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"That is why my father insisted that I marry well. We had to improve my family's reputation. I have not spoken with my sister for a very long time, and the only contact I have had at all is the letters she sent our parents, explaining the current fashions and telling them how to dress me."

"That explains the yellow and orange."

"Do not remind me. I much prefer these new gowns. In any case, I understand that families have their secrets. My only question is why you wish to keep her as one? It is rare to care for your late brother's child, but not unheard of. We might as well have it be known."

"Under normal circumstances, yes, but my brother and the lady were unmarried. He had refused her, and when he died she realized that she was not going to ever have his support and so she took matters into her own hands. Little did she know that I would have everything explained to me. I could have provided for her, and I feel a terrible amount of guilt about that."

"You did nothing wrong. Once you learned of it all, you took the little girl in, yes? That means that you have done all that you could. In the meantime, we must decide what is to be done about the girl, and finding her mother."

"And might I suggest you meet your sister again?"

Her shoulders slumped. She had wanted to see her sister for years, but it had never happened. Eleanor had made her choice, and she had never come back for Dorothy.

Then again, neither knew precisely what had happened. Their parents had told Dorothy their truth, but she wondered if Eleanor had another point of view entirely.

"I could try," she considered. "I do miss her, but she has made her choice. She likes her new life, I am certain of it."

"Even so, it would be nice for her to know you are well, and to see you again."

"Then I will write to her. I must locate her first, but at least we know her name. It shall be easier to find her than it will be to find Catherine's mother."

He nodded, and they began their search. They each took a room, and looked inside every book and in every drawer. Dorothy tried with everything in her to find it, and she willed it to appear somehow. She knew what it was like to have no answers about someone, and she did not wish that upon anyone, especially not someone so sweet as the child.

Giving in with one room, she moved along to the next. She repeated the process, gently turning everything inside of it in the hopes of finding something, but there was nothing. She sighed, sitting in a chair. She could hear Morgan searching in a more erratic manner than she had been, and she wished there was something that she could do to ease his concerns. It seemed quite hopeless, and when they had searched every room of the west wing, and Morgan had searched his study again, they both sat in the parlor room, defeated.

"I do not know what to do," he said quietly. "I must find her, for Catherine's sake, but I do not know what to do. I know nothing about her, only that she had a dalliance with my brother and he refused her when the consequences arose. I could give you ahundred other times where that happened. This, to him, was just another mistake that he could leave for me to fix."

"He did this a lot, then?"

"Never to this extent, and granted this one was the death of him, but it is something that I cannot fix. I cannot will a woman into existence, no matter how much I might like it to be so."

"But we will find her. It might be almost impossible, but we will do all that we can. The letter is here somewhere, and when we find that we can find her. We will do this."

Morgan nodded, but he seemed lost. Dorothy wished that there was more that she could do. She had never known his late brother, but she could see that he was a difficult man to handle. If he had left something for Morgan to find, he could have done absolutely anything.

"Might I be able to look at your study?" she asked suddenly, an idea coming to her.

"Of course. What do you plan to do? I have already looked everywhere, twice."

"Your brother, how did he die?"

"In a duel."

"Then I know precisely where to look."

She went into his study, and he followed behind her. She found a small set of drawers on his desk, and opened each one. They were filled with papers, but none of them contained anything of interest. However, as she searched them, she noticed that one drawer was shallower than the others. Morgan had torn each room apart, and in his frenzy he would not have thought to carefully check if something had be properly hidden. She lifted the drawers, and the bottom of the drawer gave way.

A small slat fell out, revealing that it had been a false bottom. Alongside it, to her astonishment, fell a letter.

"My God," Morgan gasped.

Dorothy picked it up and handed it to him. He scrambled to open it, and he read it quickly. As she watched him, she saw that the more he read the more concerned he became. When he had finished, his arms fell by his sides.

"Morgan?" she asked. "What is it?"

"It is nothing."

"Is it not the letter?"