimeter of your project.” 

“There's also the fear of the unknown, of course. I will be on the other side of the world, far away from everything I have ever known, for a long time. As you might have noticed, I'm anything but adventurous.” Her words were comforting. However, he had opened the door to fears and could not stop them. 

“I wouldn’t say that. I think ‘very cautious’ is the right definition. It's a bit of an exasperating trait sometimes, I won't deny it. Nevertheless, your cautious instincts have gotten you well this far. You just have to learn to ignore them from time to time.” 

“Are you sure you are my friend?” He tried to look offended, but a suppressed smile betrayed him. “Your view of things usually turns mine upside down, showing me a world I would never see. Maybe it helps me gather my thoughts. Thank you, Beatrice.” 

“Now would be the appropriate time to say that above anything else, you will miss all of us terribly.” She teased him. 

“I'm taking that out of the equation. Otherwise, I don't think I could go.” 

Mr. Jones arrived, interrupting their conversation. 

“Don't think you're getting rid of me that easily, Sinclaire!” She pointed the rapier at him. 

Watching her petite figure trying to threaten him was a comical sight. “I have lived enough to know when a girl has a rapier pointed at us, she is to be taken seriously.” 

∭ 

At E.P.W  (Edgewater Polo Weekend) 

After the defeat, Ernest wanted to go home alone on foot. He needed to calm down before arriving home and helping with the preparations for dinner. 

again, despite the warning he had given him at Ascot. 

Ernest quickened his pace to catch Tristan. Tristan stopped when he saw Ernest walking towards him, flashing a mocking smile on his face. 

“We need to talk, Tristan.” 

“I suppose you're going to invite me to the victors' dinner. You can't imagine how funny it was to see you lose and know that you're still going to pay for my dinner.” 

“Don't you dare set foot in my house!” 

“Your pride is hurt, so I'm not going to take this one personally. You're the one who loses out. Anyway... That's two defeats in one day. Poor Ernest,” Tristan scorned. “I only regret not having the opportunity to spend more time with the ladies of Edgewater. They are all so agreeable.” 

“Stay away from them!”  

“Especially the bastard one, right?” Tristan smirked. “Women gravitate towards me; I can’t help it. You love playing the knight in shining armor. It was cute when you were a teenager, but now it's pathetic...” 

“Leave her alone. She's just a child. I'm warning you, Tristan...stay away from her...and all of them!” Ernest was losing his patience. 

Duke Richards laughed cynically. “A child, you say? She's a young lady. There's fire and opportunism in her blood. She'll fall. And I'll make sure to seize the opportunity.” 

Ernest was about to punch him when Felicity approached them. “Your Grace, shall we see each other later at dinner?” 

“Unfortunately, no. I have an unavoidable appointment. I'm having dinner with my cousin, Charles.” 

“The prince?” Felicity asked, dazzled. 

“Of course. Who else could be?  Now if you excuse me.” He walked away. 

Felicity was going to turn her attention to Ernest; however, he wasn't in the mood for civilities. “I must go. See you later, Felicity.” Before leaving, he thought he should add, “As a friend, I beg you: please don't be dazzled by the wrapping paper and the ribbon on the box. There are many rotten things in his kingdom.” 

∭ 

Ernest threw himself onto the bed, tired, overwhelmed, and frustrated. How was he supposed to move an entire life to the other side of the world? He had made a few lists. However, the more he tried to organise himself, the more confused he became.  

He could simply put his clothes in a couple of suitcases and buy everything there. He might as well send all his stuff there. However, he didn't want to risk losing anything on the trip. On the other hand, he also knew he would need some references from home.  

Ernest had the temptation to take his mother's book with him but thought it was better to leave it in the Ledford Park safety. It wouldn't survive another accident. The very thought made him shiver. He randomly opened a page and came face-to-face with Sonnet 116. 

“Love is not love 

Which alters when it alteration finds, 

Or bends with the remover to remove: 

O no! it is an ever-fixed mark 

That looks on tempests and is never shaken.” 

These old words made the young man wonder if he would ever fall in love again. Minerva had been his first crush, passion, love, and girlfriend. With her, everything was so passionate. She starred in all his first times.  

Every now and then, he still questioned if he'd made the right decision, if he should have fought harder for her and their relationship. However, he couldn’t say if such thoughts were remnants of love or loneliness playing a monologue in his head. Too many emotions had invaded his heart lately.  

He was a romantic guy and unashamed of it. In the few years he'd lived with both his parents, he'd seen so much love between them that he couldn't help but dream of something like that for himself.  

He already knew he wanted a family one day. Small steps filling Ledford Park with life. Would he have to wait many more years? Who would she be? Would he meet her in the USA?  

Nevertheless, Ernest also knew that the size of the loss was proportional to the size of the love. And that scared him. He had resisted until then, but he feared what might happen if life dealt him another blow. Looking at himself in the mirror, he saw in his mind images of his father, lost, sunk in grief. Crossing the bridge of pain was a path back, and Ernest felt his foot touch the first plank several times.  

He jumped out of bed, trying to shake off such thoughts. In doing so, he dropped a frame onto the floor. It was a photo from his graduation day at Cambridge.Surrounded by people who loved him and were proud of him, it was one of his happiest days in recent times. 

There was also a funny story behind it. Although there weren't many (just the Foredale, Mrs Lewis and Bart), the photographer had difficulty getting everyone in the photo due to the height differences. The photographer tried different combinations; however, someone always ended up cut out the pic. Fortunately, Bart had the idea of holding Beatrice in his arms, lifting her off the ground a few inches, solving the framing problem, just in time to avoid a riot in the line to take photos at that place. 

On that day, Beatrice had placed on his cape a red rose, the Sinclaire colour, decorated with a ribbon in her mother's Scottish pattern. It was a simple gesture, but it touched him so much that he had the rose preserved in wax. It has been in his desk ever since. It was better to stay where it was. It could get damaged on the trip. 

After hours of reflection, Ernest finally came up with his art kit, a Manchester United scarf, a photo of him, Bart, and Edmund at Eton, a pen that had belonged to his father, and a painting with dried flowers from the Ledford Park gardens.  

Rummaging through the drawers, he found a hat and a pair of woollen gloves that Beatrice had given him last winter. They weren't the most elegant set, but Ernest puts them in his bag anyway. Boston was very cold. Certainly, no piece of clothing would be too much. 

∭ 

No one dares to call it a farewell. It's a dinner at his London townhouse, like so many others.  

The seats at the massive table are not all occupied; however, the people who matter most to him are there. No one dares to mention the subject, even though it imposes itself on the room like a giant elephant.  

Dinner lingered between drawn-out conversations, as if this could slow down the inexorable march of time.  

Anyone who passes by on the street and sees the host escorting guests to the door would assume that it was an ordinary evening: bidding farewell, shaking hands with gentlemen, kissing hands with ladies… the whole ritual of good English politeness.  

When the young girl's turn arrives, the host stands with her hand in his, undecided on how to say goodbye.  

The young girl comes forward and kisses his cheek. If the passerby had been closer, he could have heard the girl whisper in his ear, ‘Who am I going to vex now?’  

A lot had happened between that first impression and that moment of goodbye. He would miss everyone so much. However, he would miss that ray of sunshine dearly.  

Much would certainly change in the coming years. Ernest would love to freeze that moment in time. The wheel of life that had denied him a little sister made up for it with such unexpected friendship. 

And that's how the E.P.W– The Edgewater Polo Weekend – started. Year, yes, year no, national and international polo stars gather in Edgewater on the first weekend of August to play several friendly matches for charity.

Even though the parade of stars attracts many visitors and delights the residents, the locals look forward to the final match between Edgewater and Ledford Park.

The immemorial friendship between the two estates is then forgotten during the time of the match. Each of the two estates teamed up with members of their respective families and staff to represent their colours. The losing estate had to offer the winners a fancy dinner on that Sunday and throw a party for the Moorfield community on the following weekend.

For years, Matthew Sinclaire and Vincent Foredale led their respective teams, providing an exciting spectacle for the audience. Matthew Sinclaire was an exceptionally good player, achieving many victories for Ledford Park. Nothing that would shake the friendship with Vincent. The two best friends soon bury the hatchet.

After the previous E.P.W, they had decided that the following year would be their last year as team leaders. Their children were now old enough to take over the reins, and they could just sit down and enjoy the excitement of the game.

Life's plot twists led to a change of plans. Without Matthew, Vincent felt there was no point in continuing as captain. Maybe a change would bring some luck to the house. Yet he delayed making a final decision until the last moment. After some pressure from Dominique at dinner, Vincent finally revealed his strategy for that year.

“As you already know, I decided to step down from the polo team leadership. It's time for others to shine. Edmund will arrive at short notice, but the morning training will be sufficient. I spoke to Prince Liam, and he agreed to be part of the team this year. He has been playing polo since he was a child, so he will be a great asset to us.”

Harry was so certain that his father's next sentence would be the announcement of him as the new captain of the team that he immediately began his 'thank you speech' before his father had finished speaking. “It'll be an honour, father. I will do everything I can to bring the cup to Edgewater.”

“What do you mean it's going to be Luke?” Henrietta’s shrill indignation drowned out Harry's voice. And made him fall off his pedestal.

“Father, that’s ridiculous! It should be me, or at least Edmund! It's going to be a humiliation! I'm a skilful player! You've said it yourself many times! I can do this!”

Beatrice already knew about her father's decision. Luke was so happy, he couldn't resist telling her. She was so proud of him that she couldn't hide the joy in her eyes. Seeing Henrietta and Harry completely freaked out also amused her. Her little joy ignited her brother's anger even more.

“I'm sure your dear daughter had something to do with this absurd decision!” Harry spoke in an accusatory tone.

“It's not my fault that he's a better rider and player than you. Stop blaming me for everything bad that's happened to you!” Beatrice protested.

“Enough, Harry! Calm yourself now! You no longer have five years to throw a tantrum every time you have some frustration. It's time for you to start controlling your temper.” Dominique imposed order.

“Thank you, mother.” Vincent resumed speaking. “You are, without a doubt, a good player, Harry. Although friendly, it is still a competition. A competition we haven't been winning lately. I have to think about what's best for the team. Luke is very experienced. With him as captain, you, Edmund, and Liam can easily knock them off their horse. In addition to my interest in winning, this is a lesson for my two children present here: often, what is best for the family, for the business, to fulfil our duty... whatever it may be... will not always be what we would like it to be. It may require us to sacrifice our personal preferences, our comfort, our feelings... or our pride.”

Harry and Henrietta continued to sulk throughout dinner.

After dinner, the whole house could hear that the discussion had a second act in the bureau. “I don't understand your obsession with this boy, Vincent. Sometimes it seems like you are prouder of him than of your own son! Unless there's anything else I should know about him... After her, I fear anything is possible.”

“I will not give you the pleasure of arguing with you, Henrietta.” The Earl replied calmly. “The rules do not prohibit him from playing. On the contrary, they encourage the inclusion of everyone. Because Edgewater wouldn't be standing if it weren't for people like the Harpers and others who have helped us for so many years. Furthermore, my decisions always had in mind what was best for the family. Sometimes they are convenient for you; sometimes they are not. Too bad. Many of them haven't made me happy, either. Despite what you might think, it’s not just about increasing our chances of winning. I'm going to take this opportunity to teach children a lesson: in life, it doesn't matter how good we are at doing or knowing or how much we deserve something. There will always be the risk of someone surpassing us or taking what we think belongs to us. Frustration, if not tamed, is dangerous and only makes us and those we love unhappy. Adolescence is our last chance to do that.”

“If all this were with her, you would be milder.” Henrietta was quick to accuse.

“You never get tired of arguing, do you?” Vincent frowned

++++++++

“I just wish you could have seen their faces..." Beatrice laughed as she spoke to Luke on the phone, telling him what had happened at dinner. “She's still torturing my father over it.” Entering her room, Beatrice saw Briar curled up on her bed. Sunny was cuddled up to her. I have a situation here, Luke... I'll text you later. Love you.” Beatrice hung up the call. “What happened, Briar? Are you sick? Did Henrietta pick on you?”

Briar didn't say a word, but she started crying profusely. Beatrice laid in bed next to her and held her friend’s hand. After letting her cry for a couple of minutes, Beatrice insisted again, “Did you argue with your mother? Someone hurt you? Please say something, Briar!”

“Edmund...” Briar tried to explain herself between sobs. “He must have found out what happened between Arthur and me... He doesn't answer my calls, doesn't reply to my texts... I am a horrible girlfriend... I am a horrible person!”

“Briar, look at me! First, he has no way of knowing; second, he must be very busy getting things ready to arrive on the weekend; third, that's your guilty conscience talking.”

“If this is true, call him to see if he answers your call or not.” Briar sniffed.

"No, I'm not going to call him. I will not feed your fears. Edmund will arrive in a couple of days, and everything will be sorted out! We already have it all planned out, remember?” Beatrice embraced her.

Briar continued to whine. Sunny licked his face. Briar couldn't help but let out a small smile.

“He might even be my favourite brother. However, no matter what happens, you are my sister forever. I will always be by your side.” Beatrice reassured her friend. “Did I tell you Liam is arriving tomorrow?” Beatrice changed the subject to try to cheer Briar up.

“Luke isn't upset about Liam coming to play?” Briar followed the topic change.

“Luke finally understood that Liam is not a threat to him, at least as far as my heart is concerned. In fact, he was quite pleased that Liam is an experienced player. It seems that the testosterone desire for to win is stronger than any possible little jealousy.”

Briar, although still sniffling, smiled at her friend's observations. Beatrice kissed her head. “There are times when I start to think that guys aren't worth the troubles they cause us, so enough of the boys for now. We have to decide what to wear on the weekend!”

++++++++

Although Prince Liam's presence required strict security measures, it was always an exciting time for the Edgewater’s residents.

His presence, along with the last-minute preparations, made Edmund's arrival almost go unnoticed.

Beatrice almost didn’t see him when they passed each other on the stair

“I expected everyone to ignore me, except you, little button,” Edmund teased.

“Eddie!” Beatrice hugged him so tightly that Edmund nearly lost his balance. “I have missed you so much!”

“Liar! You have been having a lot of fun this summer.” He pretended to pout. 

“Yes, I have, but I missed my favourite brother, anyway!”

“I’ve missed you too.” He kissed her head.

“Have you seen Briar? She's been helping Pavarti all day to finish grandmother's and your mother's clothes ... I'll tell her you've arrived!”

“Don’t!” It was almost a shout. “I mean … I will see her later.” 

Beatrice found his request odd, so she texted Briar to prepare her friend for the reunion.

From the top of the stairs, she saw Ernest heading for the exit.

“Ready to lose, Sinclaire?” She called him from the banister. 

“You are very confident of victory.” He turned around. “However, you are not the only one with aces up your sleeve this year.” As he said this, her father appeared, accompanied by a young man, with a pronounced Scottish accent. Beatrice recognised in him some of Ernest's traits. Nevertheless, the guy looked like he was out of one of those Karen Ranney novel covers: tall, well-built, and with long untameable hair. “May I present to you Mr MacKilligan?” Beatrice detected his teasing tone. “James is my cousin and esteemed member of the Edinburgh Polo Club.”

“Nice to meet you, sir. Welcome to Edgewater.” 

“You have such a lovely daughter, my Lord. My pleasure, my lady.”

Beatrice turned red. No wonder Ernest was in the mood to brag. She was already imagining that wall knocking down the Edgewater boys.

++++++++

In the morning, Beatrice went to the kitchen to look for Briar but only found Pavarti and two maids finishing breakfast.

“Where is Briar?”

"She wasn't feeling well in the morning. I let her sleep in.” Pavarti said.

They had agreed to help with the boys' polo training. Although she was not a fan of horses, Briar would not miss the opportunity to support Edmund. There was something wrong.

Later that morning, Beatrice went to Daly's cottage. When no one answered the door, Beatrice entered through a window. He found Briar lying on the bed, staring into space.

“Briar...Briar?” Beatrice had to call several times.

“Leave me alone... no, stay here... you'd better go away.” Her voice was almost imperceptible, and her speech was incoherent.

Beatrice checked her forehead. That wasn't normal for her. She was almost ice cold. “I'll call your mother...and a doctor. I'll also tell Edmund to come as soon as he can.”

“Don't call anyone, least of all him.”

Beatrice couldn't believe her ears. “What happened, Briar?”

“It’s over, Bea...”

“What do you mean? Did you talk about what happened? Did he dump you?”

“We didn't exactly get to talk about anything.” Briar swallowed her tears. “After you texted me, we went to Henrietta's quarters to deliver clothes. He was there and ignored me, not even a smile, but I thought he was just being discreet as usual. Later in the night, I went to his room... I wanted to surprise him... I took Ladoo. He loves them... I thought a sweet treat might help a difficult conversation. I knocked on the door with our special signal.” Briar could no longer hold back her tears. “He didn't open it... I insisted, and finally he did, but then he…”

“Did he insult you? Hurt you?” Beatrice was very worried about what she was hearing.

“Worse.” Briar sobbed. “Edmund sent me away.”

“Are you sure you understood well? Wouldn’t he just be tired from the trip?” Briar nodded. “Did he say anything else? Did Edmund hint that he knew something? Did he explicitly say he was breaking up with you?”

“I… I barely heard his words. Do you think he met someone in Spain, Bea? I know I have a couple of flaws, but he does have some issues as well…”

“Briar, focus on my question. Try to remember. What did he say?”

“He said something like, 'From now on, for me, you'll just be my sister's friend. It's better this way. Sorry.' Then he closed the door in my face.”

“That is very strange! There must be an explanation for this!” Beatrice thought for some time while Briar cried in her arms. “Until Sunday, I'll try to find out what happened. Until then, try to pull yourself together a little, so your mother doesn't suspect anything.”

At lunch, Beatrice never took her eyes off Edmund. He had a guilty, embarrassed look, barely looking at people. Interestingly, Harry also seemed particularly attentive to Edmund's every gesture.

