While catching up on my correspondence, my maid sought me out and I was informed that the groundskeeper would be pleased to show me the refurbished park. Nearly upsetting the inkwell, I stood and went through the ballroom, through the sun room and came upon him. The rains had delayed their completion of the retaining walls, he apologetically offered, but no apologies were necessary. The final result was well beyond my expectations, and I beamed at him "Job well done, indeed." He bowed, departing, and giving me leave to explore his work at my leisure. I leaned towards a cheery bloom, bringing a rose towards me and inhaled the sweet fragrance, delighted that very soon I might issue invitations to all, bidding them north to Yorkshire.

Anyone wishing to avail themselves of a constitutional, or in the event of rain, to a cup of tea by the fire, is welcome.

((SLURL: http://maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Dream%20Love%20Island/205/249/22 ))

The staff was being assembled by the land agent. Each arrived, having answered an advertisement for their specific role which outlined the details of their responsibilities, and all seemed very ordinary, except there they sat, giving their letters of reference to an ordinary man by whom they might be hired but who would not be their employer.

The groundskeeper and groom were the first positions to be filled by William and James; two young but able lads, who found the mystery worth more discussion.

"D'ye suppose e's a sailor? Maybe e's off in the colonies or maybe a merchant?"

"Aye could be that, right enough or may be e's orf in Lon-don!"

The two would laugh at the prospect of working for someone of the blood royal and then get on with their work until their paths crossed again, and the same conversation, or near enough to it, would take place.

Horses had been sent ahead. Furniture, china and linens began to arrive, and the land agent conscripted two men temporarily to see to the proper placement.

Day after day, the house went slowly from empty to filled, excepting for its main occupant, and day after day, William and James concocted stories of ridiculous proportion as to whom he might be.

Two weeks or so later, as James rested his chin on the hand holding his shovel, and William sat on the edge of his wheelbarrow, both laughing at their latest fantastic contrivance, the top of a parasol became visible from the footpath leading from the old chapel. William stood and James merely lifted his chin.

"Afternoon, Miss"

With a nod of her head, she continued past the two, around the stable and up the hill towards the house.

"No sense in goin' up Miss! The master ain't arrived yet!"

The two exchanged a look of exasperation at the woman not speaking so much as a "how'd ye do" and peeked around the corner to see her closing her parasol and being greeted by the land agent. The wind carried his deep voice to them, "Lady Chapman, I believe you will find your house in order..."

It seemed that 'the master' was not arriving anytime soon, but the mistress was home.

As I sat on the bench near the garden, trying to stop my heart from beating out of my breast, I contemplated the pure absurdity of belief in any closed door staying closed.

I had grieved, and then resolutely moved on, after his departure. No, perhaps not with anyone but myself but that had been enough. I had grown stronger -- or so I believed. And yet, here I was, drawn back in time... or, more to the point, to all of the times.

To the day in the driving rain, peering through a veil of stormy obscurity; seeking out the face that had haunted me from my first vision of it.

To the unexpected introduction near the lake at the family estate.

To the plans, the secret meetings, the scent of lavender and grass when we would meet.

And, alas, to the courtyard in Belgium when I had believed that door not only closed, but bolted tightly and bricked up.

Yet, here laying on the book in my lap across a page of prose, lay a calling card.

"Edward Stafford"

My maid had met me after I arrived in the carriage. The roads had been very dusty and I swiped at my skirts, peeling my gloves from my hand as she held out the silver tray. On it, a single card.

It seemed that the walls first closed in, and then stretched outward. I barely heard her voice asking if I was feeling alright.

I glanced back at the house, realizing that I had just tread the same steps that he had; how long ago?

Edward Stafford. In my home while I was away. Edward.

His name pealed in my mind like the largest bell of any cathedral and a knot grew in my throat. The heated tears rising and then cascading down my cheeks as I sat in the waning light, the scent of lavendar and grass pervading my senses.