Aliya was aware that Oliver St. Vincent was wealthy, and was not surprised when she arrived at a large white gated villa.

"Please wait for me, Carrie," she said after climbing out of the stagecoach.

The carriage driver looked up at the villa's façade, lips pressed together. "These monied people must have invited you out of curiosity, my lady."

Aliya just chuckled as a footman approached them. "Of course, they are always curious about a Belle. People always are." The footman reached them and instructed Carrie where to park the stagecoach. From a distance, Aliya saw at least three carriages parked to the side, near the entrance of the garden. Knowing Carrie was used to dealing with drivers of the opposite sex, Aliya turned and walked up the front steps.

The door opened just in time to reveal a young butler whose hair was neatly tied to his nape. The man's gray eyes looked at Aliya from head to foot, lingering a few seconds on her sling. His thin lips opened to greet her, "Good afternoon, my lady." Stepping aside, he added, "Please, this way."

She did not know why her heart started skipping as if she had not been in this situation before. She could no longer count the number of parties and balls she attended alone, yet why could she not feel her hands? And why did her legs feel wobbly?

She swallowed and found her throat was dry as the butler opened the door and intoned her presence. Hearing her name from the man, she pasted a confident smile on her lips.

St. Vincent was not in the room as she expected. Inside was a group of women whose heads were turned in her direction, their back erect, the smile on their faces varied.

At the very center of everyone, sitting in front of the window was a relatively tall and slender blonde woman whose eyes penetrated right through Aliya.

She knew that her curtsy was being judged and that every step she took was being assessed. Even her shoes were surely being criticized by the tips that poked through the hem of her cherry-pink gown. She let her Kashmir shawl drop a few inches behind her as she stood before the women.

And as if by a snap of a finger, everyone moved and greeted Aliya, most particularly the three gossipmongers she was quite familiar with, all the while Natalia St. Vincent remained in her seat, looking at Aliya as if she already knew what she was looking at.

"Natalia," Lady Winthrop said, "I did not know you invited Aliya here. Come here, child. Come sit beside me."

Aliya curtsied at Natalia St. Vincent again and in her perfectly practiced gentle voice, said, "It is an honor to meet you, Lady Natalia."

"Natalia is fine," the woman said, voice etched with slight irritation. The three gossipmongers turned to look at each other.

Aliya smiled. "Of course."

"Aliya is a darling," said Lady Winthrop, taking her hand in hers. "If only I can share what she has done for Hartcaster, I will."

As Natalia's keen eyes continued to pry her quietly, Aliya regretted ever coming here. Where the bloody hell was St. Vincent?

"What happened to your arm, child?" one of the women asked.

"A stagecoach accident," replied Lady Winthrop. "It was Oliver who helped her with her arm."

"How long have you been in Strait, Aliya?" Natalia asked, lips barely moving, and obviously uninterested with the accident.

Aliya swallowed. "Ten years, going eleven," she replied, looking around the ladies. Lady Winthrop and her two other fellow gossipmongers, Lady Jane and Mrs. Johnson, were smiling at her with interest. One other woman, perhaps the recluse, was dressed in black and had on reading spectacles, paying everyone no mind as she perused the Sutherland Post. "Do not mind Ms. Beverly, Aliya," Lady Winthrop whispered beside her, "She is listening and she will only join the conversation if she wants to."

"And since my friends seem to have forgotten that a formal introduction is still necessary, let me introduce myself," a woman with graying hair spoke. She had just entered the room with her hair in disarray. "I am Ms. Dian Jane. You may call me Dian, Lady Aliya."

Aliya stood and curtsied. "You may call me Aliya, Dian. It is a pleasure to meet you."

This was the spinster, Aliya thought as she watched Dian take a sit beside Ms. Beverly."

Returning to her sit, Aliya looked around. "Doctor St. Vincent has informed me that there will also be two dogs and a cat in attendance."

The three gossipmongers laughed. "Of course, he said that," said Lady Winthrop. "Lady Jane's two granddaughters are upstairs with their nanny."

Aliya's nostrils flared and she truly did try her best not to burst out in laughter, but she could not help it. Her shoulders began to shake and she covered her laugh with her hand and finally closed her eyes to focus and regain her composure. Ms. Beverly was smiling. Lady Jane was looking grim while the two other gossipmongers chuckled and patted her hand.

"I would not disagree," said Dian, carefully fixing her hair with her hand. "I was attacked for the entire fifteen minutes."

"You should get used to it, Dian. That is the only kind of harassment you will get in this lifetime," Ms. Beverly murmured under her breath.

Dian let out a dramatic gasp, her hand on her chest. "Beverly! You are right!"

The women chuckled and Aliya joined them.

Natalia St. Vincent remained unmoving in her seat, the air about her quite terrifying.

Aliya's laughter died a slow death. She moistened her lips, aware that Natalia was looking at her. She looked around the other ladies. "I hope my presence is not stopping any of you from discussing something important."

