As the carriage rolled through the bustling streets of London, Nicola stared miserably out the window and gnawed at her nails. She had been gnawing on them since leaving Northwick that morning, so tense and rattled were her nerves that they were merely wretched stubs at the tips of her fingers.

Angry at her inability to control that habit, she yanked her hand down into her lap and twisted her skirts. For not the first time, she cursed her stupidity and absent-mindedness.

She hadn't stopped thinking of the box. The damn, wretched box.

Had he read the letters?

Had he pieced it together and figured it out, that it was she who wrote those words?

That it was she who wrote how obsessively in love with him she was?

She groaned aloud and Clara gave her a quizzical look from where she was seated opposite her. Nicola ignored her and concentrated on displaying a neutral expression, staring blindly out the small carriage window as it swayed gently along.

She couldn't decide if she were relieved to be away from Northwick for a short time, or terrified. The box had to be abandoned in lieu of the previous afternoon's attempts at recovery and subsequent failure. If that little ordeal hadn't raised Jason's suspicions, then the man could be quite daft, Nicola thought miserably. He hadn't been at dinner that evening with the rest of the family, even Diana and Grace had stayed to enjoy the company, so Nicola couldn't ascertain by his actions if he had learnt of any new shocking revelations then.

This morning, though, when he had graced them all with his presence during breakfast, looking haggard, red-eyed, and unshaven, he was in his normal wry humour despite his unsavoury appearance caused by an evening of over-indulgence, no doubt. Nothing, it appeared, was amiss in Jason Blackwood's world, while hers was tilting off axis and spiralling out of control.

Nicola wasn't sure if she should risk another attempt to reclaim the box from his chambers. If he had not yet read the letters, then the risk would be worth it in the end. However, if he had, and the box went missing, he would suspect the deviant responsible for the theft to be someone within the household and considering he had caught her endeavouring to sneak into his rooms, the conclusion would be drawn very quickly.

It was a right mess.

Further speculation on the matter would need to take a temporary hiatus as she had a prior engagement in London. However, her visit wouldn't keep her longer than the night and she would return to Northwick on the morrow due to a woebegone lie about a visit to a bakery and then to attend annual Northwick picnic hosted by Lady Blackwood herself the following day after that.

Ample time yet to ascertain whether she should throw herself into the Thames or not.

The carriage drew to a stop outside her home, a splendid townhouse- one of many row houses- in a prominent square. Her father, Ewan Eversley, had developed a shrewd business sense a long time ago and had accumulated a comparable fortune to any nobleman worth his salt. Ewan had a knack for trade, seeming to read trends and demands quicker than they could appear and act accordingly. It helped that he was forward-thinking and had encouraged investments in several industrial developments that promoted growth, particularly of equipment and mechanisms for factory and agricultural production. It was why Ewan had no need to work anymore and was able to while his days away reading the papers, strolling through Regent's Park, or occasionally sparking up conversation with the sweet, elderly modiste down the street. It was also why Nicola had a handsome dowry and was afforded the luxury of choosing a man to marry, not that Ewan had ever so much as urged her to.

Nicola climbed out the carriage with the aid of a footman and walked up the short, paved path of the small garden at the front of the townhouse, briefly checking how the plants were fairing in her absence. The space was consumed with a variety of marigolds, lavender bushes and even a bright pink hibiscus bloomed in the furthermost corner. In the window boxes, the purple verbenas exploded brightly to either side of the black door. The garden always made her smile before she entered the townhouse, taking pride in her in ability to nurture the blooms into a magnificent display of colour and life.

Nicola went immediately to the cosy parlour room where she knew her father would be. He always took tea around midmorning in there as it provided a nice view of the street outside and, sure enough, Ewan was sitting in his favourite armchair when she found him.

"Hello, dear," he said with a smile as Nicola went to him and kissed his rough cheek. "Didn't expect you back today. I thought you would have stayed for Kathleen's picnic." Never Lady Blackwood, Ewan did not address them with such formalities having been close and long-time friends with both Thomas and Kathleen.

"I have an appointment today with Hugh," Nicola explained. "And I did want to see my father, you know."

"Well, I was going to venture down to Northwick for the picnic, but it is always lovely to have your company. How is Blanche? Mrs Wallis made a special batch of sugar biscuits just for her."

"Blanche will be overjoyed. I'll be sure to give them to her tomorrow." Nicola took a seat beside her father, knowing she had a few minutes to spare before Hugh arrived.

