William had not slept well that night. His mind was with a woman, but twas not the woman in his bed. No, the woman in his mind was more beautiful, kinder and had a sweeter voice.

She had looked amazing. She was not the young girl she was when he had left. Now, she was a woman, truly a lady of her status, yet as strong as she was before. She had been surprised to see him, but had found it easy to go back to being not bothered by his presence. When he caught her looking at him, she seemed to be taunting him more than that she was showing him she had missed him.

It made him doubt if she had missed him. He had missed her, but he had always been the weaker one between them. He wondered if mayhap she was not bother by his presence as much as he was by hers because she had found someone else. Andrew had not told him she had, but his friend had always made certain he did not talk of Elizabeth when he around.

That was quite thoughtful of him, but now William realized he wished he had known more about her. Was she happy? Was she lonely? Did she still laugh in the same manner? Had she cried because of his leaving?

He mentally shook his head. He should not be thinking of Elizabeth now. Not only because there was a different woman in his bed, but also because it was torturing himself. Yes, he had made a mistake, but so had she. And he would not give her another chance of potentially ruining his life.

He kissed Caroline's forehead before he stepped out of the bed and put on his clothing.

"Are you leaving?" the sleepy voice of his lover said.

"I have an important assignment starting today," he told her. "I may not be late."

"And you have to rise so early?"

He smiled at her. "Like I said, I do not want to be late. Lord Byron would not appreciate that."

"Ah," she said, and she fell back on the bed. "The book."

"Yes, the book. I want to make it my masterpiece."

"Reading is boring."

"No, it is not."

"I shall be here still when you return tonight," she told him seductively, changing the subject.

"I do not know when I will return."

"Then I might have to wait long." She batted her eyes, hoping it would make William more prepared to agree with her or come home earlier.

But he shook his head. "You will go home. I shall call for you when I need you."

"You will not call for me," she blamed him. "You will call for another mistress."

William did not respond and watched her step out of the bed and take her undergarments.

"Why will you not tell me their names?" she asked with a pout.

"Because they might be your friends."

"I would chase them away from you anyhow," she told him while she walked closer to him. Her hand caressed his shoulder and moved to his face. "I would do anything to be your only lover."

"Then that would be the most successful you will ever be," he sighed. He did not want to waste time getting this woman out of his house, yet she was doing anything to stall him and stay longer. "Now hurry up, I do not want to be late."

"Mayhap you ought to leave me here alone, then, so that I can decide when I leave."

"Mayhap I ought to give you no breakfast so that you cannot stall more."

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An hour later, William had arrived at the theatre in the centre of London. He believed the building to be the heart of the city, but people who did not like the art, would disagree. Upon entering the building, he had to ask for the office of lord Byron. He had been to many theatres, and sometimes he had gone behind the curtain, but he never had he seen behind the production of a play in this theatre.

Twas a huge building, the biggest theatre in London, and it took him several minutes to reach the office he was pointed to. He knocked on the door and waited for a voice to say: "enter."

He opened the door and found lord Byron behind his desk in the middle of the room. The room was big enough for the desk, its owner and a few guests, but there was no space for closets and cupboard one would usually find in a study. This was probably only a temporary study, William assumed.

"Lord Byron, I presume" he said, bowing to the man behind the desk. "I am William Hawthorne."

"Ah, the writer," the man said as he stood up and bowed back. Then he pointed at the chair in front of the desk. "Please, sit down while we talk about your writing."

William did as he was asked, curious about what the man could say of him. He had not received many bad comments on his reviews, yet he did not doubt a man like lord Byron would be honest to him, even if he did not like his writing.

"I am very glad they chose you for this book."

With a silent sigh of relieve, William gave the lord his best smile. "Thank you, my lord. I am flattered."

"But that does not mean I have full trust in you. Your writing might be excellent, but that does not mean your personality is the same. You shall have to prove yourself to me, and you have only one chance. If you ruin the book, I will end your career. And when I say prove yourself, I do not only mean your writing and opinions. I also mean your interaction and disturbance with my cast. If I hear a complaint, I shall end your career."

William smiled at the man, hoping he did not shiver. He did not doubt about the quality of the book, yet the man's words frightened him. Anything could happen that would make him ruin the book. He had to be honest about his opinion, yet describe the play as wonderful no matter what his thought of it.

What he was most afraid of, was people complaining about him. He did not expect it, but everyone had a bad day every once in a while. Actors and actresses especially were easily irritated when their water was too warm or the room too loud. And William could not deny he might take home a woman or two who he would eventually have to say goodbye to.

But despite all those thought, he gave lord Byron a confident smile. "I will not disappoint you, my lord."

"I hope so," he responded before he stood up. "I would like to show you around, but mayhap you should discover the place on your own. That way you will meet people who might be able to help you with your book. Let the readers discover the book like you discovered the theatre."

With a nod and a bow, William walked out of the room, eagerly hoping none of the threats had to become reality.

