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“Ahh yes, I figure that it will cut his ego well enough. May even make him agreeable...” Mosi replied to Virginia with a big smile. Indeed, castrating Rutherford would be a rather pleasing experience as far as Mosi was concerned. She's been listening the rumors and facts about him on the streets for a good while now. People talked, especially people who weren't bound to the so called etiquette of the higher castes.” If even a fraction of what' I've heard of him is true, he's more than deserving of such... fate.”

“Thank you, Virginia and I'm on the same opinion as you. This place's already in danger... those people are just ready for the slaughter and I suggest we prepare to fight when the chaos's unleashed upon us all.” Mosi smiled to Virginia.” Also thank you for the other opinion. It means a lot.” She added when her friend mentioned about the way she was dressed and while she didn't care of people liked how she preferred to dress or no, she was glad her friend understood her well. She looked at Virginia as the other walked into the Almack's.

“Well I don't really have too special opinion on the veil.” Jeanette said to Fyror with a smile.” It kinds of serve the same purpose as the war paint in a way. Besides it's actually quite good for concealing intentions, I can easily spy on people without they realizing I'm looking at their direction... there's also the mystery factor.” She smiled amused at it, slightly surprised when Fyror pushed her veil up.” Hey I'm not looking any different underneath the veil than usual... maybe lacking my feathers...” She said with a slightly disappointed voice.” Still, I'd gladly take the compliment.” Mosi added.

“Of course.” She eventually said taking his hand so they enter the Almack's. Well there with this alone her mother should be quite happy about the result. Mosi even managed to spy her family arriving as they were entering the Almacks.” You better prepare yourself, Fyror. My family has just arrived and will be following us inside soon. Expect being questioned by my parents as of why you are the one leading me inside. “ Mosi said with teasing voice to her partner.

Elizaveta took a cool breath, glad for the water as it helped with her current weakness. The skills she had used took their toll on her but when she thought about the alternative she found it was worth it. It could be perceived as much to go through to save a single soul but it had compounding effects. What energy she expelled during the saving of one when faced with a mass grave was the same. Save one or many, she would feel the same. Thinking back to other situations such as this she had face on a much grander scale, it evened out over time.

Smiling over at Gerard with a softness she turned to the Sister Mary and nodded in understanding before her eyes drifted to the bishop. He had no reservations about Mary leaving now considering the circumstances and that everything seemed to be reaching status quo, though he would request they not bring any more mobs to the gates this evening. Elizaveta coked a slender brow before pushing away her thoughts and looking back over to Sister Mary.

"It vould seem that everything is in order dear Sister. Shall ve be off? ve can take my carriage, a little more rest before ve arrive vould be velcome as opposed to valking or some other mode of transportation this evening," she said in a kind voice. Holding her hand out to the young nun, she awaited her to lead her out for the evening. Looking at her guards she went back to her thoughts for a moment before addressing them in Russian. They seemed put off by whatever she said to them but they nodded in understanding and agreement.

The Bishop in the meantime motioned for Gerard to follow him. They could speak elsewhere while other members of the cloister took care of placing the body to peaceful rest. It was short walk to the Bishops office where he sat down surrounded by the splendor that the Catholic Church provided. Picking up quill and parchment he began to write down what he had been told by both Mary and Gerard, plus what he had witnessed in the undercroft. Every so often he would go blank on some detail and ask for Gerard to help fill in the blanks. A question here and there but thankfully he seemed to get most of it together before long and Gerard was dismissed, thanked by the Church for his service.

Over at Wyndham Manor, things were not as calm...

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Inside of Almack's it was all the pomp and circumstance one would come to expect of such an event in these times. Candles flickered as the music played, everyone adorned in their most luxurious of items and garb. Young women held fans in front of their faces as they tried to catch the eye of potential suitors, a light giggle and a slow bat of long lashes usually accompanied any introduction they were excited about. Tables of food set along the walls with various sweet and savory finger foods, glasses of wine and champagne were carried about on silver trays by service folk in their finest. Various smaller drawing rooms were off and down down hallways were women gossiped and men spoke about business, some playing cards together and trying to match wits without being obviously offensive.

Out off the veranda of the main room potential couples walked with their chaperones not far behind, whispering in each others ears things they dare not say for everyone's ear. High hedges and mazes of greenery created hiding places were they could try to steal a moment without causing a scandal but if they were discovered, a match could be forced so the chaperones were keen to keep just enough an eye on them to know when to break it up and when to let them be found. It all depended on if the family was pushing for a match between the two. Far too many had been forced into engagement contracts this way but it was the times. Even with the threat of the Soulless running about London, it did nothing to stop the so called frivolity.

Millicent looked as if she might end her own life; evident by the blank expression in her deep eyes as she spun around the floor in Lord Rutherfords arms on the dance floor. Her mother looking all too pleased with herself to see Millicent out there with the Earl. Her sisters thankfully were being ignored by Mrs. Wyndham for the moment and took the opportunity to seek out suitors of their choosing for the evening. Very little was making Millicent enjoy herself that evening but she held her ground and let the man continue to lead her on the dance floor as the music played. It kept him away from her sisters, that was all she could ask for right then. That and the cease of belittlement from her step mother. How she wished her father was there...

"Smile Miss Millicent, or those looking on might think we are not enjoying ourselves," Millicent heard in her ear from Lord Rutherford. The grin that came from his lips made her skin crawl under his fingers. Layers of silk seemed to melt away, letting her feeling his vice grip on her waist and causing her to want to throw up in her mouth. "Or should I find a more accommodating partner for this dance?" he hissed as he locked eyes with her and motioned towards her sisters.

Millicents eyes widened as she felt her heart drop into the pit of her stomach. Slowly she chiseled a smile on her features as best she could. "There we are. You should smile more, it is very becoming. Not as handsome as some, but you will do nicely."

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Prior to entering the establishment, Virginia's eyes flickered back to the gentleman. Truthfully, she was not quite certain of the answer to Fyror's questions. There were so many men of questionable character in London that it became hard to track. And all she knew was that whoever the fellow was, Millicent had already taken a disliking to him. Her words about him, prior to excusing herself, had been most clear.

"I haven't the foggiest notion, Sir Kildragon," Virginia admitted. "But nothing good shall come of it. He is likely just as the rest, attempting to mold dear Millicent into a blushing bride." Having answered Kildragon's question, Virginia had entered Almack's ahead of Kildragon and Mosi. The pomp and circumstance of the ballroom caused a slight sigh to leave Virginia's lips. These affairs were nothing more than political meetings, of weddings to be arranged and alliances to be forged.

London was perhaps skilled at many things--the starvation of the poor, the waging of war, the religious sedation of the masses--but there was one talent that stood out in particular. There was a proclivity for gossip among the ton, allowing rumors to fly madly. Prior to her father's disappearance, the rumors about Virginia had been quite predictable.

She keeps corpses in her basement, did you hear?
I 'eard back in the colonies, she danced naked in the woods!
There's something funny about 'er, that entire family!

Of course, there was perhaps merit to those tales. For in truth, Virginia did not mind those ones so much, as compared to the whispers that had circulated ever since her dearest mother and father vanished, believed to be lost at sea. Now they spoke of her wealth, of her status in society--there was speculation that her brother, James, was sickly and that he would not live to assume the earldom. There were rumors that James had vowed to never accept his father's title. The specifics did not matter--all that mattered was that young eligible men, in want of the title of the Earl of Dywell, had begun to gaze upon Virginia.

In her ice blue gown, with her pale skin and light blonde-brown hair, she wasn't quite the vision of the ideal wife. But what did her looks matter? It was her societal position and money that they wanted. Virginia didn't need to ask to know the thoughts swimming in their mind--marry the girl, ship the brother away, throw her in bedlam and remarry a beauty! Yet as Virginia glanced at her dearest friend, dancing with what appeared to be a forced smile, Virginia smiled coyly herself.