"Good, good." He offered her a curious look then and folded his hands over his crossed legs. "You had a caller yesterday."

"Oh?"

"A nice young man by the name of Percy Butler." The smile he gave her was knowing. "Funny, that whenever you have a caller, you are never at home."

"There is always so much to do at Northwick," Nicola explained a bit tepidly. She knew her father saw right through the fib, as he had been doing so for the last two years. During the long months of the London season, she would spend less and less time in residence to avoid gentlemen callers particularly. The thought of marriage to anybody made her entire essence balk and she had been lucky that Ewan did not enforce the matter, as he had every right to do so if he desired it. So, as soon as some poor fool showed an iota of interest in her, Nicola knew that Northwick would receive her the next day on the sheer premise that she would not have to turn the poor man away when he came calling. It was better, she reasoned, that she just wasn't there.

Mr. Butler had made her acquaintance the night of the Crosthwaite Ball. He had been pleasant enough by the few words they had exchanged and when he had requested if he may call upon her within the following days, Nicola had felt dreadful by turning him down and seeing the kindness in his warm brown eyes diminish. She had stayed on a further two days at Northwick than intended.

"Now, you know I am not saying you should marry the man," her father told her with a glint of humour in his eyes, the very same amber eyes that Nicola had inherited, "but I am advancing on in years and I won't always be around. We are all we have, you and I, and I would hate to think of you all alone."

She patted his hand reassuringly. "I won't be alone," she said with a cheerfulness she suddenly didn't feel. "I'll have Blanche, and I have plenty of other friends to turn to if I am lonely."

His eyes were sad, and then he sighed. "Indeed, you do have that, but it is not the same. Soon, Blanche will be married and have a family of her own. So will all your other friends. And you are not as fortunate as most to have a large family, so you will never be surrounded by other siblings or aunts and uncles to step in when I cannot."

She didn't want to think about the day her father ceased to exist. It was too painful to imagine and though his words rang with truth, Nicola put them firmly aside. He was substantially older than her by some forty years, the impending promise of death looming increasingly closer. She would have to face the probability of it sooner rather than later, but not right now. "You mustn't concern yourself with me," she admonished him playfully. "I'll be perfectly fine and happy, even after you're gone."

"Well, I hope not that happy," he muttered good-naturedly as footsteps sounded outside the room.

"Yes and hopefully one day soon I will be rescued from this insufferable troll cage and whisked away by a handsome pirate prince, then I'll gladly be rid of you."

"You are a peculiar child, Nicki."

Mrs Wallis appeared at the threshold of the parlour room, wiping her hands upon her apron. She may be on the shy side of forty, but she could make the best chicken pies in London. "Good day, Miss Eversley. I've put him in the library with his lunch for you," she said, all business, before nodding once to Mr. Eversley and returning to her kitchens where she was no doubt running a smooth ship. Hugh would have come in the house round the back side, through the servant's entrance, hence caught by the officious woman.

"Thank you," Nicola called after her, before darting to her feet and aiming towards the aforementioned room.

"Do try to give him something better to read this time, Nicki," Ewan drawled cheerfully. "His bored whining rang through the entire house when you subjected him to Mansfield Park."

She threw her father a droll look and then wandered away. The library was not ostentatious by any means, but it was cosy. Dark shelves from floor to ceiling were lined with tomes of literature ranging from geography to algebra. A carpet of a rich merlot hue covered the floor and comfortable chairs were placed before the hearth. Against the opposite wall, by the window that provided another view of the garden and street outside, was a sturdy writing desk and this was where Hugh sat, his dark head bowed over a plate of roasted potatoes and corned beef Mrs Wallis had given him.

Hugh was one of the nicest young gentleman Nicki knew... for an eleven-year-old. As she entered, he glanced up, and those vivid blue eyes lit up with excitement. "Nicki!" he almost squealed, scurrying off the chair and barrelling towards her. For such a small thing, he certainly made an impact when he latched around a person's waist for a hug.

"Oomf! Hello, Hugh." She returned the hug and ruffled his hair, pleased to note that he seemed to be cleaned and well-groomed. There was a time not so long ago that he wasn't. "How are you? Been practising your letters?"