The hallway was pretty empty, so he walked in the direction that was away from where he entered, hoping it would lead him to where the actors and cast were. He found a big open space where big pieces of wood lay on the floor. Men were working on them, cutting them and assembling them into decorations for the stage. They had drawings and plans laid next to them on the floor.

William approached them and introduced himself as the writer of the book that would tell about the play. The men did not seem to give him much credit for it, but when he asked them questions about their building, they told him everything he wanted to know. They even allowed him to look at the drawings so that he knew what their plan was.

He did not understand how they would make those drawing become reality with mere wood, but he would probably see in a few months.

After a few hours, he had written down everything he could so far about the builders and their plans, so he decided it was time for the next room. He followed a woman who was carrying a few big pieces of fabric. Assuming she was a dressmaker, he entered the room she entered and found more women with pieces of fabric on their lap and a needle in their hand. Some had sprayed out their fabric on a table and were cutting pieces out of it, while others where drawing shapes on it.

The women were talking to each other, and William thought it was best to merely observe and listen while writing down notes. He found a lone chair to sit on, then looked around the room. He realized most of the pieces of fabric were in white and blue shades, but two women were cutting into red fabric. He assumed those were for the leading actors and wrote it down.

The women were talking about the main actors – John Kipling and Charlotte Lamb – and William listened intently, noting down every word they said. He was yet to meet the actors, but he was not certain that would still happen today. He would definitely watch them tomorrow as they rehears their singing, their dancing and their acting, so that he could form an opinion about them and have the first chapter of his book.

As William was watching fascinated by the women's quick work and listening to their stories, he had not realized time had gone by so quickly. He had talked with the women and asked them for their expectations and opinions about many things, and he had gotten a good view of who the workers behind the curtain were. He had no doubt all these people would form a tight group and be proud of their work in the play – no matter how potty.

Many women had started packing up their things, but a few were still remaining, wanting to finish their sewing or cutting rather than stopping halfway. He found now was a good time to stand up and walk around, looking more closely at the fabrics. He might even talk to some women if they had the time for it.

As he walked to the back of the room to watch the many different fabrics from close by, he suddenly saw the most beautiful woman in the world. He had already known that fact, but he was surprised he thought of it only now.

Also he was surprised to find her here. Was she working here? Twas not common a lady of her status would work at the theatre, but mayhap he ought not to be surprised to find Elizabeth there. He remembered very well how she would love to go the theatre and join him every time she could. He was also taken back to the first time he saw her – at the theatre.

He shook his head to shake the memories away and found himself walking toward her. She was bend over a table, cutting a strange form out of piece of sparkling, night blue fabric. She had not seen him yet, for she was too concentrated on the scissors, and William figured he still had time to leave.

But he did not, for his legs did not want to walk in the other direction. He did not even have the possibility to stop them until he stood next to her, and she noticed him. Her whole body stiffened when she looked at him and realized it was him. But quickly, she covered up her surprised with a confident smile. If William did not know her better, he truly would have thought she was not bothered by his presence.

"Why are you here?" she asked, her voice sweet and a smile on her lips. But William saw through it and knew she was only being polite because women were around them.

"I am writing a book about the production of the play," he explained. "I want to tell people how much work it takes to make an amazing performance such as Pondside."

"That is fantastic," she said too happy. "I am certain those ladies would like to tell you about the clothing they are making."

William could help but smile at her effort to make him go away, but he did not want to yet. "And what if I want to know about what you are making?"

"I am certain they know all about it too," she said before turning her attention back on the fabric. But William did not give up that easily, even though he knew he should. It was bad for him to stay around her, but he could not help it.

"And what if I want you to tell me?" he dared asking.

"Then ought to keep dreaming."

He let out a soft mocking laughter, but did not truly find it funny. He was hurt because of the way she said her words. Had he truly hurt her so much by leaving? Or had she become more like this since he had left?

Again he wished Andrew had told him more about Elizabeth, so that he would know now if what he was reading in her looks, meant what he thought it meant. He used to know exactly what was going on in her mind, but now he was not certain anymore. Did she truly hate him, or was she trying to chase him away because she should not be with him? Was that pain that he saw in her eyes, or was it only irritation?

"Why are you here, William?" she suddenly asked, getting him out of his own wondering.

"I told you, I am here to write a book."

"I mean here, at the spot right in front of me," she motioned at his feet before putting her hands on her hips. "I thought it was easy for you to leave. Why do you not do it now?"

The look she gave him now was definitely anger, he did not doubt about that. But was her goal hurting him, or reminding herself why she should hate him? She had definitely accomplished the first one, but he doubted she still needed a reminder. Was the sight of him not painful enough? Was he not torturing the woman he loved so dearly?

He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "You have changed, Elizabeth."

"Sometimes change is good," she told him with a blaming tone in her voice. "It makes you see who truly supports you and stays to help you out."

Leaving her work unfinished, she took her coat and gave him one last look. "I hope you feel as horrible as you look," she told him before angrily walking out of the room.