"Are you alright, Charles?" Amelia asked as she crossed the room to join him in the dark corner he'd chosen to roost in for the evening in an effort to avoid interactions. The guests were busy with cards and conversation, laughter bursting out every so often. The Drawing Room was so full Charles was surprised Amelia had even been able to spot him. She'd been so entertained with the other young people that they had not spent much time together since her arrival . But he did not wish to spend his time with anyone tonight.

"I am well," Charles snapped at her, then quickly checked her expression for hurt or injury, but there was none. Amelia had always been less delicate than Caroline and their mother, he observed.

"You are in high dungeon this evening," Amelia remarked placidly in return. Charles growled in his throat as a response.

"That is hardly the kind of attitude that would encourage a lady to come and speak to you," Amelia hinted with a pointed sideways glance in Lavinia's direction.

"Perhaps that is why I practice it so often," he replied dryly, Amelia only smiled.

"I understand your predicament," Amelia confided easily ignoring his bluster, "I myself have been practicing a certain expression for such a dilemma."

"You've done very poorly, seeing how many guests Mother has invited to court you for the next week," Charles jabbed, but Amelia nodded in agreement.

"It would seem I have done a very poor job indeed of communicating my heart's desire," she observed, her tone turning sad enough to earn a second glance from her brother. Amelia was staring at the group of young guests playing charades. Had Amelia fallen in love with one of them, Charles wondered to himself. And what would prevent her from having whichever fool she chose? Unlike Charles, Amelia's happiness was always within reach.

"You are sport for choice of fools in this house, you know this well," Charles bit out in resentment.

"True," Amelia said with a resignated sigh, "But it is not a fool that I love, Brother," she added, that same sad tone returning, but when she faced him there were no tears, but only resolvedness.

"Perhaps you have not practiced your expression well enough," Charles teased, wanting to pull his sister from her melancholy though he would not be able to return from his own.

"Shall I show you?" Amelia asked, a wide grin spreading across her face, the little devil she'd always been returning. Charles turned to face her fully and crossed his arms over his chest in a judgemental fashion before giving her a curt nodd. Instantly the beautiful young woman's face became a mixture of disgust and derision while maintaining a thin, mocking smile that all cultimated into a rather imposing expression.

"No, I think you've got that bit just right," Charles admitted with a twitch of his lips, and Amelia burst into laughter, her face returning to it's usual look of intelligence and health.

"I feel as if I've missed a joke," Henry said as he joined them in Charles' now very crowded hiding spot. Amelia's expression changed again at his arrival, Charles noticed.

"I was only attempting to persuade my brother out of his dark mood," Amelia confessed, smiling up at Henry. Charles saw in her eyes a certain glint of ... adoration? Affection? Delight? Understanding came to him then, Amelia had said herself that it was no fool she'd fallen in love with. Charles begrudgingly admitted her accuracy to himself as his two companions exchanged another joke. Did Henry know?

"Ah, that explains it," Henry smirked at her, "That is usually the face that indicates you need rescuing from unwanted company. Charles' fits that description quite well," Henry turned his smirk on Charles, but Amelia had become distracted by something he'd said for she did not respond, but could not seem to look away from his face.

"How was your time without us among the swarm this morning?" Charles asked sarcastically, Henry laughed.

"They become more lecherous as their time to snag your affection runs low," Henry warned but then, "How did you find the tenants this morning?"

"I wanted to ask you, Charles, who was the maid you were speaking to this morning?" Amelia asked him, suddenly jerking Charles out of whatever matchmaking haze had overcome him.

"Sarah?" Henry asked, his looked of disapproval no going unmissed.

"Sarah," Amelia repeated more to herself than anything else.

"She's been ill," Charles explained with an uncomfortable throat clearing, "I was merely asking after her health." Henry's eyes sparked with challenge, but he didn't respond.

"I feel as if I know her from somewhere," Amelia mused, "She seems so familiar, does she not?" she asked, looking to each of the men before her. Both had gone suddenly quiet and apparently disinterested. Amelia's interest was piqued.

"Who is she, Charles?" she asked suspiciously, her brow furrowing, "Is she your paramore?" she asked boldly. Charles opened his mouth to reply but then snapped it shut again as if a fish fighting for air. Henry had succumbed to a coughing fit.

"Might I ask why the three of you are holed away in this corner, instead of mingling with the other guests?" Lady Eleanor scolded as she joined them. Henry's coughing fit worsened as Amelia turned redder than Charles.

