Sir Charles Amesbury hesitated.

The imposing estate towered above him as he glanced upwards. The windows that stood in straight lines across the front of the house felt more like eyes, watching him. He had not set foot in Broadcroft for many years, and he was not looking forward to it now. Thunder clapped from a distance, a warning the Navy Lieutenant in him had no need of, the air had smelled of rain and an old wound in his leg ached with the change in the weather. He felt like an old man.

This is why he hesitated.

Broadcroft had known a younger Charles, a happy, carefree second son without troubles or burdens.

Charles had returned from six years at sea in wartime, utterly changed. With Richard's death, he was now a Baronet, responsible for an estate, his family and a good number of tenant farmers and their families. Though he knew it was his duty, the weight of the task before him left him wearier than when he had arrived on shore. It was as if his soul had aged while he youth lingered, though the ragged scar on the right side of his face left little doubt in the eyes of his loved ones - this was not the man they had known.

"Charles?" Caroline murmured, reaching out to touch his arm and effectively bringing him back to the moment at hand, "Are you well, Brother?"

"Yes, I am fine, Caroline," he quipped. He watched his sister retract her hand, wishing he had spoken a little more gently. He was struggling to adjust to life on land, life not consumed by death and battle, life with delicate women instead of hardened sailors.

"Mother?" he said with an attempt at a gentleman's tone as he offered Lady Eleanor his arm. She took it without comment, and the two led the way into the great house, dread sinking like lead in Charles chest.

Barton greeted them at the door, and the usual exchanges were made before the rest of the family came through the door. There was a shedding of hats and coats and gloves as the weather was growing colder now. Charles dutifully greeted each servant as they lined the hall, waiting for him – their new master. Some he recognized from childhood, they were much like the old house itself; they would expect a different man than the one before them now. Charles was mentally ticking off the minutes before he could retreat to his sanctuary, the study, the one place in this house he could forbid entrance to all others.

He was nearly to the end of the line, the thought of a warm fire and a bit of Scotch pushing him onward, when a lower housemaid caught his eye. The girl looked as if she were about to go over, quivering like a leaf, she'd gone white to the lips but strangest of all - she was staring at him. Charles knew a moment of shame over the maid's reaction to his marred appearance, but it was quickly replaced with the rage he barely kept under control. He opened his mouth, to say what, he wasn't sure but in that instant the petrified little thing buckled at the knees.

Without thinking Charles reached out and caught her. She felt soft in his arms, but what kind of thinking was that? He reprimanded himself with disgust. He was not some desperate sailor, hungry for a woman's company, in fact he planned to avoid the species altogether. But then she blinked up at him with large blue eyes, and a look of terror before she went completely limp. He'd scared her, he realized with a tinge of guilt. As well he should, he reminded himself as he swept her up in his arms and headed for the morning room he knew would have a chaise to deposit her on.

"Oh my Heavens!" his mother was exclaiming, and several other servants were swarming him in an attempt to help.

Charles couldn't resist another glance at the chit in his arms. She looked like a ghost, but she was warm against the cold that still lingered on him from the journey. He instinctively pulled her tighter, craving that warmth. Charles stopped considering what had come over him, and made it the last few steps to the morning room without another thought. He promptly left her with the others and turned for the door. He felt like running from the room as a sense of longing fell over him. This would not do. Women fainting at the very sight of him – holding a sooty maid like a coveted toy; he'd go mad before Christmas at this present rate of deterioration. Brushing past another maid in the hall, he hurried to the study as if his life depended on it.