Race could barely convince his eyelids to stay glued together long enough for him to fall asleep, neither could he convince his mind to do anything but think of Lady Bianca. Yet, that was all he could do; stay awake and think of her.

Their conversation the day before, when he had confessed to hiring servants in anticipation of being married to her sister, had done exactly what he had meant for it to do; hurt her. But as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. If only he could go back to the past and stop himself from being such an idiot! Perhaps he must apologise? It seemed like the best thing to do to ease the tension between them, and especially soothe his conscience.

A few hours later, he staggered out of bed, having not gotten any sleep at all. It was after all useless trying to fall asleep. He would tend to his horses and see about making breakfast.

He changed out of his nightshirt and into his work clothes; a grey shirt and black trousers. Not bothering to tuck the shirt in, or comb his hair, he made his way out of the room and into the dark hallway. Slowly, he closed the door behind him, making certain to walk gently through the hall for fear of awakening Lady Bianca. He was almost at the stairs, when his foot connected with something.

"Argh!"He growled, just as the object clattered loudly in the hall. He leaned down enough to see it was the tray he had put before Lady Bianca's door the night before. Noticing the food in the plate had been untouched, he frowned. Was she still angry? Surely it was madness to be angry with another and punish one's self as a result of that anger! It was madness to loathe him and starve herself in a clear show of just how much she hated him. Was this how women of the ton behaved? Would they purposely hurt themselves as an act of manipulation against their husbands?

Race sighed taking the tray in his hands. He made his way down the dark stairs and to the kitchen where he placed the tray on the worktable. Walking out of the house through the back door, he began his walk to the stable. Darkness clouded his vision, but he had the paths to the stable memorized.

He walked slowly, his lungs filling with the cool morning air. The sound of his footsteps were cushioned by the grasses beneath his feet. He didn't reach the stable until color began to streak across the dark sky, the beautiful display of red and orange taking his breath away like it had always done through his years in the manor.

He loved these lands, the only property he inherited from his half brother. Race was lucky, if Noah wasn't a kind man, he would inherit nothing for society made it clear that he, as a bastard, was worthy of nothing. Society wasn't the only one that held this view, his own father held it as well. Wanting no shame in the scandal that would follow if he dared acknowledged Race as his son, the Marquess of Camden chosen to ignore his existence. And while ignoring Race's existence didn't stop the gossips from gossiping, at least they were sure to be discrete about their allegations for there was no evidence to any of it. Then, the Marquess died, and like every other man of society who lived double lives -one with a wife in the day time, and another with a mistress in the night- Lord Camden made certain to leave his bastard son without an inheritance.

Race didn't care for he knew nothing about his father, nothing but the fact that the man sired him. He barely saw his father long enough to have a relationship with him. He only saw the Marquess once in two months, when he would sneak into their little cottage and Race's mother would have him sit outside for several hours. Then, the Marquess would appear at the door, wearing a hat and a coat with black gloves. He would smile at Race and toss a coin in his hands.

For many years, the strange man with the black coat and hat, was a stranger to Race, until he turned eight. Then, he got into a fight one day with some boys his age. They mocked him and called him a bastard; a word he didn't know the meaning at the time.

With a bloody nose and a torn shirt from a brawl that afternoon, he returned home to a furious mother who cleaned his wounds and mended his shirt.

"Mama?" His eyes remained fixed on her boney hands as they worked thread through the fabric of his shirt.

"Hm?" She didn't glance up, her eyes fixed on the work before her. She had been dressed in that old green dress, the same one she wore around the house when she wasn't expecting the strange man. Her hair was characteristically messy that it was a wonder she could always manage to make the brown atrocity glow when the stranger was around.

"What is the meaning of bastard?"

Her hands stopped moving then. She sat still for several seconds, hands poised over his dirty shirt.

He stared at her, uncertain whether or not she was breathing. Was she dead?! Panicking, "Mama?!"

Her head snapped up, just as he rose to his feet in order to hurry over to her side. Her eyelids widened as she stared at him, a frown claiming her features.

"Where did you pick up such language from?" Her voice was leveled, yet firm. He glanced briefly at her hands; they were trembling now.

"I- Well, Jackson called me a bastard earlier today. 'Rest of the boys laughed right along."

Her grip on his shirt tightened, her knuckles whitening. Still, her eyes never left him. "Did he say where he picked up the dirt language from? Perhaps his drunk of a father? The lousy bastard like hell must be a great example of what a true bastard looks like to his son." She let out a mirthless laugh, eyes returning to his shirt. Taking the needle in her hands, she began stitching it once more, faster this time. "Or maybe it was his whore of a mother? Nosey bitch can't keep her mouth shut for two seconds!"

