The death of Lady Hartcaster was a surprise to many of Hartcaster's peers, but not to those who had seen it coming. Aliya was advised by Lady Winthrop against attending the funeral as she was certain that many would not understand her presence there.

She had to mourn her friend's death in her villa, where the problems were also mounting.

A week after Lady Hartcaster's funeral, Aliya's flower called for her. She came to his estate and was greeted by Mr. Jean who looked the worst since she met him. Lord Hartcaster was the same, his eyes barren—dead. The entire estate was mourning. The windows were covered in dark curtains; it was like walking into Death's hallways.

Hartcaster was in his study which looked worse than the rest of the house. Save for a lone lamp on his table, the room was utterly filled by darkness.

"I know what she meant to you, Aliya," Hartcaster said after she offered her condolences and sat in the chair opposite his desk. He gave her a small smile. "She would have wanted you in the funeral."

"I understand why I cannot go, my lord." Her eyes looked straight at his, unwavering. "I also understand that you called for me to say farewell."

The man's expression was that of apology and respect. "You have always been a very wise woman," Hartcaster said, pushing a note toward her. "This is my parting gift for you. Please, receive it."

Aliya looked at the note, quite surprised that it was more than she expected. She no longer felt shame to take Hartcaster's money. Over the years, she realized that pride over such trivial things was plain stupid. She took the note and carefully folded it. "Thank you. You are so generous, my lord."

"If only I could grant my wife's wishes, Aliya, I would."

Shaking her head, Aliya gave her gentleman a reassuring smile. "You and I both know, my lord, that it will never work. I believe she also knew the same."

He chuckled lightly before sighing. "Of course, she did. She knew many things I did not even know."

"She taught us many things," she agreed.

Hartcaster sighed again and Aliya guessed it was a way for him to deal with the pain. "I plan to travel back to the places we went to."

She did not know how it would help. Would he not only be subjecting himself to more pain?

Hartcaster must have read the question in her eyes. "The longing is now part of the love I have for Alannah. She said it cannot be helped and I will have to learn how to deal with it. She wanted to have another adventure even after death. I am hoping she will be with me on this one."

"How long will you be gone?"

"For as long as I have to." He stood and walked over to her. He held her hand and kissed it. "Thank you for everything, my dear. If there is anything you need—anything at all—you tell me. Send word to Mr. Jean and he will inform me. I may no longer be your flower, but I will always be your friend."

Aliya slowly nodded her head, certain that this shall be the last she will take anything from Hartcaster. He was no longer a gentleman of Belcourt. She had spied on many of his friends without his knowledge and gained many secrets from it—even caused a problem to a few of his peers. She took his money in exchange for friendship with his wife. Asking for more without anything in return would be abuse.

She would set him free now for he deserved a life that was free from Belcourt's little manipulations.

By the time Aliya arrived back in her villa, another devastating news awaited her.

Fatima was pacing outside, waiting for her, and then jumped to meet the stagecoach. "The realtor sent a letter, my lady," the woman informed her. Carrie jumped from the front of the coach, saying, "I will keep Maya in the kitchen." Aliya took the letter from Fatima and they entered the villa front doors, climbed straight to her bedchamber, and locked themselves in.

Hastily, she opened the letter, her heart pounding fast against her chest.

Dear Ms. Guideville,

It is with the deepest regret that I inform you that the estate you wish to procure, Thornridge, has been sold to a higher bidder last week.

The price of estates around the south of Sutherland has seen an increase due to the announcement of a new port passed by parliament.

Her eyes scanned through the letter, her face tightening as she read further

If you wish to discuss more opportunities, please do not hesitate to reach out.

Our offices are working with our clients' best interests...

"What does it say?" asked Fatima, eyes wide with anticipation, as Aliya's hand dropped on her lap in utter disbelief.

She felt like she was losing control of her breathing. "We lost it, Fatima," she whispered, suddenly feeling lightheaded. Fatima grabbed the letter from her hand, read, and stumbled back with disbelief in her eyes.

"My lady, what do we do now?"

Aliya shook her head. "I... I do not know."

