<strong>Ashburne - Amberthorne</strong><br/><br/><div class="floatleft">(http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll4/ElusiveGypsyRose/1%20-%20Characters/Lady%201.jpg)<div align="center"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;"><strong>Abigail Meghan<br/>O'Hourihane<br/>aka Meg Haney</strong></span></div></div><div class="floatleft">(http://)</div><br/>Meg watched the faces of all three men.  Of the three, the lord seemed best as concealing his thoughts and emotions, which was meet.  Had her father been better at it, perhaps ... but such thoughts were not only disloyal, they were of no use.  What was done was done, and lessons painfully learned could not be undone.<br/><br/>The lord's man, Asher, was sympathetic to her cause.  Moreover, he seemed to be disposed to regard her well, perhaps because she had fought against fate's likely course with every resource she could possess.  Despite some opinion to the contrary, there were men who admired more in a woman than a pleasing face and figure, though some who made claim to such still seemed to take up the chase otherwise.  The elder retainer, likewise, did not regard her with suspicion.  He had, she thought, known something of her family, her father or mother or their parents or siblings, that lent her his benefit of the doubt.<br/><br/>Unless there was good reason, Lord Ellery would not gainsay the two of them.  If he had reason, he would not have held it back, not to spare her feelings and certainly not to see two who looked to his lead brought low, if only with embarrassment for being mistaken.<br/><br/>That made her breath easier, though there was no certainty that she was right.  Her understanding of people was less than her mother's, if more than her father's.  The thought of her mother brought a momentary bleakness to her eyes and the set of her lips, but she willed it away.  Her mother would not thank her to put mourning above what must be done, and the least she could do ... the only thing she could do ... for her parents in some small recompense for their support and care was to carry out their wishes to the best of her circumstances.<br/><br/>While she dealt with her thoughts, Lord Ellery had approached to study the necklace she had offered.  There was no pang of loss in the thought of parting with it, only the hope that it would help accomplish her goal.  There was no sentimental value in the piece -- her mother had retained it only because had she sold it, it would have tarnished her husband in the eyes of her family, burning bridges.  The money would have come in handy during lean times, even though they had weathered those early days without it.<br/><br/>Yet he refused it, and retreated back to her chair, leaving Meg poised with her protest, and eyes opened wide with unfeigned fear, unstated -- as he was already addressing Captain Bray, and setting some of her fears to rest.<br/><br/><em>"Thank you." </em>Meg's voice was little more than a whisper, though her expression was resolute, and grateful, as she looked from one man to the other.<em> "I would ask that you reconsider the necklace, my lord.  I do not have the experience or contacts to sell it, or I would.  My memories of my family do not lie in symbols of a life they did not lead.  Money betters your chances, and thus my own, an investment in my future far greater than any dowry."</em><br/><br/>Upon the last word, a tinge of bitterness flavored her tone, to such an extent that she could taste it, dark and cringing to her tongue.  More than that she did not say, for what she knew of lords led her to believe that they would most likely do what they would, however reasoned her argument.  There might be other avenues open to her, but that would necessitate observation and investigation.<br/><br/>As she had determined he would, Lord Ellery added his gentle demand to Captain Bray's request.  To let those documents, written in her father's hands, slip from her hands would pain her far more than giving over the necklace.  Yet there was no decision left to make.  She had made it already.<br/><br/><em>"I know that the key to the reading lay in my father's library.  That much he was able to convey.  I have every paper that we could find, but I know not the unlocking.  There was so little time before we had to flee.  I have looked through them again this morning, but I am not skilled in such things."</em><br/><br/>It was an apology, not so much to them, but to her family, even though they certainly knew as well as she.   Had her father taught such things to all his children, rather than only her brother ... but again, it did little good to wish the undoing of the past.  People were as they were, and in her own way she was ever as stubborn as her father.<br/><br/>From the basket, she pulled a neatened stack of loose papers, folded letters still bearing the broken wax of their seals, and a thin bound book that her father's man had sent, bearing columns of dates, neatly written letters and numbers and numbers alone.<br/><br/>It was half full, and the last page was a simple, hastily written goodbye, a smeared statement of affection, and her father's regrets that he had failed to provide<em>them with a return to the life that they, in his words, deserved, and the warning to flee.<br/><br/>"The correspondence he had saved is also here, though the letters seem innocent enough, bits of gossip and philosophical and astronomical matters with little mention of finance or politics."</em><br/><br/>Her hands shook as she offered them forth, despite her determination to focus only upon each step of what should be done.  The pages, though crinkled and rather limp from her humid trek through the swamps, were dry, a testament to the skill of the basket's crafter ... and perhaps to her own determination as well.