By the time there was a knock on the door, Ronan had fallen into a light doze, musty book from the 17th century resting over his face to protect his eyes from the thin grey light filtering in through the clouds then the window. He leapt up at once, ran a hand through his now unruly hair and, after a moment's hesitation, threw on a waistcoat over his newly rumpled shirt. That would be him now then – Harley Williams, hopefully alive. He'd already kept him waiting at the door for a few seconds longer than was polite; he may as well the pleasantries over with sooner so as to get onto the important topic, an induction the Underwood Society, as fast as possible.

When the door did eventually swing open, Ronan barely had a chance to be disappointed that it wasn't the man he was expecting before the woman started her introduction, let alone start his usual charming greeting for ladies. Much to his shock (and curiosity), [i]she[/i] was Harley Williams. He had been certain the penmanship was male, the word choice so different than a dame's that he didn't even consider the possibility.

The woman had definitely played him, he thought with a small smile spreading across his face. He didn't even need to ask her some questions about her letters to ensure she was who she said she was – Ms. Williams did say that she was from Carlisle. "Ronan Findlay, at your service," he greeted once she'd finished, bowing slightly. "Where are my manners? In first, in first! I shouldn't leave a lady standing in the rain." He moved to the side so as to allow her room to enter. The doorway was narrow but the hallway inside even more so, a cabinet right by the door with an iron fire poker and various papers strewn across it. Better safe than sorry. "Apologies for the mess. I'm a bachelor."

Turning to pick up her luggage – [i]heavy[/i] luggage – he led her past a grand staircase and left into the drawing room where the various books on unnatural weather patterns and the supernatural were still strewn about over the end tables and any flat surface available. "Somehow, I had fooled myself into thinking you were a [i]mister[/i]. Can you believe it?" he said, chuckling at himself if nobody else would. "Feel free to make yourself at home – I'll take your suitcase to the guest room. God only knows what would spill on them if they were left in here." He waved a free arm at a mismatched red armchair purposefully placed next to a crystal bottle of amber liquid. "And get stuck into the liquor, if you feel the need," he continued with a sly grin.

It shouldn't take him that long to ascend three flights of stairs with the bag – maybe only five minutes? [i]This is one of those times I could use some of that Fae strength,[/i] he thought mournfully.