"We were simply practicing our next act for charades," Charles explained quickly with a meaningful glance at his sister, "Amelia has been perfecting her impressions and wanted to show Henry and I before trying them out for the group." Amelia burst into giggles, and Henry grinned.

"Very well, if you have some great secret between you, I dare not interfere," Lady Eleanor conceded with mocked meekness, "But nevertheless, I'd like my own children to join the party for which I have invited all of these people here on their behalf," she finished pointedly. Amelia looked to Charles, Charles was watching Henry and Henry had suddenly gone very somber and was studying Amelia's expression intently.

"Oh for Heaven's sake!" Lady Eleanor declared, pulling every set of eyes back to herself, "Henry, take Amelia to play whist with the other young people, and do try to be a little more encouraging dear, I believe you've been frightening the young men."

Charles' lips twitched, but Amelia's expression had gone sour. Henry offered her his arm and she took it easily. The two left to rejoin the group, but Charles noted Henry leaning in to speak into his sister's ear before they completely succumbed to the party

"I must speak with you privately, Charles," Eleanor stated seriously, and the two left the guests for her morning room just down the hall. Charles' interest was piqued, what could she need to say with such privacy.

"I have been hoping to avoid this conversation, Charles," Eleanor began, taking a seat. But Charles stood, waiting for the scolding that was surely about to come. Probably regarding his lack of interest and regard for Lavinia.

"Your interest in that housemaid," she began, and Charles felt a twist in his gut at the thought of the housemaid, "You really must practice more discretion, in fact I insist upon it."

"Whom I spend my time with, Mother, is my own choice," Charles reminded her firmly, "In my own home I will not explain those behaviors to others, so long as they are proper and appropriate choices."

"Do not take me for a naive girl," Lady Eleanor scoffed, "There are few reasons such interest is taken in pretty servants," she insisted.

"I caution you, madam, on speaking ill of a member of my staff with so little evidence," he chided, surprising himself at his own ferocious defense of the woman who had rejected him not hours ago. Eleanor pinked at his reprimand and smoothed her hands over her silken lap and Charles remembered the necessity for delicacy.

"I do not mean to be harsh with you, Mother," Charles added in a gentler tone, "But you question my honor, my intentions toward Miss Jennings, and were you a gentleman that would be more than enough reason to call you out," he explained, his mother smiled bashfully then.

"You are right, I am sorry," she added with a shake of her head, "You have been through so much in the war, I cannot know what it is you have suffered, or what it is that would comfort such an experience." Charles nodded his head in acceptance of the apology before leaning down to kiss her on the cheek.

"Charles, I was wondering," she added as he'd nearly reached the doorway to the morning room, "Have you any news on Sarah Stanhope's whereabouts?" she asked, rising to join him. Charles felt like a monster, keeping one woman shut up in a library, sick and overworked, the other denied the comfort of knowing the first was not at the hands of Warwick.

Charles opened his mouth - to confess perhaps? To explain? To excuse his own cruelty? He wasn't sure, instead a little dark-haired maid burst into the room, interrupting whatever explanation he was about to fabricate.

"Please, help," the girl was sobbing horribly, and she was looking right at Charles.

"What on earth is the meaning of this?" Lady Eleanor demanded in surprise, but Charles had a bad feeling in his stomach. This was the maid that seemed to trail Sarah through the day.

"What is it, girl?" Charles demanded.

"My mistress, she will not wake," the maid sobbed. Charles' stomach clenched and fear moved through his limbs like it had not done for some years. Sarah.

"Your mistress?" Lady Eleanor was asking in confusion, but Charles' was already following the maid out the door.

He needed Amelia, neither Caroline nor his mother's sensibilities would be able to manage the shock that was about to be delivered. Waiting in the corridor outside the Drawing Room, Charles sent one of the footmen in to collect her. She emerged moments later, Henry trailing after her.

"Amelia! I am in need of assistance," Charles felt like begging, and he knew his tone had sunk into that of a ship's Lieutenant.

"Charles! What has happened? You look ill," Amelia startled, reaching out to him and then glancing behind him at the still sobbing maid, "And what have you done to poor Lottie?"

"There is something I must tell you, Amelia, but I no time and I need your help - I need a chaperone," he explained breathlessly before turning about again.

"Good God!" he heard Henry whisper behind him, "What has happened?"

"Keep my mother occupied," Charles bit back at his friend before hurrying after Lottie, Amelia's satin skirts rustling after him.

"Barton!" Charles began shouting, as he followed Sarah's maid to the back of the house.

