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She was unsure as to when she had developed the habit, but Catherine realized that when her emotions were high, she painted. At the moment, she was elbow deep in paint. It was the same painting that she had been working on since Cedric’s death and it was almost complete.

Originally, it had been a momentary inspiration born from the desire to bring Theodore some comfort.

Even though she was angry at him for his decision to end things between them, she would not stop working on what would be his gift.

The pressure was on as she worked tirelessly to complete the intricate details of the art piece.

She would never be a painter with any renowned pieces but like most artists, she felt the need to work sometimes, and this was one of those times.

Cedric had such love for him, and she was afraid that he was losing sight of it.

Maybe her project would touch Theodore’s heart and help him through his struggle.

It had only been two days, but the ache in her heart made it feel as though time was standing still without him.

She was well aware of Theodore's inner turmoil, but she couldn't make sense of his decision to let her go, despite his clear affection.

He had not lied when he had told her he loved her; she knew that much.

Pausing, Catherine stepped back from her work.

Studying it intently, she realized that it was all but complete.

It needed to dry some before she added one or two highlights and her signature in the corner, but it was finally done.

Wiping at her forehead with the back of her wrist, she smiled at what she created.

Picking up a rag on the table next to her, Catherine began cleaning her hands. She rolled her neck trying to relax the muscles in her shoulders. Despite the joy that painting for hours on end brought her, her heart still ached at the void left by Theodore's absence.

Looking around, she spotted Lambert sitting in the corner mending something. “Would you care to go for a walk, miss?” Lambert asked. Having been Catherine’s maid for some time, she was aware of her habits when she started painting.

“Yes, I do believe some nature might help me regain my equilibrium. Let me just get cleaned up and we can go.”

It was only a matter of time before she and Lambert were leaving the house and heading at a sedate pace towards the nearby park. Seeking solace, she was determined to find a tranquil place where she could confront her shattered emotions head-on.

Timmy moved through the shadows, heading towards the Darcy place.

Few people paid attention to a scruffy child moving about with a purpose.

Though he tried to keep clean and relatively presentable, it was nearly impossible to succeed with no home.

As he got to the house, he noticed the nice Miss Catherine leaving with her maid.

Careful to stay out of sight, he avoided her attention; he was not ready to let her know that he was interested in going to the farm she spoke of.

He had nearly decided to come forward, but not yet.

For the first thing, he was going to help with the laundry, and secondly, Miss Catherine did not look like herself.

The only day he had actually spoken with her, she had been no less than a force of positivity.

Everything about her had spoken of light and hope.

Today it was like a rain cloud was blocking her sun.

He was certain she was not having a good day.

He decided he would talk to her another time, but that did not prevent him from noting that she was leaving her house with only her maid. He had watched her leave the house before and knew there was normally a footman with her when she left.

He decided to follow her for a while, just to make sure that she was safe.

You never knew about things in the city.

She was a pretty woman with only her maid.

There was no telling what could happen. He hadn’t followed her very far before he noticed someone else was following her.

Timmy knew instinctively that whatever the man wanted was not good.

Freezing in place, he felt his stomach clench.

The man’s smile was evil as he leered at Miss Catherine.

Timmy could not help but worry as he watched the man creep after Miss Catherine and her maid.

It was entirely possible that he was not following her and was simply going the same way, though it did not take long before Timmy knew without a doubt that the man was following Miss Catherine.

He was only nine years old and not a very big nine.

What could he possibly do about a grown man?

That’s when he remembered the gentleman from across the square.

He could not remember his name, but he knew where he lived.

He took off like a shot, no longer caring about blending into the shadows.

In his time on the streets, he had come to trust his instincts, and they were screaming at him.

He had to get that man, and he had to do it fast.

Catherine leaned her head back against the tree trunk behind her.

She had a decision to make. What was she to do about Theodore’s actions?

She had always told herself that if she found a love like Elizabeth had found in William that she would fight for it.

Look at all that her sister had overcome.

Despite Darcy's outwardly aloof and unsociable behavior, she saw a shy and vulnerable side to him.

She fought to save his life and had even been pushed off a cliff for him.

Despite their father's disapproval, she had chosen to follow her heart.

Catherine could do no less for her own. Love was like a delicate butterfly, its beauty and essence easily damaged if not shielded from harm and she was resolute in her decision not to let it pass.

Love was too precious to let slip away, and she was ready to use force if needed to make Theodore see what they had.

It was, after all, for his own good. She knew he would be miserable otherwise.

Theodore’s stupidity would not stop her from loving him, though it did hurt. Her heart ached at the thought that Theodore could put away his love—their love. She would push past that and come up with a plan.

“Miss Catherine, your eyes are so red. Why don’t I go get a handkerchief wet in the stream?

A cold compress might help,” Lambert offered.

They had gone to a solitary section where Catherine might pine in peace.

The peacefulness of the area was complemented by the presence of trees, shrubs, and a softly murmuring stream.

Reaching up, Catherine felt her wet cheeks.

How long had she been crying? She had hoped a walk would help clear her head, but clearly her thoughts and emotions were still muddled.

Agreeing with the idea, Catherine mustered a smile that lacked true enthusiasm.

“That would be wonderful. Thank you, Lambert. I really must get myself together if we are going to walk back home.”

“We will have you put to rights in a trice.” Lambert moved off between the shrubs to reach the stream.

Catherine watched her go, grateful to have such a loyal friend in the woman.

When she had met Lambert for the first time, they had just left Longbourn behind and everything had been so different from what she knew.

Of course it was better, but that did not make it any less different and confusing.

Lambert had been nothing but kind and supportive, helping her to step into a different level of society with grace.

Reaching out, she took up her reticule and begun rummaging in it for her own handkerchief. Without warning, a voice devoid of warmth pierced the silence, sending a chill down her spine.

“I told you that you would regret your choice to disregard me.”

Catherine felt the bottom drop out of her stomach as she locked eyes with Viscount Deerhurst's sneering face.

She quickly realized that he was in the position of power and froze in place.

She was hemmed in with the tree at her back, and Deerhurst was hovering over her menacingly.

There were only a few options available to her for dealing with him.

She understood that she had to keep a clear head, and that her best option was to provoke him into making a crucial error.

“Lord Deerhurst, I am beginning to question your level of comprehension. When a lady turns you down for a dance, it is usually best not to seek her out at other venues.”

Deerhurst extended his hand and firmly grasped one of the low branches of the tree above her.

With a forceful shake, a flurry of petals descended upon her.

“Coming to the park by yourself was not a good idea.

A woman's reputation is like glass, fragile and easily shattered. Perhaps growing up in the countryside, you may not be familiar with the behaviors expected of women here.” As he leaned closer, a wicked smile spread across his face, and he gently brushed a petal off her shoulder.

Despite her efforts to remain composed, Catherine's body reacted involuntarily with a shudder as his hand brushed against her shoulder. “Are you intoxicated? You cannot possibly feel that trying to accost me in public is a good idea.”

“I am Viscount Deerhurst. I do not have bad ideas.”

Catherine could not help but roll her eyes at his comment.

Did he really think he was incapable of having bad ideas?

Of course, she had her own bad ideas. Why had she only come with a single maid?

She knew that Lambert was somewhere out of sight and that she was smart enough to stay hidden, but if Catherine tried looking to spot her, things would only go badly for them both.

“My mistake. I suppose bad ideas are only the domain of mere mortals, not viscounts.”