I slid aptly from the tree, considering the boy I used to know and the man he became all the while. He had composed himself well in speaking to Monsieur Lemieux. I had witnessed far worse negotiations at the hands of men much more qualified to partake in them. He had learned much in the art of statecraft since he had disappeared. I thought of my own training, how behind I was when I began and how far ahead of the others I was upon completion. I understood, perhaps better than anyone, how hard someone with nothing could work. Especially if the alternative was everything.

I ran silently across the grounds, remaining in the shadows as much as possible and pausing on occasion to brush a stray leaf or twig from my dress. Normally, I wouldn't pay much attention to my appearance as the subjects of my spying never took much heed in my presence but the watchful eye of Oliver's unfamiliar companion had be on alert and, though I fussed much more, the challenge of an observant soldier's presence brought a thrill to my life that I hadn't experienced since the war. Though I doubted he was truly a worthy adversary, I felt that I could exercise some expertise that had been long untouched.

I slowed my pace enough to nod at a fellow maid as she withdrew from the drawing room, used tea trays and discarded biscuits on a tray in her hands. She smiled warmly as we passed and then I was slipping through the door and crossing the room to stop in the corner behind Madame Lemieux. I felt the soldier's eyes tracing my progress the whole way and cursed his observant eye as I settled into place, flashing him a polite smile as I did. What bothered me more, however, were the eyes of his master which seemed to follow me as well. He was watching me. I wished he wouldn't.

"-of course we would be delighted to have you staying with us," Madame Lemieux was saying, her voice an inflection of thick counterfeit kindness. "In fact, I am sure that you are exhausted from your journey and our incessant company. Veronica, do see Mr. Ainsworth and his companion settled comfortably. The south tower will suffice, I believe."

The maid, Veronica, nodded and came forward as escort. Madame Lemieux met my eyes over her head. I answered the unspoken communication with a slight nod and moved furtively back toward the door. The south tower was old, made of mismatched, jutting and falling stones which made it perilous to walk beneath but far easier to climb than the smooth granite facades of the rest of the estate. Clearly, her choice in accommodations had been intentional. I made my way to the door out of view of the soldier who was now preoccupied with readying himself to retire. As I reached the exit, I glanced back just in time to see Oliver Ainsworth bending low to plant a kiss on a blushing Giselle Lemieux's offered hand. I could not hear what goodbye he spoke to her but it was enough to leave her giggling like a school girl.

Serena found me along my way and requested my assistance in stripping the girl's bedsheets but I told her that I was on an urgent errand for the Madame and she allowed my passage without further inquiry. I took an alternate route to the south tower through abandoned hallways and outdoor passages so as to avoid Oliver and his party ascending through the main halls above. I headed into the yard through the back door of the laundry and came to rest at the base of the south tower. I stared up at it. A monolith of stone at least four stories high. It had rained earlier in the day and the wet rock shone black in the moonlight. It would be slick, a slippery climb. I flexed my fingers habitually and pointed my toes in the soft slippers. They would do. I glanced down at my gown. This would not.

A tree was one thing. A dark, looming tower was another. Making my way back into the laundry, I swiped a pair of men's breeches and a billowing white undershirt. It was in no way modest apparel for a woman bit neither would be the view up my skirts from four stories below. Casting my servant's dress aside, I donned the far more pliable uniform of man in the shadow of the obelisk and stretched out my jointed, preparing for the climb. It had been some time since I had scaled a wall this high but I had done far higher and imagined it was a skill impossible to forget.

I saw a light suddenly illuminate the upper floor and, fearing what I might miss if I dawdled any longer, I lunged forward. My fingers found purchase in the nooks and crannies of the wet stone surface easily enough and my feet only slipped against the sodden rock once or twice but never when my weight was upon them. I concentrated for a time, feeling the exertion in my long unused motion. But my exertion soon turned to exhilaration as muscle memory kicked in and I fell into the familiar rhythm of the climb. My body screamed it's acquiescence as if relieved at the exercise. My breathing evened and the strain melted away until there was nothing but the next breath, the next rock, the next pull and, suddenly, I had reached the window. I clamored to the side and found the ledge. The curtains were open. Madame Lemieux, in her infinite wisdom and unforgiving preparation, had forgotten to close them. I cursed and continued to climb. When I reached the roof, I grasped the edge and hoisted myself up. Then, lying on my stomach, I shimmied forward until I was lying flat directly above the open window.

"-let us stay until he knows our intentions," I could hear Oliver saying. They must be alone now, he and his companion.

"Until he knows if you are to be legitimized or not, you mean," the soldier responded.

"Which is a concern I understand."

"What did you think of the girl?"

"She's pretty," Oliver answered. "But witless."

I snorted and then slapped a hand up to cover my mouth. The soldier below me laughed outright and his guffaw drowned out any trace of my own amusement.

"I know she isn't your type," the soldier offered as the laughter subsided. "But you need this match."

The room below me fell into silence for so long that I wondered if the soldier had left for his own rooms and I simply hadn't heard it. Then, suddenly, someone sighed long and heavy.

"I never asked to be Duke."

The way he spoke the words, so small, so uncertain, reminded me of the twelve year old boy I remembered, the one who wanted to do the right thing, the one who had made a promise that he could never hope to keep.