Unfortunately, Beatrice didn't have time to investigate. After lunch, her father rushed her to get ready to accompany him to the players' reception, along with Henrietta and her grandmother. The Dowager Countess could not hide her enthusiasm. The excited Cordonian teenager inside her nearly jumped out of the demure countess's skin.

The teahouse served an outdoor afternoon tea in the main square.

Biting into random finger sandwiches, Beatrice couldn't stop thinking about Briar and her brother. It wasn't possible that in a couple of summer months his feelings could have changed so much. There was no way anyone could have the power to snatch him away like Briar did.

Beatrice was thinking of different strategies to extract the truth from her brother when she felt a pair of cold hands cover her eyes.

“Are you still not a lady?”

She recognised Bart's voice in her ear. “Not yet, Mr Chambers.” Beatrice laughed. “Are you here for the parties, the players or the horses?”

“I'm here at the invitation of my friend Ernest. I'm playing for the Ledford Park team on Sunday. Don't look at me so sceptically; as an Etonian, I'm obviously a decent polo player. Furthermore, I was a substitute player in the Cambridge University Polo Club. I didn't play many times, but my name is there in the records for posterity. And we have Andrew, the Ledford Park gardener, who only didn't become a professional player because he had a car accident at the time of the recruitment.”

“We'll see about that on Sunday.” She smiled. “I'm surprised your team captain doesn't put you through intensive training. I’m seeing he has several aces up his sleeve this year.”

“First of all, he thinks I'm working out and not here stuffing myself with mini sweets. Second, he is distracted today, catching up with his cousin. Have you met him?”

“Yes. He passed by Edgewater with him. I saw some Scottish relatives at the funeral, but I don't remember this one. To be honest, they all looked the same to me, but with different ages.”

“Let’s say they are the Scottish version of the Hemsworth brothers. James is Ernest’s mother’s nephew and godson. He’s the closest to him, despite what happened.”

“What happened?” Bart aroused Beatrice's curiosity.

"I thought you knew the story... Maybe I shouldn't gossip.”

“Don’t do this to me! You are dying to tell me, Bart!”

“Well, according to the information I got from Mrs Lewis, Ernest's mother was a promising researcher at the University of Glasgow. Your father wanted to attend a conference about Celtic Culture, at which Lydia was one of the speakers, and dragged Mr Sinclaire to Glasgow.  To please his friend, Mr Sinclaire attended the conferences. Despite not being particularly interested in the topic, Mr Sinclaire loved listening to Lydia talk about it. ‘It was as if she made those tribes rise from the ashes of the past.’ Legend says these were his words.”  Bart added some drama to the narrative with his gestures and facial expressions. “At first, Matthew thought Lydia would be a good match for Vincent. Nevertheless, since your father wasn't very good at flirting, Mr Sinclaire thought it was a good idea he approach her first to prepare the ground. However, Cupid had other plans. Matthew was so enchanted with her that he fell in love that night. Ernest's mother was the only girl in a crowd of brothers and cousins, so they were very protective of her. And, as you know, Ernest’s father had a reputation that appeared in all tabloids. So, as you can imagine, he was not an easy courtship. Besides, Lydia's fire wasn't only in her hair.” He pointed his finger at her. “Mark my words, Miss Foredale, they will be important to understand what comes next. She was not a woman to submit to any man's whims, so Lydia demanded Matthew change his rakish behaviour. Which he did, to the astonishment of all who knew him.   Even so, the family was still not thrilled with the relationship. Lydia's grandfather threatened Mr Sinclaire with a rifle once because of it.  They wanted her to choose between them and Mr. Sinclaire. Hurt with their intransigent attitude, Lydia left Scotland and moved to Ledford Park. They considered it a scandal and cut ties with her. Before getting married, she tried to make peace, but without success.”

“I hope there is a reconciliation somewhere in the story.” Beatrice interrupted him.

“Yes, there is. But that's when the plot thickens. Do you think it was all motivated by fraternal feelings? Not exactly, my dear, Beatrice. The world of traditional families is full of skeletons in the closet and guided by interests.”

“Do tell.” Beatrice smiled.

“Lydia's brothers had many debts, and the property where Lydia had grown up was pawned by the bank. When Mr Sinclaire bought it, they changed their mind. That's when Lydia baptised her nephew. James is a couple of years older than Ernest.”

“That’s quite a soap opera. But who am I to speak? My family's plot is also intricate, to say the least.”

“But there are those who say there is still more.  I have never been able to confirm this information, but some say that her family was disappointed when our friend Ernest was born.”

“Why?”

“The Sinclaires had fertility problems, and her family assumed that the godson could become a potential heir...”

“After everything she was through... they had some nerve!” Beatrice was indignant.

“As you may imagine, Mr Sinclaire never forgot how much Lydia suffered from their tantrums. And since her death, there has been an estrangement. Neither Ernest nor his father has been to the castle for years. I confess I was surprised when Ernest invited him.”

Completely oblivious to where he was and what he was doing, Edmund took a place next to them.

“Ready to get your ass kicked on Sunday, Eddie?” Bart teased his friend, but Edmund didn't seem to hear him. “Earth to Edmund Marlcaster?” Nada.

Beatrice signalled to Bart that she wanted to be alone with her brother. Bart grabbed a handful of canapés and walked away.

Beatrice took the mini quiche from her brother's hand to wake him up.

“Hey! There are plenty of those!”

“Good, I have your attention now, Mr Marlcaster. Have you been with Miss Daly since you arrived?”

“No … I haven't had the chance yet.” Edmund looked away.

“Please don't lie to me, Eddie. Something happened. Whatever it was, it can't be worse than Briar lying in bed, sick because of you.”

“Is she sick?” There was genuine concern in his eyes. “That is horrible; I didn't want any of this, but it's better this way. One pain to avoid many.”

“No. I barely had time to sleep; the more I think about someone other than her Please don't get involved in this, Beatrice.”

“I'm not going to see two people I love make the biggest mistake of their lives and sit idly by!”

“Don't insist, Bea. Maybe it wasn't meant to work out anyway.”

Beatrice despaired. “Damn it, Edmund! It was just a kiss between two drunk people; it meant nothing! It's not a case of you doing all this drama and breaking your heart and hers!”

“A kiss? What are you talking about?”

“Shit!” Beatrice covered her mouth in panic.

“What are you talking about, Beatrice?”

“I am so sorry, Eddie, you weren't supposed to find out like this … Briar wanted to tell you in person.” The panic made her start to cry. She was already foreseeing the damage she had caused. Briar would be furious, and her brother... this time things would end badly, and it was all her fault.

Confused, Edmund took her to a quieter place. “You have no idea what she's been through because of this mistake, Edmund. She is so afraid of losing you.”

“Who was the guy? Do I know him?” Edmund was a mix of disappointment and anger.

“That's the least important thing right now. Tell me then, if that wasn't it, why are you doing this to her?”

“Was it the one with some circus artist? Prince Leo was here and seduced her during a motorcycle ride? I know, it was Thomas from the dry cleaners! I noticed how he's been looking at her lately!”

“Edmund, forget your silly male pride for five seconds and tell me what's going on!”

“I… She...They...if we keep this up, Briar and Mrs Daly will be in trouble. Harry blackmailed me.”

“What? How so? Why?”

“Somehow, Harry found out about us. He knows that our mother and grandmother won't like it. My mother wouldn't rest until she got them out of here.”

“Our father would also have a say in this. I don't believe papa would kick them out because of it.”

“Even if our father intervened, you know Mrs Daly. She would rather leave Edgewater.”

“I would like to say no, but yes, there would be a strong possibility of that happening.” Beatrice sighed.

“If Briar stays here, with a clean record, she might have a better future. I heard grandmother several times say that Briar is very talented and is considering paying for her education.”

“I heard her praise Briar, but I didn't know she meant it that way. That's fantastic!”

“Now do you understand my reasons? I don't want to take any risks with her future. She deserves the world.”

“What did you say to Harry?”

“I tried to deny it, but it was no use. After the blackmail itself, Harry added that he was doing me a favour because she isn’t being honest with me. He even hinted that she was with me out of interest. Do you think he was referring to what Briar… to what Briar wanted to tell me?”

“I don't know, but I know that before you made that decision, you should have talked to Briar first. Don't you think she has a say in this? It was a decision to be made together. It’s her feelings and life we are talking about. If you tell her what you told me, maybe you can find a way.”

“It’ll be more painful in the first few days, but over time, she'll forget about us. I'm also going to spend less and less time here. It wouldn't be fair to keep her stuck with me.”

“God give me patience … There's still the audacity to say that women are complicated. Do you love her or not?”

“I do, madly!”

“So, at least, talk to her! She deserves an explanation!”

“It’s not so easy…” Edmund exhaled.

“You guys are so...obtuse!” Beatriz snorted and left her brother alone mulling over the events.

That evening, Beatrice passed by Daly's cottage.

She found Briar curled up in bed. She knew she should tell Briar that she exposed her secret, but she was lacking the courage.  Then she went straight to executing her idea. “I got to talk to Edmund alone today.” Briar didn't react. Despite her slip-up with the secret, Beatrice was determined to end that madness. “After much insistence, he opened up to me. There is an explanation for this. Something happened that made him act like that.” Beatrice needed to convince her, but she didn't want to make the same mistake a second time.

“He met a girl in Spain, didn't he? Bastard!” Briar sniffed.

“No. Edmund remains madly in love with you. But someone got in the way.”

“Let me guess: his mother found him a rich girlfriend, and he couldn't say no? It wouldn't be the first time. She even tried to push Donna Sutton into his arms. Honestly, I should have guessed that one day he wouldn't be able to handle the pressure.” Briar sounded angry.

“It's nothing like that. It's even more convoluted, believe me. However, you'd better hear from him.”

“Even I wanted to… Which I don’t know I do… That is going to be hard with him running away from me.”

“I have an idea to make him take the first step.” Beatrice opened Briar's wardrobe and took out the box of her lehenga. Opening that box always took Beatrice's breath away. It was like opening a treasure chest. Mrs Daly had ordered the exquisite fabric from India. Mother and daughter had sewn it together for special occasions. And the EPW party would be a special occasion. “He won't be able to remain indifferent when he sees you wearing this. In fact, I don't think anyone will.”

“My mother won't let me.”

“Say it was my father who asked you to dress it to please the Indian guests.” Beatrice hoped that a little jealousy would unlock Edmund.

+++++++

Saturday morning, Beatrice went very early to the polo field. Her father gave her permission to take behind-the-scenes photos for the family archive.

Paying attention to the people beyond the lenses, Beatrice didn't notice that someone had approached until she felt a pair of hands rest on her shoulders.

“Good morning, Miss Foredale. What a beautiful sight in the morning!” Beatrice almost dropped the camera when she recognised the voice of the creepy Duke Richards.

“What are you doing here so early in the morning, Your Grace?” Beatrice tried to hide her fright.

He smiled widely, with a fake sweetness. Tristan leaned over the fence so he was face to face with her. She could feel his breath touch her skin. “You don’t need to be so formal with me. We're not exactly strangers, you and I.” Meeting his grey eyes, Beatrice noticed a hint of something much darker that sent a shiver down her spine. “To answer your question, I'm here with my players.” Tristan took a strand of her hair and tucked it behind her ear. Beatrice wanted to step back, but she felt paralysed.

“Your players?” Her voice trembled slightly.

“I bought a polo team a few months ago.” He explained with vanity.

“I see …Congratulations are in order then.”  Beatrice turned her focus to the weekend's protagonists. She thought her evasive answer would drive him away. Despite Beatrice trying to ignore him, he began pointing at the players, talking about them like a farmer bragging about his cattle. Not only did he not move away, but she felt him getting closer; his hand lowered to her waist. Although uncomfortable, she did not want to be unpleasant. If grandmother knew she was somehow less polite to him, it would be a problem. She faked an unnecessarily loud and inelegant sneeze to get him to back off. It worked. Beatrice soon took advantage of the moment to move away a little more.

“I can see that you are very... passionate about your team, knowing all these technical details about the players.”

“I am, but I have other passions. Some are much more intense.”

Feeling his eyes on her, Beatrice pulled her denim jacket tighter around her body. “I have my share of passion for sports, but it bothers me that the pleasure of the game is often tainted by money. The players are not cattle.”

“And yet, some belonged among them.” Tristan said, seeing some black players passing in front of them.

“Good to hear, because I have found more honour among beasts than among most men I have known. Have a nice day, Your Grace.”

She climbed up into the stands to take some photos from a higher perspective. People were beginning to arrive at the field.  Zooming the lens, Beatrice saw through the magical glass an image that warmed her heart and would remain engraved in her heart: her father, Edmund, Luke and Ernest, all the men she loved, chatting excitedly, oblivious to her gaze. Click!

(Later that morning)

After a quick outfit change, Beatrice rushed back for family photos for the press. Luckily the dress wasn't long, and she pretended not to see the high heel sandals her grandmother had left in the bedroom for her. Since the hairstyle was done in a hurry, it fell apart before she reached the stage. The blush on her cheeks didn't disappear in time for the photo, either.

“What do I do with you, girl?” Dominique sighed and discreetly straightened her loose hair.

“Since our traditional education methods are not working, perhaps we should start using horse training techniques. She already spends so much time among them anyway…” Henrietta groaned.

“Briar didn't do your hair?” Edmund asked, barely above the whisper.

Coincidence or not, they noticed Harry's gaze fixed on them.

“She is still sick.” Beatrice replied dryly.

“I hope it's not contagious, since there are people who don't know how to keep their distance.”  Harry said through gritted teeth, but loud enough for them to hear.

Beatrice pinched her brother's arm hard.

“Ouch! What is your idea?!”

“My idea was to do much worse, which is what you deserve!”

After the press photographs, they headed to the stands reserved for the family. Beatrice could hardly believe it when she saw Richard Tristan join them.

“Who does this guy think he is? He is not on his lands.” Beatrice muttered.

“He considers himself practically royalty.” Her father had heard her. “Your grandmother went ahead and invited him. However, he is not a good influence or company for anyone. Come, sit next to me, my dear.”

From her spot, Beatrice saw Ernest and James weaving through the crowd. However, a couple of minutes later, only Ernest's cousin arrived.

“My cousin apologises for missing the first game. There was a problem with the works back home, and he needed to come back to Ledford Park.” James apologised.

“I hope it is nothing serious.” Vincent smiled, guiding him to the spot next to Harry. He returned to his seat beside her.

“Ernest had just gracefully escaped from the Duke's company. Perhaps we too can think of a graceful excuse to withdraw.” Beatrice whispered. Looking closely, she noticed his worry lines appear on the face.

 “I hope it's just because of him.” Vincent exchanged a few text messages with someone, and his expression softened.

“Is everything alright, papa?”

“Can you keep a secret?” He sighed. Beatrice nodded. “Mrs Lewis and I have been conspiring to get Ernest closer to his Scottish side. It was Mrs Lewis who suggested that Ernest invite him over for the weekend.”

“Why? Weren't they close before?” Beatrice pretended not to know what had happened, hoping that his father would confirm what Bart had said. Unfortunately for her curiosity, her father was more selective in the information he gave.

“Lydia's family initially didn't like the marriage; there were misunderstandings along the way. Mathew had his reasons, but the resentment has always been one of his major defects. He didn't have the right to limit his son's contact with his mother's family. We'll always be here for him, but … We think it would do him good to restore those relationships.”

“So, you were worried because you thought he didn't come to avoid spending more time with his cousin?”

“Yes. Mrs. Lewis confirmed to me that there was indeed a problem at home, something between the workers and the architect. He also said they were talking late last night. I think our plan is working.” Vincent smiled.

The match was about to start. Henrietta's laugh caught her attention. She and the duke seemed to be engrossed in conversation. What could Henrietta have so much to talk to him about?

+++++

Following tradition, Edgewater Gardens was opened to all for the Sunday lunch picnic. Tourists, Moorfield residents and players were spread out across the gardens, enjoying the end of summer.

After much persuasion, Briar got out of bed and went. However, she chose not to have lunch with the Foredale family as usual.

Edmund avoided looking where she was, but his longing betrayed his determination.  Beatrice noticed in Edmund's eyes that it was as if a crack opened in his heart every time their gazes met.

Harry was watching Edmund's movements closely. She could accept the vendetta Harry had with her, but Beatrice couldn't accept that he was upsetting two innocent people. She wanted to shove his face in the pie.

Harry seemed to sense her anger. “Is everything okay, sister?” He asked, making an angelic look.

Beatrice didn't even respond, stuffing a slice of quiche in her mouth.

Beatrice and Luke slipped away for a few minutes to have some alone time.

“Have I told you how dashing you look in that outfit?” Beatrice blushed, toying with the Edgewater emblem on his equipment. “I love to see you in blue and gold.” She felt him uneasy. “Relax, my love. In the end, it's just a game between friends.”

“You know your father and grandmother take this very seriously. If the result is not what they expect …” He was more nervous than she had ever seen him for any competition.

“You are not the only player. If you lose, it will be everyone's fault. Don't put that weight on your shoulders. Even if that happens, no one will think less of you because of it.” Beatrice kissed him. “You can do this. No one beats you on a horse.” She kissed him again.

Luke deepened the kiss, pressing her against his body. Beatrice's fingers ran around his head. Her touch has always relaxed him.

“You will always be my no 1.” She whispered in his ear, alluding to her shirt number.

They heard a discreet throat clearing. It was Earl.

“I know this kind of moral support is important, but can I steal the captain for 5 minutes? I would like to give some final advice to the team.”

“Of course, Papa.” Beatrice blushed.

“In my office in five minutes, please.”

After the Earl turned his back, the couple stole a few more kisses.

As usual, after lunch, the crowd walked down to the field. It was time for the most anticipated game of the weekend.

Beatrice wanted to do a photo shoot with the boys getting ready for the match, but Luke advised against it, fearing it would stress the horses.

Arriving at the field, Beatrice separated from her family, taking Briar with her.  She would sit in the front stands to take pictures of the match.

It was a buzzing atmosphere with the excitement of the crowd, the sound of horses in the distance … it was like Ascot in miniature.

