1 October, 1892 — Dempsey Estate, Ireland

Twenty minutes ago when they had started their walk around the grounds the skies had looked — not clear, certainly, but also not at all indicative of the downpour they would eventually find themselves in. The leisurely stroll had become a wild dash towards the nearest massive oak tree, which provided some shelter from the raindrops. Victor had taken Christabel's hand as they ran, in case the muddy ground proved too treacherous, but released it when they reached the tangle of roots at the base of the oak. He turned towards her, intending to say something banal about the suddenness of the storm, but when he turned and saw her he was rather taken aback by the sight. Her hair had been flattened by the rain but her cheeks were ruddy from exertion. It was an odd combination, removing some of her natural charm but adding in something alluring. He found himself moved to laughter before he could think better of it.

"I'm sorry," he said after a moment, though he didn't quite know exactly what he was apologizing for. He didn't know what had set him to laughing in the first place.

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