Aurora enjoyed her visit immensely, but to her surprise, she equally enjoyed the ancient Ceremony of the Keys that took place each night at the Tower of London. To this ritual she was escorted by the duke, her stepbrother, and the dowager duchess, prior to attending a ball. Calandra had chosen not to attend, rolling her eyes at them and complaining that Aurora's interest in sightseeing was becoming increasingly boring, and her intellect had been commented upon most unfavorably by several of Calandra's friends. Aurora had just laughed and gone off to Tower Hill with her party.

Standing upon a roof, they watched as the chief yeoman warder, in his red cloak and Tudor bonnet, a lantern in his hand, marched toward the Byward Tower, the keys to the ancient fortress displayed in his gloved hand.

"An escort for the keys," he loudly called out, and four yeomen of the guard fell into step beside him as he marched through the gates of the Byward Tower and over the causeway connecting it to the entrance gate beyond the Middle Tower. The chief yeoman warder locked the gate and then continued on to lock the gates of Byward Tower, finally approaching the Bloody Tower. There the sentry on guard came forward, challenging: "Halt! Who goes there?"

"The keys," replied the chief yeoman warder.

"Whose keys?"

"Queen Elizabeth's keys."

The sentry then presented arms even as the chief yeoman warder removed his cap and called out, "God preserve Queen Elizabeth!"

"Amen!" replied the yeoman accompanying him and the sentry.

"How exciting it must have been in those days," Aurora said afterward as their coach made its way to another of the seemingly never-ending balls. She had found to her surprise that she did not really enjoy this continual round of social events Calandra so loved. She knew she had been a great disappointment to her stepsister, but she just couldn't help it.

None of the young men who had been presented to her had taken her fancy in the least. Many were young and eager, and woefully ignorant for upper-class gentlemen. There were rakes and roués and older men looking for a second or third wife. Her comfortable little income made her eligible, but the truth was, most of the men she met looked down on her because she was a colonial, and not English born. The fops, however, were the worst. They were openly rude, and behaved as if they were doing her a great service to even speak with her. Aurora did not think she liked high society. And the women were little better. The girls her age looked sideways at her because she was considered a rival. Their mamas, in whispers, reminded all who would listen that Miss Aurora was the sister of that silly and possibly not-quite-respectable Duchess of Farminster. The way that woman carried on with Lord Trahern, and right under her husband's nose too. Well, the sister might look as innocent as the new-driven snow; and she might even have a respectable income if one were to believe the rumors; but was she really all she seemed? And what respectable family would consider such a girl for one of their sons? One could not be too careful, the mamas of the girls Aurora's age commented in an effort to turn attention to their own offspring. Aurora was not so foolish that she didn't realize what was happening.

The duke had extended their London stay longer than he had originally intended. Now, however, he was ready to return home to Hereford. Calandra was furious. She did not want to go, but she found no allies even among her own brother and stepsister. They had both had enough of London, and were delighted to be leaving the city. Calandra sulked. Valerian was adamant. Cornering his wife's maid in the hallway, he said,

"Are you happy in your position, Sally?"

"Oh, yes, yer grace," Sally replied, bobbing a curtsy.

"Do you wish to retain your place, then?"

"Yes, yer grace." Sally shifted her feet nervously.

"In whose employ are you?" The duke towered over the servant.

"H-her grace's," Sally half whispered. She was suddenly afraid.

"No, Sally, you are not in her grace's employ. You may serve her grace, but you are in my employ. You take my wage. You live under my roof, and you eat at my table. You even have a small clothing allowance from my generosity. Do you understand the difference between being in service and being in my employ?"

"Y-y-yes, yer grace." She had to pee.

"Then since you are content with your lot, I may assume you wish to remain in my employ. In order to do that, Sally, you will report to me any foolishness your mistress may contemplate. Tomorrow we leave for Hawkes Hill. We will remain there until I decide to come up to London again. That will not be until your mistress has given me an heir or two. If your mistress should attempt to run away again, you will warn me in time to prevent her from doing so. If you do not, Sally, you will find yourself back in the same slum from whence you sprang. Do you understand me, girl?"