Many a man had made the mistake of setting their sights upon Millicent, yet they all had failed. Men underestimated the women of society--their undoing to the very last.

"Pardon me, Lady Crypt," a younger man, likely the son of some gentleman, said with a soft smile. His red hair caught the light of the party, and Virginia detected the softest Irish accent. He introduced himself quickly, following the traditional rules of etiquette, but Virginia hardly listened. Society dictated that a woman could hardly refuse a dance, provided the proper steps were followed. "Might I pencil meself--myself in for your next available dance?"

"I suppose, if you must," Virginia replied, her voice tinged slightly with reluctance. "I shall look more favorably upon this if you can respond to this inquiry properly, however."

"Of course, Lady Crypt," the man said, his eyes slightly wide, as if expecting some sort of test of culture and etiquette.

"What thing of this world inspires the greatest fear in you?" Virginia asked, as the man gently took her into a dance. His eyes were still a little wide, and he seemed to be concentrating on the dance more than anything else. It certainly wasn't the usual sort of question one encountered at events of the Season. "Surely you have heard of the Crypts, else you would not have known my name. If this question takes you quite aback, then perhaps any courtship you are interested in pursuing would be most tenuous."

"Spiders, I suppose...Maybe a ryne, perhaps," the man answered, his voice tinged slightly with nerves. "If I may be candid, Lady Crypt, why do you ask?"

Virginia smiled ever so slightly, as they continued to dance. "I am quite fascinated with fear," she answered truthfully. "Does that not frighten you to know?" But the man only gulped, as if not certain how to respond. Once the dance ended, he thanked her, and hastily excused himself. Virginia smiled contently.

Another eligible young man removed from my presence... she mused to herself.

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Meet her family? The thought was actually rather unnerving to Fyror. Seeing as most women avoided him due to his rugged appearance, this was an entirely new and unexpected predicament he found himself in. As if he was not already self-conscious enough, this just made matters worse. “Well, I certainly hope they are as kind and accepting of me as you are,” he spoke his thoughts out loud, his voice slightly strained.

Fyror’s gaze took in the room full of people and activity as he escorted Jeanette into Almack’s proper. He spotted his family just inside, and he quickly waved them over. “I hope you do not mind meeting my family,” he said. “ I need to inform my father of the damaged wards anyways.”

“This is Ms. Jeanette Crane, the woman I told you all about. Ms. Crane, this is my father Colonel Theodore, mother Lilith, sister Genevieve, and you have already met my brother Leon,” Fyror introduced, gesturing to each of his family members in turn.

“Well, now I see why my son ran off after the Cargast attack,” his mother spoke up suggestively as she grinned ear to ear. “She is indeed quite the fair maiden.” Fyror’s face flushed with heat as a look of mortification crossed his face. Typical Leon burst out laughing at his brother’s expense.

In an apparent attempt to come to her brother’s aid, Genevieve tried to divert the conversation, “It truly is a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Crane. By the way, I love your gown. Where did you get it?” Unfortunately, her attempt did not have the effect she had intended as it only made Leon laugh harder. He was laughing so hard it literally brought tears to his eyes. Evidently, he had noted how out of place Jeanette looked considering her former attire. His brother’s insolence managed to snap Fyror out of his embarrassment as he glared at his brother. “Leon,” he growled in warning. Leon threw up his hand in mock defense as he tried to contain his laughter.

Fyror glared at his brother a little longer before turning his attention to his father. “Father, I need to speak to you regarding a matter pertinent to the Soulless threat.” Colonel Theodore nodded his head and followed Fyror and Jeanette off to the side. “Ms. Crane was tasked to check Almack’s wards before tonight’s event, but what she found was alarming to say the least. The wards were in fact quite damaged. She managed to fix them, but we are concerned that there could still be Soulless within.” As usual, Fyror got straight down to business, and father like son, Colonel Theodore’s demeanor quickly grew serious.

“Thank you for informing me of this. I will let the other officers know of this so they can be prepared if or when things go south,” his father replied before turning to Jeanette. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Crane. Now you two stay safe.” Colonel Theodore gave a slight bow before departing. Jeanette and Fyror were once again left alone in each other’s company.

Gerard took his leave after he went over the details of the recent events with the bishop which he did his best to respond at the best of his memory. As he hopped on over to his steed and went on his way, he couldn't help reflecting on the woman's words earlier. The words somehow gnawed on him, a feeling in his gut that something bad was going to happen. He was not sure how or why but it was a feeling all the same which brought him unease. He worried about Milli, her family and everyone else, hoping that what he's worrying over is nothing more than a false feeling.

Walking lazily, Gerard let out a heavy yawn. The day had almost rendered him exhausted, passing over within the city proper to having witnessing a soulless in action. The people there have recognized him still from earlier, eyes on him while some murmur amongst themselves. Though the presence of fear had left from them since, it hadnt stopped them from worrying on what lies ahead. How many more of them will befall to such a fate? One of them could be next.

As he reached near the park, and unto the Manor gates, he was greeted by Wendy who rushed at him with her more than usual greeting. Going down and unto his knees he gave her a calming pat "What is it, old girl?" Standing up, he followed her as she ran inside.

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“They should. My father's a good decent man who values personal qualities, while Clarice... I mean my mother's not really interested in appearances as long as things work out fine for the family.” She explained quickly, without really getting into details. IT was true though, in difference from Millicent's mother, Clarice while huge on the both written and unwritten norms for society, she still mainly thought of the family's standing. A little scar or two weren't something she'd pay any heed to especially since it was about her, unless it was a man of lower stature as that was not the benefit of the family.

“Of course not, I'd be rather pleased to meet them. They raised a fine man such as you, they must be good men.” Jeanette replied with a smile and she certainly was sure in her words. She liked Fyror, he was a great person, a rare type of person in London and especially among the higher class.

“It's pleasure to meet all of you.” Mosi greeted Fyror's family after they were introduced. They indeed all appeared like fine people. She did find Fyror's mother smile rather curios though.” Thank you for the kind words.” She added with a smile.” It's great to see the people who raised such a fine man such as Fyror.” Mosi finally stated herself after she was complimented. She didn't really get the 'fair maiden' meaning, but assumed it was a compliment of sort non the less. Thus she returned a sort of compliment herself.

“Sadly I cannot reply, Ms. Kildragon, as it was a gift from my parents. I do not know where they got it from.” Mosi replied to Fyror's sister, Genevieve, with a friendly smile. She was a polite girl, maybe a little tainted by the society's norms also, but she had promise to be a decent person! What a meeting, so many fine people, all in a single family!

“Fyror, it's alright.” Mosi came to Leon's aid with a smile and a soft laugh herself.” Laughing is a good thing, laughing makes the world seem brighter, don't appear so angry. You should laugh more also.” She added with a smile, throwing a veiled smile at Leon, suggesting to limit his actions to not irk Fyror any further. It was all a playful gesture though, she didn't really mind him laughing, it was fun and she herself felt very out of place with the dress anyways.

As she was pulled away to talk with Fyror's father about the Soulless danger present, she bid the mother and daughter wishes for pleasant time at the event.

“Thank you, Colonel. The pleasure was mine, I wish we meet again in the future.” She replied as the older man had his duties to attend to and turned to Fyror again with a smile.” You have great family, Fyror.” She stated before she heard a very specific voice behind herself.