"I know," the soldier answered just as quietly. "But better you than your half brother. Besides, all you have to do is win over a silly French girl and, if the amount of women I have seen swooning over you in Gloucester are any indication, I should think you'll have no trouble at all."

The soldier chuckled light heartedly at his own joke but his master did not seem to share in the humor. After a moment, that laughter subsided as well.

"I observed the estate while you met with the Monsieur," the soldier told him then.

"I'm sure you did, Elliot," Oliver answered, the first trace of exhaustion in his voice.

"I don't think there is danger here, not while you are here in your father's name of course. The French do not have much love for the English, that is true, but this family seems welcoming enough, if not daft. But there are things you need to be wary of just the same. Outside of the family."

"Such as?"

"Well, a certain handmaiden-"

"A handmaiden. Elliot, please."

"She isn't just a handmaiden, Oliver. She can't be. She was... she knew I was a soldier."

"Did she now?" Oliver asked then and I heard the faint tone of amusement as clear as when we were children. "How curious."

The climb from the tower was far more difficult than the ascension. My hands, now chilled from the cold, trembled despite my conscious efforts to still them and I had to focus wholeheartedly on every movement of my limbs, every lowering of my body. Which was quite impossible because I was utterly distracted by the revelations I had earned from eavesdropping on my former fiance's conversation. First, it seemed as though Elliot, as he had called him, was not just a soldier after all. He was not an advisor, of course, at least no more so than any friend with an opinion on his choices. I came to the conclusion of an existing friendship between the two men by subtext more than declaration. They had called each other by their first names, an informality used only between friends. Elliot had teased his superior and also displayed a genuine concern surpassing the expectation of duty. More than a soldier, indeed.

Secondly, Oliver did not seem to have any particular interest in Giselle Lemieux herself, only what she could offer him. He seemed to be in desperate need of an affiliation with her family though, whether it was for fortune or status I was not certain. It seemed that there was concern over the Duke's currently legitimate albeit younger son someday succeeding to his father's noble position. That seemed to indicate that these men felt he was wrong for the role. I tried to remember anything I knew about the Duke of Gloucester and his family but, as I had never been assigned to perform reconnaissance on him or any of his men, I had no knowledge of their dealings. Of course, the Duke of Gloucester's lands encompassed my home of Raleigh but a poor peasant girl never cared much for the man in charge of her family's small tract of land unless he visited her himself which he, of course, never did. Knowing nothing of the other son, I could draw my conclusions only from what I knew of Oliver. I therefore decided that the perceived danger of the other son coming to power had to be great indeed to prompt Oliver Ainsworth to marry a "silly French girl" who wasn't "his type". I snorted at the thought, wondering absentmindedly what exactly Oliver Ainsworth's type was.

I found my maid's dress exactly where I had left it and pressed myself into the dark corner by the servant's door to change into it. I tossed the borrowed men's clothes into the laundry bin as I passed through, making my way back upstairs. I was halfway through the noble residence hall on my way to report to Madame Lemieux when Serena found me. She tapped my shoulder lightly and told me in delicate French that Mademoiselle Lemieux had requested me. I smiled and thanked Serena and watched her glide elegantly away, down the servants stares to her chambers below. I watched her go, jet black hair flowing behind her retreating form and thought that in another life, in a fairer world, Serena might have been a Queen. She had an exquisite, natural grace and a pleasant tone of voice, so soft that it could lull you to sleep and so sweet it seemed to drip of honey.

"There you are," someone spoke from behind me and I turned to see Giselle standing in the doorway. She marched forward, nightdress swirling about her heels, and grasped me by the arm, pulling me into her chambers and shutting the door behind us. "I've been waiting for you. Where did you go?"

"I, uh, I was helping with the laundry," I answered dumbly and then sighed at my own incompetence.

"The laundry?" Giselle asked, brows raised in confusion. "You aren't a common maid."

"I appreciate the compliment," I joked and Giselle smiled, seeming to forget my careless excuse.

"Don't help them with the laundry again. It isn't your job. You're far too intelligent to be doing laundry. Come, sit with me."

I did as I was told, following her to her bed where she climbed in and settled her back against the headboard. I did the same, occupying the opposite side. She turned toward me the moment I was underneath the quilt with her, eyes alight.

"Well?" she asked expectantly.

"What?" I responded, acting aloof. She sighed and rolled her eyes.

"What did you think of him?"

"I would not dare judge a man so quickly. I only heard him speak but a few words."

"Oh you should have seen him at dinner, Avery, he was delightful! He told the best stories that had us all laughing and crying and gasping. And when he wasn't telling stories of his adventures, he was so attentive, complimenting mother, discussing with father, conversing with me. Oh, I could listen to him talk for ages. And the way he looked at me, Avery, it was as if I were the only one in the room. His smile, the way his lips curve up in that half smirk, the way it makes you guess just what precisely he's thinking about. And those eyes, Avery, I swear I could drown in them."

She sighed dreamily and scooted down so she was laying, head upon my lap. She nestled in and remained there, yawning.

"Don't you think he's handsome?" she asked, eyelids fluttering closed.

"I- yes, I suppose. In a way. Some might say that."

I'm not sure why I answered at all. The girl was already sound asleep before I uttered the first word.