Miss Anne Tilbury was quite content with her lot as governess. When one was five and twenty, unmarried, more plain than not, and quite, quite broke, one was not in a position to be choosy, after all. And the Brookfields treated her better than she's been treated before. Even if she still shuddered at the memory of the little master Ronnie Brookfield pouring glue all over her chair on her very first day, and claiming he had done it "ax-as-accidentally." For a golden haired boy with a stammer he managed to get into quite enough mischief for three much larger and less angelic looking boys!

But it was on spring days like this that she wished she was younger, prettier, and more importantly, free. She watched the other park passerbys (a limping young lady (with an unconscionably handsome young man by her side) was throwing a stick to a large mongrel dog who had seemingly gone demented with joy and fresh air); they looked so happy, she wished she could be there with them.

She was so lost in thought, she almost did not notice a body hurtling towards her. She gasped, startled, as she narrowly avoided the colision.

Two very large blue eyes under the longest lashes peered at her. "Help me!" moaned the girl, collapsing in a dead faint.

"What am I supposed to do now?" inquired Miss Tillbury audibly of the surrounding shrubs. Not being a fainting sort of female, Miss Tillbury had no vinaigrette to revive the girl, and was about to apply the more prosaic way of slapping the sufferer when the shrubs rustled loudly. Miss Tillbury gave a start and saw...

... a handsome head and a pair of muscular shoulders just barely hidden by greenery. She had a confused impression of fair, unpowdered hair waving back from a young, well-featured face and eyes as blue as those of the still-senseless girl at her feet.

He might be a stranger, but surely a strong young man would be of some use and Anne summoned him in her most commanding, governess-voice. "You, sir! I am in need..." The bushes rustled again and to her considerable astonishment, the man sprang from his hiding place and ran toward the better concealment of the park's little copse. His strong, well-shaped calves flashed white in their stockings as he reached the trees and disappeared from her sight.

"Well!" Anne stared futilely at the copse, wondering if it would be exceedingly unladylike to pursue the man and insist that he help her. Nothing stirred among the trees and at last she turned to kneel beside the mysterious young lady and do what little she could. She loosened the exquisite lace jabot and undid a few of the buttons on the beautifully cut habit, her fingers lingering a little wistfully on the fine wool. How wonderful to have such lovely things...

"I do beg your pardon for our intrusion, but perhaps the lady is ill?" asked a pleasant voice. Anne looked up and recognized the couple she'd seen walking together earlier. The girl was small and pleasant looking, and the man even more handsome than she had first imagined, in spite of his oddly-shaped eyes and expression of arrogant indifference. "I am Miss Rossiter, and this is Mr. Falcon."

"Yes, thank you." Anne rose gratefully to her feet and continued, "I don't know what to do. This young lady just - just appeared and swooned at my feet. I have no idea who she is, or where she lives... Oh, do go away you wretched beast..."

The big mongrel, which looked as if a wolfhound and a Great Dane had once formed a passionate attachment, was now snuffling around the girl's skirts, whining a little and pushing his nose into her limp hands. Anne shoved at him, but the effect was rather like shoving a barge and the enormous dog simply ignored her.

"Perhaps you might help me carry her to my - to the house where I am governess. It's just there," Anne pointed to the park gate, "and then we might be able to revive her and send a message to her own people."

"Of course," her good Samaritan replied. "Mr. Falcon will be delighted to carry her."

Mr. Falcon looked considerably less than delighted and perhaps was preparing to decline the honor when Miss Rossiter laid a small hand on his arm and said, "Please, August."

He looked down at her for a moment; and as their eyes met, his indifference was transformed into a smile of such loving sweetness that Anne felt suddenly as if she had trespassed onto private ground.

"I am your servant, ma'am," he said with great cordiality,and at once knelt down to gather the mysterious girl into his arms. They formed a little procession, Anne leading the way across the park and the dog following behind, still whining softly. Near the gate, young master Brookfield joined them, his sailboat clutched securely under one arm.

"L-l-love a duck, Miss! Is she dead? Did that great dog k-k-ill her? Is her throat r-r-ripped out?" he clamored.

"You, sir, know much better than to use such vulgar expressions. Love a duck indeed!" Anne smoothed his disheveled golden hair. "And you mustn't be such a little ghoul. The lady is certainly not dead, she has just fallen into a faint and we are taking her into the house."

