Perhaps the things the novels told her about were true. That it was not love if you did not long for that person after some time of being apart. Simone wondered if her affection for Daniel Cavendish was just a passing thing. Like that first time she wanted the gold ribbon for her hair but their governess convinced her it would not become her. When she insisted, the woman had said, "Very well. Let us wait a fortnight. If you still want it, we shall procure it." As it happened, two weeks passed and the ribbon was completely out of her mind.

And as her interest in their new neighbor waned, and as his side of the villa remained quiet, Simone grew fond of other things. One of them was designing dresses. She did not have a gift for painting like Lydia, but she found she could deal better with charcoal on paper. And with Pauline's help, she was able to design her first dress, which impressed Mrs. Baker. Soon, she was also designing a dress for Lydia and the two girls.

They were not perfect, of course, simple as they were. But she wanted to learn more. Thus, she spent more time in the bazaar and with Pauline and Mrs. Baker. Most of the time, Lydia would come with her, carrying her own drawing book. And they found that Pauline's gossips were entertaining if not harmless. It was not like the ones the servants would whisper about. It was always about something interesting and fun.

But as the days passed, and as she finished all the books, as she learned more about dress designing and the latest fashion, Simone grew mellow. Even the thought of Daniel Cavendish could not make her smile. She could not even remember his play. What remained was the memory of his talent, his act.

She was missing her brothers. This must be the longest she had not seen all three of them. Would this be their life from now on? Web had started to engage more in their shipping business, the one he inherited after their parent's passing. Since last year, their father's trusted advisers said that it was time for him to learn the business. To make matters worse for Simone, Web wanted to learn with Damon and Price. The more the better, he said. The earlier the better, he added when Price whined about it.

That was before this season and that was when they were still in Abberton. Back home, she did not feel their absence as much because there was always interesting happening in the estate. They had friends they called on to, or called on them. There were always activities in the nearest village, and there were acres and acres of land to explore.

Not here in Picadilly, where the house was too small, the sounds became noises, the days interesting only for those who could attend balls and enter the theaters. Never for young girls who could not do more.

One particular evening was especially lonely. Lydia, who would often come and sleep in her room, was immersed in finishing their grandfather's portrait. Ever since that day he reminded them that he was dying, Lydia became obsessed with it. The children were with their nanny, the woman particularly strict about their bedtime. And Gale was out with his friends (or so he said) and he was a man now (or so he claimed) and he was enjoying the balls and the ladies (or so he boasted). Their grandfather was a good company, and she stayed with him in his bedchamber until he fell asleep while she massaged his feet. After kissing him goodnight, she crept into her room and sighed when she found Daniel Cavendish's window closed.

Rain started to pour outside. She walked over to close the windows and her tears just flowed. All of a sudden she just remembered her parents, their kisses when they said goodbye that last sunny afternoon she saw them. She had begged to come along but they said they were going away with her aunts and uncles and it would be boring for young children. "We will be back," her father had promised. They all never came back.

The pain in her chest had never eased in four years. It was always as fresh as the day she realized she would never be seeing them again. That they would never see her get married. Or her brothers.

And her brothers... Oh, how she missed them. She sniffled and wiped her tears with the back of her hand. "They must be having fun without me," she choked.

She stopped when she heard a loud thud. Frowning, she turned and went back to the window. Looking around the room, she knew the sound came from here. Curious, she lifted the windowpane. Wind and rain gushed inside. She looked out and tried to find what caused the noise. And there, on the ground beside the street, was a bird. Her hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide. Without thinking, she turned and ran out of the villa through the servant door, which was closer to the bird.

In less than a few seconds, she was soaked as she searched for the poor thing. And when she found it, she scooped it in her hands. Unsure of what to do, she decided it was best to show it to one of the servants. They would help.

Well, they would have if she could enter the house again. Somehow, the wind must have pushed the door closed and caused the latch from the inside to fall into place. Simone tried to call out for help, but her voice was drowned by the storm. After great attempts to catch anyone's attention, she gave up and ran to the front doors, where there was at least a roof. It was of no help because the rain was too strong.

And now she was shivering. The bird seemed alive though, and she cupped it in her hands as she waited for the rain to stop. It waned once, but only for a second or two before the wind howled and drowned her cries again.

Thinking she would die if she waited, Simone stepped away from her shelter and gazed at her open window. Lydia's was closed, the windows drawn. She threw stones with one hand, shouting over the sound of rain, but failed to get her cousin's attention. Once Lydia started painting, there was no distracting her, not even hunger.

If this was in Abberton, she would have already found a way in. There was always a ladder leading somewhere. But not here in Picadilly. There was not even a soul awake or aware to help her.

