"This is the place, my lord," called his footman as they paused the locomotive steam carriage at the top of a knoll that led down into a green valley, "St. John Manor is just across town, if the cryer is to be beleived."

"Very good," Bane conceded with an absent wave of his hand. He would be meeting his wife today at last, and his trepidation grew with each mile as they neared her modest family home.

The Bear of the North, that's what they called him, whoever the elusive and overly opinionated they were. It was not without cause, and he knew this but still the name seemed excessive. He was hardly the most dangerout person in his own family let alone the North in total... but his reputation had always given him what he wanted from people. They feared him, thinking that somehow a child that survive a bear attack must be touched by the Dark Saint herself, that She'd somehow given him power over such a creature at such a young age. Bane knew the truth of that as well, though he didn't bother to correct them. It had been a fool's rumor for so long that when the surrounding townspeople had at last found what they believed to be evidence of his misdeeds they were only to happy to turn to one another and 'you see, i knew all along what he was'. And it was in this way that John Sefton, Marquis of Brisbane had become known as the Bear of the North, deadly in temper, deadlier still to women everywhere.

That last bit had proven problematic in so many ways. He could barely keep housemaids for a few weeks, not a woman in the county would look twice at him. That could've been the work of the bear attack, leaving him with a half mangled face, scarred in rows like a plowman's field that still shone angry white and refused to grow beard, or the marked limp gifted him by the inept apothecary who had set his bone so badly when the bear broke his leg that it had grown back wrong altogether. For even more reasons than this, not a man on the mountain was willing to give their daughter in marriage to Brisbane, despite his newfound need for one. The mourning period ended, it was time for him to collect a new wife and try again. It had been a great difficulty at first, until Harry had suggested the writing of letters.

Never being one to express himself to others, Bane had bawlked... until one Georgina Marie St. John came to mind. She'd been a girl in her very first Season on the Marriage Mart the last he'd seen of her. They'd spent one evening at a dinner party together, and he'd been smitten with her beauty. Now in search of a new wife, he saw again his opportunity to obtain Georgina Marie St. John. Never mind that doing so would also wound his greatest annoyance in life, but in practicality - he needed a wife. So he'd written her... and She'd written back.

His impression of her at the dinner party had been that she was more of a beauty than an intellect, but instead he'd found someone like minded and thought provoking in those letters, someone he could talk to. They'd exchanged correspondance for nearly a year before he'd proposed, via letter of course.

Bane would not count himself a coward per say... he'd survived a bear attack at the age of eleven for Saint's sake. But when it had come time to marry her... he'd sent a proxy instead, making some excuse about travel, weather, business. And then he'd spent the last six months locked in by the snow wishing he'd thought to go and retrieve his wife before the long cold winter nights came calling. It had been the longest winter Bane could ever remember.

Gravel crunched beneath the carriage wheels as the mechanical horse hissed to a stop in front of the modest house. The outer plaster was yellowed with age, the gardens a bit overgrown and ivy climbed its walls. Georgina Marie had expressed her family falling into hard times, and Bane had felt a sort of compassion for her. She'd spoken fondly of this house in her letters, and he could see that it was as dear to her as Brisbane Castle was to him.

"Shall I knock?" the footman asked, his eyes cast down in reverant respect for his employer.

"No," Bane barked the order, as he always barked orders, but he felt a swelling in his chest that reminded him of waking up on Saint's Day morning and knowing there would be presents left in the caldrons for good children, particularly after a year spent trying your best to be so very good for just this occasion. Raising a fist, he knocked, then took a step back, not quite smiling - he Couldn't, for the scars. At last he heard the pad of footsetps, the sound of a woman's voice, and heard the creak of the door hinges as it swung open.

"Hello," she said, her voice musical and lilting, her round blue eyes measuring him in a bored air. Her golden hair culred perfectly down her shoulders, interlocking and twining as if each strand had been placed that morning. Bane cleared his throat, suddenly self conscious.

"Georgina Marie St. John?" he nearly whispered the words, taking the step to close the distance between them. Her brow crinkled and she mirrored his movement, taking a step back.

"Yes, that's me," she answered, her frown discouraging him a bit more. He cleared his throat again... how did one explain to his wife that he was her husband?

"I am Lord Brisbane," he said by way of answer, mustering as much courage as he could in the face of such disenchanted beauty, "Your husband."

"Papa?" the girl screeched over her shoulder, her eyes widening in the first genuine show of emotion since he'd arrived, "Papa!"

"Surely you've been expecting me?" Bane offered awkwardly - this was not the greeting he'd expected at all, "You - you stated in your letters that you awaited my arrival -"

"You are mistaken!" Georgina Marie scoffed indignantly, stepping back to hid within the doorframe. Irritatation winning out, Bane reached into his jacket pocket abd pulled out the marriage certificate.

"Here," he growled, "Is this not your signature, madame? Are you not Georgina Marie St. John?"

Incredulous, Georgina Marie snatched the paper from him, bringing it nearly to her nose to examine it carefully. It only lasted a moment and then she smirked at him, mouth twisting into a little raspberry of mockery.

"I am Georgina Marie St. John, sir," she answered, passing back the marriage certificate, "But I am not the one you're looking for."

"There's more than one?"