"Ph-ph-phipps will have a f-f-fit!" Ronnie chortled.

Indeed, thought Anne. Phipps was the butler at Brookfield House. Lady Brookfield was continually lamenting his unfashionable short stature and portly figure, and Phipps strove mightily to make up for his unfortunate physique by cultivating the personality of a tyrant. He ruled the house like a little kingdom, terrorizing the other servants and continually regaling Lady Brookfield with tales of Miss Tillbury's lack of decorum and other governessal inadequacies. This most unseemly intrusion would send Phipps into a paroxysm and doubtless earn Miss Tillbury another resounding rebuke.

On the steps before Brookfield House, the little group paused. When Anne tried later to describe exactly what happened next, she found that she could not reconstruct an orderly sequence of events. Instead everything seemed to happen at once. The door opened and Phipps appeared, his round face already purple with apoplectic indignation. The dog suddenly tried to weave between Mr. Falcon's legs, causing him to stumble and come dangerously close to dropping his fair burden. Ronnie chose that moment to ask, "What's wrong with your eyes?" in as clear a voice as his mother could wish.

Mr. Falcon, looking almost as indignant as Phipps, whirled around toward the little boy and lurched unsteadily toward him. Miss Rossiter laid a restraining hand on his shoulder, but found herself in the path of the senseless girl's feet as Falcon whipped around to confront Ronnie. The feet collided with Miss Rossiter, who was just unsteady enough on her own feet to lose her balance. The dog tangled himself up with her as she fell, and both together proved to be Mr. Falcon's final undoing. Anne made one desperate effort to stop his fall but could only seize one of the poor girl's hands.

One does not expect an unconscious person to have a strong grip, so Anne was surprised at the pressure she felt as she grasped the girl's hand. As she fell herself into the muddle of arms and legs and dog, she came face to face with the nameless victim and for just a moment her sensible brown eyes met blue ones, as wide awake and knowing as her own. Then Phipps began to bellow at one of the footmen, who stepped gingerly into their midst and began trying to disentangle them all. The blue-eyed girl, showing far more sense than Anne might have given her credit for, sighed a little and promptly fainted again.

A piercing whistle sounded from across the park and the dog, now buried under Miss Rossiter's billowing skirts, sprang up with a happy bark and bounded away from them, knocking a cursing Mr. Falcon back down again as he made his escape. As she pulled herself laboriously to her feet, Anne watched the dog run as surely as a homing pigeon right to the man she'd seen earlier, now emerged from his hiding place in the copse. He stood for a moment, his hand resting lightly on the dog's eager head, watching them as the footman carried the girl into Brookfield House. Then, even across that great distance, he bowed to Anne and together, he and the dog turned and vanished into the depths of the park.

Anne stood there a moment, too - filled with the oddest sense that something in her ordinary, common place life had changed forever. As she turned to go into the house herself, she realized that she was now holding something in her hand, something that surely had not been there before the blue-eyed girl had grabbed her so desperately. It was small and hard and quite uncomfortably sharp - slowly Anne opened her hand and...

...beheld a fine, deep blue sapphire, exquistely cut to reveal a small white star at its center. Anne's desire to admire the stone further was cut short by the sound of Lady Brookfield hurrying to them. Quickly closing her fist, Anne thrust the stone into her pocket.

"My goodness! What has happened?" exclaimed Lady Brookfield. Her eyes surveyed the chaos on her floor, and came to rest on August Falcon.

Surprised to see a look of repugnance come into her employer's eyes, Anne quickly stood and pointed to the blue-eyed girl, still sprawled on the floor. "This young lady fainted in the park, milady. Mr. Falcon and Miss Rossiter were kind enough to help me bring her to the house."

"And now that my good deed for the day has been accomplished," drawled Falcon, gracefully coming to his feet, "I will be most happy to take my leave." Sketching a curt bow, he turned and strode out of the house.

Throwing an exasperated glance after Falcon, Gwendolyn turned to Anne and pressed her calling card into Anne's hand. "Do call on me if you need any further assistance." With a quick smile, she left the house, hurrying after Falcon.

Bewildered, Anne turned back to the house and heard Lady Brookfield ask Phipps to carry the blue-eyed girl to an empty bedchamber on the second floor. Anne followed Phipps and Lady Brookfield up the winding staircase, while Master Ronnie took himself off to the kitchen.