Her only hope was Gale at that point. She tried to remember where he went and if it was possible she could go there and ask for his help. Was it Wheeler's? He had just gained membership there and would not shut up about it for weeks as if it was an achievement he should be proud of.

She looked down at the empty Picadilly Street. Wheeler's was merely a few blocks away. With her dress heavily drenched, the tiny bird in her hands, Simone walked. And as she did, she started crying, her tears joining the rain that washed down her face. She sobbed, thinking about her brothers, missing them. If they were here, this would not have happened. One of them, if not all, would always check on her, make sure she was in bed. That she was not having nightmares or crying for their mother.

And then she thought of her parents again, how her grief, despite having a big family, was lonely. It was hard whenever she would remember them because she could not tell anyone. Because it would remind them of their own loss and she knew how it felt. So whenever attacks like these came to her, she chose to suffer it alone.

She felt pathetic, walking in the rain with a bird in hand, crying for her parents and missing her brothers. This was the worst season yet, she thought.

A carriage rode past her and she quickened her pace when it stopped.

"Miss Simone?" a familiar voice called out behind her.

She looked over her shoulder without her steps faltering.

"What in the hell are you doing out alone in the rain?" Daniel Cavendish asked, rushing toward her.

But she did not stop. Girlish crush aside, she did not know him well to trust being alone with him in the middle of the night.

"Where are you going?"

"W-Wheeler's," she said, then realized she should not have told him that. "Gale's waiting for me there," she added.

"Let me take you there," he said. "Please. You're soaked."

She kept walking. "I can't ride your carriage, Mr. Cavendish," she said.

He caught up with her and she quickened her pace. "Then let me walk you there. It's too dark."

He signaled for the hackney to go on ahead.

"You don't have to, really. I'm... I'm getting late, you see. I need to walk fast."

"Why would you be walking alone in the rain at this hour?" he asked, walking a good distance beside her. He took off his coat and placed it over her head and shoulders. She did not protest because it was a good cover. Her brothers had warned her about gossips, after all.

"I c-can't tell you," she said through chattering teeth.

"Are you in trouble?" he asked, bending down to peer at her face. "Have you been crying?"

She lifted her cupped hands. "It's the bird. I think it's dead."

His eyes went to her hand. "Let me see?"

She carefully placed the bird in his palm. "It was alive when I picked it up, but I think it's dead now."

He peered at it and murmured, "I think not."

"Oh. Good then." She gathered the bird back. She never stopped walking, and he never stopped following.

"Why were you crying?"

"I told you—the bird."

His eyes narrowed, unconvinced. He adjusted the coat over her head."Really?"

She shook her head, wiping rain off her face. "I just miss my brothers. And my parents."

"I know about your parents. I'm sorry."

She nodded. "Thank you." Her initial fear was gone, but she still felt she should remain guarded. Web's words rang in her ear: "You should never feel safe until you find family."

"Maybe I should escort you home. I can have my valet go to Wheeler's to inform your cousin."

"No, it is fine. I will go. Gale would not be happy if he finds out you took me home."

"I would feel the same if you were my sister," he said.

Silence reigned between them as they neared her cousin's club. "Do you have cousins, Mr. Cavendish?"

"A lot," he said with a smile. "But we're not quite chummy as you are with yours."

"Sisters?"

"Three," he said. "They are younger than you, I believe."

"If you don't mind me asking, Mr. Cavendish, are you the same age as Web?"

"Has he turned twenty-three this year?"

"Yes."

"Then we are of the same age."

She nodded, not quite sure what to do with the information. And since she was walking alone with him, she might as well remind him why he should not do anything wrong. "You must be a very good brother," she said. "Your sisters must feel utterly safe whenever you're around."

His face hardened for a second before he broke into one of his easy smiles. "We're here."

"Oh," she said, angry at herself for feeling disappointed. She should not enjoy his attentions in this situation. It was just not safe.

"Should I call for your cousin?"

She stared at the tall building and its brightly lit windows. And then at the footmen at the door. "Yes, please, if it's not a bother."

She waited as he walked to the footman. When the man entered the club to find Gale, Daniel returned to her side.

"Aren't you a member, Mr. Cavendish?"

"I'm afraid not," he said.

They both faced the building across the street. She felt his head turn toward her. "You should write to your brothers if you miss them so."

She shook her head and forced a smile, looking down at the bird in her hand. "They rarely answer, anyway," she said. "They always say we'll see each other soon."

A little quiet followed with just the sound of rain on the pavement. "You can send me letters. Just like the one that flew into my window."

Her face heated. "W-Why?"

He shrugged. "I would read them and write back if my sisters do the same." He grinned at her. "As you said, I'm a very good brother."