Busy adjusting the camera tripod, Beatrice didn't notice the duke’s sneaky arrival. These unwanted apparitions were getting under her skin. “Such delicate skin shouldn't be exposed to the sun like this.” He took off the Panama hat he had on his head and put it on hers.

“I'm used to the outdoors, but thank you.” Beatrice forced a delicate response.

“I know so. However, your skin is naturally more delicate than your friend's, for example.”  Tristan looked at Briar. “I can't wait to see the photographs.”

“As much as I love photography, the best shot is always in our memory. Don't take your eyes off the match.”

“You can believe I won't take them off. I bet a considerable sum on Edgewater.” Tristan smiled.

“This is wonderful! That's very generous of you!” There was a slight hint of irony in her voice, which confused Duke. “Have you chosen the charity that will receive your contribution?”

Noting that he clearly had no idea what Beatrice was talking about, Briar took the occasion to poke fun at him. “As your highness may know, only 10% of the prize goes to the winners. The remainder is donated to a charity of your choice.”

He tried not to lose his composure. “Of course I know! That's exactly why I made a point of betting such an amount. Actually, I was wondering if you had any suggestions.”

“Most will give to charities for children and the elderly, which is always praiseworthy. However, you could use your position to call attention to other issues. My father has worked recently with ‘Migrant Help’. They help people affected by displacement and exploitation. It's a shame in this country that these people are often overlooked out of pure prejudice, don't you think?” Beatrice teased him.

“It sounds like a noble cause. I will give it a thought.” He forced a smile and walked away.

“This guy is disgusting.” Briar remarked.

“I'm sick of putting up with him this weekend.” Beatrice vented.

“Don't you think this will be your grandmother's scheme? Since her plan with Liam didn't work out …”

“He must be about thirty years old. It could almost be my father. I don't think my grandmother would plan such a thing.”

While they were still talking, Felicity and Donna walked over. Donna quickened her pace to meet Briar and Beatrice.

“This is so exciting! I can't wait to see Prince Liam play in his uniform! Have you imagined how good his butt will look wearing it?” Donna whispered the last sentence, giggling. “Besides, he must be an excellent player like all princes! Wouldn't it be great if your dad could convince Prince William or Harry to play? You have to tell him to invite them, Beatrice!” Donna chattered happily. “The rules are a little confusing, but any opportunity to see hot guys sweating is a good one, don't you think, Briar?”

Briar replied with something indecipherable since her mind was far away.

“Never mind, Donna, she's been sick this weekend.” Beatrice excused her.

“This is horrible! It should be illegal to get sick on this weekend, don't you think, Felicity?” Felicity had just arrived at them in her elegant cocktail-inspired dress, expensive high heels and vintage sunglasses.

Facing her, Beatrice had a self-conscious moment. There wasn’t a rigorous dress code for the EPW, but comparing her flowy floral dress to Felicity's, the young girl felt dull.

As she passed Beatrice, Felicity almost knocked over the camera tripod.

“Maybe you'd better take off your glasses and watch where you're going, Felicity!” Beatrice didn't let her get away with it.

“I wasn’t expecting you here.” Felicity gave a disdainful smile.

“Beatrice has been photographing the event for the family archives. That's why she's not in the box with her family.” Donna explained innocently.

“Given the amount of time she spends in the stables, she would be best served in a box among the horses today. Come on, Donna. I will wish Ernest good luck.”

“Bitch!” Briar grunted.

The players paraded onto the field. The Edgewater team passed by where they were. Briar looked down as Edmund passed, pretending to look at her phone. Edmund looked away, embarrassed.

“Is the lehenga ready for the party?” Beatrice asked, noticing what had just happened.

“I don't know if I'm going to the party, much less if I want to...impress him. If he doesn't want me, I won't crawl to him either.”

As much as Beatrice wanted to bring them back together, she understood how Briar felt at the moment. She knew she had no right to force anything. “It’s fine, Briar.” Beatrice smiled and held her hand. “Do what you think is best. I'll have your back.”

The players gathered in the middle for a few minutes of exhibitionism while they were introduced. From a distance, seeing the boys wearing boots, white pants and helmets on top of the horses, they looked like toy soldiers. Briar pointed out that the pants were so tight they looked like ballerinas, but she wasn't unhappy with the view.

Those who were there for aesthetic purposes were divided, not knowing whether to sigh for the blond prince with blue eyes or for the Scottish lord.

Although both families were beloved in the region, the conversations in the air and the colours of the clothes revealed each other's preferences.

Beatrice zoomed in on the camera to capture the first images, shooting them one by one. It was hard to admit, but her heart was divided. She wanted Edgewater's victory (and Luke's glory) with all her might. However, Beatrice knew it would be good for Ernest to have that joy. He deserved it after so much suffering in the last few months.

After showing off, the two teams lined up facing each other in the centre of the field. At Earl's signal, the first chukka started.

From the first second, the noise of the horses, the mallets hitting the ball, and the captains shouting instructions take the public to another world.

At the end of the first chukka, neither team had scored a goal. Edmund had nearly fallen off his horse defending a last-second attempt by Ernest's cousin, making Briar's heart stop for a moment.

After the three-minute break, at Dominique's voice, they started the second chukka.

They moved quickly and nimbly. The mix of red and blue shirts made it sometimes difficult to say who had control of the ball. Or even distinguish the players from the horses.

Harry was so determined to take the ball away from James that he ended up committing a foul for riding at a higher speed than him. Edmund was furious, shouting at his brother. Luke and Liam had to tell him to shut up so they wouldn't risk another foul.

Ledford's team was awarded a penalty, and James took the opportunity to score a goal that took the public's breath away.

As the rules obliged, the teams switched sides, and the match continued. It was impossible to take the eyes off the match without risking missing something important.

For a couple of minutes, the crowd was in suspense, watching Ernest and Luke fight for possession of the ball. The mallets looked like two knights. It was impossible to tell where the ball was, as it was always changing hands. The hypnotic dance was interrupted by the sound of breaking wood.

Ernest's mallet had broken in two, scaring the horses. Despite the skill of both, the horses got tangled up in each other, causing Ernest and Luke to fall.

Beatrice gasped. She tried to jump the fence, but Briar grabbed her by the dress. “You're not going anywhere. First aid is already rushing there.”

Fortunately, they were both already standing when the doctor and nurse arrived. Through the lens, Beatrice saw them disinfecting some scratches. Earl gave the order to change horses and resume the match.

However, it still took some time before Beatrice stopped shaking. She didn't even want to think about the possibility that something bad had happened to either of them.

During halftime, the Earl offered champagne and invited the spectators to walk across the field to stomp divots. It was a churned mess from the horses and from the mallet's force hitting the ball. The first time she saw it, Beatrice found it strange. Noticing the confusion in her eyes, her father explained to her at the time, “Pressing the divots into the ground prevents falls and injury during play and allows the ball to travel farther and with more accuracy.”

As amusing as pressing the divots was, it was comical observing all the adults having fun doing it like it was a children's play. Even Henrietta seemed to be enjoying herself.

Looking around, she saw Felicity talking to Duke Richards. She was so distracted strutting for the duke that she didn't notice that her heel had gotten stuck in a hole. As she lifted her other foot to stomp the next divot, Felicity lost her balance, fell to the ground and spilt the champagne all over the Duke.

Everyone who saw it couldn't help but smile, at least. As for Tristan, he didn't even bother helping Felicity, annoyed by the champagne stains on his clothes.

It was two boys from Moorfield who helped her up and took her to the emergency room.

A few minutes later, the match resumed.

By the end of the last chukka, the teams were tied.

rom the bleachers, Beatrice could feel the tension and frustration of the players.

They took a 10-minute break to rest and switch horses.

Beatrice snuck out to see Luke. He was giving the team a motivational speech and proposing a new strategy.  Luke was a quiet boy most of the time, but when he had to take on the role of leader, he was fascinating to watch. Even Harry was listening willingly.

Her boys were playing very well, but the Ledford Park team was putting on a brilliant demonstration. Ernest and his cousin may not be best friends yet, but they were a fantastic duo. Even Bart was a better player than he let on. However, obviously, she wasn't going to share those impressions with her boys.

After letting him finish, Beatrice hugged Luke from behind and planted a discreet kiss on his neck. “It has been a brilliant match, my love.”

“Careful, Bea, I'm dirty and sweaty.” He turned around to face her.

“After being with you covered in horse poop, this doesn't scare me.” She laughed. Luke leaned in for a kiss, but Beatrice placed the water bottle between them. “Hydration first.”  He pretended to be sulking, but he drank all the water. The bottle had barely left his lips when Beatrice took them.

“This was much more refreshing than drinking a whole fountain.” Luke caressed her face. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Liam had to call them back to reality. The match will resume.

The Earl was on the field and invited Beatrice to draw lots for choosing the method of breaking the tie, using a gold coin that Dominique, a local jeweller, had made. ‘S.D’ face for “Sudden Death” and ‘S.O’ for “Shoot-out”.

All eyes were fixed on her, expectant. Both teams feared either of them. For the public, any of them was a promise of an exciting show. Beatrice tossed the coin. Nervous, she didn't even look at the result. It was the referee who announced that the tiebreaker would be done through the “Shoot-out”.

Everyone on the field trembled. Although theoretically a faster method (and equally fair in every way), it was treacherous for the players.

Luck chose Edgewater to start with. Each captain chose the first to attempt a free hit. Luke chose Liam. Positioned on the 40-yard line, facing the undefended goal. Beatrice felt like her heart had stopped while Liam wasn’t touching the ball. After a fraction of a second, the ball went in, causing an explosion of joy.

Following the rules, each player in turn, and alternating teams, tried their luck. The tie continued. On both teams, two players scored and one missed. It was thrilling yet unnerving at the same time.

The end of the story was in the captains’ hands.

“And what if they still tie?” Briar asked nervously, biting her nails.

“Our rules say there is another ten-minute break, and then the first team to score wins.” Her heart didn't know what to wish for.

It was Ernest's turn. He looked at the goal with absolute concentration. The audience was completely silent. When the mallet hit the ball, it sounded like a bang. In the first few seconds, it almost looked like he had scored, but he missed by a couple of centimetres.

A chorus of disappointed sighs echoed across the field, but she could hear Ernest screaming inwardly.

It was now Luke's turn. He glanced in her direction before preparing to hit the ball, and Beatrice placed her hand over her heart. It was their secret signal. As usual, Luke gave the ball three light taps and hit it hard. The ball triumphantly entered the goal, triggering an explosion of joy. Briar and others who were nearby clung to Beatrice, jumping and screaming in celebration. Beatrice's heart leaped with joy on one side, but it was tight on the other.

Beatrice wanted to go get the Edgewater boys, but she wanted to take some pictures first.

Disentangling herself from them, she returned to her spot. Before taking some photos, her eyes lay on Ernest for a few moments. She knew him well enough to know that he was extremely frustrated but was controlling himself so as not to lose his composure. He took off his helmet. His hair looked darker from sweat, and the curls were all dishevelled, sticking to his forehead and face. In spite of dating an athlete, she never understood the allure of 'hot, sweaty guys', as Donna had mentioned. However, this image of Ernest made her feel something different inside her for a moment. Like a bee sting, which is intense but soon passes.

Briar took the camera to the podium, and Beatrice jumped the fence to join the players.

She was running towards the Edgewater team, but her heart told her to take a detour.

“Congratulations, gentlemen! You played in a way that would make yesterday's professionals jealous.”

“I warned you not to underestimate the Eton boys.” Bart winked at her.

She wanted to say something nice to them, especially to Ernest, but Earl was calling her. “I have to go. See you on the podium.”

Reunited with the Edgewater team, Beatrice hugged them all.

“Don't feel embarrassed because I'm here. Our captain deserves the kiss of victory.” The Earl smiled.

Luke lifted her into the air, and Beatrice wasted no time in kissing him properly. "Congratulations, my love. I knew you were the only one capable of giving us this joy."

“It was a team effort. Together we are very good.” Luke replied slightly awkwardly.

“Luke’s cool head from the competitions helped us stay focused. Our combined forces worked very well.” Harry admitted, to the astonishment of those present

After a few minutes to compose themselves, the teams headed to the podium.

As planned, Henrietta and Dominique handed out the second-place medals. Beatrice followed them with the medals’ boxes. Bart was very excited, and both James and Andrew seemed pretty happy with the outcome.

It was Ernest's turn. After he had a medal around his neck, he kissed Dominique's hand, forcing a smile, praising her for the competition organisation. Beatrice knew it wasn't a matter of a bad loss. Nevertheless, she sensed a deeper sadness in Ernest.

However, there was no time for questions. Team Edgewater was already waiting to step onto the podium while being refreshed with champagne.

Vincent gave Beatrice the opportunity to present the medals to the winners. Despite the excitement of victory, she fulfilled her role well, with the solemnity that the moment demanded, placing the medals around each one’s necks and greeting them with a kiss on the cheek. Beatrice couldn't remember the last time she had kissed her brother or even ever given him one. It was a strange moment for them, but the enthusiasm of the victory drowned it out.

As they packed their things to go home and get ready for dinner, Beatrice saw that Bart was still around. “Shouldn't you be with the host helping with the dinner preparations?” She teased him.

“Ernest doesn't need me; he has a wonder woman named Constance Lewis. I think we will eat them in the greenhouse due to the construction work at the house. I stayed around here a little longer, collecting our sweat and tears." Bart joked.

“You guys were brilliant, Bart. I dare say that your defeat was almost unfair.” Beatrice admitted.

“Thank you, dear. You are truly a little rose among the brambles.” Bart stroked her face affectionately.

++++++++++

Back at Edgewater, Beatrice was in her room, getting ready for dinner. Since the dinner was going to be somewhat formal, Dominique told her to wear something a little more sophisticated. Despite the off-the-shoulder neckline, it was made of a blue brocade fabric with white flowers and long sleeves. Beatrice felt warm just looking at him.

Stretched out on Beatrice's bed was Briar's lehenga, waiting for her decision.

Briar eventually appeared. “I'm only going because Ernest personally invited us. And because he invited the professional players to dinner...including the Indians. So, my mother couldn't miss the opportunity. She already found out that one is from her hometown." She said, frowningly.

“Let’s just try to have some fun tonight. There will be many things we make fun of.”

“Starting with that dress of yours.” Briar let out a smile.

“Not all of us can be princesses from the Arabian Nights.” Beatrice teased back.

Beatrice helped Briar get dressed. The lehenga was made of a vibrant magenta with gold embroidery, which highlights Briar's features. Instead of wearing the dupatta, Beatrice entwined it in Briar's hair.

“Impressive.” Briar looked at herself in the mirror. “You're finally learning something from me. One day you will be a big girl able to do your own hair.”

“Sometimes I don't know if I want to be a big girl.” Beatrice reflected, looking at their reflections in the mirror.

++++++++

It didn't seem like it was a dinner that had been prepared in a couple of hours. The Ledford Park greenhouse looked stunning, with vintage lanterns peeking out from among the greenery. The two doors were open, letting in the cool August night, so there were elegant blankets on all the chairs.

The Earl and his family were the first to arrive, along with the other members of the team.

Domonique had allowed Luke to enter with Beatrice without any fuss. She accompanied Prince Liam herself. That night, the Dowager Countess looked ten years younger with so much pride beaming from her eyes.

With Bart's help, Ernest diligently fulfilled his role as host.

“Congratulations, Sinclaire. The greenhouse is stunning! Don't you get tired of making things everything so perfect?” Beatrice teased me.

“It’s all miracle of Saint Constance Lewis.” He smiled.

Looking further up, Beatrice noticed his curls. Not a couple of hours ago they were completely drenched in sweat and dishevelled. On that moment, it didn't even look like the same hair. Even so, there were a couple of them who insisted on rebelling against the majority of their brothers, prominent like two antennas on the head.

Betrice climbed onto a flower bed.

“What are you doing? You will fall!” Ernest reprimanded her.

Beatrice didn't answer, hiding her unruly curls among the others. It was like touching a fluffy cloud. Unconsciously, she must have taken longer than necessary because he asked what she was doing.  “You're welcome, Sinclaire.”

“Some are not so well behaved.” He joked about the awkwardness of the situation.

Despite the role he was playing, Beatrice could see in his eyes how far away he was from there.

“Earth calls Sinclaire? There is a guest walking towards you.” Beatrice whispered.

“Your father would be very proud of you tonight. In fact, they both would be.” Beatrice said after the guest went away

“I am not so sure. I broke my father's favourite mallet. It survived the fire to end up like this...” He fixed his eyes on a lantern. “Besides, my father loves…loved to win.”

“He was competitive, indeed, but, in the end of the say, your father loved to have fun and that's what you should be doing tonight.”

“You don’t understand. I wish I had won, not for me, but for him. I owed him that.”

“You and your team were brilliant. Okay, you didn't win, but if anyone had any doubts about your leadership abilities, they disappeared today. Also, the only thing you owe your parents is to enjoy everything they built for you.”

“Are you suggesting I become a lecherous lord?” He smiled.

“Even if you tried, you wouldn't be able to.” She smiled back. “No matter how much your father loved this game and win, his love for you was infinitely greater. As for the mallet can be glued and displayed in Ledford Park.”

As he listened to Beatrice's words, a memory came to Ernest's mind. It was under that tree where he was trying to paint his mother that Beatrice had come, somewhat awkwardly, to thank him for his help in the egg hunt. She was only ten years old at the time. How did time pass so quickly? How was the child who lived in the world of her dolls becoming a sensible girl?

++++++++

Despite the high concentration of VIPs per square meter, the arrival of the Daly did not go unnoticed. It was impossible not to notice how beautiful they were. Pavarti looked rejuvenated in her traditional attire, and Briar glowed among the lanterns.

Thunderstruck, looking at her, Edmund ran into an employee carrying a tray of champagne glasses, causing a huge commotion.

Ernest took Edmund to his temporary quarters to borrow him a shirt and give his friend some privacy to compose himself.

“Is everything okay, Edmund? That was too clumsy even for you. Sorry, that sounded better in my head than it did in my mouth.”

