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Few or many, who had interacted with the name, knew Beaufort Lancaster. He neither needed to introduce himself nor expected to lie about his roots. They did! And that's what angered him most. That he was known, and he was painted and tainted with a dark, unremovable paint of 'dreaded, immoral, sinful, and what? Respectful for a positive comment.

With Beaufort around, every married man was scared. He was a predator to them. He was a thief, and worse, he was blessed with such perfect physical attributes that even locking their wives away from attending any societal celebration was needless, as Beaufort never actually delighted in showcasing his handsomeness to the world but rather walked in shadows.

He never danced. Not even once had he picked a spinster and walked her onto the dance floor to delight in the quadrille dance or a waltz, or his favorite, the Polka—one which he danced with his little sister Alexia every Saturday morning, back before he left for Edinburgh with his wedded sister Victoria.

Nevertheless, today, the long-known Beaufort Lancaster had returned to England, specifically to their country house in Lancaster.

"The honour of your presence is requested

At a grand ball to be held at the Lancaster mansion in Lancaster

On the evening of 31st December 1864 to usher in the year '65.

Hosted by:

Lady Louisa Lancaster.

R.S.V.P. to Her Royal Highness Victoria McVourse, in wish too for the presence of Lord Beaufort Lancaster—the acting Earl of Lancaster.

Please present this card at the entrance."

He was back for a ball! Not just a ball, but the first ball his sister-in-law Louisa was setting, and most especially, it being a New Year's ball.

He hummed inwardly at the sight of that piece of writing again.

Five years had passed since he had set foot in Lancaster, and England specifically. A lot had happened in those five years, and his eyes closed for some seconds whenever he remembered how quickly, despite how hurtful, those years had passed by.

But here he was, named the acting Earl of Lancaster, second-born of the late Benjamin Lancaster, and how sad to grab Andrew's (his elder brother's) meant title! He would return it… He would return it… was all he thought every time he was greeted and the Earl title was placed after his name. He would return it right after Lady Louisa bore an heir for Andrew—only after Andrew's illness finally returned to the hellhole it had come from!

Lancaster gates were huge black-painted ones with five guards standing by them.

Today, both of the huge doors were wide open, and Beaufort could certainly see the perfection that lay inside the large gates. Carriages were uncountable, parked all over the compound, and at the far end, near the entrance door into the mansion, was a large number of lords and ladies, all elegantly dressed—beautiful gowns for the spinsters, different colored hairclips for the mothers, nicely tailored coats for the lords—all perfectly attired.

Ballrooms were always a fashion showcase for the haves, if not a prideful depiction of dancing elegance for bachelors and spinsters. And oh, spinsters… Yes! Today, the lot were to be introduced—the same old tradition of sixteen years, sixteen years, and sixteen years. He never thought about marriage anyway, so whoever was being introduced meant little to his care, as long as none of his sisters were being introduced. Other than Amelia… well, she was another story!

Beaufort did not in any way set his eyes on the entrance where all the societal women and men stood. He carefully walked through the Lancaster compound, neatly beautified by many carriages, to the farthest end of the compound where a path to the Earl's monument led. His desire was to finally see his father. Finally, see his father's statue!

The moonlight cascaded down the path as he walked through the front swinging door with no guard, leading to where the monuments of all the Lancaster Earls were. It had been long since he had ever visited here. The only time he had sneaked into these graves was when hiding from his brothers during playtime.

"Second of his name, Lord Benjamin Lancaster, Earl of Lancaster. A soul hastily freed!"

Was what was scribbled on the forefront visible part of his father's tall monument. His father had died a pretty humorous death. Slept to no wake! But to Beaufort, it was rather stupid. He should have boxed an illness, a headache, an aging back pain, but no… just a life stolen through sleep, and the next day it was all announced, and he was replaced without any time wasted!

Two years down the line, he still remembered—a pity he could not come to send his goodbyes, as coincidentally, on the same day, Victoria gave birth to the second of her sons. He could not leave her! Despite his sister claiming it was okay, and adding that her husband, Prince Harry, was weaning her well. He just couldn't leave!

After a quiet and lonely introspection viewing the monument, Beaufort finally squatted to see what was written on the top stone.

'We shall miss you, father' and a Bible verse from Proverbs, and the same words written to all Lancaster Earls—'In noble repose.'

He read the words, all while wiping the mud that dirtied the topmost part of the stone.

"I miss you, father," he muttered beneath his breath as sudden acid tears kissed the hem of his lashes, causing an unwanted burn. He surely missed him. He surely just imagined what life would be like if he were still alive. He would still be in Edinburgh…

"Are you lost?" A voice echoed from the vicinity, certainly intruding on the quietude of the moment Beaufort was having with the memorial structure where his father lay. So he stood, turning fully towards the entrance path.

"Are you lost?" the soft voice added again, Beaufort finally having a sharper view of who it was—a woman. A rather young woman to be out here in the dark. She approached steadily, unwavering and confident.

"Are you lost?" she asked a third time, her chestnut-brown hair blowing right and left in the wind. While the moon did her justice, cascading its rays onto her face, revealing how pretty she was—thin with aligning features, a sharp jawline, and full, red, provoking lips. Her eyes were burning fully on Beaufort, and her walk became rather slower until she stopped a foot away from where he stood.

"Who are you?" she questioned, Beaufort flabbergasted at who the lady was. She was beautiful, and she had just asked a question. However, she were too beautiful to leave a man like Beaufort, greatly knowledgeable in self-control helpless and thoughtless. He just could not look away.

"…" She opened her mouth and closed it, leveling Beaufort's gaze with hers.

A need for speech was needed! "Good," he mumbled, surely not enough for anyone to hear. "Good evening," he finally greeted, shakily touching the hem of his top hat, removing it, and pressing it to his chest, and making a heartfelt bow.

"I was but delighting in checking the beauty of the Lancaster compound when I certainly found myself here. My apologies if I trespassed." He added, though a lie. Now having taken in all her God granted beauty. He could not bring himself to introduce himself by his name.

"It is out of bounds, sir," she sternly stated, and Beaufort nodded, his mind fighting against the smirk wishing to form. She was really… different.

Was she the guard here? He wondered. But her standing stature, her thick English accent, certainly laid the foundation that she was no maid but probably a noble. Or if she were a maid, she was probably a high-ranked one, meant to check on, organize, and report the workings of other workers.

"Well, I'll take my leave," he respectfully stated, frames of smoke forming as he spoke.

He did not quite catch her body expression, or better yet, her facial expression, but he indeed caught a sigh right after his words. She probably, too, was going through something or seeking to clear her mind. Probably her husband reminding her how less witty or unimportant she was. But today—or better, in coming years—Beaufort had made a rule never to indulge in the affairs of a married woman ever! Never to even look at them in a different way. Lustful and wanting, especially. So he just put back his hat and let her be. Just let her clear her head. But well…

"A drink?" he questioned after brushing past her, arguing with his mind that he could not leave a woman alone in the dark by the Lancaster monument. Of all places, these hideouts were the strange and shadowy places where men liked to trespass upon a woman!

"Please…" he pleaded, pushing his gloved hand for her to take. She just shrugged, giving him the dangerous look women gave to men meaning "No!"

"My apologies," he added, hoping to remind her he was leaving her alone, but rethought against it, reminding himself that that look was the same as that of his mother—the former Countess of Lancaster—that meant do not speak to me, do not indulge in my affairs, and best, please leave me alone.

So he just left!