A/N: Hey guys! Merrryyyy Christmas and Happy Holidays! (I started updating on Christmas Eve) Look, @foriegners2 a gift

Q: Do you think the baby is Matthew's?

A: Whaleeee, I meannnnn. Trust your own judgement on this one.

If you really love the chapter, drop a vote of you want.

"Well she's as good as declared war hasn't she?"

"Madame?" Bert asked.

"War, I repeated impatiently, she's declared war. Drawing blood and that sort of thing. She's started something, and I don't intend to ignore it."

"Yes Madam. I believe that she..it seems she has," he answered. I grabbed the clump of thorns and tossed it aside.

"Do tell me what I should do next. I do believe that you're quite a wise old man and not just because of the information you've fed me. But on the subject of what you know, you seem to have great insight on the going-ons of the Whitfield Mansion, particularly concerning Victoria. Not to mention the fact that you've proved yourself to be more than trustworthy. So I ask Bert, please, tell me what my next move is," I implored. His gaze became shifty. "Why do you look away?"

"I should..I should begin to attend to my duties now Madame," was his reply. Annoyance began to bite at my heels. But more than that. I was hurt.

"So this is truly where I am? I make myself privy to someone, a house hand for God's sake, and they cannot return any feelings of companionship! Goodness, have I really grown that pathetic?" Again Bert gave me the type of look that indicated that my behavior leaned toward pure foolishness. He drew very close to me, eyes grave but kind.

"Cunning like the devil, he whispered, is that not how I described her? How do you think she'll figure it when I am in your bed chambers, discussing with you privately? How do you think she'll figure it when she realizes, as the eldest house hand, I see everything. Are you trying to attract suspicion, more malice? Making our companionship obvious would make you-us-lose the only upper hand we have. No Madame, I must attend to my duties." With that word and the trace of a smile, he was gone. I had to smile myself. Maybe I was finding friendship in the heart of a man many years beyond my age and several places beneath me but at least I knew it would last. That it was true. After donning a sweater, I decided to visit the gardens.

🥀

Upon viewing a particularly exceptional section of petunias, I spotted someone. Or heard. I can't honestly say which sense came first. All I can conclude for certain was that Frances DuBois was in my garden. I froze where I was to look over him in complete perplexity and confusion. What in the name of, let's say Victoria for our purposes, was Frances doing here? I was instantly on high alert. There was absolutely no reason to trust Frances, never mind his babble at the ball. The dislike between us was mutual, only his extended into the type of iciness that was uncalled for. The question that arose in my mind was simple: Why was he here without calling on me or others in the house?

As his back was turned, I advanced upon him very slowly, scrutinizing him further. Several feet from us, in the corner of a bush, was dear Uncle Hector. It was hard to make out his actions with him being so far away. But so far it looked as if he was smoking a cigar. Then his lips started to move, his head turned elsewhere. He was talking to someone, that much was sure. But whom? I watched Uncle Hector intently while tactfully weighing whether I should confront Frances or not. Almost as soon as I came to a decision, he turned. I expected him to redden or his face to contort with discomfort at an unwelcome surprise. But he remained perfectly calm. "Victoria. Your uncle is talking to Victoria," he said.

"How do you know that Frances? Why are you even here?" I badgered. Frances made a dismissive sound as if that would do away with my questions altogether.

"Please Rose. I'm trying to listen in." I didn't like to be ignored or disrespected. However, whatever my Uncle and Victoria were discussing had to be of some value.

"How will you be able to hear it if I can't?" I questioned. Even to my own ears I sounded childish and irritating. Unnecessary. But I didn't try to lament for what I had said. Instead I crossed my arms demandingly and scowled through my veil. He gave me the type of look my question deserved, but said nothing more. "I hope you know that you've thoroughly shown me that I can't trust you at all. Coming-"

"Rose-" He hissed through grit teeth.