"No, of course not," said Natalia. "In fact, I was just asking these ladies if they are familiar with you."

Lady Winthrop said, nodding her head. "Natalia told us that her son has taken an interest in you, Aliya."

Aliya stiffened, her eyes fleeting to Natalia. "You did?"

"Yes, of course. Oliver speaks of no one else. There is no point in trying to hide it. But the problem, of course, is your status as a Belle. And your friendship with Lord Hartcaster."

"Oh, trust me, Natalia," Lady Winthrop said, "Hartcaster is the least of your problem. Belcourt is."

Aliya blinked. Were the ladies trying to make a match out of her and St. Vincent?

Sparing no time and taking her arrested look as a sign to attack, Natalia asked, "How much would it take for Belcourt to release you from its clutches, Aliya?"

Aliya scoffed in disbelief. This was the first she felt suddenly attacked after five minutes into a room. And it was not just an attack. She was astounded and degraded at the same time. Who was this woman to ask for the amount of her freedom as though she was someone that could be procured?

"Now, now, Mother," came St. Vincent's voice. Aliya snapped her head and found him striding toward them, breathless. It seemed as though he ran all the way to the parlor. "You must realize that you are making Aliya very much uncomfortable."

"I do not want to waste time trying to get to know her, son," answered the woman with a wave of her hand. "That is not why I called for her." Her friends were gaping at her in disbelief as well, including Ms. Beverly who looked up from her paper—and Ms. Beverly seemed like someone who would not do such a thing. Aliya could only assume that this behavior of Natalia St. Vincent was unheard of.

"You told me you only wish to meet her," St. Vincent said, walking over to Aliya to grab her hand. With a smile, he said to the ladies, "Please, forgive me if I borrow Lady Aliya for a moment."

"But, Oliver—" Natalia started, voice authoritative and cold.

"Her sling has to be removed. And her bandages!" he said over his shoulder.

He then dragged Aliya away from the group and she turned to give them a hasty curtsy before willingly walking away with St. Vincent.

And the very moment they were outside the parlor, she withdrew her hand and scowled at him. "Your mother trapped me. And she just inquired how much I am worth."

"I apologize, I should have seen it coming. My mother can be quite cunning, you see. And she does deliver her words in a way that may seem inhumane, but that is just how she is. My father and I believe that her tongue and her mind do not have proper communication."

She scoffed. "You have a very odd family, St. Vincent. Your mother is a she-devil."

"Ah, but she can be ignored."

"Or she can be dealt with," she said, worrying her lips, her eyes narrowing to slits. She could be as odd as that group of women in that parlor. "Perhaps I should return inside and—"

"I would not suggest it," he said. "You let them be for a while. I am certain they are trying to come up with a new plan. It is usually the recluse who offers the best plan."

Awed and baffled, Aliya asked, "What?" He led her up the staircase. "I knew you were odd, Doctor, but now I am quite certain that your family is the same."

"You should meet my father. And my sister."

"Oh, good Lord, he has a sister," she groaned.

His laughter echoed down the corridor as he led her to a door. Aliya stayed back when he entered, not quite sure if she should follow.

"This is not a bedchamber, Ali," he said, turning around as he passed the doorway.

Aliya followed within and immediately stiffened with horror.

"Welcome to my study," St. Vincent said. "Please, make yourself comfortable."

"How could I?" she asked, looking around the room in horror for instead of books, the walls were lined with shelves that contained jars of different sizes. She could see dead rodents in jars swimming in liquid solutions she would not even dare ask what. A large table occupied the center of the room and on it was an open body of a cat. Her stomach lurched at the sight and she turned away, only to scream as she came face to face with a skull.

"No human was harmed for that skull, Aliya," said St. Vincent as Aliya walked to the table to lean and close her eyes. He approached her from behind and held her shoulders. "Now, do not open your eyes because you are very near the cat, just slowly turn around—"

Aliya jumped away and rushed to the window in panic. She looked out into the garden, feeling like she was trapped in a bloody house of a crazed killer living with his equally insane mother. Whirling around, she found St. Vincent gazing at her with amusement. "Oh, so you find my horror funny?"

"No, I just find you amusing." He looked around the room and said, "I should have not brought you here, should I?"

"The garden would have been much better."

"But the garden is covered in snow," he said, craning his neck to look out the window. He reached for her hand. "Come, I have a corner here where you can sit and wait until my mother calls for you."

She desperately pulled back, pressing against the window. "St. Vincent, please, if you are going to—"

He stepped closer. "No, I swear that you will not walk over anything dead." His voice was gentle, calming her. When Aliya met his eyes, she sighed. His hand was around hers, warm and non-threatening... gentle as his gaze.

She swallowed and blinked away. "You said you will take off my sling."

"Yes," he replied. "But first, you have to sit in that corner."

She groaned. "Can it not be done somewhere?"

He narrowed his eyes. "My bedchamber is a good place. Or we can join the two dogs and their cat."