Race knew his mother was in a terrible mood, and what was more, he knew he had put her in that mood simply by using the word 'bastard.' It was best he went outside, he decided.

"I will be outside, Mama."

"Yes," She nodded in dismissal. "Go, out with you!"

He never saw his mother in such a terrible mood again, until the event that followed days after the stranger showed up on their doorstep.

Accustomed to being forced to wait outside, he sat on the front stairs that evening, monitoring the dragon flies as they formed a wonderful display of light before their house. He sat for several hours and was only awakened when the door clicked open and the stranger appeared.

"Here is a coin for you." He flipped a coin and Race instinctively reached out to catch it midair.

"Thanks, mister." He bowed his head.

The man began making his way past Race, when a voice sounded from within the building. "Race," His head snapped up just in time to see his mother pointing at the stranger's retreating form. "That right there, the Marquess of Camden, that is your father."

His face crumbled into a confused frown as he turned around swiftly. Unfortunately, the Marquess was already climbing into his carriage.

"F-Fa-Father?" He whirled back around to his mother.

She nodded. "I told you the drunk and his entire family are liars, didn't I? You're no bastard, you have a father, and that right there, is him."

Race never forgot. He never forgot his father, and he made certain to bring Jackson and the group of boys to that knowledge as well.

Putting the coins handed to him by his father, together, he hired a coach to take his friends to Camden. It wasn't really far from his mother's cottage, for they lived a few miles out of town. But a part of Race -the part that had been scorned- was desperate to win. When they arrived Camden, luck must have been on his side, because standing right across the street from them in town, was the stranger who tossed a coin to him every night.

He didn't stop to think, or to consider his actions, he just acted. He threw his arms apart and ran across the streets.

"Father! Father! Father!" He laughed in exhilaration until he was wrapping his arms around the Marquess' waist and leaning his head on his torso.

"What?!" The Marquess snapped, detailing Race's arms from around him. He shoved Race back, until he was landing on his buttocks on the pavement. "Get away from me, peasant!"

Race was certain it wasn't the fall to the pavement that hurt the most, it was his own father's rejection. He knew because he still felt the open wound in his chest, more than fourteen years later.

He stepped into his stable, the horse's neighing in response. He smiled at his mares; if he was lucky, they would breed well and he would sell them. His plan was to rear the horses and hopefully make some money doing so. Once that was done and he was wealthy enough to hire a few servants, he would turn his attention to farming.

He changed the water in the trough and added some more hay for the horses. After standing and stroking their mane for several minutes, he turned and made his way outside. The sky was bright by the time he stepped outside, the chilly morning air warning him of light showers. From his position by the doorway to the stable, he could see the house up ahead. Noah had described the two-story building as modest, but Race begged to differ. With five bedrooms, a drawing room, a parlor, a library, study and a kitchen, it was much more than he had ever had throughout his entire life. The land was vast as well, so vast, he would harvest a large harvest if he did go into farming.

The walls of this manor also provided him with solitude. He could hide from the wicked tongue of the ton, and could be with the woman he loved and the family they would start. But rather than be with Lady Carla, he was here with her sister; a sister bent on starving herself to punish him.

His eyes trailed up the building to her window; it was wide open. He saw the curtains being carried about by the breeze but he could barely see into the room due to the distance.

Forcing his mind to drift from Lady Bianca for a few minutes, he began his walk back to the house. He would make breakfast. No doubt Lady Bianca was unable to cook, or do anything for that matter. He sighed, rubbing his eyes. He needed to hire at least a housemaid to help Lady Bianca and himself around the house. He couldn't cook, clean, tend the horses and the land, and still try to take care of a wife.

He reached the building and pushed the door open. Stepping into the silent hall, he wasn't surprised to find that Lady Bianca was absent. She was most likely still locked in her room, and still starving herself to prove a point to him. Well, he didn't see the point! And he needed for her to know that, as well as the fact that he couldn't afford a Physician if she did fall sick. Her father would most likely have his head if his daughter died in Race's house.

Groaning, he marched up the stairs and knocked on her door. "Bea?"He leaned on the door, exhausted. "We need to talk. Perhaps it is best if we act civilized and move past our differences?"

Silence.

Annoyed, he reached for the doorknob and twisted it, surprised when it opened that it wasn't locked.

"Bea! You are..."

The words died on his lips when his eyes came to rest on Lady Bianca lying face down on the wooden floor, naked.