Phipps carried the girl into a cool, quiet chamber and placed her on a soft bed, while Anne went to draw the window curtains. "She looks exhausted, poor child." said Lady Brookfield, leaning over the girl. "We would do well to let her rest."

Straightening, Lady Brookfield softly walked out of the chamber, followed by Phipps. Anne followed Phipps, but stopped at the doorway and watched her ladyship and Phipps go back down the stairs. Then she closed the door and turned back towards the girl, whose blue eyes were now wide-open and staring at her. Anne walked up to the bed, looked down at the girl, and said intensely, "Explain yourself, please."

For a moment, the girl hesitated, her expression wary as she met Anne's eyes. Then, as if she saw something in the other girl's face that satisfied her, she smiled and gave a little laugh.

"I won't. You wouldn't believe me, anyway. So I'm not going to bother."

Anne looked at her in amazement. The girl's lilting voice and cultured speech confirmed her to be a lady of Quality, as did her fine clothes. Looking at her, it was to be admitted that the girl was likely a Fair of the first stare, with her soft blonde curls, creamy complexion and those wondrously brilliant blue eyes. But her behavior to present had been beyond even Anne's notoriously (according to Lady Brookfield) vivid imagination and Anne, most unusually, was no longer entirely certain just how to proceed. Since the beauty's eyes had reminded her of the sapphire, Anne took it from her pocket and held it out. Surely the girl would provide some explanation in order to retrieve the gem?

"Don't you want this back?" The sapphire twinkled brightly in Anne's palm.

"Certainly not!" the girl exclaimed. "Look at all of the trouble it's caused! Besides, it's not mine it's my --- " she stopped herself and laughed again. "I heard them call you Anne, so I shall tell you my name as well, for I'm sure you thought you were being kind in the park. I'm Flora."

Thought she was being kind, indeed! Anne frowned at this cryptic remark.

Misunderstanding the reason for the other girl's vexed expression, Flora said in rush. "I know. 'Tis a dreadful name. My mama chose it after a great aunt who had plenty of lettuce. Of course when Aunt Flora died she left her fortune to my cousin Louise, simply because the wretched girl read Cervantes to her. While I've been stuck the whole time with this horrid name! And not a sou to show for it. So unromantical, don't you agree?" Despite her words, the girl did not seem to be cast the slightest bit into despair. Her smile dimpled her cheeks and the look in her eyes was positively impish. She continued, not waiting for Anne to answer. "I mean Flora being an unromantical name of course, although being under the hatches is also quite stifling to one's affairs of the heart. But you must know, being a governess. Are you terribly poor? Is that why you have to work for that dreadful dragon?" She peered expectantly at the other girl as she paused to take a breath.

Anne considered Flora carefully. Perhaps the girl had been injured in the head, or was slightly mad?

Uncannily, Flora answered Anne's unspoken concern. "No, I'm not insane, and I'm not a complete henwit, although my..." she stopped herself again from relating information she did not want to reveal, "...someone I know says that I'm terribly impulsive and irresponsible. Don't you think that's terribly unfair, to call a girl impulsive just because she cannot bear to see a tragic injustice and do nothing about it?" Flora sighed. "Though I suppose I should not have called your employer a dragon, for she is an older lady."

"Lady Brookfield was very kind to allow you to remain in her home to recover." Even as she said the words, Anne realized how pompous they sounded. The truth was that Lady Brookfield was not a particularly kind woman, but had likely felt obliged to stow the mysterious young woman somewhere, and once having discharged this duty, had fled the scene forthwith. And being an honest person at heart, Anne admitted to herself that the term dragon had been one she also had frequently applied (mentally of course!) to her employer, whose chief occupation seemed to be the collection and exchange of malicious gossip about other members of the London Ton, whether she cried friends with them or not. But regardless of her own feelings about Lady Brookfield, it was certainly not her place to comment, although despite Flora's outlandish manner, there was something quite endearing about the younger girl. Had the circumstances been different, Anne thought that such amusing candor would make her quite a congenial companion. But it was not as if a governess and a lady of Quality could ever become bosom bows.

"Well, she made an awful face at poor August Falcon!" Flora continued. "The man who carried me to this house," she explained, seeing the blank look on Anne's face. "The handsomest man in all of London! And the most dashing, brave, misunderstood..."