“Jeanette, we were looking for you since we arrived.” It was Clarice's voice, her mother. The older woman looked a lot like Mosi or it was probably Mosi that looked like Clarice. In fact with both of them in dresses the family resemblance was very obvious. Naturally Clarice had noticed Fyror and the talk with his father. All those had roused her interest about who this young man was, but considering she had a chat with William, Jeanette's father, she knew what had transpired earlier that day. She threw a look at Mosi, as if stating she was waiting to be introduced.

“Fyror... this is my family.” Mosi said with a sight.” My father William, my mother Clarice, my sisters Brigitte and Beatrice and finally my brother Ernest. Family, this is Fyror.” She quickly introduced all of them in turn and they gave the token greetings to Fyror... Except William, he quickly stepped up.

“I heard what you did for my daughter, very brave and chivalrous from you to go with her on that task. You have my gratitude.” Mosi's father stated, but he clearly had the look like he wanted to ask something else. Before he could do that, his wife reached and took his elbow, pulling his attention.

“Now, now, let's don't hinder them, William. I'm sure the two of them have tasks to do, why not leave them and not hinder them.” Clarice stated to a huge surprise to William who didn't appear as pleased, but Mosi's mother wasn't going to let him possibly scare away Fyror with rapid question about his relationship with her eldest daughter. They needed to wed her as soon as possible, so hopefully she settles down and stop all that nonsense dressing like a man or even smoking pipe!

As her family was now moving away, she threw a look at Fyror.” Well... My mother seems to like you, but I wonder why my father looked so on edge when he seemed like he had things to ask you... He's usually a lot more relaxed and friendly towards people...”

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Sister Mary smiled a quiet thanks to Bishop Mansfield for his permission to leave the Ely Palace. It was a burden at times, being subject to one's Oaths before God, but it was a burden taken willingly. This is how the Church operated. It kept them well-ordered and strong, even in a place like London where their influence was decidedly less than the rest of Europe.

She took up her halberd and received Elizaveta's hand as it was presented. "I accept your offer, and believe that a carriage would be a fine idea." With some formality, she led the Russian noblewoman from the candlelit Undercroft and into the brighter Chapel above. "If it please My Lady, I must acquire some tools of my profession and provisioning set aside for the evening. If you would be as kind as to escort me to my rooms, I shan't be but a moment."

If it were a simple matter of getting geared for a fight, Mary was already set. Quite the resplendent image in gilded cassock with halberd, brace of short blades, and almost comically oversized howdah pistol. But simple combat was not the entirety of her world. Plus, the invitation was very clear about maintaining a sense of propriety. It was likely most unseemly for a young lady like herself to be openly heavily armed, despite the nature of her summons. When she reached her quarters within St. Etheldreda's, she quickly donned one of the few trappings of official finery she possessed; a long, black cloak with silver edging and arm slits, the equidistant cross of St. Sylvester stitched into the back and over her heart in white and silver. She might have preferred her white robe for comfort's sake, but this was official business of the Order. They must be represented accordingly.

The short journey down to the carriage house in the more village-like section of Ely was spent in relative quiet. Mary herself was happy to have someone along that had a greater understanding of the job she needed to do at Almack's. Of course, the same could be said of Elizaveta. Mary was not certain precisely what business brought her to that same locale; only that it involved a meeting of representatives from the peoples that had taken responsibility to train individuals like herself and the noblewoman. She imagined her role to be more diplomatic, more eye-appealing and conversational than Mary's own. Still, it was good to be in the company of someone in the know, so to speak.

When they arrived at the carriage house, Mary assisted Elizaveta into her conveyance and tucked her halberd into the interior forequarter. Respectfully, she bid the Lady Romanova give her a minute's time, and darted into the stables, one door over. She returned in less time than what was required, carrying laden saddlebags and wearing a warm smile. "Thank you so much for your patience, Lady Romanova. I am ready to depart at your convenience."

All in all, it was a good day, threat of Soulless attack notwithstanding. A child's life was saved and brought into the protection of the Church, a woman's soul was eased in a dramatic and powerful way, and Mary had made a new friend and ally in Elizaveta. There was reason to be positive. Guarded, but positive. And now, finally, she could tend to her duties as a Dame, arriving with the company of someone that would likely be taken more seriously than herself, no less. "My Lady, have you the opportunity yet to sample some of St. Ethedreda's fine strawberries? They are quite noteworthy."

"Yes, of course," Elizaveta stated quietly as she went with the young nun to gather her things. She kept quiet as they walked, just enjoying the silence. For her it was not awkward to be in silence around others. In fact she could welcome it after such a endeavor as she had endured earlier. She felt far too many times people spoke just to hear themselves instead of listening to what was truly being said or what was occurring around them. It made them miss so much that was going that was worth noticing; especially in this day and age when if you missed a small detail it could mean the difference between life and death.

Her guard opened the door to the lavishly constructed Russian style carried and Elizaveta nodded in thanks to him before glancing over towards Mary. "No gratitude needed Lady Mary. It is well you are ready for what the evening could hold," she said in a reassuring voice before stepping up into the carriage and having a seat on the plush red velvet upholstery. Waiting for Mary to enter and have a seat across from her before the door was shut. A simple tap on the glass and they were off.

After a few minutes of gazing out of the window she took a small breath and let the drapery fall into place covering the view from the outside world in. Turning she smiled lightly towards Mary. "I am not sure of the custom's here in these lands. There is talk but many times the rank of one nation are not upheld by another. Lady is perfectly fine in my mind but in my home it is Velikaia Kniaginia," she said in a soft wistful voice before looking away.

"Grand Duchess."

Grand Duchess? Then perhaps the pieces would fall into place. The last name was that of the Czar of Russia but having the same last name as an Emperor rarely meant much, could be a distant relation. Someone still a member of the court but if her title was Grand Duchess that meant she was the daughter of Alexander. Yet hadn't she died more than a decade ago? Both daughters of Alexander were said to have passed away when no more than toddlers.

Turning and looking back over towards Mary as they headed towards Almack's she nodded slightly. "We have much to discuss after this evening draws to a close."

The carriage continued on it's way and in another part of the city, more was going on. Inside Wyndham manor they had their own sort of chaos, a much ore violent sort. In the hallway against the broken door of the study rested the butler of the home, Everett. The old man had blood trickling down his head as Abigail tried to tend to him. He was alive but had obviously been through an event of his own that evening.

'Oh thank heavens your back!" Abigail chirped with relief seeing Gerard come back. "It was horrible! We were robbed!" she exclaimed.

The office had been broken into, through one of the westerly windows. Glass was shattered on the ground outside of the house and lay in pieces on the hedges. It had been broken from the inside out? Then how did the robber get into the room? The place was torn upside down but what was missing? None of the valuables seemed stolen. At least at first inspection. If something was missing it wasn't a bobble or trinket.

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As the dance drew to a close Millicent could not scurry away from Lord Rutherford fast enough but he kept close on her heels. To the tables she went, where the trays were lined up with food and beverage as long as they could go; piled deep and high. Her skin still crawled from his touch. A dance was supposed to be just that, a dance. It wasn't even the waltz which they had danced to together. So there was no need for closeness but he had pulled her in nonetheless, curling in fingers into her skin through her dress. Silk did little to hide the heat from his body and it made her feel the acid bubbling in the back of her throat. She had hoped that would have been enough closeness for the time being but it seemed he was intent on keeping his talons on her flesh.

"Aww, to scuttle off in the manner you did will make others think I have the plague. We mustn't make them think that," he growled against her ear as he placed his hand unbecomingly against the back of her waist again. It was a subtle movement but she knew it would cause scandal if any one witnessed it. To touch another woman so freely off the dance floor would make the gossip mongers night, whispering that they were more than just acquaintances. Starting talks of courtship and engagement. Such words had forced more than one woman to the nuptials.

"We are no longer on the dance floor Lord Rutherford," she firmly reminded him as she wiggled away.