“I'm not offended. I know I'm clumsy! But it's comforting to see you put your foot in it every now and then. Even if it's in words.” Edmund joked about the situation.

“Even with all this EPW hustle and bustle, I've noticed you're more distracted than usual. Are you having any problems? Can I help somehow?”

Edmund didn't want to go into ddetails ecause he considered the whole blackmail mess too embarrassing to share.

Due to his behaviour during the weekend and what just had happened, Ernest perceived it was related to Briar, but he didn't want to force his friend to talk. “Just let me give you a piece of advice, Eddie: if there's something to say or clarify, don't waste time. Ask, say, do... life is too short to carry and make others carry regrets in hearts. In seconds, everything can change... otherwise you will put your life in limbo about what could have been. Forever.”

His friend's words had the weight of someone who had already been through a lot, but Edmund was afraid. Very afraid of the consequences. Especially for Briar.

As they returned to the greenhouse, his gaze immediately met hers. She took ta timidstep forward towards hhim ut then backed away.

At the ssame time,Pavarti called her to meet the player who wwasfrom her family hometown – he was a young promising player, aaccording tothe comments Edmund had heard.  The three seemed to be having an animated conversation.

Stealthily, he approached them, butting into the conversation. “I apologise in advance for this intrusion, but I couldn't miss the opportunity to greet you.” Edmund reached out and shook the player's hand. "It was so inspiring to watch your techniques. I hope you get that contract here."

“I was just talking about it with Mrs and Miss Daly. On the one hand, I would love to be made an offer, but on the other hand, I fear how much I will miss my homeland.”

“I understand perfectly. I was away for a few months in Spain, which is practically next door, and I was already dying of homesickness.”

“In my case, it was love that made me stay in England. Who knows? Maybe the same thing will happen to you.” Mrs Pavarti pointed.

Briar politely apologised, citing a problem with her outfit, and disappeared into the crowd.

Nevertheless, even in the Sinclaires' massive greenhouse, it was impossible to run away from someone all night. During the appetisers’ dance, they ended up meeting at the Scotch Egg platter.

“Your attire is very beautiful.” Edmund tried to start the conversation with a compliment.

“You already knew that. I had shown you when we finished to sew it.” Briar used the tactic of cutting conversation short, completing it by shoving nearly half an egg into her mouth.

“I remember. I confess I often thought about how good it would look on you. However, all the images I created are a pale reflection of how beautiful you are tonight.”

Briar felt like she had swallowed the entire appetiser. He couldn't have the courage to try flirting with her after all that drama. "What nerve you have!" Briar still raised her voice but lowered it out of embarrassment. "One minute you reject me, the next you try to flirt with me... If you ever really loved me, you should know that I will never be a doll that you can have on the shelf to play with whenever you feel like it. And know that even if I wanted to forget these last days... neither my dignity nor my conscience would allow it.”

Edmund was going to ask if she was referring to the kiss with Arthur, but they were interrupted by the gong calling for dinner.

He barely ate, pondering his hypotheses. If it is true that Dominique was considering paying for Briar's education, it would be selfish of him if his feelings risked her future.

However, there was also the possibility that it wouldn't even interfere with anything. After all, everyone had come to terms with their sister and Luke's relationship. Besides, if his grandmother truly believed in her talent, he wanted to believe that she would help Briar no matter the circumstances.

The worst-case scenario would be that Mrs Pavarti, in her eagerness to protect her daughter, would leave Edgewater, and then there would be no love or education.

As he picked at what he thought was a fish dish, the young Marlcaster decided in his heart that if no one would help her because of their relationship, he himself would work day and night if necessary to pay for her education. Besides, there was still his father's inheritance that would soon be within his reach, despite the surrounding mystery his mother had created about the matter.

Finally, there was the matter of the kiss with Arthur. According to Beatrice, Briar and Arthur were a little drunk when it happened. And thinking retrospectively, he hadn't been the boyfriend model either in recent months. Telegraphic postcards, calls with the minutes counted... It didn't excuse everything, but his neglect opened the way to vulnerability and opportunity for Arthur.

Briar was light in the lives of those she loved. Deep down, he didn't condemn the boy for trying his luck. She deserved better, and Edmund was going to be what she deserved.

Before the desserts were served, Edmund asked Ernest if he could say some words. Intrigued, the host allowed it, warning the guests that Mr Marlcaster was going to say some words.

When attention turned to him, he felt lost for a moment. He wasn't used to being the protagonist. Although everyone looked expectantly, he focused on Briar's face. She was the reason for his living, and everyone would know.  After resisting the temptation to look at him, Briar gave in and looked him in the eye, despite the distance. That unlocked his tongue.

“Dear family, dear friends and everyone else present tonight, these have been very happy days for me, not only because I returned home after months of absence but also because I helped my team win the E.P.W, bringing pride and joy to my family. However, I am especially… I'm daring to say…blissed out because I am once again close to the one my heart loves and adores and is the reason for its beating. I love you, Briar Daly. It doesn't matter what happened before or what may happen after this, but I love you. You make me happier than I've ever been in my life. If you still accept me, with all the flaws you know well and qualities I think only you can see, I would like to officially make a commitment, with you, Miss Daly, in front of you, with the most sincere and pure intentions. I hope both families give their blessing. Even if you don't, nothing will change my feelings, except a word from Briar herself.”

Briar went from pale to red. He felt a shiver run down his spine, and a suffocating heat spread through her body. All at the same time.

She didn't know what to think, because she wasn't even sure if she had just heard those words from him or if she had fallen asleep and was dreaming. Her heart was beating so fast that Briar couldn't even breathe. She felt that all eyes were now on her. Briar looked at her mother in distress. Parvati's reaction was indecipherable.

However, before she could react, Henrietta's shrill voice echoed in the greenhouse. “Edmund, my son, this is certainly a joke in bad taste, the result of excessive drinking at the party.” She tried to convey the idea that she was laughing at the situation, but the tone of fury escaped between her words.

“No, Mother. I'm not drunk, and I'm being very serious. I've been in love with Miss Daly for a long time.”

Henrietta tried to pretend to faint but changed her mind. She got up from the table, now not trying to hide her displeasure. “That's ridiculous, Edmund, and you know it very well! From other people…” Henrietta didn't mention a name, but everyone knew she meant Beatrice. “…given their origins and poor education, I expect anything... now from you, Edmund... a young man as well educated as you, from good families in each and every branch of our tree. How can you even consider, let alone say, such nonsense? She's practically a maid!”

“I am your maid, but my daughter is not. And although serving others is not a dishonour, God willing, she never will be.” Parvati intervened, feeling insulted.

“"Wait a minute... now it makes sense; this is a mother-daughter plan. As if it wasn't enough that they've settled in Edgewater, moving around the house freely, living on our land for free, now they want to move up in the world, using Briar to seduce my son! If there were any doubts, look at how she dresses tonight! I've seen this happen before. There was a similar problem at my grandfather's house in India... Luckily my great uncle was saved in time from the clutches of…”

“Don't you dare finish that sentence, Mother! The Pavarti are good and honest people, and you know it! You may not approve of my feelings, but you cannot control my heart!” Edmund said calmly but firmly.

Despite the sad circus show that Henrietta was performing, everyone present could see that Edmund was serious and that his feelings were strong enough to make that boy who had been a little lamb all his life face his mother.

The Earl, already beyond embarrassed, got up from the table to calm things down, but Harry was quicker to throw another log into the fire. “You're a fool, Edmund! You are embarrassing yourself and us for a girl who isn't even as good or honest as you say. In your absence, while you were studying and working in Spain, barely sleeping, she was making out around with another boy.”

The greenhouse fell into a deep silence. Briar nearly fainted. However, she still had the strength to defend herself, "That's not what happened at all, you viper, and you know it since you listen so well behind closed doors!"

After the initial shock, the guests were following this soap opera with keen interest.

“I know what happened, and that will be a matter to be resolved between me and her. We both have accounts to settle for our mistakes.”

“I love you too, Edmund, but I don't know what will become of us after this.” Briar confessed out loud.

“Enough circus for tonight!" Vincent said firmly. "Dear guests, I apologise for having to watch this ridiculous drama and ruin your evening. We are going home to sort out our problems like normal people do. I would greatly appreciate it if this matter could be confined to this greenhouse. Have a good evening.”

All the Foredales got up and left. The Earl asked Pavarti to meet him at the mansion. Ernest followed them out, stunned by what had just happened.

“Let it be recorded in the chronicles of Ledford Park that tonight, I am not to blame.” Beatrice said to do Ernest.

“I imagine you are an accomplice in this mess.”

“I bet you are too, Sinclaire!”

He didn't confirm, but he asked. "Keep me posted if you can."

Edmund tried to catch Briar along the way, but Mrs Daly made her rush her steps. Beatrice couldn’t catch them either.

“I never thought I'd say this to you, Edmund, but I'm proud of you for being so brave and foolish at the same time.” Beatrice pulled him to stand behind the group.

“Is this supposed to make me feel better?” Edmund got a little irritated.

“It was. I'm very proud, and I'm sure Briar is even more so. The only downside is that you could have chosen...let's say...a less...public occasion. But after Ascot, who am I to point the finger at you? Plus, it was a beautiful declaration of love. Equated to a Jane Austen hero. Even I almost fell in love with you.”

“My mother has already made her opinion very clear. How do you think Father and Grandmother reacted? They were strangely, eerily quiet.”

“As my mother used to say, 'Let's prepare for the worst and hope for the best.'” Beatrice sighed.

Beatrice tried to act as an ambassador with her father when they arrived home. Edmund tried to play the hero. Mrs Daly wanted a word with the Earl. However, to everyone's surprise, the first person the Earl wanted to speak to was Briar herself. Everyone else was asked to wait in the library.

There, the atmosphere was tense. Like in a mystery movie, everyone was sipping tea, and no one was saying a word, just casting accusatory looks at each other.

Under the pretence of checking on Sunny, Beatrice escaped from the library. By chance, Sunny noticed the owner's arrival and followed her on her mission. Beatrice sat leaning against one of the doors, with the pug on her lap, which soon fell asleep.

Although she couldn't understand every word, Beatrice's heart calmed down when she heard her father speak in a calm tone. He wasn't mad at Briar.

“I never noticed anything... I always assumed it was just a special affection... I believe that a man and a woman can be just friends, and I, honestly, thought that was all it was.”

“We were, but then, things started to change…” Beatrice recognised Bria's embarrassed tone.

“I didn't raise Edmund with those kinds of values, but I have to ask you this: was he the one who somehow pushed you into this relationship? He's older, handsome, chivalrous... Although he lacks flirting skills, it would be easy to charm an inexperienced young girl. I'm talking to you as if I were your father, not as a Scotland Yard interrogator. I just want to understand how things happened.”

“I sympathised with him from the first day I met Edmund. And yes, I found his shy novel hero attitude very charming. I noticed that he got along with me too; however, no feelings developed...before a certain age. As you said, when I arrived here, he was older, entering adolescence, and I was a child. Many times, I felt protected and cherished, as Beatrice was to him. When I grew up, I realised that I had other feelings for him and that maybe he could have them for me. However, contrary to what your wife says, I did not seduce him with any intention. We just discovered that we felt good and happy together... that we loved each other. We didn't say anything before because we were afraid that our families would put us apart: my mother because he was older and you because I am just the seamstress's daughter. About what Harry said…”

“I don't want to hear about gossip. That will be a matter between you and Edmund. If there are indeed problems between you, you will have to weigh them on the scales with your love and see the result.” Vincent advised. “I have no problem with your mother's profession. I have the utmost respect and consideration for her. Even if she was a prostitute for a living, that didn't take away your worth as a person or your right to love and be loved by my son. Nevertheless, I must confess the age gap, despite being mathematically almost irrelevant and not bringing any problems in the future, in the present time, it creates a gap between you, and I think that could bring some problems: ambitions, desires, and needs that are unique to each of you could be very different over the next couple of years.”

“So, you're suggesting we break off the relationship?”

“No. I find you a very harmonious couple. Believe me, Briar, I would be happy for your relationship to last long enough for you to become part of the family. I witnessed tonight that Edmund's feelings are strong and pure, as yours seem to be. You've clearly been bringing him up. Edmund has become more determined, more focused and dynamic, and now I realise the reason is you.” The Earl made a pause. After some awkward seconds, he continued, “As a father advises a daughter, I tell you: you two will need a lot of resilience to survive the next years. I will not be a stone in your path, nor will I allow anyone in this house to be, but I will keep an eye on you. You are both very young. Be careful with your hearts. Before you go, promise me one thing: if you ever feel afraid in this house, no matter who it is, even Edmund himself, tell me right away.”

“I will, my lord.”

“Try to rest, and tomorrow we'll have all day to pick up the pieces of this mess.”

They caught Beatrice trying to run away with Sunny. “And you, my dear daughter, I presume you are the main accomplice in this story.” Beatrice was petrified for a moment. “Please tell your brother to come talk to me. I want to resolve this before the sun rises.”

The path between the library and his father's office never seemed so long to Edmund. When she went to call him, Beatrice was expressionless and said she would walk Briar home.

As he sat in the chair, his legs were shaking. Fortunately, they couldn't be seen under the desk.

“Look, Edmund, I don't even know where to begin. The speech was beautiful, but I think Briar was more embarrassed than impressed.”

“So you're not mad at me?” Edmund stammered.

“I'm not exactly angry... I'm disappointed, because you did the same mistake Beatrice did. You hid this from me, and then you decided to reveal it like an atomic bomb. I love you as if every inch of you came from me, Edmund. I thought you would trust me to tell me about what was going on. I understand that you were afraid, especially in the first few months, but once you were sure that you wanted to be with Briar, you could have told me. You know perfectly well that her origins would never be an objection to me.”

“The same cannot be said of the mother and grandmother..."

“If your grandmother's heart resisted Ascot, she will resist this harsh blow of fate well.” Vincent quipped. “About your mother… She has ruled all your life. Don’t let her rule your heart. Whether it's with Briar or any other girl. She is your mother; she loves you, but that doesn’t give her that right. And you showed it to her today... only it could have been less scandalous. However, I'm proud of you, my boy. You stand up for yourself and the woman you love. I admire you for that, Edmund. I wasn't that brave.”

“Thank you, Father. I just wanted Briar to know that she is the love of my life. I just didn't say anything before because I was afraid of compromising her future.”

“What do you mean?” The Earl was confused.

Edmund summarised the story of the potential scholarship for Briar sponsored by Dominique.

“If your grandmother said that, it's because she sees true talent in Briar. She wouldn't consider such a thing if Briar didn't deserve it. She is charitable, but not stupid. Besides, my mother may have many faults, but she is not petty. Even if she doesn't like your relationship, I don't believe your grandmother wouldn't help her.”

“I'm sorry I don't have your faith.” Edmund heaves a sigh.

“Even if she refuses, I will help her myself. She's a good girl, and from what I see in Beatrice's dresses, she was born to be a fashion designer.”

“Will you?” Edmund looked full of hope at his father.

“I will; you have my word. Even you two break up.”

Edmund hugged his father. “Thank you so much, Father. She deserves the world. And I apologise for the embarrassment I caused the family.”

“The awkwardness will pass. My only concern, as I told Briar, is your age difference. It's not much, but there's a lot of potential for you to hurt each other.  You are going through different phases. It won't be easy to reconcile everything. You're practically a grown man, and Briar is still a teenager. Although she has some maturity for her age on some points, there are still differences…”

“I think I understand what you mean, Father. I love Briar, but I know her limits and mine. You can be sure that they will be respected. I love her too much to hurt her again.”

“I knew that's what you were going to do.” Vincent smiled proudly. Still, I will keep an eye on you guys. Not to control you, but because I like you and I want a future for you both. Together. Before you go, how do you feel about what Harry said? Is it really true?”

“It is. Beatrice told me by accident. Briar was…” He didn’t want to say tipsy to protect her reputation: “...down and got carried away by the moment. Beatrice told me that she already cleared the situation with the guy.”

“Good, but how do you feel about it?”

Edmund thought for some time before answering. “I think I have always been afraid that something like this would happen because she is so beautiful and smart, and I am kind of...plain. So, when I found out, it was like living a nightmare. Later I realised that I hadn't been an exemplary boyfriend either and maybe I was partly to blame for what happened.” Vincent laughed. “Why are you laughing?” Edmund was confused.

“You're on the right path. Women love it when we admit guilt. However, you cannot ignore the matter. Please, clarify it before. Or the scab of this wound may itch for a long time.”

“I will, I promise.”

Before they could finish their conversation, Dominique burst into the bureau. “I'm not a young lad anymore; I'm too tired to wait my turn. So, here goes: Edmund, that circus was completely unnecessary! I am running out of cards on my sleeve to patch so many holes in this family's dignity. I don't know if my heart can handle another one.” Then she turned to her son, “Still, we should be thanking God, Vincent. It could be some crazy girl he met on the Internet. This one at least has a brain and isn't idle. She is embodying the good values ​​of this house and is diligent and humble like her mother. Even with all the bad luck, we won the lottery. Good night!” And she simply disappeared as unexpectedly as she had come.

The two were so shocked by what had just happened that they didn't even see Mrs. Daly at the door.

“I think we have a lot to talk about, and I'm not going to wait for the sun to rise.” Pavarti said, announcing her presence.

Edmund was going to get up, but Vincent told him to sit down. “You stay. You are part of the problem.”

“My lord, I'll get straight to the point. I'm not staying here after what happened tonight. My daughter may not have made the wisest decisions…” She looked at Edmund with a frown. “I didn't know about this relationship either, and I'm as upset as you are to find out this way. However, I cannot condemn my daughter for falling in love. Not even for some foolishness typical of her age. We are a humble but honourable family. Therefore, I refuse to remain in a place where the cloud of suspicion will forever hang over us. Please do my accounts for this month. We leave Edgewater tomorrow night.”

“Mrs Daly, please, don’t do such a thing! Briar can have a better future here! I will work day and night for that!” Edmund tried to intervene. “We hid our relationship because we didn't want you to worry...”