"There must be another estate we can procure. Anything within the budget—"

"We should have seen this coming," she said, standing from the bed. "We should have known this was bound to happen."

"If we proceed with our plan, we can still get Delaney—"

"Given that we get Delaney, Fatima, we will have no estate to run. That is the very purpose why we wanted Thornridge. It is supposed to give us a more stable source of income!" she said in a low voice, tone filled with frustration. "But now that chance is gone. Whatever we have saved throughout the years will diminish in under a year. And both Mason and Delaney will find themselves without a home in no time."

At the mention of her son's name, Fatima started to sob, shoulders shaking with anguish.

Aliya, on the other hand, could not allow her emotions to cloud her mind at this crucial time. Their plan was to get back her father's estate and use the income they can get from it to sustain Mason and Delaney while she, Aliya, waited for the perfect time to pay her dowry out of Belcourt. It sounded so simple and achievable.

But things had changed.

The market has changed because of the upcoming port in the south.

Her father's estate had been the cheapest given the history of the Gambler, but it was a promising estate with lands they could cultivate and lease. She found no other means but own a land. Businesses were too risky, especially for a woman.

Trying to ignore Fatima's desperate sobbing, Aliya closed her eyes.

Time was running out.

Sniffing, Fatima tried to say, "I can ask Mason's father to take him for a while—"

Her eyes snapped open. "No," she interjected coldly. "That man left you to marry another woman, Fatima. Will you truly trust your son in his care? And what if Belcourt finds out? You will be punished and sent to Sinhold. The only way is to keep Mason safe where he is while we find a place for him and Delaney. And then we save ourselves."

A helpless whimper escaped Fatima's lips. "That was our plan, my lady, but now it has been shattered. We can no longer get Thornridge."

"I will find another estate. It can be anything. A farm very far from Coulway. Anything."

"And will you be able to do that in time?"

Aliya's eyes closed again. Delaney.

If only time was not against their favor.

"I need to think, Fatima," she murmured, eyes still closed. "I need to be alone for now."

Fatima nodded and burned on a candle sitting at the corner of the room.

Aliya watched as the fire consumed the worst news she had received since Lady Hartcaster's death.

It was only when Fatima left and closed that door that Aliya allowed herself to cry.

Devastated was too flimsy a word to describe how she felt.

There was nothing. She had nothing left to hang on to. The only thing she had been working on had been snatched from her by someone with more money.

Throwing her face into the pillow, Aliya screamed in fury.

She had been too confident. She always thought that Thornridge would be available, always in the belief that the estate's relation to the Gambler would leave it uninteresting to others.

Her fury turned to despair fast. She jumped from her bed and rushed to her notebook. She studied her accounting and looked at the numbers. It would not be enough.

Angrily brushing her tears with the back of her hand, Aliya absently stared out the window. She had to think of another way around this.

Thornridge was no longer an option. Getting another probable estate would take more months if not years.

Unless...

Unless she walked out of Belcourt now.

She shook her head. She had thought of that before and she was certain it would not work.

But if she got out of Belcourt, she needed more money fast. Hartcaster could help, but no, he had done enough.

When evening came, she was crying again. The helplessness was creeping in.

I know that you are a strong, wonderful woman and you will be free...

As Lady Hartcaster's pale, smiling face flashed in her mind, Aliya cursed under her breath. She was not strong enough and she was not wonderful enough. If she were, she would not be crying.

I will cheer for you, my young friend...

"You must be utterly disappointed now," she said to Lady Hartcaster. "Utterly disappointed."

But what if I rescue you from Belcourt?

St. Vincent's voice echoed in her head and her eyes snapped open. No, she would not drag him into this.

And then, as easily as it always did, his grinning face came to her. She felt a tightening in her chest. The picture of him walking away from her that day was still so clear.

I drove him away...

But it would not hurt to try...

"No," she murmured, her jaw clenched. "Not St. Vincent."

*****

Aliya sat in a chair, cursing herself.

Why was she here?

She looked around the empty room. The cabinets were still where they used to be. The table was positioned where she remembered it.

She looked out the window. It was very late and she should not be here.

Changing her mind, Aliya jumped to her feet and rushed to the door.