"Quite right," he chuckled as his fingers curled in as she stepped out of his grasp. "Though that wouldn't matter if we were more," he stated flatly as he eyed her like a piece of prey.

Millicents eyes widened and she found herself swallowing hard. "Millicent!" her mother squawked as she came over and for once she had never been so happy to see the woman. Apparently she hadn't seen what was occurring and in her want to push the two closer together she had just stepped in-between Millicent and Lord Rutherford, stopping his next attempted grope without meaning to. She knew if her step mother had seen it, she would have kept her distance just long enough to cause the proper stir.

"Mother?" she asked as she was thrust a glass of champagne. Taking it she nodded before glancing towards her sisters who were thankfully elsewhere and out of the line of sight of these two.

"It is wondrous to see you two have made up. Such a handsome couple out on the dance floor you made. I hope to see more of that this evening," Mrs. Wyndham crooned.

"As do I," Lord Rutherford said as he nodded towards the woman. Millicent looked away, forcing a smile before she did only to let it fade away to blankness as her eyes scanned the room.

"Millicent?!" Mrs Wyndham barked, pulling Milli out of the haze. Apparently the woman had said something and Milli had not replied soon enough.

"Forgive me mother, I feel a tad light headed. I must refresh myself. I shall return shortly," she said before moving away as quickly as she could while retaining her pride.

"Hurry back," Lord Rutherford said with a broad devilish grin.

"God help me..." Millicent said to herself as she moved through the crowd. The Waltz would be starting soon, she had no one on her dance card and Lord Rutherford seemed bent on digging his claws into her once again.

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As Virginia migrated away from the crowds of dancers, having no one else yet on her dance card, she found herself lost in a memory. At all of the Crypt family gatherings, where Crypts from various corners of the world were invited to the family estate in Dartford. There, in a delightful mix of dance and fight, they would perform the Mamushka. Her father had passed down the origin story from his grandfather, detailing the Russian cousins who invented the dance.

But of course, the Mamushka was not performed at Almack's. No, no, it was a measly waltz, and Virginia couldn't help but feel more and more disappointed. She fancied that perhaps she had been born in the wrong era, in the wrong country, in the wrong society. As she glanced around the hall, with the smiling and chipper faces, she longed to return to her estate in the country. She wanted nothing more than to play Wake the Dead with James, to play the violin in a frenzy as Alfred and James fenced, to see her mother roaming the halls in a crazed state, clutching various powders, and her noble father constructing a guillotine. The Crypts were a gruesome and grotesque family, obsessed with the macabre and the next world--but they had a strong sense of family and pride. Family means everything to a Crypt.

She glanced around the room again, spotting Mosi and Fyror off and about. Millicent, the poor thing, appeared to be attempting to put as much distance between herself and another before the waltz began. There was no doubt in Virginia's mind that Millicent's mother had already begun her designs, attempting to marry her daughter off to a scoundrel and a crook. Yet unless Millicent's sisters were indeed all engaged to honest and good men, and Millicent herself, would her mother ever cease in her efforts? As much as Virginia wished to resolve the various affairs of her dear friend, she knew that it was not within her power to do so.

And so, there she was, hovering at the edge of the festivities in Almack's, without a single person she would care to dance the Mamushka with.

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Fyror was pleased for the most part with how Jeanette’s first meeting with his family transpired. Granted he could have done without his mother’s surprising bluntness and Leon’s disrespect. However, none of it seemed to phase Jeanette, so that is all he could really ask for. He was put further at ease once his father was informed of the previously damaged wards and the imminent threat that posed. Soon enough his fellow officers would know of this new threat as well. That ultimately meant that more people would be on guard and hopefully more prepared if all hell breaks loose.

Fyror looked down at Jeanette with a smile when she complimented his family. “I am glad you like them,” he stated earnestly. Just then, a woman’s voice spoke up from behind them, grabbing their attention. They turned around to find who Fyror quickly gathered was Jeanette’s mother by the sheer resemblance between the two. He gave a slight respectful bow as Jeanette introduced him to her family. “It is a pleasure to meet you all.”

He gave his undivided attention to Jeanette’s father William when the man stepped up and addressed him. He was honestly touched by William’s heartfelt thanks for helping and protecting his daughter. “I could not simply stand back and let her travel alone, knowing there could be more Soulless nearby. That is just not the type of person I am,” he responded earnestly. William seemed as if he had more to say, but he was interrupted by his wife. Shortly thereafter, the family left, and Fyror respectfully bid them farewell. Fyror looked down at Jeanette as she spoke. “I am sure he was just being a protective father. I took no offense from it,” he stated.

Fyror’s left Jeanette’s and surveyed the crowds of people. The current dance drew to a close, and the participants soon fanned out across the room to meet up with other people or to get something to eat or drink. One woman in particular caught his eye as she hurriedly moved across the room: Millicent Wyndham. Following close behind her was that retched man who had earlier been harassing Ms. Wyndham. Apparently, to Fyror’s displeasure, the man was still at it. He followed Ms. Wyndham less like a man who was enamored with a woman and more like a predator stalking its prey.

Fyror’s hand inadvertently tightened around Jeanette’s arm as he watched Lord Rutherford’s “interactions” with Millicent. “That man is getting on my last nerve,” he grumbled. “He seems to have no regard for a woman’s honor, but he rather does as he pleases. There are few things I despise more than a dishonorable man.” Despite his anger, his heart lurched as he desperately wanted to helped her; however, his feet stayed planted to the ground, waiting for the right moment.

When Millicent was finally able to get away from the man, he knew instantly that now was the time to act. “I am sorry, but I have to go help her. I cannot stand back and watch any longer,” he apologized to Jeanette. He pulled away from Jeanette and set off in Millicent’s direction. He took long strides and went as fast as he could without drawing unwanted attention.

“Ms. Wyndham,” he greeted her with a respectful bow. He was going to say more but he found that he was at a loss for words. His brows were furrowed as his mind rushed to come up with a suitable way in which he could help her. He recalled something she had said in passing, that she hoped her dance card would fill up quickly. Before doubt could cloud his judgment, he spoke up his question, “May I pencil myself in for your next dance, or however many it takes to keep that man from harassing you?”

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Mosi was glad Fyror came to think well of her family. For some reason it felt like it was better to have them be on good terms, though Jeanette's way of thinking of what was going on between Fyror and Mosi was some distance from how it actually was in Mosi's mind. For Mosi, Fyror was a good friend, a person she could trust, a man worthy of honors and knowing him. She did like him, but it wasn't in the fall in love way that her mother hoped.

“He's... a trash of a man.” Mosi agreed with Fyror on the opinion of Rutherford.” You'd want to kill him outright if you heard half the things I've heard out in the streets. Rumors aren't the most reliable source of information, but in his case I'd make an exception to the rule. He too get's on my nerves right now.” Mosi added with a frown, the muscles on her arms flexing for just a moment as she wanted to beat him senseless.

“Of course, I wouldn't have it any other way. I would have been disappointed if you didn't go to help her.” The veiled woman stated with a smile with a nod, agreeing with Fyror's desire to aid Millicent. She looked proud of her friendship with the man as he went to aid Millicent. This was good if she was with Fyror, she wouldn't be with Rutherford. The situation was even more favorable since Rutherford was a man who would probably cause some scene because of that, good as any cause to throw him out if so.

Now that she was alone once more, Jeanette looked about. The place was populated that's true, but their presence was hollow in her eyes. Most of these people embodied all she disliked about society on the island.

After a brief moment's of mental pondering on what she should do, she should move and study Rutherford for the moment. Maybe wait for a proof of bad behavior to present itself... maybe something else. Thus she walked in his direction. He was the type to show his true colors without fail. She just had to wait for them.