"If she finds out I'm spying on her, she'll kill me!" Sally told the duke. "She's got a real mean temper when she's crossed."

"You will be clever, Sally, and she will not find out," he soothed the maid. "And as long as you obey me, girl, there will be a place for you in my household. I wield more power here than your mistress, and you are no fool. You know it to be so."

Sally nodded, and then the duke stepped aside to allow her to pass. He had been patient with Calandra, but now he was through being patient. She took his forbearance for stupidity and weakness. Decamping from Hawkes Hill and coming up to London without his knowledge had been outrageous. She believed herself off his leash, but she was not. The lead he held her by was a long one. The time, however, had come to rein her in and bring her to heel. Once they reached home he was going to be in her bed every night. He would use her until she bloomed with his child. That was why he had married her. To get children from her. With George and Aurora as his allies they would bring Calandra around to a more reasonable frame of mind.

Aurora. He was thinking about her far more than he should, and he knew it was wrong. But she was everything he had ever desired in a wife. She was intelligent and kind. She had wit, not to mention beauty. She knew her duty, which was certainly more than he could say for his wife. He was glad, nay, relieved, that no one had taken her fancy here in London. What fools men could be. It would be difficult when his grandmother found Aurora the right husband, and he had no doubt that she would. She already had a match in mind for George, the dowager had told her grandson. Valerian Hawkesworth sighed deeply. He needed to go home.

It was a journey of several days' duration from London to Hawkes Hill in Hereford. There were several coaches involved. The dowager had one in which she traveled with her personal maid. There was one for Martha, Sally, and Sally's assistant, Moll, who shared their accommodation with the duke's valet, Browne, and George's man, Wickham. Calandra and Aurora had their own vehicle in which the duke and George might ride when they were not a-horse. There were three baggage carts. There were fresh horses awaiting them at all the inns, brought from the duke's estate. A skeleton staff would remain at Farminster House. The rest of the servants had departed the day before for Hereford.

On the morning of their departure Moll came to Martha. "Sally says her ladyship is having a tantrum and carrying on something awful. Could yer mistress come, please?" She curtsied to Martha, who thought the young girl a nice child with promise.

"We'll both come," Martha replied. "Go tell Sally."

"I knew she would do this," Aurora said. "She half as much said so yesterday. What are we to do, Martha? I am not certain we shouldn't write to Mama and beg her to come to England."

"Yer mama won't come, miss. She don't like the sea, but I have an idea. You just tell her high and mightiness that if she don't behave herself, you'll tell the duke of the deception played on him. That's fraud. The duke can annul the marriage or get a divorce, I don't know which. Either way, where will Miss Cally be then?"

Aurora's eyes twinkled. "Cally would rather die than lose her title," she said. "I would not have thought such duplicity was possible in your character, Martha."

"I still got a few surprises up my sleeve, miss" was the reply.

They could hear Cally shrieking as they approached her bedroom. "I'm not going! I have already told you! I am not going! The king is giving a ball tonight, and I will not miss it! Everyone will be there!"

"But we, however, shall not," Aurora said, entering her stepsister's bedchamber. "We shall be tucked up asleep in some comfortable inn on the road to Hawkes Hill before the first musician can tune his violin, Cally. Why are you not dressed? We are leaving in less than an hour. You really are quite impossible, sweeting." She turned to Moll. "Come, girl, and help your mistress. Sally, are the trunks ready yet? Everyone else's have already gone down."

"I am not going!" Calandra snarled, her hazel eyes darkening. Her hand reached for an ornament to throw. She gasped as Aurora grasped her wrist strongly, thereby preventing her from further mayhem.

"Leave us, all of you, just for a moment," Aurora said. "My sister and I need to speak together privately." She released Cally's wrist.

The three servants left the room.

"Why are you on his side?" Cally demanded.