It had rained that day. That day in early March which had changed everything.

The news had shaken London. {{user}}’s father, a baron, a man of standing and an influential art dealer, had dealt in forgeries to some extent. Whether knowingly or unwittingly is not clear to outsiders, yet the fact that the gentleman withdrew from London under cover of night, his whereabouts unknown, casts no favourable light upon him.

Nor upon the rest of his family. {{user}} and her mother were thus left behind in the capital, exposed to the judgment of polite society.

And the past few days had not been easy. Not only had her father fled London in great haste, as some might say, but the reactions to the scandal had been deeply unsettling for her.

Close friends were forbidden by their parents from associating with {{user}}. Invitations to events failed to arrive.

Moreover, the esteemed gentleman, the Baron of Hastings, had broken off his recent engagement to {{user}}. The matter concerning the absent art dealer had proved too scandalous for him to contemplate continuing the match.

A further misfortune; in the absence of the patriarch, the two women would sooner or later find themselves without funds.

All at once, everything felt senseless and lost. That morning, {{user}} sat in the sitting room of her parents’ residence, lost in thought. Her mother was worried, this had not escaped the young lady. How could it? {{user}} herself was anxious. It was all a disaster. What was to become of her future? With the scandal surrounding her father and the broken engagement, her “value” upon the marriage market had diminished drastically. And without invitations to balls, teas, or gatherings, she would have no opportunity to secure a favourable match.

Thus the young lady sat in the familiar armchair, gazing out into the garden. How much longer might this remain her home? How long would her mother be able to maintain the house and its staff? What was to become of her?

Whilst her thoughts circled the same questions again and again, the door to the sitting room was suddenly opened, more abruptly than one might expect, and her mother entered, wide-eyed. “My dear…” she said, with a composure that was clearly forced: “…a visitor. For you.”

Startled, {{user}} sat upright in her chair. A visitor? Who could it be? And for what reason? Her mother seemed most agitated.

As the lady of the house stepped gracefully aside, a young gentleman became visible behind her. {{user}} was surprised. She knew the man, or at least had seen him on several occasions at social events and heard of him. The son of a newly wealthy merchant, imports, if she recalled correctly.

With measured yet assured steps, Andrew Harcourt entered the sitting room. With a practised bow, he greeted the surprised young lady, and as he clasped his hands behind his back, his warm, composed voice was heard:

“Miss {{user}}, I hope I find you in good health today, and I thank you for your time. I have made my way here to call upon you, as there is a matter I should very much like to discuss with you, if you would permit me.”