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Shock slapped Mary, hard and fast, though she took pains trying not to let it show on her face. Formality was one of her strong points, right alongside respect for her place in the hierarchy of her Church, her Order, and her family. She had just committed a blunder in this regard, whether or not Elizaveta truly felt no offense at her presumptions. Romanova? Of course, that was the name of the Russian ruling family. Why had she not put it together?

To be fair, the daughters of the First Family of Russia were supposed to be deceased. But that still wouldn't excuse using the simple title of "Lady" with a woman of Royal lineage. Mary was humbled. Especially when this Grand Duchess just referred to her as "Lady Mary". For a fraction of a second, the young Sister doubted the woman's claim, but judgement told her that her face held no dishonesty. This was a Royal, not a Noble.

"Your Imperial Highness," she began, remembering the proper method of initiating speech with someone of her standing, "Please forgive my earlier statements. I had incorrect assumptions concerning Your Grace. And to readdress the request you made of me in the Undercroft - I would be honored many times over to be your entourage for the evening, provided I may fulfill my obligations to my Order." It pained her to think that she had turned the conversation over, asking in turn if she would accompany Mary.

Indeed, they would have a lot to discuss later in the evening. A passing thought took her for a moment, "If it please Your Grace, I do not have the title of Lady. I am the daughter of a hereditary Knight, which means nothing in this country because I was born a woman. The Church allowed me to earn the titles of Sister and Dame, appropriate to the role I fulfill from task to task. I do not presume to correct, merely to clarify. I am of course at your service, Your Grace, so long as it does not contradict my duty to the Order."

Sister Mary had considered the possibility of enjoying a relaxing ride through London, but it was apparent to her that her sense of humility and obligation wouldn't let that happen tonight. She was ever on the clock, and what's more, now the Imperial Entourage of the Grand Duchess of the Russian Empire. It was most definitely an interesting day. It promised to get more interesting, too. For now, all Mary could do was remain sharp and keep this important woman polite company while waiting to arrive at Almack's. It was humorous, if just a little - the Soulless Hunter had made friends with a dead lady. (!?)

Very interesting day, indeed.

Gerard was greeted distressfully by Abigail, and told him that they had been robbed. With no time to spare he walked hastily to the manor with her "Was anybody hurt?", he asked on the way. But as he went inside he was welcomed of what had been left of the chaos and an injured Everett, the Wyndham's butler. Gerard asked him concernedly if he was going to be alright, and was pleased to know that Abigail tried to tend his injuries awhile ago.

He stepped inside the room to further inspect the scene, he thought whoever did this must have been searching in a hurry, drastically for it's target. And it doesn't seem to be any of the valuables in the office, as none of it seemed to have been stolen. What could the perpetrator be looking for in such a hurry? And with how the room was torn up, some things didn't seem to fit well. For all they know this could have been a set up to cover the perpetrator's tracks, or it could be someone inside the manor who had truly did it. If so who else could have the keys to the room aside from Ms. Millie? After looking around the room for some minutes, he then went back to the hallway and turned to Abigail, "How long ago did this happen? And has anyone seen anything? " then turning to the old butler, whatever the case, he thought it wise to address the matter to a constable.

Elizaveta gave a soft coo like chortle and shook her head towards Mary. "There is no need my good voman for apologies. It not an entirely large matter for myself, vhy I viated until nov to make the small correction. If you vere to introduce me at Almack's I did not vant you to be put on the spot as it vere." The Grand Duchess reached over and rested her hand over Mary's giving it a reassuring squeeze before letting go. Her smile remaining as she leaned back and got as comfortable as one could in the carriage in her gowns. She spoke light heartedly; kind and unimposing, as if she was far older than she truly was.

Nodding she rested her hands in her lap. "Hov vould you vish me to call you? It is your choice of course. Vith me, I care not how you introduce me but vhen it is just us or my guards, please just call me Veta. Friends are fev to come by and far in betveen. You have good soul, I should like to call you friend."

A friend, such a simple thing but something that was hard to come by in this world. Especially between people of different backgrounds and social classes. Yet Elizaveta could see Mary being a dear friend in the future. They shared a faith in god that strengthened them, a fight against the soulless, and being underestimated because of their gender in a patriarchal world. Yes, Elizaveta could call Mary a friend quiet easily.

As the carriage carried on towards Almack's Everett looked over to Gerard and nodded. "Yes, I am alright. Have one heck of a headache but I should be fine," he said as Abigail helped him to his feet. He was still a bit unsteady on his feet, Abigail giving him a shoulder to lean on.

Cook brought out form the kitchen a hot damp rag and handed it over to Abigail for Everett before addressing Gerard's questions. "Not sure. I heard a noise up stairs about an hour ago but when Abigail went to look she didn't see anything."

"That's right, well Miss Milli's window was open but I figured she had opened it when she was in her room before she left and just forgotten to close it," Abigail said before biting her bottom lip. She got a worried look on her face.

"What is it girl? Spit it out." Cook said quickly seeing the look on the young girls face.

"The flowers. Miss Milli had flowers this morning. She put them in a vase by the window. I don't think they were there when I checked a while ago..." she said but she couldn't remember clearly. Everything was happening so quickly. Sure enough, if someone went to check they would find the flowers gone. Looking outside the window there was a broken vase on the ground near the bushes below Millicent's window and the trellis was snapped in several places where it looked like someone had climbed up.

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Almack's was swirling, the upper class mingling and dancing. It was as if there was no Soulless out in the world or that anyone had died. Well that wasn't exactly true. There were rumors flying around. Of course the more they went from person to person the more excited the tales became. One person turned into a dozen that had died. Men were claiming to have fought of Soulless, pot bellied men who could barely walk with a cane and young men who had never seen training. Young women fawned over them and talked down about women who trained. Names like Millicent Wyndham, Virginia Crypt, and Jeanette Crane were three names that came up all too often in these conversations. Citing that they were prime examples why women should not be trained. That it took away from their femininity and caused them to adopt the strangest of habits.

"They might as well gallivant around in trousers and place on fake beards for all good it has done them," one said.

Lord Rutherford watched Millicent like a hawk as she scurried off, a coy grin on his lips. "I am so happy you two have made up, I was afraid that you would not wish to have her on your arm this evening Lord Rutherford," Mrs. Wyndham said as she stood there.

"Nonsense my good woman. We struck a deal and I am a man of my word," he said s he gave her a broad grin.

"So you intend to follow through? How marvelous! It will surely be a joyous day in the house of Wyndham this evening," she exclaimed. "Such wonderful breeding you come from, Millicent could not ask for a better man to have his sights on her. Such other ruffians without title would do well to follow your example Lord Rutherford. I worry though that she will be a pip to try to control."

"Never you worry Mrs. Wyndham, I know how handled a spirited mare. She will do well with a bit of breaking."

"Right you are," the woman said agreeing. "Oh, that man... what on earth is he doing near her? He was at our home this morning... With a woman in trousers! How crude!" Mrs. Wyndham hissed like a harpy as she spotted Fyror coming up to Millicent. Lord Rutherford took a deep breath.

"I will tend to this matter," he said before excusing himself and taking the first step in Millicent's direction.

"Loathsome miscreant, vile troublemaker, baboon's..." Millicent was muttering under her breath as she walked across the floor. Her eyes cast down as her fingers balled into fists. She detested dealing with Rutherford and her mind was reeling. She hadn't even noticed Fyror coming over to her until he spoke.

Stopping in her tracks her eyes came up surprised. "Sir Kildragon," she said quickly, giving him a curtsy. "Do forgive me, I did not see you," she said embarrassed. How could she have missed him in the room? He stood out among the rest. Not only because of his height but the way he carried himself.

