For a man to be always living in fear, he must set up his own order of defenses; for the Viscount, this was to harden her heart, feign indifference, and publicly please, to some degree, those that might threaten her in the future. She could not imagine putting to waste all four-and-twenty years of living the life that should have been her brother’s. Her cold countenance she could not imagine to be his, but she believed that after living under the same roof as mother and Grandmother, even the affability of her brother would have somewhat changed.

      She was still him, Alexander Gabriel Howell, and for only a few days of every month would she be forced to become the girl she buried and unearthed so many times. For every time her woman’s bleeding ended, a period in which she stayed at a doctor’s house (a friend whom she would willingly trust her life with), she would set out for –shire, visit a grave with a girl’s name engraved on it, and only then would she allow herself to mourn for an identity that had been lost and forgotten. She grieved for many things for the lack of companionship often drove one towards self-reflection, but she refrained from taking those thoughts with her to London in fear that they might overpower her will to persevere and don the face of a man she had been for the past fifteen years.

      This was, therefore, the reason why she would always stop herself from staring into the eyes of her friend – orbs in the shade of the sky, as light in its color but not as harmless. He was the man with whom she spent her free time with, when she chose not to occupy herself with accounts and business, and their relationship stood on a personal level that it was so very easy to forget her self. She was afraid that those eyes of his would bear straight through her masquerade for she had realized, through experience, that although he was always in jest, he knew more than he let on. And he, being naturally comfortable as a companion, made it easy for her to loose the few threads of control she assured herself she possessed. But because there was no business between them – to him she was not merely a noble merchant – nor a sense of detachment, because time had already drawn them into being closer friends than mere acquaintances, she become conscious of the threat that she might let slip any thought that should have run unvoiced, risking her chance of discovery. He makes it easy for her to forget putting up a front, and her defense becomes less secure than she wanted it to be.

      Oftentimes, when together with his company, she felt his attention focused on her and his eyes seemed to bear witness everything she did. He paid attention to most of her expressions and, if he felt like being the good sort of friend, he seemed to easily point out her moods that even she, herself, was not always aware of.

      It did not take long enough for her, therefore, to feel as if those eyes of his tried to devour all the secrets that she kept. And yet, although she was aware of this, she could not help but bask in his bright, cheerful temperament – as if she wanted to spend the day out in daylight – and made little effort to resist the temptation of accepting all his invitations. At one point she would rather have refused, but a certain man forced her, and in due time she found herself looking forward to days when he says he would call, or when he extends her any invitation.

      “I am going to the club tonight, Howell. If you are free of prior engagements, I would be happy if you were to accompany me.”

      She stayed silent, trying to decide the best course of action, hesitating to give an affirmative, when his voice snapped her out of her musings. “Howell?”

      She was forced to look at him in response, meeting his eyes directly. Her heart jumped in fear as she found herself saying, “Yes.”