"I am good thanks and yes I have," he gushed and jumped away, tugging her hand towards the table where he had abandoned his meal. "Come see." She obediently followed him and watched with avid interest as he pulled out the parchment she had given him last week that had repetitions of certain vowel families to practise, as well as the formation of some words containing the sounds.

"Very good!"

"Even mum is practising with me now," he explained proudly, puffing out his chest a bit, "but I am better than her."

Nicola smiled and sat down on the chair beside him, encouraging him to do the same. When he was settled, Hugh began to shovel his food into his mouth again. "I am pleased to hear you are helping your mum! She must be so proud of you." He nodded around a mouthful. "Well, you know she is welcome to join you anytime here, even if she would only like to visit for some tea."

He shook his head and swallowed. "Mum still doesn't like it," he said guilelessly. "She says we shouldn't impose on a lady, that I am up to no good or you are, but if I am to come here anyway she don't want no one taking pity on her so that's why I had to have a bath and brush my hair."

"Oh dear, must have been a terrible ordeal."

He nodded sagely. "It was."

Six months ago, in the middle of a very cold winter day, Nicola had come home from a brisk walk through the park to find a waif of a boy dressed in such terribly dirty rags she had thought him an orphan. Instead of giving him a coin, she had earned his trust by giving him a meal and promising more were he to return the next day and so began a steady process of winning him over with treats and food. It had taken one week until he agreed to come inside and warm by the fireplace.

She had learnt then that he wasn't an orphan, merely part of London's lower classes who resided in harsh and overcrowded conditions all over the city. Stricken with poverty, Hugh's family made ends meet any way they could and often that wasn't enough. Uneducated, it was difficult to maintain any form of employment, let alone a position that would earn them enough to afford a decent standard of living, and Nicola was well-aware of the impoverished conditions of these areas within the city. Just how Hugh had found himself in front of the Eversley's that day was unclear, but when Nicola had tried to send him home with some coin and food for his family the next day, it was abruptly returned the following. The message had been clear- they may be poor, but they were proud. So Nicola had decided to give Hugh something that couldn't be given back and probably more valuable than anything they'd had in their pockets or the pantry- an education.

The reading lessons had begun with relative ease and the boy was a fast learner. The lessons took place twice a week in the library and he was required to practise at home independently by forming his alphabet and practising his letters. Now, during the season, he was required to be at home more often to help his family pedal merchandise on the busy streets, and Nicola was regularly away at Northwick, so they met once a week.

"What would you like to read together today?" Nicola asked once he had finished his meal and pushed aside his plate. She readied some parchment that had more letters and words for him to practise during the week.

Hugh kicked his legs and rolled his eyes. "Pleaseeee not more stories about boring girls," he whinged to the ceiling.

Nicola laughed softly. "Alright then." She stood and went to the shelves, choosing a tomb she thought a young boy might enjoy. "How about Robinson Crusoe, by Daniel Defoe?"

He cast her a suspicious look. "Does it have any girls in it?"

"Well, it is about a castaway, and adventure."

His look was still suspicious. "Is the castaway a girl?"

"Let's read and find out, shall we?"

He crossed his arms petulantly. "That's how you tricked me to read the last one!"

"Well, I can't help it that girls are superiorly smarter than boys now, can I?"

"Are not!"

Nicola chuckled and opened the book to the first chapter, edging it closer to him. "I promise you will like this one, now let's try reading the first few words aloud."

Hugh leaned forward and studied the page before moving his mouth around the words. "T-h... th- the l...life and-"

"Good, now there's a big word so remember to break it up into smaller parts." After some staggering, he managed to pronounce adventure, even wrote it down to practise forming the letters himself later, and then they continued to read for several more pages for the next hour. When it was time for Hugh to return to his home, Nicola packed his parchments into the small tatty satchel he had slung on the back of the chair.

"Can I take the book?" he asked, almost shyly. "I'll bring it back next week."

Surprised, Nicola looked at him and smiled. "Of course you may, Hugh."

"I just thought I could practise by myself and keep reading about Mr Robinson Crusoe," he explained, even though he did not need to.

"That will be very good. And you can report back on what you read when we see each other next week!"

He scoffed at that. "Thanks, but I just want to read the story, not talk about it." Hugh thanked her with another boisterous hug, snapped his bag over his shoulder, and ran out the house. Nicola was still grinning when her father shouted from the other room: "Ha! Wait until he gets to the parts about the cannibals!"

Oh, drat. She had forgotten about that...