“Stop, Edmund. She is an angry mother, and if you say one more word, she will tear you in two. You are dismissed for the night.” Then the Earl turned to Pavarti. “Mrs Daly, I will also get straight to the point. No one except my dramatic wife is mad or suspicious of you. Even though we are all upset with these lovelorn fools, it doesn't change your reputation and your incredible work here. They understand our fears, and I know that you too, deep down, understand their reasons. They made a big mistake, but they proved today that they want to do things the right way. And even if in a few months they end their relationship, nothing will change how much we love Briar and your work, Mrs Pavarti. I don't care what Henrietta thinks. Your work is very important in this house. Besides, my mother loves you as a seamstress...and as a friend. Imagine also what it would be like to separate Briar from Beatrice now. They are practically two sisters. I would venture to say that they would rather be without a boyfriend than without each other.”

“I don't want me and my daughter to live under censorious eyes. That is neither healthy nor dignified. Yes, because even the poor have dignity.” Parvati was not entirely convinced.

“Henrietta will be furious for a long time. There is no point in using euphemisms. But it will pass, like all her tantrums do. I would bet that the tantrum will pass once she goes to a seamstress who doesn't make an exquisite dress that only exists in her head. Regardless of her, we have two children to take care of, and they will need our attention and good advice more than ever, don't you think? And since when is there any point in separating two lovers? If this is to last, nothing will stop them.”

“Maybe you have a point there. However, you have to understand my point of view as a mother. It would be very easy for Edmund to fall for an older girl, who has more to offer him... in every way. Or else things will move quickly, and the two will do something that has an irreversible impact on their future."

“Your fears are my fears. Therefore, together, we will help the ship reach a safe harbour.” Vincent took her hand comfortingly. “I imagine you want to have a serious talk with Briar, but allow me to ask you to let her and Edmund talk first. They need to find their way again.”

After Mrs Daly confirmed that she would stay for the time being, Vincent went looking for Henrietta. He found her on one of the library couches, fast asleep.

“I just wanted her to calm down a bit, but I think I overdid it.” Harry explained.

“It's okay. With the headache she will wake up with, she will have less energy to torture mine.”

“What will happen?” Harry asked, hoping for juicy details.

“It could be worse. Tomorrow the lovebirds have to have a serious talk, and then we'll sew up the hole. Fortunately, they are seamstresses.” The Earl joked about the situation.

“That’s it?” Harry was outraged. “They do stupid thing after stupid thing, and in the end, everything always turns out fine. I, who strive to do everything right, am always relegated or humiliated.”

“Harry, one day you too will make a terrible mistake. Maybe even for love. And I will be to you the understanding father that I was to them.” Vincent hugged Harry and kissed his head. “I love you, Harry. More than you can imagine.”

Thank you so much to those who are still around:

And that's how the E.P.W– The Edgewater Polo Weekend – started. Year, yes, year no, national and international polo stars gather in Edgewater on the first weekend of August to play several friendly matches for charity.

Even though the parade of stars attracts many visitors and delights the residents, the locals look forward to the final match between Edgewater and Ledford Park.

The immemorial friendship between the two estates is then forgotten during the time of the match. Each of the two estates teamed up with members of their respective families and staff to represent their colours. The losing estate had to offer the winners a fancy dinner on that Sunday and throw a party for the Moorfield community on the following weekend.

For years, Matthew Sinclaire and Vincent Foredale led their respective teams, providing an exciting spectacle for the audience. Matthew Sinclaire was an exceptionally good player, achieving many victories for Ledford Park. Nothing that would shake the friendship with Vincent. The two best friends soon bury the hatchet.

After the previous E.P.W, they had decided that the following year would be their last year as team leaders. Their children were now old enough to take over the reins, and they could just sit down and enjoy the excitement of the game.

Life's plot twists led to a change of plans. Without Matthew, Vincent felt there was no point in continuing as captain. Maybe a change would bring some luck to the house. Yet he delayed making a final decision until the last moment. After some pressure from Dominique at dinner, Vincent finally revealed his strategy for that year.

“As you already know, I decided to step down from the polo team leadership. It's time for others to shine. Edmund will arrive at short notice, but the morning training will be sufficient. I spoke to Prince Liam, and he agreed to be part of the team this year. He has been playing polo since he was a child, so he will be a great asset to us.”

Harry was so certain that his father's next sentence would be the announcement of him as the new captain of the team that he immediately began his 'thank you speech' before his father had finished speaking. “It'll be an honour, father. I will do everything I can to bring the cup to Edgewater.”

“What do you mean it's going to be Luke?” Henrietta’s shrill indignation drowned out Harry's voice. And made him fall off his pedestal.

“Father, that’s ridiculous! It should be me, or at least Edmund! It's going to be a humiliation! I'm a skilful player! You've said it yourself many times! I can do this!”

Beatrice already knew about her father's decision. Luke was so happy, he couldn't resist telling her. She was so proud of him that she couldn't hide the joy in her eyes. Seeing Henrietta and Harry completely freaked out also amused her. Her little joy ignited her brother's anger even more.

“I'm sure your dear daughter had something to do with this absurd decision!” Harry spoke in an accusatory tone.

“It's not my fault that he's a better rider and player than you. Stop blaming me for everything bad that's happened to you!” Beatrice protested.

“Enough, Harry! Calm yourself now! You no longer have five years to throw a tantrum every time you have some frustration. It's time for you to start controlling your temper.” Dominique imposed order.

“Thank you, mother.” Vincent resumed speaking. “You are, without a doubt, a good player, Harry. Although friendly, it is still a competition. A competition we haven't been winning lately. I have to think about what's best for the team. Luke is very experienced. With him as captain, you, Edmund, and Liam can easily knock them off their horse. In addition to my interest in winning, this is a lesson for my two children present here: often, what is best for the family, for the business, to fulfil our duty... whatever it may be... will not always be what we would like it to be. It may require us to sacrifice our personal preferences, our comfort, our feelings... or our pride.”

Harry and Henrietta continued to sulk throughout dinner.

After dinner, the whole house could hear that the discussion had a second act in the bureau. “I don't understand your obsession with this boy, Vincent. Sometimes it seems like you are prouder of him than of your own son! Unless there's anything else I should know about him... After her, I fear anything is possible.”

“I will not give you the pleasure of arguing with you, Henrietta.” The Earl replied calmly. “The rules do not prohibit him from playing. On the contrary, they encourage the inclusion of everyone. Because Edgewater wouldn't be standing if it weren't for people like the Harpers and others who have helped us for so many years. Furthermore, my decisions always had in mind what was best for the family. Sometimes they are convenient for you; sometimes they are not. Too bad. Many of them haven't made me happy, either. Despite what you might think, it’s not just about increasing our chances of winning. I'm going to take this opportunity to teach children a lesson: in life, it doesn't matter how good we are at doing or knowing or how much we deserve something. There will always be the risk of someone surpassing us or taking what we think belongs to us. Frustration, if not tamed, is dangerous and only makes us and those we love unhappy. Adolescence is our last chance to do that.”

“If all this were with her, you would be milder.” Henrietta was quick to accuse.

“You never get tired of arguing, do you?” Vincent frowned

++++++++

“I just wish you could have seen their faces..." Beatrice laughed as she spoke to Luke on the phone, telling him what had happened at dinner. “She's still torturing my father over it.” Entering her room, Beatrice saw Briar curled up on her bed. Sunny was cuddled up to her. I have a situation here, Luke... I'll text you later. Love you.” Beatrice hung up the call. “What happened, Briar? Are you sick? Did Henrietta pick on you?”

Briar didn't say a word, but she started crying profusely. Beatrice laid in bed next to her and held her friend’s hand. After letting her cry for a couple of minutes, Beatrice insisted again, “Did you argue with your mother? Someone hurt you? Please say something, Briar!”

“Edmund...” Briar tried to explain herself between sobs. “He must have found out what happened between Arthur and me... He doesn't answer my calls, doesn't reply to my texts... I am a horrible girlfriend... I am a horrible person!”

“Briar, look at me! First, he has no way of knowing; second, he must be very busy getting things ready to arrive on the weekend; third, that's your guilty conscience talking.”

“If this is true, call him to see if he answers your call or not.” Briar sniffed.

"No, I'm not going to call him. I will not feed your fears. Edmund will arrive in a couple of days, and everything will be sorted out! We already have it all planned out, remember?” Beatrice embraced her.

Briar continued to whine. Sunny licked his face. Briar couldn't help but let out a small smile.

“He might even be my favourite brother. However, no matter what happens, you are my sister forever. I will always be by your side.” Beatrice reassured her friend. “Did I tell you Liam is arriving tomorrow?” Beatrice changed the subject to try to cheer Briar up.

“Luke isn't upset about Liam coming to play?” Briar followed the topic change.

“Luke finally understood that Liam is not a threat to him, at least as far as my heart is concerned. In fact, he was quite pleased that Liam is an experienced player. It seems that the testosterone desire for to win is stronger than any possible little jealousy.”

Briar, although still sniffling, smiled at her friend's observations. Beatrice kissed her head. “There are times when I start to think that guys aren't worth the troubles they cause us, so enough of the boys for now. We have to decide what to wear on the weekend!”

++++++++

Although Prince Liam's presence required strict security measures, it was always an exciting time for the Edgewater’s residents.

His presence, along with the last-minute preparations, made Edmund's arrival almost go unnoticed.

Beatrice almost didn’t see him when they passed each other on the stair

“I expected everyone to ignore me, except you, little button,” Edmund teased.

“Eddie!” Beatrice hugged him so tightly that Edmund nearly lost his balance. “I have missed you so much!”

“Liar! You have been having a lot of fun this summer.” He pretended to pout. 

“Yes, I have, but I missed my favourite brother, anyway!”

“I’ve missed you too.” He kissed her head.

“Have you seen Briar? She's been helping Pavarti all day to finish grandmother's and your mother's clothes ... I'll tell her you've arrived!”

“Don’t!” It was almost a shout. “I mean … I will see her later.” 

Beatrice found his request odd, so she texted Briar to prepare her friend for the reunion.

From the top of the stairs, she saw Ernest heading for the exit.

“Ready to lose, Sinclaire?” She called him from the banister. 

“You are very confident of victory.” He turned around. “However, you are not the only one with aces up your sleeve this year.” As he said this, her father appeared, accompanied by a young man, with a pronounced Scottish accent. Beatrice recognised in him some of Ernest's traits. Nevertheless, the guy looked like he was out of one of those Karen Ranney novel covers: tall, well-built, and with long untameable hair. “May I present to you Mr MacKilligan?” Beatrice detected his teasing tone. “James is my cousin and esteemed member of the Edinburgh Polo Club.”

“Nice to meet you, sir. Welcome to Edgewater.” 

“You have such a lovely daughter, my Lord. My pleasure, my lady.”

Beatrice turned red. No wonder Ernest was in the mood to brag. She was already imagining that wall knocking down the Edgewater boys.

++++++++

In the morning, Beatrice went to the kitchen to look for Briar but only found Pavarti and two maids finishing breakfast.

“Where is Briar?”

"She wasn't feeling well in the morning. I let her sleep in.” Pavarti said.

They had agreed to help with the boys' polo training. Although she was not a fan of horses, Briar would not miss the opportunity to support Edmund. There was something wrong.

Later that morning, Beatrice went to Daly's cottage. When no one answered the door, Beatrice entered through a window. He found Briar lying on the bed, staring into space.

“Briar...Briar?” Beatrice had to call several times.

“Leave me alone... no, stay here... you'd better go away.” Her voice was almost imperceptible, and her speech was incoherent.

Beatrice checked her forehead. That wasn't normal for her. She was almost ice cold. “I'll call your mother...and a doctor. I'll also tell Edmund to come as soon as he can.”

“Don't call anyone, least of all him.”

Beatrice couldn't believe her ears. “What happened, Briar?”

“It’s over, Bea...”

“What do you mean? Did you talk about what happened? Did he dump you?”

“We didn't exactly get to talk about anything.” Briar swallowed her tears. “After you texted me, we went to Henrietta's quarters to deliver clothes. He was there and ignored me, not even a smile, but I thought he was just being discreet as usual. Later in the night, I went to his room... I wanted to surprise him... I took Ladoo. He loves them... I thought a sweet treat might help a difficult conversation. I knocked on the door with our special signal.” Briar could no longer hold back her tears. “He didn't open it... I insisted, and finally he did, but then he…”

“Did he insult you? Hurt you?” Beatrice was very worried about what she was hearing.

“Worse.” Briar sobbed. “Edmund sent me away.”

“Are you sure you understood well? Wouldn’t he just be tired from the trip?” Briar nodded. “Did he say anything else? Did Edmund hint that he knew something? Did he explicitly say he was breaking up with you?”

“I… I barely heard his words. Do you think he met someone in Spain, Bea? I know I have a couple of flaws, but he does have some issues as well…”

“Briar, focus on my question. Try to remember. What did he say?”

“He said something like, 'From now on, for me, you'll just be my sister's friend. It's better this way. Sorry.' Then he closed the door in my face.”

“That is very strange! There must be an explanation for this!” Beatrice thought for some time while Briar cried in her arms. “Until Sunday, I'll try to find out what happened. Until then, try to pull yourself together a little, so your mother doesn't suspect anything.”

At lunch, Beatrice never took her eyes off Edmund. He had a guilty, embarrassed look, barely looking at people. Interestingly, Harry also seemed particularly attentive to Edmund's every gesture.

Unfortunately, Beatrice didn't have time to investigate. After lunch, her father rushed her to get ready to accompany him to the players' reception, along with Henrietta and her grandmother. The Dowager Countess could not hide her enthusiasm. The excited Cordonian teenager inside her nearly jumped out of the demure countess's skin.

The teahouse served an outdoor afternoon tea in the main square.

Biting into random finger sandwiches, Beatrice couldn't stop thinking about Briar and her brother. It wasn't possible that in a couple of summer months his feelings could have changed so much. There was no way anyone could have the power to snatch him away like Briar did.

Beatrice was thinking of different strategies to extract the truth from her brother when she felt a pair of cold hands cover her eyes.

“Are you still not a lady?”

She recognised Bart's voice in her ear. “Not yet, Mr Chambers.” Beatrice laughed. “Are you here for the parties, the players or the horses?”

“I'm here at the invitation of my friend Ernest. I'm playing for the Ledford Park team on Sunday. Don't look at me so sceptically; as an Etonian, I'm obviously a decent polo player. Furthermore, I was a substitute player in the Cambridge University Polo Club. I didn't play many times, but my name is there in the records for posterity. And we have Andrew, the Ledford Park gardener, who only didn't become a professional player because he had a car accident at the time of the recruitment.”

“We'll see about that on Sunday.” She smiled. “I'm surprised your team captain doesn't put you through intensive training. I’m seeing he has several aces up his sleeve this year.”

“First of all, he thinks I'm working out and not here stuffing myself with mini sweets. Second, he is distracted today, catching up with his cousin. Have you met him?”

“Yes. He passed by Edgewater with him. I saw some Scottish relatives at the funeral, but I don't remember this one. To be honest, they all looked the same to me, but with different ages.”

“Let’s say they are the Scottish version of the Hemsworth brothers. James is Ernest’s mother’s nephew and godson. He’s the closest to him, despite what happened.”

“What happened?” Bart aroused Beatrice's curiosity.

"I thought you knew the story... Maybe I shouldn't gossip.”

“Don’t do this to me! You are dying to tell me, Bart!”

“Well, according to the information I got from Mrs Lewis, Ernest's mother was a promising researcher at the University of Glasgow. Your father wanted to attend a conference about Celtic Culture, at which Lydia was one of the speakers, and dragged Mr Sinclaire to Glasgow.  To please his friend, Mr Sinclaire attended the conferences. Despite not being particularly interested in the topic, Mr Sinclaire loved listening to Lydia talk about it. ‘It was as if she made those tribes rise from the ashes of the past.’ Legend says these were his words.”  Bart added some drama to the narrative with his gestures and facial expressions. “At first, Matthew thought Lydia would be a good match for Vincent. Nevertheless, since your father wasn't very good at flirting, Mr Sinclaire thought it was a good idea he approach her first to prepare the ground. However, Cupid had other plans. Matthew was so enchanted with her that he fell in love that night. Ernest's mother was the only girl in a crowd of brothers and cousins, so they were very protective of her. And, as you know, Ernest’s father had a reputation that appeared in all tabloids. So, as you can imagine, he was not an easy courtship. Besides, Lydia's fire wasn't only in her hair.” He pointed his finger at her. “Mark my words, Miss Foredale, they will be important to understand what comes next. She was not a woman to submit to any man's whims, so Lydia demanded Matthew change his rakish behaviour. Which he did, to the astonishment of all who knew him.   Even so, the family was still not thrilled with the relationship. Lydia's grandfather threatened Mr Sinclaire with a rifle once because of it.  They wanted her to choose between them and Mr. Sinclaire. Hurt with their intransigent attitude, Lydia left Scotland and moved to Ledford Park. They considered it a scandal and cut ties with her. Before getting married, she tried to make peace, but without success.”

“I hope there is a reconciliation somewhere in the story.” Beatrice interrupted him.

“Yes, there is. But that's when the plot thickens. Do you think it was all motivated by fraternal feelings? Not exactly, my dear, Beatrice. The world of traditional families is full of skeletons in the closet and guided by interests.”

“Do tell.” Beatrice smiled.

“Lydia's brothers had many debts, and the property where Lydia had grown up was pawned by the bank. When Mr Sinclaire bought it, they changed their mind. That's when Lydia baptised her nephew. James is a couple of years older than Ernest.”

“That’s quite a soap opera. But who am I to speak? My family's plot is also intricate, to say the least.”

“But there are those who say there is still more.  I have never been able to confirm this information, but some say that her family was disappointed when our friend Ernest was born.”

“Why?”

“The Sinclaires had fertility problems, and her family assumed that the godson could become a potential heir...”

“After everything she was through... they had some nerve!” Beatrice was indignant.

“As you may imagine, Mr Sinclaire never forgot how much Lydia suffered from their tantrums. And since her death, there has been an estrangement. Neither Ernest nor his father has been to the castle for years. I confess I was surprised when Ernest invited him.”

