William woke up in his bed, arms wrapped around him. He was quite certain is was already passed the morning, but he did not feel a rush to go to work. He was a writer for the newspaper, but he was regarded highly and had many privileges. One of them was choosing his own hours. As long as he could write what he had to write in time, no one cared when he came.

He turned around in the bed and looked at his lover, Teresa. Her eyes were closed and her face unstring, showing that when she did not try to be kind, she did not look kind. When she was awake, she was always smiling and seducing William, clinging to him and asking for attention. He gave her that, for he only let her come to him when he wanted a partner in the bed. He knew the woman was not kind, but she was good in bed, and that was all he used her for.

Pulling the covers off him and removing her arm from around him, he stepped out of the bed to find the clothing that was thrown on the ground last night. He dressed as silently as possible, then left the room on his toe tips. If she woke up, he would have to feed her and smile at her, while he wanted her out of his house. So after breakfast, he told his butler to send her home once she woke up. Then he called for a carriage and drove to his workplace in the heart of London.

He still had to get used to having an actual workplace. Twas only a few days ago he had arrived back in London after traveling from theatre to theatre through England, writing reviews for the newspaper. He had had a reason to run from London, but now he did not want to do so anymore. It sounded silly, but he missed his home. His family was in London, too busy to travel far away. He would only see them once a year, when he would return to celebrate Christmas with them.

He had liked the change of scenery every time. Different places, different plays, different people, different lovers... But he felt like it was time for a steady life. He was almost twenty-five, and if he wanted to find a wife before people would start speculating he would never have one, it was time he started looking.

He was not certain he would ever find a woman that would please him. He had had a taste of what he could not have anymore, and he doubted there was anything better. Yet he had to try. And if he did not find it, then he might have to settle with someone less – like Teresa.

That thought make him shake his head. No, not Teresa. Never would he think of marrying that woman. She was not kind, did not say anything personal, did not smell like roses, knew not what he thought... Or mayhap he was comparing her too much with-

No, do think of her. Do not think of her name, of her smell, of her beautiful brown hair- No, do not!

She was the past, and she would never become his future. No matter how hard it might be, he had to forget about her. He had thought he had, but being back in London and seeing all the places they used to go to, brought back more memories than he liked. He did not want to walk through Hyde Park, for they had walked through it together. He did not want to visit his friend at home, for she lived there. He did not even want to sleep in the biggest bedroom of his house, for she had slept there.

He smiled at the memory. He had already realized he was in love with her then, but he had been too frightened to tell her. She was beautiful, kind, funny and confident. She was everything William wanted in a wife. The only problem was that his sister, Emily, did not like her at all. She had never minded, but William had. He assumed she was stronger than him – she always had been.

That night, she was in his house and could not go home because of the terrible weather. They spend the entire day together, kissing in every corner of his house. William had wanted to take it further than that and threw her on his bed. But she – strong as ever – refused and simply fell asleep while still wearing her gown. He had taken it off so that she would be more comfortable, leaving her in nothing but her undergarments. And then he just watched her sleep and kept the memory forever.

Even now, when he was not supposed to think of it, he did. And he knew that when he would see the big bed again, he would think of it again. But he should not.

He shook his head and hoped that the memory would disappear, but it was the kind of memory that truly stayed forever. Whenever he would do nothing for a while, or be bored, his mind would take him to that great moment, and he would feel the pain all over again.

Leaving London had not been enough to forget her, yet coming back seemed to make everything worse. That was why he needed to find a wife. Mayhap he could love that woman more than he loved the memory of her, and forget everything.

Not likely to happen, his mind told him.

His carriage came to stop in front of the building. He looked at the dark brown bricks that would become his second home and sighed. He had been here before, when he had just started working for the newspaper. He had always thought the dark outside looked even better than the inside. He sometimes wondered if the invention of the electric light would have any effect inside this building, for it was always dark, no matter the amount of candles.

He entered the building and walked up to the third floor where he had his personal desk. On it, he found a note that asked him to come to his superior. William knew he would have to go to the man, for he needed an assignment. He had been reviewing theatre plays and operas for the last years, but now that he was back with no new play to watch yet, he needed something else to write about.

He left his coat and bag at his desk and walked into the small room where the superior had his desk. Twas nicely decorated with plants and scribbles of his child, making it probably the most beautiful desk in the entire building.

"You asked for me, Mr. Evans?"

The man looked up and smiled at William. "Lord Hawthorne, I am happy to have you back in London. I hope you have enjoyed your travels."

"Very much, but it was time for me to come back home."

He laid his pen on his desk and looking longingly at William. "I envy you. I wish I had the chance to see more than London and its surrounding."

"If you ever have the chance, you must take it," he told the man. "Everything is worth seeing."

Mr. Evans gave him a grateful smile, then looked down at his desk. He picked up a piece of paper and gave it to William. "Your next assignment," he explained. "You are a very good reviewer, so I would like you to keep doing that. But more than that, I want your return to London to be bigger, more special. And I have found the perfect thing."

While William read the note, Mr. Evans told him what was on it. "I want you to write a book about the newest play by lord Byron, Pondside. But I do not want a book that is one big review. No, I want a book that tells everything about the play: who are actors? Who is lord Byron? How did the story come to be? How was the stage build? What music was chosen? I want to be able to read the book, and feel like I have seen the play. Do you understand what I mean?"

William nodded, quite enthusiastic with the assignment. He had feared he would have to write articles about politics or gossips. But Mr. Evans seemed to be a lover of his work and did not want to change it, which made William even more willing to make this his best work yet. "I will not disappoint you."

"I hope so," the man said before William turned to leave the room. "My expectations are high."