"It's Mrs. Whitfield to you! Or Mrs. Axel if you prefer it. I don't know where you got off thinking-"

Before I could even finish my sentence, Frances' arms were around my body. He squeezed me into a painful lock, stealing my words and my breath. "Don't. Move," he commanded with heavy ill emphasis in his voice. The only thing that dared to make any movement inside of me was my rapid heart. To keep myself from focusing on the reality of the situation, I strained to hear their conversation as well.

"...You cannot...everything is-" were the only words that I captured. Everything else I tried to hear was incomprehensible. Frances' grip around me only strengthened as the conversation extended.

"Frances," I pleaded in a strangled whisper. He refused to relent. After several moments Hector disappeared from view. Frances finally released me. I stumbled away from him, slightly out of breath and disoriented. After that stunt, I didn't see any point in stay around him. As soon as I tried to escape his presence, he caught my wrist in an iron hold. "What's your purpose in keeping me now? Let me go Frances!" The command was again lost on his ears.

"I have something to tell that demands attention as soon as possible. I can't have you running off if I am to do that," he said. I wriggled in his hold still.

"Then ask me to wait! Why hold me like this as if I am a prisoner or someone you cannot trust?" I countered. Frances' lips twisted into a loathsome simper.

"I think, he delivered a cruel squeeze to my wrist, we both know where our relationship lies in the field of trust." I stared into his frigid amber eyes with resignation. It seemed I could really trust no man in this wretched house, this wretched kingdom.

None but Bert.

"Well, go on. Tell me what you must." Frances stared at me for several seconds before proceeding to speak.

"I've been watching your Uncle Hector. And I've found something-"

"But how can you already have been watching him long enough to find something? It's been only a day since my request at the ball," I pointed out.

"What do your meaningless questions have to

do with the information I'm about to give you? The validity of my knowledge does not change solely because of the time that has elapsed," Frances snapped. I only peered at him through narrowed eyes.

"Continue then," I conceded.

"As I was saying, his speech already unbearably prudish, I was keeping close eye on your Uncle. In the dead of the night, let's say around 3 o'clock this morning, he was hanging around Goodman Street."

Goodman Street. Never mind the name, the meaning was completely opposite in what the street had to offer. Pubs were open at all ungodly hours of the night, even on Sundays. Prostitutes scampered the streets like an infestation of mice with men eagerly on their tails. Besides the blatant perversion and drunkenness, the area was screaming poverty and destitution. No one even close to the middle class would be caught dead at Goodman Street. Let alone someone in privileged high society.

A smart move actually. I had to give my Uncle credit for that one.

"-He was talking to someone. Actually, Frances lifted his eyes in thought, someone I know. Lord Doremont, I do believe you've heard of him. He was helping me-was to help me-murder you."

"Well that's just wonderful," I thought.

"I paid one of the whores to tell me what was going on, what they spoke of, because I couldn't get too close. What it all boils down to is this; it was Hector that wanted you dead. Not necessarily Victoria. She is a lot of things that one, certainly as aggressive and power-thirsty as they come. Victoria is not above murder. But she didn't necessarily want it," Frances continued.

I shouldn't really be surprised that it was my own blood who wanted my head on a stick. They had proved to be a type from the death of my mother. So ignored the subtle sting I felt at his revelation.

"Then why would she put an order out for my head?" I blurted. Frances scowled.

"What did I say about interrupting?" he barked. I thought about giving a fiery retaliation of my own, but decided against it. After all, it was I who has at his disposal. Not the other way around.

"Sorry," I forced myself to say. After a long period of giving me a hideous scowl he went on.

"It is your Uncle who wants you dead, not her. Not necessarily anyways. And when he told her that, she refused. Ultimately, what you said at the ball was true. She didn't really need you to be dead, even before the announcement of divorce. You posed, and still do, absolutely no threat to their relationship, or the child to be born. Needless to say, Victoria had no solid reason to dirty her hands. And that woman is as zealous as she is shrewd. So Victoria said no. The only reason she conceded was because he threatened her. He threatened to tell Matthew about their...intimate relationship. Maybe, Victoria could handle some inflammatory accusations thrown her way. After all, as Lord Doremont had said, she has Matthew spun around her finger. However what she couldn't risk, as any other woman could not, the questions that would arise because of it regarding her pregnancy. The question of if the baby really belongs to him. And that is the sort of thing that can really take a man out of a love spell. A prideful self-respecting man like Matthew could never forgive a thing of that nature. Never."