Completely oblivious to where he was and what he was doing, Edmund took a place next to them.

“Ready to get your ass kicked on Sunday, Eddie?” Bart teased his friend, but Edmund didn't seem to hear him. “Earth to Edmund Marlcaster?” Nada.

Beatrice signalled to Bart that she wanted to be alone with her brother. Bart grabbed a handful of canapés and walked away.

Beatrice took the mini quiche from her brother's hand to wake him up.

“Hey! There are plenty of those!”

“Good, I have your attention now, Mr Marlcaster. Have you been with Miss Daly since you arrived?”

“No … I haven't had the chance yet.” Edmund looked away.

“Please don't lie to me, Eddie. Something happened. Whatever it was, it can't be worse than Briar lying in bed, sick because of you.”

“Is she sick?” There was genuine concern in his eyes. “That is horrible; I didn't want any of this, but it's better this way. One pain to avoid many.”

“No. I barely had time to sleep; the more I think about someone other than her Please don't get involved in this, Beatrice.”

“I'm not going to see two people I love make the biggest mistake of their lives and sit idly by!”

“Don't insist, Bea. Maybe it wasn't meant to work out anyway.”

Beatrice despaired. “Damn it, Edmund! It was just a kiss between two drunk people; it meant nothing! It's not a case of you doing all this drama and breaking your heart and hers!”

“A kiss? What are you talking about?”

“Shit!” Beatrice covered her mouth in panic.

“What are you talking about, Beatrice?”

“I am so sorry, Eddie, you weren't supposed to find out like this … Briar wanted to tell you in person.” The panic made her start to cry. She was already foreseeing the damage she had caused. Briar would be furious, and her brother... this time things would end badly, and it was all her fault.

Confused, Edmund took her to a quieter place. “You have no idea what she's been through because of this mistake, Edmund. She is so afraid of losing you.”

“Who was the guy? Do I know him?” Edmund was a mix of disappointment and anger.

“That's the least important thing right now. Tell me then, if that wasn't it, why are you doing this to her?”

“Was it the one with some circus artist? Prince Leo was here and seduced her during a motorcycle ride? I know, it was Thomas from the dry cleaners! I noticed how he's been looking at her lately!”

“Edmund, forget your silly male pride for five seconds and tell me what's going on!”

“I… She...They...if we keep this up, Briar and Mrs Daly will be in trouble. Harry blackmailed me.”

“What? How so? Why?”

“Somehow, Harry found out about us. He knows that our mother and grandmother won't like it. My mother wouldn't rest until she got them out of here.”

“Our father would also have a say in this. I don't believe papa would kick them out because of it.”

“Even if our father intervened, you know Mrs Daly. She would rather leave Edgewater.”

“I would like to say no, but yes, there would be a strong possibility of that happening.” Beatrice sighed.

“If Briar stays here, with a clean record, she might have a better future. I heard grandmother several times say that Briar is very talented and is considering paying for her education.”

“I heard her praise Briar, but I didn't know she meant it that way. That's fantastic!”

“Now do you understand my reasons? I don't want to take any risks with her future. She deserves the world.”

“What did you say to Harry?”

“I tried to deny it, but it was no use. After the blackmail itself, Harry added that he was doing me a favour because she isn’t being honest with me. He even hinted that she was with me out of interest. Do you think he was referring to what Briar… to what Briar wanted to tell me?”

“I don't know, but I know that before you made that decision, you should have talked to Briar first. Don't you think she has a say in this? It was a decision to be made together. It’s her feelings and life we are talking about. If you tell her what you told me, maybe you can find a way.”

“It’ll be more painful in the first few days, but over time, she'll forget about us. I'm also going to spend less and less time here. It wouldn't be fair to keep her stuck with me.”

“God give me patience … There's still the audacity to say that women are complicated. Do you love her or not?”

“I do, madly!”

“So, at least, talk to her! She deserves an explanation!”

“It’s not so easy…” Edmund exhaled.

“You guys are so...obtuse!” Beatriz snorted and left her brother alone mulling over the events.

That evening, Beatrice passed by Daly's cottage.

She found Briar curled up in bed. She knew she should tell Briar that she exposed her secret, but she was lacking the courage.  Then she went straight to executing her idea. “I got to talk to Edmund alone today.” Briar didn't react. Despite her slip-up with the secret, Beatrice was determined to end that madness. “After much insistence, he opened up to me. There is an explanation for this. Something happened that made him act like that.” Beatrice needed to convince her, but she didn't want to make the same mistake a second time.

“He met a girl in Spain, didn't he? Bastard!” Briar sniffed.

“No. Edmund remains madly in love with you. But someone got in the way.”

“Let me guess: his mother found him a rich girlfriend, and he couldn't say no? It wouldn't be the first time. She even tried to push Donna Sutton into his arms. Honestly, I should have guessed that one day he wouldn't be able to handle the pressure.” Briar sounded angry.

“It's nothing like that. It's even more convoluted, believe me. However, you'd better hear from him.”

“Even I wanted to… Which I don’t know I do… That is going to be hard with him running away from me.”

“I have an idea to make him take the first step.” Beatrice opened Briar's wardrobe and took out the box of her lehenga. Opening that box always took Beatrice's breath away. It was like opening a treasure chest. Mrs Daly had ordered the exquisite fabric from India. Mother and daughter had sewn it together for special occasions. And the EPW party would be a special occasion. “He won't be able to remain indifferent when he sees you wearing this. In fact, I don't think anyone will.”

“My mother won't let me.”

“Say it was my father who asked you to dress it to please the Indian guests.” Beatrice hoped that a little jealousy would unlock Edmund.

+++++++

Saturday morning, Beatrice went very early to the polo field. Her father gave her permission to take behind-the-scenes photos for the family archive.

Paying attention to the people beyond the lenses, Beatrice didn't notice that someone had approached until she felt a pair of hands rest on her shoulders.

“Good morning, Miss Foredale. What a beautiful sight in the morning!” Beatrice almost dropped the camera when she recognised the voice of the creepy Duke Richards.

“What are you doing here so early in the morning, Your Grace?” Beatrice tried to hide her fright.

He smiled widely, with a fake sweetness. Tristan leaned over the fence so he was face to face with her. She could feel his breath touch her skin. “You don’t need to be so formal with me. We're not exactly strangers, you and I.” Meeting his grey eyes, Beatrice noticed a hint of something much darker that sent a shiver down her spine. “To answer your question, I'm here with my players.” Tristan took a strand of her hair and tucked it behind her ear. Beatrice wanted to step back, but she felt paralysed.

“Your players?” Her voice trembled slightly.

“I bought a polo team a few months ago.” He explained with vanity.

“I see …Congratulations are in order then.”  Beatrice turned her focus to the weekend's protagonists. She thought her evasive answer would drive him away. Despite Beatrice trying to ignore him, he began pointing at the players, talking about them like a farmer bragging about his cattle. Not only did he not move away, but she felt him getting closer; his hand lowered to her waist. Although uncomfortable, she did not want to be unpleasant. If grandmother knew she was somehow less polite to him, it would be a problem. She faked an unnecessarily loud and inelegant sneeze to get him to back off. It worked. Beatrice soon took advantage of the moment to move away a little more.

“I can see that you are very... passionate about your team, knowing all these technical details about the players.”

“I am, but I have other passions. Some are much more intense.”

Feeling his eyes on her, Beatrice pulled her denim jacket tighter around her body. “I have my share of passion for sports, but it bothers me that the pleasure of the game is often tainted by money. The players are not cattle.”

“And yet, some belonged among them.” Tristan said, seeing some black players passing in front of them.

“Good to hear, because I have found more honour among beasts than among most men I have known. Have a nice day, Your Grace.”

She climbed up into the stands to take some photos from a higher perspective. People were beginning to arrive at the field.  Zooming the lens, Beatrice saw through the magical glass an image that warmed her heart and would remain engraved in her heart: her father, Edmund, Luke and Ernest, all the men she loved, chatting excitedly, oblivious to her gaze. Click!

(Later that morning)

After a quick outfit change, Beatrice rushed back for family photos for the press. Luckily the dress wasn't long, and she pretended not to see the high heel sandals her grandmother had left in the bedroom for her. Since the hairstyle was done in a hurry, it fell apart before she reached the stage. The blush on her cheeks didn't disappear in time for the photo, either.

“What do I do with you, girl?” Dominique sighed and discreetly straightened her loose hair.

“Since our traditional education methods are not working, perhaps we should start using horse training techniques. She already spends so much time among them anyway…” Henrietta groaned.

“Briar didn't do your hair?” Edmund asked, barely above the whisper.

Coincidence or not, they noticed Harry's gaze fixed on them.

“She is still sick.” Beatrice replied dryly.

“I hope it's not contagious, since there are people who don't know how to keep their distance.”  Harry said through gritted teeth, but loud enough for them to hear.

Beatrice pinched her brother's arm hard.

“Ouch! What is your idea?!”

“My idea was to do much worse, which is what you deserve!”

After the press photographs, they headed to the stands reserved for the family. Beatrice could hardly believe it when she saw Richard Tristan join them.

“Who does this guy think he is? He is not on his lands.” Beatrice muttered.

“He considers himself practically royalty.” Her father had heard her. “Your grandmother went ahead and invited him. However, he is not a good influence or company for anyone. Come, sit next to me, my dear.”

From her spot, Beatrice saw Ernest and James weaving through the crowd. However, a couple of minutes later, only Ernest's cousin arrived.

“My cousin apologises for missing the first game. There was a problem with the works back home, and he needed to come back to Ledford Park.” James apologised.

“I hope it is nothing serious.” Vincent smiled, guiding him to the spot next to Harry. He returned to his seat beside her.

“Ernest had just gracefully escaped from the Duke's company. Perhaps we too can think of a graceful excuse to withdraw.” Beatrice whispered. Looking closely, she noticed his worry lines appear on the face.

 “I hope it's just because of him.” Vincent exchanged a few text messages with someone, and his expression softened.

“Is everything alright, papa?”

“Can you keep a secret?” He sighed. Beatrice nodded. “Mrs Lewis and I have been conspiring to get Ernest closer to his Scottish side. It was Mrs Lewis who suggested that Ernest invite him over for the weekend.”

“Why? Weren't they close before?” Beatrice pretended not to know what had happened, hoping that his father would confirm what Bart had said. Unfortunately for her curiosity, her father was more selective in the information he gave.

“Lydia's family initially didn't like the marriage; there were misunderstandings along the way. Mathew had his reasons, but the resentment has always been one of his major defects. He didn't have the right to limit his son's contact with his mother's family. We'll always be here for him, but … We think it would do him good to restore those relationships.”

“So, you were worried because you thought he didn't come to avoid spending more time with his cousin?”

“Yes. Mrs. Lewis confirmed to me that there was indeed a problem at home, something between the workers and the architect. He also said they were talking late last night. I think our plan is working.” Vincent smiled.

The match was about to start. Henrietta's laugh caught her attention. She and the duke seemed to be engrossed in conversation. What could Henrietta have so much to talk to him about?

+++++

Following tradition, Edgewater Gardens was opened to all for the Sunday lunch picnic. Tourists, Moorfield residents and players were spread out across the gardens, enjoying the end of summer.

After much persuasion, Briar got out of bed and went. However, she chose not to have lunch with the Foredale family as usual.

Edmund avoided looking where she was, but his longing betrayed his determination.  Beatrice noticed in Edmund's eyes that it was as if a crack opened in his heart every time their gazes met.

Harry was watching Edmund's movements closely. She could accept the vendetta Harry had with her, but Beatrice couldn't accept that he was upsetting two innocent people. She wanted to shove his face in the pie.

Harry seemed to sense her anger. “Is everything okay, sister?” He asked, making an angelic look.

Beatrice didn't even respond, stuffing a slice of quiche in her mouth.

Beatrice and Luke slipped away for a few minutes to have some alone time.

“Have I told you how dashing you look in that outfit?” Beatrice blushed, toying with the Edgewater emblem on his equipment. “I love to see you in blue and gold.” She felt him uneasy. “Relax, my love. In the end, it's just a game between friends.”

“You know your father and grandmother take this very seriously. If the result is not what they expect …” He was more nervous than she had ever seen him for any competition.

“You are not the only player. If you lose, it will be everyone's fault. Don't put that weight on your shoulders. Even if that happens, no one will think less of you because of it.” Beatrice kissed him. “You can do this. No one beats you on a horse.” She kissed him again.

Luke deepened the kiss, pressing her against his body. Beatrice's fingers ran around his head. Her touch has always relaxed him.

“You will always be my no 1.” She whispered in his ear, alluding to her shirt number.

They heard a discreet throat clearing. It was Earl.

“I know this kind of moral support is important, but can I steal the captain for 5 minutes? I would like to give some final advice to the team.”

“Of course, Papa.” Beatrice blushed.

“In my office in five minutes, please.”

After the Earl turned his back, the couple stole a few more kisses.

As usual, after lunch, the crowd walked down to the field. It was time for the most anticipated game of the weekend.

Beatrice wanted to do a photo shoot with the boys getting ready for the match, but Luke advised against it, fearing it would stress the horses.

Arriving at the field, Beatrice separated from her family, taking Briar with her.  She would sit in the front stands to take pictures of the match.

It was a buzzing atmosphere with the excitement of the crowd, the sound of horses in the distance … it was like Ascot in miniature.

Busy adjusting the camera tripod, Beatrice didn't notice the duke’s sneaky arrival. These unwanted apparitions were getting under her skin. “Such delicate skin shouldn't be exposed to the sun like this.” He took off the Panama hat he had on his head and put it on hers.

“I'm used to the outdoors, but thank you.” Beatrice forced a delicate response.

“I know so. However, your skin is naturally more delicate than your friend's, for example.”  Tristan looked at Briar. “I can't wait to see the photographs.”

“As much as I love photography, the best shot is always in our memory. Don't take your eyes off the match.”

“You can believe I won't take them off. I bet a considerable sum on Edgewater.” Tristan smiled.

“This is wonderful! That's very generous of you!” There was a slight hint of irony in her voice, which confused Duke. “Have you chosen the charity that will receive your contribution?”

Noting that he clearly had no idea what Beatrice was talking about, Briar took the occasion to poke fun at him. “As your highness may know, only 10% of the prize goes to the winners. The remainder is donated to a charity of your choice.”

He tried not to lose his composure. “Of course I know! That's exactly why I made a point of betting such an amount. Actually, I was wondering if you had any suggestions.”

“Most will give to charities for children and the elderly, which is always praiseworthy. However, you could use your position to call attention to other issues. My father has worked recently with ‘Migrant Help’. They help people affected by displacement and exploitation. It's a shame in this country that these people are often overlooked out of pure prejudice, don't you think?” Beatrice teased him.

“It sounds like a noble cause. I will give it a thought.” He forced a smile and walked away.

“This guy is disgusting.” Briar remarked.

“I'm sick of putting up with him this weekend.” Beatrice vented.

“Don't you think this will be your grandmother's scheme? Since her plan with Liam didn't work out …”

“He must be about thirty years old. It could almost be my father. I don't think my grandmother would plan such a thing.”

While they were still talking, Felicity and Donna walked over. Donna quickened her pace to meet Briar and Beatrice.

“This is so exciting! I can't wait to see Prince Liam play in his uniform! Have you imagined how good his butt will look wearing it?” Donna whispered the last sentence, giggling. “Besides, he must be an excellent player like all princes! Wouldn't it be great if your dad could convince Prince William or Harry to play? You have to tell him to invite them, Beatrice!” Donna chattered happily. “The rules are a little confusing, but any opportunity to see hot guys sweating is a good one, don't you think, Briar?”

Briar replied with something indecipherable since her mind was far away.

“Never mind, Donna, she's been sick this weekend.” Beatrice excused her.

“This is horrible! It should be illegal to get sick on this weekend, don't you think, Felicity?” Felicity had just arrived at them in her elegant cocktail-inspired dress, expensive high heels and vintage sunglasses.

Facing her, Beatrice had a self-conscious moment. There wasn’t a rigorous dress code for the EPW, but comparing her flowy floral dress to Felicity's, the young girl felt dull.

As she passed Beatrice, Felicity almost knocked over the camera tripod.

“Maybe you'd better take off your glasses and watch where you're going, Felicity!” Beatrice didn't let her get away with it.

“I wasn’t expecting you here.” Felicity gave a disdainful smile.

“Beatrice has been photographing the event for the family archives. That's why she's not in the box with her family.” Donna explained innocently.

“Given the amount of time she spends in the stables, she would be best served in a box among the horses today. Come on, Donna. I will wish Ernest good luck.”

“Bitch!” Briar grunted.

The players paraded onto the field. The Edgewater team passed by where they were. Briar looked down as Edmund passed, pretending to look at her phone. Edmund looked away, embarrassed.

“Is the lehenga ready for the party?” Beatrice asked, noticing what had just happened.

“I don't know if I'm going to the party, much less if I want to...impress him. If he doesn't want me, I won't crawl to him either.”

As much as Beatrice wanted to bring them back together, she understood how Briar felt at the moment. She knew she had no right to force anything. “It’s fine, Briar.” Beatrice smiled and held her hand. “Do what you think is best. I'll have your back.”

The players gathered in the middle for a few minutes of exhibitionism while they were introduced. From a distance, seeing the boys wearing boots, white pants and helmets on top of the horses, they looked like toy soldiers. Briar pointed out that the pants were so tight they looked like ballerinas, but she wasn't unhappy with the view.

Those who were there for aesthetic purposes were divided, not knowing whether to sigh for the blond prince with blue eyes or for the Scottish lord.

Although both families were beloved in the region, the conversations in the air and the colours of the clothes revealed each other's preferences.

Beatrice zoomed in on the camera to capture the first images, shooting them one by one. It was hard to admit, but her heart was divided. She wanted Edgewater's victory (and Luke's glory) with all her might. However, Beatrice knew it would be good for Ernest to have that joy. He deserved it after so much suffering in the last few months.

