It had been an audacious request, but Bess flamed all the same when she thought of how she'd darted in and set a light peck on his cheek. With a laugh, she had told him to give him more would ruin it, oh but she'd taken liberties she'd not taken with anyone! Even with the morning light, the smell of him in her nose and the feel of his rough cheek under her lips left her heart racing. She fingered the gold necklace at her throat whenever she was in the kitchen. There, beset by the hidden moment, she would think that the patrons could smell it on her, that she'd been so close to a man. That she had acted so wantonly! 

And she had laughed, like a child, and made light of him for the mask he wore because the gleam in his eyes had been something she had felt to her toes. He'd fed her and she'd drunk a wine which tingled in her nostrils and she'd laughed more, overcome by the evening. 

Such a grand thing, a [i]pique-nique[/i]! What a grand lord, her Reynard. 

Lord Vaughn had graced them once more, walking down from Grenmere Hall. He had smiled at her when she served him and he'd spoke to her of her color, which made her more certain that the magic of the evening had to be glowing out of her. That, or the hidden gold of the necklace. It remained out of sight when she was out of the kitchen. It would not do to have it seen. No doubt it was stolen, much like the fine foods and drink must have been. Not that she cared one wit! It was her magic and if a bit of pilfer had to happen along the side for it, it only gave a touch of danger which thrilled her. 

Danger, however, was the very thing upon the minds of the small entourage atop the small carriage which carried Mrs. Oren Harcourt toward the very hall Lord Vaughn had removed himself from. Fannie it was, and her husband, a respectable rector of Northern Framlingham, glad to be freed of her attentions for a fortnight. She was a delightful thing, round as a french bun, with pink upon her cheeks not even powder could cover. Her bow-like lips were often in laughter and she was a force of light and noise in any room she inhabited. It had made her a great guest to have in London, but in the small town in which her husband oversaw, she rattled about in the small house beside the rectory. 

Given an opportunity, she had squeezed into one of the travel gowns of yesteryear which she had not sold and packed the other three she had kept. She'd taken some funds to have two more quite needful gowns created and sent behind her to Grenmere and with little more than a litany of things for to remember, had left her husband to blissful silence as she'd climbed aboard the rented carriage with her father's footman and driver atop. 

Fannie hadn't a thought to the wood through which they passed. She moaned some over the frightful road, as it left bruises in delicate places. Above, however, both men clutched tightly to the sides of the bench and kept a keen eye on the forest surrounding. For here, there were rumors of bandits and highwaymen.