Sarah was late to reach the study, though she'd tried to hurry with the tea preparations, Lavinia Croft had broken a large vase in her bedchamber and Mrs. Green had sent her to clean it up. Foolish, ridiculous girl, that Lavinia Croft. Sarah hesitated at the door, wondering if Charles would be angry with her, or if he would send her away altogether today. There was nothing for it now, she told herself firmly as she took the door by the handle and entered the room.

Again the smell of cigar smoke and leather wafted around her as a welcome, this room was always warmer than the rest of the house. Sarah let out a sigh as she paused in the doorway, her eyes sweeping the room. Charles was not at his desk, but rather stood at the windows with his back to her, motionless.

"Close the door, please, Sarah," was all he said, but she wilted immediately at the harshness of his voice. So he was back to his gruff soldiering ways again today. She turned and shut the door behind her, glad to escape the mad bustle on the outside for at least an hour.

"Are you well, Sir Charles?" she ventured to ask as she moved into the room.

"Well enough," he replied gruffly, turning from the window abruptly and striding over to his desk. Sarah noticed the tiredness around his eyes that seemed to be perpetually there, and he looked weary.

"You seem tired, my lord," she observed aloud, moving to join him at the desk where he sat now. Charles merely growled in response and began to shuffle through a stack of papers.

"You should take some arrow root in your tea," Sarah pressed forward as if he wasn't in such horrid spirits.

"Only a woman would think a cup of tea could help a Navy man sleep," Charles scoffed darkly, not even sparing her a glance. Sarah studied him for another moment as she stood on the opposite side of his desk while he continued to study a ledger of numbers.

"Do you think about it much, the war?" Sarah's voice was so soft it could've been a whisper, she might've been wondering to herself instead of asking him a question. Charles did look at her then.

"I do," he answered after a moment, and she could see scrutiny in his eyes as he studied her.

"And Mr. Pembroke? Is he a Navy man as well?" she asked, still standing just across the desk from him. Charles looked away from her and back to the ledger in front of him.

"Yes, Henry was a comrade and one who is lucky to be alive," Charles answered with disinterest. Sarah continued her line of questioning, wanting to fill in the gaps of Charles' life in their time apart.

"Did you lose many comrades?" she asked next, but now she moved to look out the wall of windows just to his right, wishing he would speak to her freely.

"A great many," he answered, and the tiredness in his voice deepened but Sarah kept her eyes trained on the landscape below, "Five years is a lifetime on a warship," he continued, "Such bloodshed, such needless violence... endless death," he broke off his statement suddenly but Sarah only waited.

"I find I am not the man that I was," he admitted, "Sometimes it seems as if I have not come home yet... I am still so haunted by my time at sea," he finished sounding as if his thoughts were still very far away. Sarah continued her vigil at the window, her heart twisting to think of the young Charles she'd known suffering such terrible things. It was no wonder he'd come home in such a condition. It was a wonder he'd come home at all, she reminded herself.