"Sir?" Barton appeared on his left, matching Charles' pace with surprising ease.

"Call for the apothecary, see that he is brought in quietly and have Mrs. Green prepare a sickroom - far from the other guests!" Charles added, his mind scrambling. He should've considered already a way for Sarah to be revealed with the least damage to her reputation but now it was too late to plan.

"Of course, Sir Charles," Barton answered as they reached the servants' stairs, "Shall I send some help with you upstairs, sir?"

"Yes, thank you," Charles paused at the stairs, trying to collect his thoughts, "Barton, do what you can to distract my mother," Charles added with a tone of desperation before he began climbing the stairs by twos.

"Charles!" Amelia called, doing her best to keep pace with him on the stairs, "Will you tell me what is so mysterious that you need a chaperone in the maid's' quarters?" she asked as they reached the third floor and continued upwards.

"I've been a fool, Amelia," he half muttered to himself, "She should've had a warmer coat," he admonished himself. It was far better than considering what he might find at the top of these stairs. Or rather what he might not find, he amended.

"What coat?" Amelia demanded as they reached the very top of the stairs, but Charles did not take the time to reply as they followed Lottie down another corridor until they finally saw her disappear through a small doorway.

"Charles!" Amelia hissed, but Charles ducked his head and entered the room after Lottie.

It was dimly lit, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the weak candlelight, but when they did what he saw nearly crippled him. Sarah lay still and white in the bed, her eyes closed shut and for a moment he feared she was dead.

"She still breathes, sir," Lottie sobbed after bending to lay an ear to Sarah's chest.

"Thank God," he muttered, wiping one hand across his face.

"Charles?" Amelia's voice came to him softer now as she joined him in the now overly crowded room. Charles turned away from the sight and instead spoke to his sister.

"You have always been more durable than Mother and Caroline," he spoke quickly in a hoarse whisper, Amelia's face had gone blank, "I need you Amy," he called her by her childhood nickname and she nodded in response.

"Who is she?" Amelia asked quietly and they both glanced back to the bed where Lottie was still crying.

"It's Sarah," Charles answered, turning back to confess the truth at last.

"Your Sarah?" Amelia asked.

"Our Sarah, Amy," Charles shut his eyes tightly for just one moment in a wince, "Sarah Stanhope."

Amelia's face was not the shock and distress he'd expected when he opened his eyes again. Instead she was studying him, analyzing him with such severity that Charles' dropped his eyes from her.

"What have you done, Charles? Why is she here?" Amelia spoke quietly but very gravely.

"I have been a fool -" he began but he was cut short when two more servants entered the room.

"Barton said you sent for us, milord," spoke the maid, but she gave Sarah a worried glance as well. Charles followed her gaze to Sarah, regret and guilt assailing him. It was his fault, everything. He'd kept her holed away like a prisoner simply for his own selfishness. How poorly he'd done towards her, he saw that now.

"Milord?" the maid spoke again and Charles realized all eyes were on him.

"Move," Amelia commanded, pushing him further back into the room, "Rebecca you'll need to help me get her dressing gown on, Lottie, you're doing nobody any good blubbering like that- go down to the kitchen and take a bit of whiskey to calm yourself," Amelia finished moving about the room to take Lottie by the shoulders off of the bed where she'd been crying over Sarah for the last several minutes. The footman moved out into the hall with Lottie and Charles paced impatiently as Amelia and the housemaid swiftly dressed her. She looked, almost - no, he couldn't even think of it. He turned back to the far wall and paced the few steps away again.

"She's burning up," he heard Rebecca say, causing him to again turn back around. Amelia was lacing up the ribbons on Sarah's dressing gown as if she were a doll as Rebecca held one hand against her face.

"Charles," he snapped back to attention at the sound of his sister's voice, "She needs to be moved downstairs," Amelia reminded him, as she stepped away from the bed. The footman who had been hovering by the door now moved to the bedside, but Charles' recognized Robin's features even in the limited light. A guttural growl emerged from him as he gave the young man a scathing glare.

"Charles!" Amelia demanded impatiently and he returned his attention to the sickbed. With great care, Charles lifted Sarah into his arms, reminding him of the day he'd returned to Broadcroft. She was limp and hotter than bed bricks he noted as he adjusted her carefully so that her head rested on his shoulder. Still, she did not wake.

"Here," Amelia ordered, folding another blanket around Sarah's form, and Charles thought he could see an excess of moisture in his sister's eyes. He knew he should apologize, this was all his doing, but he couldn't seem to find the words just then.