As she swung it open, she half-expected him to greet her, but the corridor outside was empty. Moistening her lips, she sighed and allowed her feet to drag her out of there.

And just as she was about to make a turn, his voice boomed from the room she was in moments ago.

"Ali!"

Aliya skidded to a stop, her heart racing. That one name. That booming voice. It was all it took for her throat to tighten and emotions to stir.

Closing her hands into fists, she willed herself to turn.

He looked like a bloody mess and if she was not in her right faculties, she would have believed that she was back to that day of the carriage accident.

His hair was a mess—filthy and greasy. His beard was a bush around his face.

But at the very least, he did not look angry. In fact, as she walked toward him, as his face was becoming clearer, he simply looked foxed and curious.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his eyes roaming over her. "Are you ill?"

Unexpectedly—but not really—she was out of words and only one question rolled out her tongue, followed by another statement that betrayed her pride. "Why have you not gone to see me? It has been weeks."

She saw the surprise register in his hazel eyes. And then he frowned. "Ali, you made it clear you do not want anything to do with me."

Her muscles tightened and she felt a pang in her chest; it radiated down to her clenched hands. She hurt him and she hated that she did.

He may be a giant of a man, a little careless with his words, a bit obnoxious if he wanted to, but he was... he was Ollie. Her Ollie; and she was the only one who could see that. And yet she hurt him.

She moistened her lips. "You must already know by now, St. Vincent, that I do not like being followed around, but you were clearly an exception—"

He reached out for her in one fluid motion, snatching her breath and words from her, and sealed his mouth over hers, kissing her thoroughly in one of the many corridors of Sinclair.

Her arms were suddenly around him. She cared not that he reeked of brandy, or that his hair and beard were in an undesirable state. She wanted this man and she could not even begin to explain why.

Finally, he let go of her and held her shoulders, steadying her when she swayed. And her Ollie was back. The wicked grin on his face, the twinkle in his wonderful hazel eyes.

She moistened her lips and tasted brandy. "You have been drinking."

"An exception now, am I?" he asked instead.

Aliya rolled her eyes and walked past him to enter the room she came from earlier. She settled back into the chair, growing restless. Apparently, she had strayed off her main goal.

"What happened, Ali?" he asked, voice serious. He had followed her inside, closed the door, and was now leaning against the table, looking at her with a concerned look on his face.

"She's dead," she burst out. "Lady Hartcaster... she's gone."

Her eyes were suddenly filled with tears. Aliya always prided herself for her self-control and gracefulness, but why was she being an irrational mess in front of this man? First, she demanded why he never went to see her when she drove him away in the first place. Second, she kissed him. And now, she was talking about Lady Hartcaster.

"I know," he said, his voice low and gentle.

Aliya struggled. Her throat was closing up on her. She looked around the room. She looked at her fumbling fingers on her lap while she sat in the same chair where he fixed her arm months ago.

And then she jumped to her feet.

"I need to go," she burst out, her feet briskly walking to the door.

His hand caught her as she passed effortlessly and gently forced her to face him. "Clearly, you are struggling with something. What is it?"

His eyes told her it was all right to say anything. Had he not been accommodating thus far?

"Are you a member of the Royal Circus?"

He blinked.

"No matter, do not answer that. I care little if you are," she snapped before he could open his mouth. She was rambling now, she knew that. She paused and closed her eyes. His hand slid down her arm to clasp her hand.

Her lids fluttered open, looking down at their hands. She lifted her eyes and met his patient gaze. "You said you want to help me get out of Belcourt."

His hand squeezed hers. "Yes."

She answered his grip. "Then I need money to do so. It is a lot."

"On one condition."

"I never thought there would be one." The words rolled out of her tongue before she could stop them. Of course, you dimwit, he would want something in return, the voice in her head droned.

"Being away from you for a few weeks made me think," he started.

She shook her head. "Just tell me. What condition?"

"I know I have had quite a few drinks in my study," he continued anyway, "but I want you to know that I am not too foxed and my head is very clear while we are having this conversation."

"Yes, of course. What condition?"

His other hand searched for her free one and he peered down to look her intently in the eyes. "Marry me."