After showing off, the two teams lined up facing each other in the centre of the field. At Earl's signal, the first chukka started.

From the first second, the noise of the horses, the mallets hitting the ball, and the captains shouting instructions take the public to another world.

At the end of the first chukka, neither team had scored a goal. Edmund had nearly fallen off his horse defending a last-second attempt by Ernest's cousin, making Briar's heart stop for a moment.

After the three-minute break, at Dominique's voice, they started the second chukka.

They moved quickly and nimbly. The mix of red and blue shirts made it sometimes difficult to say who had control of the ball. Or even distinguish the players from the horses.

Harry was so determined to take the ball away from James that he ended up committing a foul for riding at a higher speed than him. Edmund was furious, shouting at his brother. Luke and Liam had to tell him to shut up so they wouldn't risk another foul.

Ledford's team was awarded a penalty, and James took the opportunity to score a goal that took the public's breath away.

As the rules obliged, the teams switched sides, and the match continued. It was impossible to take the eyes off the match without risking missing something important.

For a couple of minutes, the crowd was in suspense, watching Ernest and Luke fight for possession of the ball. The mallets looked like two knights. It was impossible to tell where the ball was, as it was always changing hands. The hypnotic dance was interrupted by the sound of breaking wood.

Ernest's mallet had broken in two, scaring the horses. Despite the skill of both, the horses got tangled up in each other, causing Ernest and Luke to fall.

Beatrice gasped. She tried to jump the fence, but Briar grabbed her by the dress. “You're not going anywhere. First aid is already rushing there.”

Fortunately, they were both already standing when the doctor and nurse arrived. Through the lens, Beatrice saw them disinfecting some scratches. Earl gave the order to change horses and resume the match.

However, it still took some time before Beatrice stopped shaking. She didn't even want to think about the possibility that something bad had happened to either of them.

During halftime, the Earl offered champagne and invited the spectators to walk across the field to stomp divots. It was a churned mess from the horses and from the mallet's force hitting the ball. The first time she saw it, Beatrice found it strange. Noticing the confusion in her eyes, her father explained to her at the time, “Pressing the divots into the ground prevents falls and injury during play and allows the ball to travel farther and with more accuracy.”

As amusing as pressing the divots was, it was comical observing all the adults having fun doing it like it was a children's play. Even Henrietta seemed to be enjoying herself.

Looking around, she saw Felicity talking to Duke Richards. She was so distracted strutting for the duke that she didn't notice that her heel had gotten stuck in a hole. As she lifted her other foot to stomp the next divot, Felicity lost her balance, fell to the ground and spilt the champagne all over the Duke.

Everyone who saw it couldn't help but smile, at least. As for Tristan, he didn't even bother helping Felicity, annoyed by the champagne stains on his clothes.

It was two boys from Moorfield who helped her up and took her to the emergency room.

A few minutes later, the match resumed.

By the end of the last chukka, the teams were tied.

rom the bleachers, Beatrice could feel the tension and frustration of the players.

They took a 10-minute break to rest and switch horses.

Beatrice snuck out to see Luke. He was giving the team a motivational speech and proposing a new strategy.  Luke was a quiet boy most of the time, but when he had to take on the role of leader, he was fascinating to watch. Even Harry was listening willingly.

Her boys were playing very well, but the Ledford Park team was putting on a brilliant demonstration. Ernest and his cousin may not be best friends yet, but they were a fantastic duo. Even Bart was a better player than he let on. However, obviously, she wasn't going to share those impressions with her boys.

After letting him finish, Beatrice hugged Luke from behind and planted a discreet kiss on his neck. “It has been a brilliant match, my love.”

“Careful, Bea, I'm dirty and sweaty.” He turned around to face her.

“After being with you covered in horse poop, this doesn't scare me.” She laughed. Luke leaned in for a kiss, but Beatrice placed the water bottle between them. “Hydration first.”  He pretended to be sulking, but he drank all the water. The bottle had barely left his lips when Beatrice took them.

“This was much more refreshing than drinking a whole fountain.” Luke caressed her face. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Liam had to call them back to reality. The match will resume.

The Earl was on the field and invited Beatrice to draw lots for choosing the method of breaking the tie, using a gold coin that Dominique, a local jeweller, had made. ‘S.D’ face for “Sudden Death” and ‘S.O’ for “Shoot-out”.

All eyes were fixed on her, expectant. Both teams feared either of them. For the public, any of them was a promise of an exciting show. Beatrice tossed the coin. Nervous, she didn't even look at the result. It was the referee who announced that the tiebreaker would be done through the “Shoot-out”.

Everyone on the field trembled. Although theoretically a faster method (and equally fair in every way), it was treacherous for the players.

Luck chose Edgewater to start with. Each captain chose the first to attempt a free hit. Luke chose Liam. Positioned on the 40-yard line, facing the undefended goal. Beatrice felt like her heart had stopped while Liam wasn’t touching the ball. After a fraction of a second, the ball went in, causing an explosion of joy.

Following the rules, each player in turn, and alternating teams, tried their luck. The tie continued. On both teams, two players scored and one missed. It was thrilling yet unnerving at the same time.

The end of the story was in the captains’ hands.

“And what if they still tie?” Briar asked nervously, biting her nails.

“Our rules say there is another ten-minute break, and then the first team to score wins.” Her heart didn't know what to wish for.

It was Ernest's turn. He looked at the goal with absolute concentration. The audience was completely silent. When the mallet hit the ball, it sounded like a bang. In the first few seconds, it almost looked like he had scored, but he missed by a couple of centimetres.

A chorus of disappointed sighs echoed across the field, but she could hear Ernest screaming inwardly.

It was now Luke's turn. He glanced in her direction before preparing to hit the ball, and Beatrice placed her hand over her heart. It was their secret signal. As usual, Luke gave the ball three light taps and hit it hard. The ball triumphantly entered the goal, triggering an explosion of joy. Briar and others who were nearby clung to Beatrice, jumping and screaming in celebration. Beatrice's heart leaped with joy on one side, but it was tight on the other.

Beatrice wanted to go get the Edgewater boys, but she wanted to take some pictures first.

Disentangling herself from them, she returned to her spot. Before taking some photos, her eyes lay on Ernest for a few moments. She knew him well enough to know that he was extremely frustrated but was controlling himself so as not to lose his composure. He took off his helmet. His hair looked darker from sweat, and the curls were all dishevelled, sticking to his forehead and face. In spite of dating an athlete, she never understood the allure of 'hot, sweaty guys', as Donna had mentioned. However, this image of Ernest made her feel something different inside her for a moment. Like a bee sting, which is intense but soon passes.

Briar took the camera to the podium, and Beatrice jumped the fence to join the players.

She was running towards the Edgewater team, but her heart told her to take a detour.

“Congratulations, gentlemen! You played in a way that would make yesterday's professionals jealous.”

“I warned you not to underestimate the Eton boys.” Bart winked at her.

She wanted to say something nice to them, especially to Ernest, but Earl was calling her. “I have to go. See you on the podium.”

Reunited with the Edgewater team, Beatrice hugged them all.

“Don't feel embarrassed because I'm here. Our captain deserves the kiss of victory.” The Earl smiled.

Luke lifted her into the air, and Beatrice wasted no time in kissing him properly. "Congratulations, my love. I knew you were the only one capable of giving us this joy."

“It was a team effort. Together we are very good.” Luke replied slightly awkwardly.

“Luke’s cool head from the competitions helped us stay focused. Our combined forces worked very well.” Harry admitted, to the astonishment of those present

After a few minutes to compose themselves, the teams headed to the podium.

As planned, Henrietta and Dominique handed out the second-place medals. Beatrice followed them with the medals’ boxes. Bart was very excited, and both James and Andrew seemed pretty happy with the outcome.

It was Ernest's turn. After he had a medal around his neck, he kissed Dominique's hand, forcing a smile, praising her for the competition organisation. Beatrice knew it wasn't a matter of a bad loss. Nevertheless, she sensed a deeper sadness in Ernest.

However, there was no time for questions. Team Edgewater was already waiting to step onto the podium while being refreshed with champagne.

Vincent gave Beatrice the opportunity to present the medals to the winners. Despite the excitement of victory, she fulfilled her role well, with the solemnity that the moment demanded, placing the medals around each one’s necks and greeting them with a kiss on the cheek. Beatrice couldn't remember the last time she had kissed her brother or even ever given him one. It was a strange moment for them, but the enthusiasm of the victory drowned it out.

As they packed their things to go home and get ready for dinner, Beatrice saw that Bart was still around. “Shouldn't you be with the host helping with the dinner preparations?” She teased him.

“Ernest doesn't need me; he has a wonder woman named Constance Lewis. I think we will eat them in the greenhouse due to the construction work at the house. I stayed around here a little longer, collecting our sweat and tears." Bart joked.

“You guys were brilliant, Bart. I dare say that your defeat was almost unfair.” Beatrice admitted.

“Thank you, dear. You are truly a little rose among the brambles.” Bart stroked her face affectionately.

++++++++++

Back at Edgewater, Beatrice was in her room, getting ready for dinner. Since the dinner was going to be somewhat formal, Dominique told her to wear something a little more sophisticated. Despite the off-the-shoulder neckline, it was made of a blue brocade fabric with white flowers and long sleeves. Beatrice felt warm just looking at him.

Stretched out on Beatrice's bed was Briar's lehenga, waiting for her decision.

Briar eventually appeared. “I'm only going because Ernest personally invited us. And because he invited the professional players to dinner...including the Indians. So, my mother couldn't miss the opportunity. She already found out that one is from her hometown." She said, frowningly.

“Let’s just try to have some fun tonight. There will be many things we make fun of.”

“Starting with that dress of yours.” Briar let out a smile.

“Not all of us can be princesses from the Arabian Nights.” Beatrice teased back.

Beatrice helped Briar get dressed. The lehenga was made of a vibrant magenta with gold embroidery, which highlights Briar's features. Instead of wearing the dupatta, Beatrice entwined it in Briar's hair.

“Impressive.” Briar looked at herself in the mirror. “You're finally learning something from me. One day you will be a big girl able to do your own hair.”

“Sometimes I don't know if I want to be a big girl.” Beatrice reflected, looking at their reflections in the mirror.

++++++++

It didn't seem like it was a dinner that had been prepared in a couple of hours. The Ledford Park greenhouse looked stunning, with vintage lanterns peeking out from among the greenery. The two doors were open, letting in the cool August night, so there were elegant blankets on all the chairs.

The Earl and his family were the first to arrive, along with the other members of the team.

Domonique had allowed Luke to enter with Beatrice without any fuss. She accompanied Prince Liam herself. That night, the Dowager Countess looked ten years younger with so much pride beaming from her eyes.

With Bart's help, Ernest diligently fulfilled his role as host.

“Congratulations, Sinclaire. The greenhouse is stunning! Don't you get tired of making things everything so perfect?” Beatrice teased me.

“It’s all miracle of Saint Constance Lewis.” He smiled.

Looking further up, Beatrice noticed his curls. Not a couple of hours ago they were completely drenched in sweat and dishevelled. On that moment, it didn't even look like the same hair. Even so, there were a couple of them who insisted on rebelling against the majority of their brothers, prominent like two antennas on the head.

Betrice climbed onto a flower bed.

“What are you doing? You will fall!” Ernest reprimanded her.

Beatrice didn't answer, hiding her unruly curls among the others. It was like touching a fluffy cloud. Unconsciously, she must have taken longer than necessary because he asked what she was doing.  “You're welcome, Sinclaire.”

“Some are not so well behaved.” He joked about the awkwardness of the situation.

Despite the role he was playing, Beatrice could see in his eyes how far away he was from there.

“Earth calls Sinclaire? There is a guest walking towards you.” Beatrice whispered.

“Your father would be very proud of you tonight. In fact, they both would be.” Beatrice said after the guest went away

“I am not so sure. I broke my father's favourite mallet. It survived the fire to end up like this...” He fixed his eyes on a lantern. “Besides, my father loves…loved to win.”

“He was competitive, indeed, but, in the end of the say, your father loved to have fun and that's what you should be doing tonight.”

“You don’t understand. I wish I had won, not for me, but for him. I owed him that.”

“You and your team were brilliant. Okay, you didn't win, but if anyone had any doubts about your leadership abilities, they disappeared today. Also, the only thing you owe your parents is to enjoy everything they built for you.”

“Are you suggesting I become a lecherous lord?” He smiled.

“Even if you tried, you wouldn't be able to.” She smiled back. “No matter how much your father loved this game and win, his love for you was infinitely greater. As for the mallet can be glued and displayed in Ledford Park.”

As he listened to Beatrice's words, a memory came to Ernest's mind. It was under that tree where he was trying to paint his mother that Beatrice had come, somewhat awkwardly, to thank him for his help in the egg hunt. She was only ten years old at the time. How did time pass so quickly? How was the child who lived in the world of her dolls becoming a sensible girl?

++++++++

Despite the high concentration of VIPs per square meter, the arrival of the Daly did not go unnoticed. It was impossible not to notice how beautiful they were. Pavarti looked rejuvenated in her traditional attire, and Briar glowed among the lanterns.

Thunderstruck, looking at her, Edmund ran into an employee carrying a tray of champagne glasses, causing a huge commotion.

Ernest took Edmund to his temporary quarters to borrow him a shirt and give his friend some privacy to compose himself.

“Is everything okay, Edmund? That was too clumsy even for you. Sorry, that sounded better in my head than it did in my mouth.”

“I'm not offended. I know I'm clumsy! But it's comforting to see you put your foot in it every now and then. Even if it's in words.” Edmund joked about the situation.

“Even with all this EPW hustle and bustle, I've noticed you're more distracted than usual. Are you having any problems? Can I help somehow?”

Edmund didn't want to go into ddetails ecause he considered the whole blackmail mess too embarrassing to share.

Due to his behaviour during the weekend and what just had happened, Ernest perceived it was related to Briar, but he didn't want to force his friend to talk. “Just let me give you a piece of advice, Eddie: if there's something to say or clarify, don't waste time. Ask, say, do... life is too short to carry and make others carry regrets in hearts. In seconds, everything can change... otherwise you will put your life in limbo about what could have been. Forever.”

His friend's words had the weight of someone who had already been through a lot, but Edmund was afraid. Very afraid of the consequences. Especially for Briar.

As they returned to the greenhouse, his gaze immediately met hers. She took ta timidstep forward towards hhim ut then backed away.

At the ssame time,Pavarti called her to meet the player who wwasfrom her family hometown – he was a young promising player, aaccording tothe comments Edmund had heard.  The three seemed to be having an animated conversation.

Stealthily, he approached them, butting into the conversation. “I apologise in advance for this intrusion, but I couldn't miss the opportunity to greet you.” Edmund reached out and shook the player's hand. "It was so inspiring to watch your techniques. I hope you get that contract here."

“I was just talking about it with Mrs and Miss Daly. On the one hand, I would love to be made an offer, but on the other hand, I fear how much I will miss my homeland.”

“I understand perfectly. I was away for a few months in Spain, which is practically next door, and I was already dying of homesickness.”

“In my case, it was love that made me stay in England. Who knows? Maybe the same thing will happen to you.” Mrs Pavarti pointed.

Briar politely apologised, citing a problem with her outfit, and disappeared into the crowd.

Nevertheless, even in the Sinclaires' massive greenhouse, it was impossible to run away from someone all night. During the appetisers’ dance, they ended up meeting at the Scotch Egg platter.

“Your attire is very beautiful.” Edmund tried to start the conversation with a compliment.

“You already knew that. I had shown you when we finished to sew it.” Briar used the tactic of cutting conversation short, completing it by shoving nearly half an egg into her mouth.

“I remember. I confess I often thought about how good it would look on you. However, all the images I created are a pale reflection of how beautiful you are tonight.”

Briar felt like she had swallowed the entire appetiser. He couldn't have the courage to try flirting with her after all that drama. "What nerve you have!" Briar still raised her voice but lowered it out of embarrassment. "One minute you reject me, the next you try to flirt with me... If you ever really loved me, you should know that I will never be a doll that you can have on the shelf to play with whenever you feel like it. And know that even if I wanted to forget these last days... neither my dignity nor my conscience would allow it.”

Edmund was going to ask if she was referring to the kiss with Arthur, but they were interrupted by the gong calling for dinner.

He barely ate, pondering his hypotheses. If it is true that Dominique was considering paying for Briar's education, it would be selfish of him if his feelings risked her future.

However, there was also the possibility that it wouldn't even interfere with anything. After all, everyone had come to terms with their sister and Luke's relationship. Besides, if his grandmother truly believed in her talent, he wanted to believe that she would help Briar no matter the circumstances.

The worst-case scenario would be that Mrs Pavarti, in her eagerness to protect her daughter, would leave Edgewater, and then there would be no love or education.

As he picked at what he thought was a fish dish, the young Marlcaster decided in his heart that if no one would help her because of their relationship, he himself would work day and night if necessary to pay for her education. Besides, there was still his father's inheritance that would soon be within his reach, despite the surrounding mystery his mother had created about the matter.

Finally, there was the matter of the kiss with Arthur. According to Beatrice, Briar and Arthur were a little drunk when it happened. And thinking retrospectively, he hadn't been the boyfriend model either in recent months. Telegraphic postcards, calls with the minutes counted... It didn't excuse everything, but his neglect opened the way to vulnerability and opportunity for Arthur.

Briar was light in the lives of those she loved. Deep down, he didn't condemn the boy for trying his luck. She deserved better, and Edmund was going to be what she deserved.

Before the desserts were served, Edmund asked Ernest if he could say some words. Intrigued, the host allowed it, warning the guests that Mr Marlcaster was going to say some words.

When attention turned to him, he felt lost for a moment. He wasn't used to being the protagonist. Although everyone looked expectantly, he focused on Briar's face. She was the reason for his living, and everyone would know.  After resisting the temptation to look at him, Briar gave in and looked him in the eye, despite the distance. That unlocked his tongue.