"Do you know him?" Anne interrupted. Following Flora's conversational train was proving to be difficult even for one used to the meanderings of small children.

"Everyone knows about August Falcon!"Flora answered. "But I don't know him, personally, of course. He's far too old for me. I shall only be one and twenty next September. But to be carried by August Falcon... I shall recall the thrill of it to my dying day. I will tell the story to my grandchildren." Flora sighed wistfully and clasped her hands to her bosom. "Not the part where he dropped me, naturally." she added. "In any event," she said, rising from the bed, "I must leave before they find me here." She went to the door and peeped out cautiously. "There's a footman at the end of the hall. Do you think he will stop me if I walk past?"

When Anne did not immediately answer, Flora turned to look at her. With her rather plain coloring and pleasing but unremarkable features the governess would never be called a beauty, yet the intelligence in her calm brown eyes and her distinctive way of speaking in a serious and low-pitched tone gave her an attractive and memorable air. And her slender yet nicely curved figure would be the envy of any lady of fashion. It was a shame that the lovely chestnut hair was dressed so severely, but Flora supposed that it was a necessary style for a governess. Anne had been trying to help. Was it cruel to not tell her about the Marquis? After all, she was being saddled with the dreaded jewel. In a sudden impulse, Flora seized Anne's hand. "You're a brave woman, I can tell, I can see it in your eyes! And kind, otherwise you would have abandoned me to that dra... I mean Lady Brookfield. But have you ever imagined that there could be someone so horrid, so unspeakably awful - no matter how handsome his appearance - that it would be worth the risk of everything to stop him from achieving his wicked plans?"

Before Anne could reply, there was a soft tapping at the door. "Miss Anne, are y-y-you in there? Everyone is l-l-looking for you." Ronnie opened the door and grinned at the two women. "There's someone here t-t-to see you, Miss Anne. It's a man!," he crowed triumphantly. "And ma- ma mama's having a fit!"

Anne's brows knit, though she herself did not. Who could possibly be here to see her?

Flora was quivering in the back and looked like she would prefer to be under a bed somewhere. Anne uttered a few vague assurances and then made her way down the stairs. There, standing in the entrance way, doing his best to imitate a tomato, stood a man dressed in the height of fashion. His face was bright red and matched his waistcoat perfectly. His face was red because Lady Brookfield was dithering about in such a high state that you would have thought the Emperor himself was calling.

At this point, the "dragon" spotted her governess. More dithering occurred.

"Oh, Tilbury, do come down here! We are very honored to have you here, my lord. Do, ah, do come into the parlor." Her large cow-like eyes pleaded with Anne and the dragon transformed into a rather alarmed puppy. Anne nodded her head once and quickly slipped into the parlor, where she proceeded to hide away the various needlework that was strewn around the room. Tidy, the parlor still looked rather worn and poor, but there was only so much she could do in the few seconds before the gentleman entered.

When they did enter, Anne was able to get her first good look at the gentleman while Lady Brookfield breached etiquette and introduced her governess to "the Marquis."

Anne started. Was this, then, the wicked Marquis Flora had been speaking of. He didn't look so wicked. Truthfully, he was devilishly handsome, but the expression on his face was not one of wickedness but discomfort. But then, even Mephistopheles would have been uncomfortable in the company of Lady Brookfield.

Lady Brookfield turned to Anne, "Tilbury, this gentleman is looking for his ward, Flora Haversham."

The Marquis recovered some of his equlibrium that had been precariously balanced and interjected in a soft, well-modulated voice, "I'm afraid my niece has gotten herself into some trouble..."

Before Anne had been able to correct him and say "his ward," the room interrupted into a flurry of activity.

Three masked intruders burst into the room and held the trio at bat with guns.

One of the intruders looked at Anne. "Is that her?" He growled to his comrades.

The other responded in a high flutey voice, "Must be. She's with him, isn't she? Pip pip."

The third shrugged.

The first intruder made his way toward Anne.

At this point, Anne had decided this surreal incident was to be stopped. She picked up a vase and threw it at the villain.

Lady Brookfield screamed, "Not my vase!"

The intruder growled at the shards of china that were erupting from his boot and then turned his jaw to meet the Marquis' fist. While he went down, the second intruder fired at the Marquis who was spun around with the force of the shot. Anne leapt at the second intruder knowing that he wouldn't be able to reload in time - and sank into darkness as he resorted to fisticuffs.