Then he asked her for a dance. A dance? He wanted to dance with her? She could feel her cheeks warming. Someone as kind and honorable as him wishing to be seen on the dance floor with her? After everything her mother had said? Then came the sucker punch. He wanted to dance with her to keep her away from Rutherford. Of course he did. He was gallant, a protector of the weak. Swallowing slightly she was not sure how to respond at first.

How foolish she had been to think he wished to dance with her. He was just being the chivalrous man he was. Had she been anyone else, he would have asked nonetheless. It was nothing personal... Something about that struck hard. She was used to being pushed aside for more proper women, she was not one many set their sights on. What could make her delusional enough to believe even for a split second that he would ever lower himself to actually wish to be in her company just to be in her company.

She was about to decline because she did not wish to put him through the trouble but the music began for the Waltz. Glancing over his shoulder she spotted Rutherford stalking towards her. Her jaw went slack for a split second before it tightened and she rose her chin. "I would be most honored to share this dance with you Sir Kildragon," she said quickly, a little too quickly.

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Virginia overheard some of the conversations, as she made her way around Almack's in search of a friendly face. The mention of her name, along with the suggestions for her attire, confused her ever so slightly. Why should she wear a false beard? She would much rather grow her own, as there was a certain pride for facial hair that ran in the Crypt family. Their Spanish and Italian relatives had the most exquisite mustaches. But she was quite afraid that the facial hair did not seem to be in her genetic coding--no hints of beards had ever appeared on her face.

However, it was then that she spotted Mrs. Wyndham and the lord from earlier. She paused for a moment, thankful that her friend appeared to have escaped from their grasp, but she also pondered how long that might ask. And while she did not care to converse with them, she hardly cared to dance either, and no one else had shown an interest in dancing with her. Besides, the music was not proper for a mamushka.

"Lord Rutherford," Virginia greeted, turning to face Millicent's mother. "And Mrs. Wyndham. What a despicable pairing you two make..." She smiled ever so slightly, her pale features catching the light of Almack's. Had she cared for her social standing, she perhaps would have been petty enough to veil the insults and remarks, but the Crypts did not care for the approval of society.

"What nefarious designs do you have in store for this evening?" Virginia asked, before locking her eyes with Lord Rutherford. "While some do place the blame for the Soulless with the lower classes, Lord Rutherford, I cannot help but wonder if perhaps you do the exact opposite of hindering the spread..." She paused for a moment, knowing very well the implications of her words. It was no secret that many blamed prostitutes for the spread of the Soulless--and yet, those prostitutes had to be solicited by some gentleman. She would not have been surprised if Lord Rutherford was one of them.

"Mrs. Wyndham, I do insist that you come and take supper at the manor this Season," Virginia added, smiling as sweetly as a Crypt could at the woman. "And the invitation does extend to you as well, Lord Rutherford, if you are so inclined."

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At that moment, sitting in a carriage alone with a Grand Duchess, Mary found herself in a bit of an ethical quandary. On the one hand, she spent her formative years the daughter of a hereditary Knight; her family obligated by terms of fealty and honor to serve and give proper homage to Royals at all times. Such an upbringing included learning the proper rules of etiquette and methods of presenting one's self before the hierarchy of social statuses, from the most humble to the highest of stations. And it didn't get much higher than the Elizaveta Romanov. On the other hand, a huge chunk of her Vows to the Catholic Church stripped away heredity title that was not given by the Church, until such time as she set aside her duties as an Apostolic. Technically, she shouldn't even be allowed a private audience with the Her Imperial Highness.

And now she requested to be referred to as half of her first name. Sister Mary was bound to simultaneously refer to her by appropriate Royal address, yet at the same time she must honor the request of her societal better. Otherwise, it could be considered a breach protocol.

"Only so long as I have you permission to do so, Your G... sorry, Veta." Mary had difficulty at first referring to her by that name, such was the imprint of formality by family and Church direction. "When we have privacy. And please forgive me the lapses I will surely experience until my mind firmly accepts it. Naturally, you shall have to call me Mary. It is only fair."

Mary moved on to answer her question concerning title, if she needed to be addressed publicly. "My title changes based upon my duties at the time. Fully, it is Sister Mary Ignatia Hale, Dame of the Papal Order of St. Sylvester. In the capacity of my duties at Almack's, I would be called Dame, except that we are in London. The Church will recognize my station; the Crown will not. I prefer that they are at least exposed to the concept of a woman Knight before they inevitably scoff and ignore."

Truly, she did prefer Dame Mary Hale. It made her feel closer to her birth family, even got her into a good mindset to work her calling with cold, righteous professionalism.

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Mosi was planning to basically throw a stake in Rutherford's plans to go attempt to probably pull Millicent away from Fyror, by moving in front of him and asking for a dance. If nothing else that would give him a pause for thought, but her plans were kind of left in the dust when Virginia went and interrupted Rutherford and Millicent's mother. If Mosi ever had to say one thing about her friend it was that she always picked the prefect moment to strike! In reality she was really glad Millicent would be dancing with Fyror right now, she couldn't stand how her mother and Rutherford were treating her.

With her original plan put on temporary hold, she moved nearby still, but decided to first listen how this will proceed. Mosi smiled under the veil as her friend pretty much accused Rutherford of something really nasty... That accusation was no joke, but Mosi herself was on the wagon of similar way of thinking concerning this... trash of a man. Well no way Mosi would let her friend be the only one to do this! She wanted to take a piece of those two... herself!

“Now what sort of people would refuse such a friendly invitation?” Jeanette stated as she walked and stood next to Virginia, her smile the only thing that could be vaguely see from under the veil.” From what I'm told, only low class people would refuse perfectly polite and sensible invitation such as yours, Virginia. Are the two of you per chance such?” She asked, facing Mrs. Wyndham and Lord TRASH Rutherford.” Ahh excuse me, Virginia, for the interruption. I was just planning to ask this Lord... ehh how was your 'noble' name again... Runterford, Rufterford... ahh yes Lord Rutherford, I believe to dance with me. Unless your lordship's is unable to do so unless you have a certain Mrs. to back you up against someone?”

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Fyror watched Millicent’s facial expression and awaited her response intently. Yet the reaction he got was not what he had expected. She seemed almost deflated? Disappointed? Offended? His brows furrowed in confusion. “Please forgive me if I said or did something that offended you,” he stated earnestly. No sooner had the words left his lips did a thought occur to him. Perhaps the problem was not what he had said or done per se. The problem was him.

Hurt crept into his gaze. She was rejecting him as so many women had done. It had been made clear to him over the years that it was degrading to be approached or spoken to by a man of his marred appearance. That was the reason why he did not ask women to dance with him at functions such as this. He did not want to unwittingly damage a woman’s social standing in the eyes of everyone. But he had thought that Millicent Wyndham was different from the rest. Perhaps he was mistaken, as he could see from the look on her face that she was going to decline his offer.

The words swept passed Millicents ears, barely registering them as her eyes looked at him. Had she heard him correctly? Offended her? How on earth could he offend her? He had never done anything remotely ungentlemanly, ever the consummate gentleman of the highest honor and accord. The question left her speechless, something that was a rarity for Millicent when it came to such matters. The look on his features made her sure that she had not misheard. She had to say something but her eyes had caught Rutherford coming towards her, it had to wait.

However, as the music began to play, her demeanor changed entirely. She tensed and abruptly stated that she would be honored to share the next dance with him. It did not take much deduction on his part to realize that the loathsome Lord Rutherford’s presence had put her on edge. Evidently, she felt safer with Fyror. That surely had to count for something. Fyror swept his hurt under the rug so to speak and turned to offer her his arm. He paid no attention to Lord Rutherford as he led her to the dance floor.