I soaked in the newfound intelligence that he had provided me. "Is that all?" I asked. Frances rolled his eyes.

"Yes. Yes, I suppose that it all."

I lowered my head in a polite nod. "Well thank you." As I went to be on my way, Frances forcibly stopped me once more. I turned to him, no longer angry or fearful, but rather impatient. "What could you possibly want now?"

"Are you not going to discuss with me? What you would like to do next, your future plans, what you think. You seem perfectly indifferent," Frances remarked.

I pasted a humorless grin on my face. "Why shouldn't I be? We don't trust each other Mr. DuBois. Divulging any more than I already have with you sounds like a mistake."

🥀

I waited hours until I could finally talk to Bert again. Discreetly. I found myself wandering aimlessly about the house, until I spotted Bert attending to a stain on one of our windows. (It was a good deal later, maybe around 6 o'clock in the evening). This particular room was small and empty, and the rest of the wing was desolated anyway, so I pounced on my opportunity to speak with him.

"Bert!" I exclaimed. He took one look at me before returning to wiping the windows. "You needn't worry. I'm not a stupid child, I made sure there wasn't anyone around before I talked to you," I said, a great deal quieter . He turned around only few seconds later to survey our surroundings for himself. When he concluded all was well, he abandoned his towel and cleaning product.

"Madame. How has your day fared?" he asked.

"I think it was more eventful than yours," I responded energetically. I then went on to tell him exactly what had occurred between Frances and I. He only shook his head.

"What did I tell you Madame? That child of her's, I'm willing to swear to high heaven, it is not Matthew's," Bert answered proudly.

"But this really does change everything! My whole outlook...my whole perspective..." my voice cut off. I then jumped up in the air with a cry.

"Madame? Madame are you mad?" Bert inquired. He looked perfectly bewildered.

"You don't think-surely you couldn't think-that maybe the thorns Victoria gave me serve as a sort of warning?"

"A warning, he snorted, how could anything that insulting serve as a warning? You know that you weren't really meant to see those thorns...don't you? It wasn't very conspicuous, but with the way it was placed...it struck me as if the thorns were meant for you to lie down and prick yourself. As if they meant for you to really draw blood."

"Why do you say 'they'? We already know it was Victoria. And anyway, we know she didn't want to kill me. Not really. So mayhap...mayhap she sought to tell me in a coded sort of way that someone wished ill for me. That someone intended to draw my blood. I know it sounds a little mad, but surely-surely-it is not too inconceivable."

"It is without a doubt, Bert chuckled, far-fetched at any end. But, Bert peered at me, it is hopeful. Which is quite beyond me, for I didn't see you the type to hope at things that can never be. That won't be. There is no good bone that exists in that woman that could ever enable her to do something like that for anyone. Especially you. She doesn't care for you at all."

"You can't speak of me hoping at hopeless things. You believe that Matthew and I will somehow become something," I spoke tartly.

"That is only because you must. Never mind that Victoria didn't necessarily agree to spill your blood, that woman doesn't give a fig about you. She still despised you, still covets your place. And once more, I call the perpetrators of whomever placed those thorns in your room 'they' because we really don't know who they are now. The fact that Victoria is no longer the reason for your planned murder really does change everything. She has no reason to warn you, yet no reason to taunt you. Nay, I doubt she did it. Whom I really think is capable is your Uncle."

"Hector?" I asked. But not why. I could already guess.

"The way that man even talks could be associated with the manners of an animal. And the motive is quite smile as well; pure spite and hate. As, you could probably tell, he is perfectly capable of," Bert reasoned. We sat reflectively without saying anything.