“Dear family, dear friends and everyone else present tonight, these have been very happy days for me, not only because I returned home after months of absence but also because I helped my team win the E.P.W, bringing pride and joy to my family. However, I am especially… I'm daring to say…blissed out because I am once again close to the one my heart loves and adores and is the reason for its beating. I love you, Briar Daly. It doesn't matter what happened before or what may happen after this, but I love you. You make me happier than I've ever been in my life. If you still accept me, with all the flaws you know well and qualities I think only you can see, I would like to officially make a commitment, with you, Miss Daly, in front of you, with the most sincere and pure intentions. I hope both families give their blessing. Even if you don't, nothing will change my feelings, except a word from Briar herself.”

Briar went from pale to red. He felt a shiver run down his spine, and a suffocating heat spread through her body. All at the same time.

She didn't know what to think, because she wasn't even sure if she had just heard those words from him or if she had fallen asleep and was dreaming. Her heart was beating so fast that Briar couldn't even breathe. She felt that all eyes were now on her. Briar looked at her mother in distress. Parvati's reaction was indecipherable.

However, before she could react, Henrietta's shrill voice echoed in the greenhouse. “Edmund, my son, this is certainly a joke in bad taste, the result of excessive drinking at the party.” She tried to convey the idea that she was laughing at the situation, but the tone of fury escaped between her words.

“No, Mother. I'm not drunk, and I'm being very serious. I've been in love with Miss Daly for a long time.”

Henrietta tried to pretend to faint but changed her mind. She got up from the table, now not trying to hide her displeasure. “That's ridiculous, Edmund, and you know it very well! From other people…” Henrietta didn't mention a name, but everyone knew she meant Beatrice. “…given their origins and poor education, I expect anything... now from you, Edmund... a young man as well educated as you, from good families in each and every branch of our tree. How can you even consider, let alone say, such nonsense? She's practically a maid!”

“I am your maid, but my daughter is not. And although serving others is not a dishonour, God willing, she never will be.” Parvati intervened, feeling insulted.

“"Wait a minute... now it makes sense; this is a mother-daughter plan. As if it wasn't enough that they've settled in Edgewater, moving around the house freely, living on our land for free, now they want to move up in the world, using Briar to seduce my son! If there were any doubts, look at how she dresses tonight! I've seen this happen before. There was a similar problem at my grandfather's house in India... Luckily my great uncle was saved in time from the clutches of…”

“Don't you dare finish that sentence, Mother! The Pavarti are good and honest people, and you know it! You may not approve of my feelings, but you cannot control my heart!” Edmund said calmly but firmly.

Despite the sad circus show that Henrietta was performing, everyone present could see that Edmund was serious and that his feelings were strong enough to make that boy who had been a little lamb all his life face his mother.

The Earl, already beyond embarrassed, got up from the table to calm things down, but Harry was quicker to throw another log into the fire. “You're a fool, Edmund! You are embarrassing yourself and us for a girl who isn't even as good or honest as you say. In your absence, while you were studying and working in Spain, barely sleeping, she was making out around with another boy.”

The greenhouse fell into a deep silence. Briar nearly fainted. However, she still had the strength to defend herself, "That's not what happened at all, you viper, and you know it since you listen so well behind closed doors!"

After the initial shock, the guests were following this soap opera with keen interest.

“I know what happened, and that will be a matter to be resolved between me and her. We both have accounts to settle for our mistakes.”

“I love you too, Edmund, but I don't know what will become of us after this.” Briar confessed out loud.

“Enough circus for tonight!" Vincent said firmly. "Dear guests, I apologise for having to watch this ridiculous drama and ruin your evening. We are going home to sort out our problems like normal people do. I would greatly appreciate it if this matter could be confined to this greenhouse. Have a good evening.”

All the Foredales got up and left. The Earl asked Pavarti to meet him at the mansion. Ernest followed them out, stunned by what had just happened.

“Let it be recorded in the chronicles of Ledford Park that tonight, I am not to blame.” Beatrice said to do Ernest.

“I imagine you are an accomplice in this mess.”

“I bet you are too, Sinclaire!”

He didn't confirm, but he asked. "Keep me posted if you can."

Edmund tried to catch Briar along the way, but Mrs Daly made her rush her steps. Beatrice couldn’t catch them either.

“I never thought I'd say this to you, Edmund, but I'm proud of you for being so brave and foolish at the same time.” Beatrice pulled him to stand behind the group.

“Is this supposed to make me feel better?” Edmund got a little irritated.

“It was. I'm very proud, and I'm sure Briar is even more so. The only downside is that you could have chosen...let's say...a less...public occasion. But after Ascot, who am I to point the finger at you? Plus, it was a beautiful declaration of love. Equated to a Jane Austen hero. Even I almost fell in love with you.”

“My mother has already made her opinion very clear. How do you think Father and Grandmother reacted? They were strangely, eerily quiet.”

“As my mother used to say, 'Let's prepare for the worst and hope for the best.'” Beatrice sighed.

Beatrice tried to act as an ambassador with her father when they arrived home. Edmund tried to play the hero. Mrs Daly wanted a word with the Earl. However, to everyone's surprise, the first person the Earl wanted to speak to was Briar herself. Everyone else was asked to wait in the library.

There, the atmosphere was tense. Like in a mystery movie, everyone was sipping tea, and no one was saying a word, just casting accusatory looks at each other.

Under the pretence of checking on Sunny, Beatrice escaped from the library. By chance, Sunny noticed the owner's arrival and followed her on her mission. Beatrice sat leaning against one of the doors, with the pug on her lap, which soon fell asleep.

Although she couldn't understand every word, Beatrice's heart calmed down when she heard her father speak in a calm tone. He wasn't mad at Briar.

“I never noticed anything... I always assumed it was just a special affection... I believe that a man and a woman can be just friends, and I, honestly, thought that was all it was.”

“We were, but then, things started to change…” Beatrice recognised Bria's embarrassed tone.

“I didn't raise Edmund with those kinds of values, but I have to ask you this: was he the one who somehow pushed you into this relationship? He's older, handsome, chivalrous... Although he lacks flirting skills, it would be easy to charm an inexperienced young girl. I'm talking to you as if I were your father, not as a Scotland Yard interrogator. I just want to understand how things happened.”

“I sympathised with him from the first day I met Edmund. And yes, I found his shy novel hero attitude very charming. I noticed that he got along with me too; however, no feelings developed...before a certain age. As you said, when I arrived here, he was older, entering adolescence, and I was a child. Many times, I felt protected and cherished, as Beatrice was to him. When I grew up, I realised that I had other feelings for him and that maybe he could have them for me. However, contrary to what your wife says, I did not seduce him with any intention. We just discovered that we felt good and happy together... that we loved each other. We didn't say anything before because we were afraid that our families would put us apart: my mother because he was older and you because I am just the seamstress's daughter. About what Harry said…”

“I don't want to hear about gossip. That will be a matter between you and Edmund. If there are indeed problems between you, you will have to weigh them on the scales with your love and see the result.” Vincent advised. “I have no problem with your mother's profession. I have the utmost respect and consideration for her. Even if she was a prostitute for a living, that didn't take away your worth as a person or your right to love and be loved by my son. Nevertheless, I must confess the age gap, despite being mathematically almost irrelevant and not bringing any problems in the future, in the present time, it creates a gap between you, and I think that could bring some problems: ambitions, desires, and needs that are unique to each of you could be very different over the next couple of years.”

“So, you're suggesting we break off the relationship?”

“No. I find you a very harmonious couple. Believe me, Briar, I would be happy for your relationship to last long enough for you to become part of the family. I witnessed tonight that Edmund's feelings are strong and pure, as yours seem to be. You've clearly been bringing him up. Edmund has become more determined, more focused and dynamic, and now I realise the reason is you.” The Earl made a pause. After some awkward seconds, he continued, “As a father advises a daughter, I tell you: you two will need a lot of resilience to survive the next years. I will not be a stone in your path, nor will I allow anyone in this house to be, but I will keep an eye on you. You are both very young. Be careful with your hearts. Before you go, promise me one thing: if you ever feel afraid in this house, no matter who it is, even Edmund himself, tell me right away.”

“I will, my lord.”

“Try to rest, and tomorrow we'll have all day to pick up the pieces of this mess.”

They caught Beatrice trying to run away with Sunny. “And you, my dear daughter, I presume you are the main accomplice in this story.” Beatrice was petrified for a moment. “Please tell your brother to come talk to me. I want to resolve this before the sun rises.”

The path between the library and his father's office never seemed so long to Edmund. When she went to call him, Beatrice was expressionless and said she would walk Briar home.

As he sat in the chair, his legs were shaking. Fortunately, they couldn't be seen under the desk.

“Look, Edmund, I don't even know where to begin. The speech was beautiful, but I think Briar was more embarrassed than impressed.”

“So you're not mad at me?” Edmund stammered.

“I'm not exactly angry... I'm disappointed, because you did the same mistake Beatrice did. You hid this from me, and then you decided to reveal it like an atomic bomb. I love you as if every inch of you came from me, Edmund. I thought you would trust me to tell me about what was going on. I understand that you were afraid, especially in the first few months, but once you were sure that you wanted to be with Briar, you could have told me. You know perfectly well that her origins would never be an objection to me.”

“The same cannot be said of the mother and grandmother..."

“If your grandmother's heart resisted Ascot, she will resist this harsh blow of fate well.” Vincent quipped. “About your mother… She has ruled all your life. Don’t let her rule your heart. Whether it's with Briar or any other girl. She is your mother; she loves you, but that doesn’t give her that right. And you showed it to her today... only it could have been less scandalous. However, I'm proud of you, my boy. You stand up for yourself and the woman you love. I admire you for that, Edmund. I wasn't that brave.”

“Thank you, Father. I just wanted Briar to know that she is the love of my life. I just didn't say anything before because I was afraid of compromising her future.”

“What do you mean?” The Earl was confused.

Edmund summarised the story of the potential scholarship for Briar sponsored by Dominique.

“If your grandmother said that, it's because she sees true talent in Briar. She wouldn't consider such a thing if Briar didn't deserve it. She is charitable, but not stupid. Besides, my mother may have many faults, but she is not petty. Even if she doesn't like your relationship, I don't believe your grandmother wouldn't help her.”

“I'm sorry I don't have your faith.” Edmund heaves a sigh.

“Even if she refuses, I will help her myself. She's a good girl, and from what I see in Beatrice's dresses, she was born to be a fashion designer.”

“Will you?” Edmund looked full of hope at his father.

“I will; you have my word. Even you two break up.”

Edmund hugged his father. “Thank you so much, Father. She deserves the world. And I apologise for the embarrassment I caused the family.”

“The awkwardness will pass. My only concern, as I told Briar, is your age difference. It's not much, but there's a lot of potential for you to hurt each other.  You are going through different phases. It won't be easy to reconcile everything. You're practically a grown man, and Briar is still a teenager. Although she has some maturity for her age on some points, there are still differences…”

“I think I understand what you mean, Father. I love Briar, but I know her limits and mine. You can be sure that they will be respected. I love her too much to hurt her again.”

“I knew that's what you were going to do.” Vincent smiled proudly. Still, I will keep an eye on you guys. Not to control you, but because I like you and I want a future for you both. Together. Before you go, how do you feel about what Harry said? Is it really true?”

“It is. Beatrice told me by accident. Briar was…” He didn’t want to say tipsy to protect her reputation: “...down and got carried away by the moment. Beatrice told me that she already cleared the situation with the guy.”

“Good, but how do you feel about it?”

Edmund thought for some time before answering. “I think I have always been afraid that something like this would happen because she is so beautiful and smart, and I am kind of...plain. So, when I found out, it was like living a nightmare. Later I realised that I hadn't been an exemplary boyfriend either and maybe I was partly to blame for what happened.” Vincent laughed. “Why are you laughing?” Edmund was confused.

“You're on the right path. Women love it when we admit guilt. However, you cannot ignore the matter. Please, clarify it before. Or the scab of this wound may itch for a long time.”

“I will, I promise.”

Before they could finish their conversation, Dominique burst into the bureau. “I'm not a young lad anymore; I'm too tired to wait my turn. So, here goes: Edmund, that circus was completely unnecessary! I am running out of cards on my sleeve to patch so many holes in this family's dignity. I don't know if my heart can handle another one.” Then she turned to her son, “Still, we should be thanking God, Vincent. It could be some crazy girl he met on the Internet. This one at least has a brain and isn't idle. She is embodying the good values ​​of this house and is diligent and humble like her mother. Even with all the bad luck, we won the lottery. Good night!” And she simply disappeared as unexpectedly as she had come.

The two were so shocked by what had just happened that they didn't even see Mrs. Daly at the door.

“I think we have a lot to talk about, and I'm not going to wait for the sun to rise.” Pavarti said, announcing her presence.

Edmund was going to get up, but Vincent told him to sit down. “You stay. You are part of the problem.”

“My lord, I'll get straight to the point. I'm not staying here after what happened tonight. My daughter may not have made the wisest decisions…” She looked at Edmund with a frown. “I didn't know about this relationship either, and I'm as upset as you are to find out this way. However, I cannot condemn my daughter for falling in love. Not even for some foolishness typical of her age. We are a humble but honourable family. Therefore, I refuse to remain in a place where the cloud of suspicion will forever hang over us. Please do my accounts for this month. We leave Edgewater tomorrow night.”

“Mrs Daly, please, don’t do such a thing! Briar can have a better future here! I will work day and night for that!” Edmund tried to intervene. “We hid our relationship because we didn't want you to worry...”

“Stop, Edmund. She is an angry mother, and if you say one more word, she will tear you in two. You are dismissed for the night.” Then the Earl turned to Pavarti. “Mrs Daly, I will also get straight to the point. No one except my dramatic wife is mad or suspicious of you. Even though we are all upset with these lovelorn fools, it doesn't change your reputation and your incredible work here. They understand our fears, and I know that you too, deep down, understand their reasons. They made a big mistake, but they proved today that they want to do things the right way. And even if in a few months they end their relationship, nothing will change how much we love Briar and your work, Mrs Pavarti. I don't care what Henrietta thinks. Your work is very important in this house. Besides, my mother loves you as a seamstress...and as a friend. Imagine also what it would be like to separate Briar from Beatrice now. They are practically two sisters. I would venture to say that they would rather be without a boyfriend than without each other.”

“I don't want me and my daughter to live under censorious eyes. That is neither healthy nor dignified. Yes, because even the poor have dignity.” Parvati was not entirely convinced.

“Henrietta will be furious for a long time. There is no point in using euphemisms. But it will pass, like all her tantrums do. I would bet that the tantrum will pass once she goes to a seamstress who doesn't make an exquisite dress that only exists in her head. Regardless of her, we have two children to take care of, and they will need our attention and good advice more than ever, don't you think? And since when is there any point in separating two lovers? If this is to last, nothing will stop them.”

“Maybe you have a point there. However, you have to understand my point of view as a mother. It would be very easy for Edmund to fall for an older girl, who has more to offer him... in every way. Or else things will move quickly, and the two will do something that has an irreversible impact on their future."

“Your fears are my fears. Therefore, together, we will help the ship reach a safe harbour.” Vincent took her hand comfortingly. “I imagine you want to have a serious talk with Briar, but allow me to ask you to let her and Edmund talk first. They need to find their way again.”

After Mrs Daly confirmed that she would stay for the time being, Vincent went looking for Henrietta. He found her on one of the library couches, fast asleep.

“I just wanted her to calm down a bit, but I think I overdid it.” Harry explained.

“It's okay. With the headache she will wake up with, she will have less energy to torture mine.”

“What will happen?” Harry asked, hoping for juicy details.

“It could be worse. Tomorrow the lovebirds have to have a serious talk, and then we'll sew up the hole. Fortunately, they are seamstresses.” The Earl joked about the situation.

“That’s it?” Harry was outraged. “They do stupid thing after stupid thing, and in the end, everything always turns out fine. I, who strive to do everything right, am always relegated or humiliated.”

“Harry, one day you too will make a terrible mistake. Maybe even for love. And I will be to you the understanding father that I was to them.” Vincent hugged Harry and kissed his head. “I love you, Harry. More than you can imagine.”

Thank you so much to those who are still around:

Dominique's love for polo caught me off guard, but then I saw the point (you go girl, watch those sweaty men in tight clothes. You and Donna probably have a lot to talk about! 🤣🤣🤣)

A lifelong fan of the sport of kings (I mean, who doesn't like to see handsome guys riding horses?), Countess Dominique took advantage of her husband's love of horses to bring her old passion into her new home.

All the dialogues were so good. Beatrice's conversations with Ernest and Barr were amazing (what a gossip duo those two are! 🤣 I laughed when Ernest asked Beatrice to keep him in the loop!

The way you craft Earl Vincent's wise words in every turn is so poetic but also genuine, I loved particularly these parts. It shows how very lucid he is and aware of his children's flaws.

In addition to my interest in winning, this is a lesson for my two children present here: often, what is best for the family, for the business, to fulfil our duty... whatever it may be... will not always be what we would like it to be. It may require us to sacrifice our personal preferences, our comfort, our feelings... or our pride.”

.

Frustration, if not tamed, is dangerous and only makes us and those we love unhappy. Adolescence is our last chance to do that.

As usual, Briar is one of the best and this line is so true and she should say it more often lol

There are times when I start to think that guys aren't worth the troubles they cause us, so enough of the boys for now

And what to say of these two iconic lines from Beatrice ?

"Sometimes I don't know if I want to be a big girl.”

.

“Let it be recorded in the chronicles of Ledford Park that tonight, I am not to blame.” Beatrice said to do Ernest.

The first one lets us see a vulnerability from her and the doubts of a young teenager who is growing up and facing such a difficult world (and I love how later Ernest looks at her and sees how much she's grown into a sensible girl. The mutual admiration is adorable!!) and it's such a relatable feeling. I loved that you addressing it.

And the second one just shows Beatrice's sense of humour we all love! The use of words is totally perfect for a pair of book nerds like them! 10/10 😅

Again I'll tell you, I loved all the drama you crafted for Briar and Edmund, the building up, the reveal and the aftermath *chefs kiss*

You did an wonderful job, Débora ❤️