Millicent quickly laced her arm through his and let him lead her, gathering folds of silk in her free hand. As they walked onto the dance floor she let out a sigh of relief. Catching from the corner of her eye that her mother and Lord Rutherford were now cut off in wondrous thanks to her dearest friend. She would have to repay her for her kind intervention. How she had no clue but she would. Some how. Taking a calming breath the fear left her eyes for the first time that evening and she noticeably relaxed at Fyror's side as she turned to face him. Resting on gloven hand in his, her other rested on his broad shoulder. Dark brown eyes drifted up to his and a soft smile that rarely graced her lips came as she waited for him lead her in this dance.

To Fyror’s satisfaction, the tension seemed to drain from Millicent as they stepped onto the dance floor. Their height difference required him to look down slightly when she turned to face him, and her hand just reached his broad tapered shoulder. He noted how small her hand was when he took it in his own. He tentatively put his other arm on her waist before meeting her gaze. He felt his heart skip a beat when a smile lit up her features, and he gave her a small, somewhat shy smile in return.

He felt like he was encroaching upon foreign territory, as he could not recall a time when he had ever been this close to a woman. She felt so fragile in his muscular arms, and this only fueled his protective nature. Yet in the moment he pushed these distracting thoughts aside and scrambled to recall the dance steps that his mother had taught him. He began leading her in the dance in time with the music. His steps were not as refined as they could be, but it was the best he could do. “I am a bit rusty, as I do not often get the opportunity to dance,” he explained apologetically.

Following his lead, Millicent let out the softest of chuckles, her lips parting slightly to reveal the pearl color of her teeth. "If you will be kind enough not to let the Ton know that I do not have such opportunities to dance often and am in fact rusty myself I believe we shall do fine," she said softly as they danced, turning across the floor. Millicent felt an ease in his arms she had not felt with Lord Ruthford. She welcomed his touch and closeness, it was strong and yet not overbearing. Her cheeks roseing at the warmth of his hand emanating at her waist from his hold.

Millicent’s statement drew another smile from Fyror. “Your secret is safe with me, miss,” he replied quietly as he continued to lead her around the dance floor. There was slight amusement in his voice but also an ever-present earnest quality to it. He was glad, and honestly a bit relieved, that she seemed to be enjoying his company at the moment.

As they continued Millicent found her mind wandering back to what he had said previously and she took the close quarters chance to clear the air. "Sir Kildragon... you did not offend me," she said quietly as her feet glided across the floor. Her chest rising as she took a thoughtful breath. "Never could a man such as yourself offend me. You humbled me." Her eyes had drifted away as she spoke but came back to his timidly at the end of her words, finding herself biting her bottom lip gently as her gaze found his.

Her next statement peaked his attention. If he had not offended her earlier, then what had been the reason for her reaction? He looked at her questioningly, but her gaze had since drifted away. There was an awkward silence between them before she finally spoke again and her gaze tentatively returned to his. A grimace crossed his face as his steps faltered in response to her words. That gnawing sensation of doubt came back to the forefront of his mind. Her kind words always seemed too good to be true, like she was just flattering him. He could hide his doubt no longer. He had to address it, even if it backfired on him. “You speak to me with such flattering words, quite contrary to how most women treat me. I—I cannot help but wonder if you truly mean what you say.”

The miss of his step and the look in his face caused her concern, his words made her bite down on her lips hard. A look not of offense but disbelief coming to her features. Had he truly just questioned her integrity? Doubted if she spoke truth? What words had people spoke to cause anything that had ever left her lips to seem false? Millicent was known amongst the gossips for many things; being outspoken, too bold, strong willed, not knowing her place. All of these were common and more but a liar? Swallowing hard she kept in time with the music and began to push to lead him now in their dance. Her eyes coming back to his after a silent moment of contemplation only marked by staggered breaths.

Her lips thinning slightly right before she spoke, jaw tightening as she lifted her chin and pride came over her. "Never doubt my words Sir Kildragon." Her voice was steady but firm as iron as she spoke. "I do not know what words have floated to your ears about my morality and integrity Sir but I can assure you that whatever words have left my lips towards you have been spoken with the utmost sincerity. I meant what I said this evening to you as much as I mean what I am about to say..." she said, her voice still for a moment before she continued. "If you doubt my honor you needn't bother to lower yourself to be in my presence again."

If Fyror had questioned her sincerity before, he would be foolish now to do it again. The intensity in her voice took him aback, and he was left speechless while he let her words sink in. If everything she had ever said to him was spoken with complete sincerity and was not an exaggeration or flattery, then what did that mean her opinion of him was? He recalled all the previous statements he had ever heard her make to or about him. Never could a man such as yourself offend me. You humbled me… You honor us with your presence… Always a pleasure to see a man such as yourself grace my presence… I would be more than blessed to have a man of honor as a husband than any other cretin in the room… It dawned on him that she truly had a high opinion of him, one in which that was not swayed by his marred appearance. She saw him for he was on the inside and accepted him wholeheartedly.

After a drawn out contemplative silence, he finally spoke up. He poured out his heart in his words, making the sincerity of them clear. “I have made a horrible error and for that I am deeply sorry. It was no one else’s words that have swayed my good judgment but my own foolishness and self-consciousness. I fear that I have grown so used to rejection that I had become blind to the possibility that a woman could ever see past my scars. But you have opened my eyes by giving me a well needed reality check. I am very grateful for that,” he stated earnestly before addressing her last statement. “I do not feel like I have ever lowered myself to be in your presence. I feel that I have tried my utmost to treat you with the respect and admiration you so deserve.”

It was Millicent's turn to be left speechless and slightly slack-jawed on top of it as she looked up at him. Her feet moving of their own accord across the dance floor as he held her in his arms. He was used to rejection and had a hard time believing a woman could see there was more to him than his scars? Yes, he was scarred. She herself would have to be blind not to see that but they had never been off-putting to her; they had intrigued her and told her that he was far stronger than most who waltzed around them. Her found her fingers curling against his broad shoulder in a comforting manner as he spoke but his last words caused color to rise in her cheeks. She looked away sharply, trying to hide the blush. Her soft locks brushing the underside of his chin as they danced.

Millicent was flabbergasted and unsure of what to say right then. He thought her deserving of respect and even admiration? She did not doubt his words, he was a man of honor from all accounts. Well she did not doubt he believed what he said but she hardly felt she was deserving of any sort of admiration or respect; especially considering how her mother had treated him when she was in his presence. Swallowing the lump in her throat she tried to respond in some manner that would not make her look like a complete fool. "We all have scars Sir Kildragon, some of us just hide them better than others," she said as she lifted her head to look up at him once again. Tensing her hand in his, her fingers curling over his palm. "Consider this. Those that have been foolish enough not to enjoy your company were the ones that were blind and you were most fortunate as to not have to tolerate their presence. They were unworthy of your time." Her words were just as firm as before now but there was a lilt to them, a confidence in her own words as she gave a curt nod of her head as if to affirm what she had said.

After how voicing his doubt had nearly cost him her trust, Fyror was glad that he was able to put her at ease once more. Some would say that the way he so readily voiced his true feelings and admitted his faults was a sign of weakness; however, to him he always viewed speaking the truth as being a sign of strength. The irony was that the truth could often hurt and yet it could also so easily mend wounds.

He found that he watched her with growing fondness and intrigue. She certainly was a beautiful and intelligent woman, and she had this bold quality to her that he could not help but admire. He glanced down at her hand as it curled against his shoulder in a seemingly comforting manner. Warmth emanated from her touch. His gaze returned to hers, and he caught her flustered reaction just before she looked away sharply, causing her hair to tickle his chin. He was honestly oblivious to the reasoning for her reaction. After a few moments, her gaze finally returned to him and she spoke once more. A warm smile graced his features at her words. “Wise words indeed, Miss Wyndham,” he responded softly. “Wise words indeed.”