"I know Hector hates me, I hate the lot of them as well. But to go through all the trouble of killing me is what strikes me as stupid-which he isn't. So tell me Bert, why should he really kill me?"

Bert didn't even blink. "Well that is an easy one my dear. Who benefits in your father's will after you?" I shrugged.

"I haven't the faintest clue. The only bit I paid attention to that the lawyer read was my not accessing any funds or fortune until I had married. That was all I cared about at the time," I answered. "But, come to think of it, Hector being named next to inherit anything is no surprise. They were thick those too, with or without drink."

"Well there you have it. Your answer to motive is starting you right in the face," Bert said. I still felt unsure.

"Maybe if I could take another look at the will...it shouldn't be hard to locate-" Bert looked extremely disappointed in me. "What?" I questioned impatiently.

"Has all my talk truly been for nothing? You can't make moves like that Madame! You have make as if you haven't the faintest clue as to what is going on. That you are out of the loop," he explained tiredly.

"And for what? No really Bert, what will indicating to them that I'm clueless show? They already know that I'm sure, they think I don't know what's coming. I've always been the last to know everything, especially when it came to getting married. Let them see that I am someone who knows how to put up a fight. Who knows anything at all!"

Bert sighed. "Don't make this anything too emotional, too personal. It's a matter of staying one step ahead, of staying sharp. If you really want to show them that you are something formidable, beat them with the very hand they intended to kill you with."

I gave a sigh of my own. He was right. "Alright," I agreed. A smile graced Bert's lips.

"You are a very extraordinary woman. Do you know that?" I blinked in surprise. "You may not see it, or others may not recognize it, but you have a beauty to you that is very rare," he continued.

A blush crept up my neck. "Thank you," I muttered with lowered eyes.

"You need not thank me Madame. I only speak the truth," Bert declared. At that moment he took out his pocket watch. "You'll have to excuse me. Victoria told me that she was expecting visitors around this time. I'll tell you all I hear another time." The fact that he addressed Matthew's mistress by her name and no title brightened my mood. With a brisk nod, he walked off with his towel and product.

"Bye Bertie!" I called affectionately after him. He didn't turn his back at all. But I heard his deep laughter resonating as he walked down the hall.

🥀

In the library I decided to continue reading Temptations of Love. So far, it wasn't as positively as romantic as I'd thought. There was logic and method as well to the love affair.

"Are you enjoying the book?" I turned my head. Matthew.

"All I want to do is read peacefully if you'll allow me to Matthew. It didn't work out quite as I'd hoped the last time." He tugged at the collar of his shirt.

"I wanted to apologize about the things I said-" I put up my hand to stop him.

"It seems that all you like to do is apologize. For tit and tat. It's really no problem and it doesn't change anything that happened either," I pointed out.

"I don't like it either," he muttered. I closed my book to give him my full attention.

"Excuse me?"

"I went about everything all wrong! I married because of money and convenience and then I rejected you because of that veil! And looking back, I shouldn't have. You were so young, not possibly ready for what marriage entails. And in any case, I should have went about the matter more carefully, much more delicately. All I wanted then was a woman on my arm and a baby on her breast-"

"What kind on initiative is that? Wanting only but children and someone to warm your own breast and bed?"

"The wrong kind. Believe me Ro-Mrs. Whitfield, I know. I was horrible. I am horrible. Which is why I keep apologizing after everything I've done. I've treated you worse than dung, and the words that come out of my mouth...they only continue to prove that point. So I feel remorse and I apologize but, I could see the glow in Matthew's eyes dim, there are no damned excuses. They don't change a thing. There's no compensation. I made a bloody mess."

We were both at loss for words. He was right. There was no compensation, no way to make up for the way he had treated me. Especially that night. There was no way to take away the words he had used after the announcement of Victoria's pregnancy, to mend the way he had treated me with my relatives' letter regarding our divorce. And on the other token, there wasn't anything I would gain from refusing to forgive him. Just hatred and bitterness.