Aliya closed her eyes as an air of equal laugh and frustration puffed out of her lips. "Lead me to the bloody corner, St. Vincent."

His chuckle and he led her toward the corner. She felt her skirt run through the edge of the table and she jumped to the side. "Careful," his gentle voice said.

A few more steps and he stopped her by her shoulders.

Aliya opened her eyes and found herself facing his cravat. He did not smell today. She had not noticed anything other than the fact that he was standing too close. "Sit," he whispered above her. She cleared her throat and moistened her lips.

Deliberately avoiding any other part of the room, Aliya sat down in the winged chair, her eyes focused on his waist now. He was wearing a coat over a plain white shirt. Then he bent down in front of her and she was looking into his eyes.

A giant man with the kindest, innocent eyes. That was how she would describe him. And it seemed that it was true.

"Have you had any pain?" he asked, reaching behind her nape to loosen the knot.

She could only nod, lost in a galaxy of colors. Hazel would not be enough to describe his eyes for in the daylight, they were nothing but a beautiful blanket of colors floating underneath crystal clear water.

Aliya did not realize he had already taken off the sling. "Have you been moving it from time to time?"

She nodded.

His hand came to unwrap the bandage around her wrist. "And your wrist?"

She nodded.

He turned her palm upward. "Close it."

She did.

"Turn."

She turned her wrist.

"Lift your arm." His hand came to rest on her shoulder and his fingers felt for the joints. She winced. "Higher," he said, rising to his knees and leaning closer to press deeper into her joint.

Aliya let out a cry.

"Swing your arm, please," he said, leaning away to give her room. She did as asked, her eyes trapped on his lips as they moved, giving her more instructions.

She blinked away when his gaze returned to hers.

He snatched the sling and the bandage from her lap and jumped to his feet. "You are free, my lady. You can start boxing men if you wish." When she did not respond, he paused and frowned down at her. "What is wrong? Have I grown more beard?"

She shook her head. "I... I believe I now have to go back downstairs. It is improper to be alone with you this long."

He broke into a laugh. "My mother would not let any of those ladies stain my good reputation, Ali. No scandal shall break out if that is what you are afraid of."

"Your good reputation," she wryly said, now fully recovered from whatever spell she was in moments ago.

"Good to none reputation," he corrected with a wink. "Very well, I will join you downstairs. You need my expertise in dealing with Natalia St. Vincent." She took the hand he offered and let him lead her away from the room. This time, her eyes were open, just staring at the back of his head.

That afternoon, as Oliver St. Vincent joined her for tea with his mother and her friends, Aliya admitted to the most unbelievable thing ever.

Of all the men who wanted her, of all the hundreds of handsome and well-mannered gentlemen in Strait and all over Sutherland, Aliya fancied Oliver St. Vincent.

*****

The very next day, Aliya had a new mission. Ignore Oliver St. Vincent before he made things difficult.

She was thinking of ways on how to get away from the man and his mother, a lady that she found to be very persistent as her son. It took Aliya almost an hour to escape the villa yesterday and all because Natalia St. Vincent was insisting that she stayed for supper because she had business to discuss.

Aliya smiled at the familiar butler who greeted her at Hartcaster's villa door.

"Is his lordship around, Mr. Jean?" she asked.

"Yes, Lady Aliya. He is in his study, but he does not wish to be bothered as we speak."

"That is fine," she said, walking beside Mr. Jean."

Aliya knew where she was going and the man did not have to lead the way, but this short time with the butler had been a tradition with each visit.

"Have a nice day, Lady Aliya," the butler said with a smile, leaving her outside the room.

Aliya knocked softly and pushed the door open.

The familiar smell of infused herbs, ointments, and tonics greeted her.

Her feet took her straight to the bed and she smiled down at the woman lying there. "Good morning, my lady," she said, taking the woman's hand as she sat down on the chair.

"Aliya," Lady Hartcaster's soft said, weakly gripping her hand. "I think attending Lady Winthrop's garden party was a bad idea. I feel sicker since then."

"You enjoyed it, albeit without the trip to the garden. You got to enjoy the view of the guests."

Lady Alannah's eyes closed as she took a short breath. "I apologize, Aliya. You are missing the season because of me."

"Oh, they are just boring balls, my lady. There is nothing to miss. Now, what do want to do this afternoon? We cannot go out to the garden yet, but would you like me to read a book?"

Lady Alannah's eyes lifted slightly.

Aliya noted that she was remarkably pale today.

"Beneath the washstand is a bottle of sherry," Lady Alannah whispered conspiratorially. "Perhaps we should take a sip before Malcolm comes in."

Aliya laughed, walking to the washstand.

"Will you go to Birth with me, Aliya?" the woman asked. "I know this is far beyond the task required of you, but I would love to have you there as a company."

Aliya just found the perfect escape from Oliver St. Vincent and his mother. "Of course, my lady, I would go to Birth with you." She found the bottle underneath the washstand. "Now, just one sip for each of us, yes?"

Lady Alannah eagerly nodded.