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"Flowers?" Gerard gave the woman a confused look, earlier this morning he gave Milli some flowers that he brought from his morning stroll. He asked where it was placed and when he went over the room once again and out the window he saw what used to contain the flowers, shattered and the broken trellis that seemed to have been used as a ladder. It indeed looked like somebody had gone up and in from this window. He was utterly confused as to why someone would break in somebody's abode and going through all that effort just to steal a bunch of hand picked flowers.

"I've given Ms. Milli some flowers this mornin' as a gift." he confessed, thinking that it was the same flowers that was stolen from the office "Why would anyone want to steal that?" he was musing to himself more than asking directly to the group before him. It did seemed like nothing else of value was stolen, with an obvious case of a break in and one of the workers getting hurt in the process "Should we call a constable?" He thought it would be the right thing to do. Before working for the Wyndham's Gerard had quite a few run ins with the law but he knew well to leave his unsavory habits behind. Life here in the estate was a life that's honest and worthwhile for a change. He did not want that to be taken away too.

"Mary it is then," Elizaveta said in a kind voice. Sitting there she watched the young woman explain her title. Taking it all in before she responded. "I see, vell that is a bit to take in. The crovn has their vays. My crovn has their ovn. I would be pleased to refer to you as Dame Hale vhile in public. I speak for my father here and I recognize your title. If the church and God recognize it, then it is His vill. I go with God before all else," she said surely as the day was long and the nights were full of the Soulless.

Meanwhile as the carriage continued on its way towards Almack's things were in a tizzy over at the Wyndham's home. The flowers were not stolen, laying under the bush next to the broken glass on the ground outside of the window from Millicent's second floor bedroom. Though unless one walked outside to look they would not see them from looking out Millicents window and down. Downstairs, in the study that was torn apart there was nothing broken or stolen either - at least not that anyone could tell.

Abigail nodded. "We's were goin' to right b'fore you got home," the young handmaid said.

"We should probably also send for the surgeon for poor Mr. Everett," Cook piped in.

"I'm fine, just need a belt and some sleep," he said stammering slightly as he spoke. Cook gave an eye roll. "Someone should go warn Miss Milli, we don't want her coming home to a house full of people snooping around for someone that was snooping around," Everett stated as he slipped down into a chair in the hallway and groaned slightly.

"That can wait, Miss Milli ain't who I am worried about. What on earth is Mrs. Wyndham going to say when she sees this mess?" Cook said groaning, she knew Mrs. Wyndhams penchant for blowing up if anything was out of place. This was going to send her into a down right tantrum. "Mr. Connolly, can you fetch the Constable?" At least one should have been walking the streets near the house right then but it was oddly silent even for this time of the evening.

Elizaveta looked out the window as they rolled up to Almack's and glanced out the window as she waited for her guards to get the door open. The place was buzzing with people. Most had arrived by now, those standing outside seemed to be talking with each other. Mostly men who seemed to be young and wanting a break from the girls inside trying to get their attention.

---

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Lord Rutherford stopped in his tracks as Virginia came upon them, the girls presence causing Mrs. Wyndham to obviously scoff. Glancing down the tip of his nose at the pale girl he simply grinned at her question. "You are one to speak, you Crypts have all the courtly grace of a corpse. Perhaps your name is all too befitting," Mrs. Wyndham said with a scowl on her face. It was no secret that the current matriarch of the Wyndham family had little love for the Crypt family. Her opinion made quiet known on numerous occasions to Millicent, whether Virginia was present or not.

"Concerning what the Earl and I are discussing, it is none of your never mind," she said smugly.

Lord Rutherford was a bit more welcoming. "Now come come Mrs. Wyndham, as eccentric as the Crypts are I do share a seat in the House of Lords with Lord Crypt," he said with a broad grin towards her. "Such a pity your father has not been seen in court for so very long. How we do miss him. Much longer and I suspect we will be seeing his male heir there soon. I know he is young but you needn't worry, there are plenty of men there that will help him learn the ropes."

Rutherford glanced over towards Millicent and Fyror dancing before looking back at Virginia. "My Lady Crypt, with certain Lords and Ladies waltzing about, it would not shock me in the least. Such pale skin tone is common among their kind," he said coolly with a hearty chuckle. This only caused Mrs. Wyndham to chortle in agreement.

"Here, here. Well said Lord Rutherford, well said indeed."

Then the invitation came. Before either could respond they were interrupted. Mrs. Wyndham was about to respond when Lord Rutherford did so for the both of them. "Why of course, I would enjoy it most fervently as would the Wyndham's I am sure. There will be much celebration soon to be had by all," he said as he looked between Virginia and then over to Millicent on the dance floor. Glancing over at Mosi he shook his head.

"Though sharing a dance with a veiled woman I do not know I cannot do, would be very unbefitting an Earl. One would do well to learn their place and let the men approach them. One would think you were hopelessly desperate," he said before adjusting his coat. "Now, excuse me. Ladies," he said with a nod of his head and moved quickly away with his eyes set on Millicent as the dance was coming to a close.

Millicent, being unaware of what was going on with her step mother and the others, kept her eyes on Fyror. It was hard for her to believe. She had actually enjoyed the dance and found herself sad that it had come to an end. Dances she had had before she counted the seconds to get away from her partner but this time she felt that time had flown by.

"Sir Kildragon, I cannot express just how much I enjoyed our time and dance together," she said softly as the dance ended. Her eyes spotted Rutherford over Fyror's shoulder coming up quickly to them. "It will be a wonderful memory in the dark days ahead," she said as she took a long breath.

"Miss Wyndham," Rutherford said as he came up to them from behind Fyror. Millicent taking a step back from Fyror and nodding slightly. The tension she had had before the dance quickly returning.

"Lord Rutherford."

"A word," he said eying her after giving Fyror the once over. Millicent swallowed and nodded. Rutherford taking her arm and barely giving her a moment to keep up with him as he escorted her off the dance floor and over to the open balcony that lead down to the gardens. "I hope you enjoyed yourself, it won't e happening again," he said as he stood there looking out over the gardens. The dance floor clearly seen as Millicent looked back over her should, trying to get a glimpse of Fyror again. She had enjoyed the dance but she knew better than to voice it.

"About my proposition."

"Yes, I.. well," she stammered, something that did not happen to Millicent often. She was usually so quick of wit and response yet right then she found it hard to form the words.

"If you decline, it matters not. I can always set my sights on others willing to invest," he said turning around and smirking. A look of fear and dread swept over her features. Shaking her head for a moment she took a deep breath.

"No, that shant be necessary Lord Rutherford." Her voice was cold and weak as she spoke, it causing the look of a lion about to devour his prey to come over Rutherfords features.

"Then you agree?"

Millicent found herself biting on her tongue as her fingers wrung themselves. It was a long quiet and awkward moment before she finally responded. "Yes, I acquiesce."

The words caused a bright devilish grin to come to his features as he stepped towards her and towered over her. Resting his hands on her shoulders, something that was completely scandalous if not under the right circumstances, he pulled her closer. Millicent felt her stomach clenching into knots. Trembling slightly as she looked up at him. "Wonderful," he said in a triumphant voice that grated on her nerves. Leaning down Millicent jerked back but he held her firm. "Careful," he warned and Millicent froze. Pressing his lips to hers in front of God and everyone Millicent wanted to cry.

Mrs. Wyndham on the other hand wanted to cheer as she watched the two. Smirking she looked over towards Virginia. "Yes, we have much to celebrate. I am sure Millicent will want all your suggestions on the wedding you care to give," the woman said callously before teetering off to find her other daughters.