Dear Delilah Holland sat wearily on one of the fine oaken benches of Belgrave Square, her head resting heavily on one loosely curled fist. The once striking features of her now wrinkled face were creased into a ferocious scowl as she glared blankly across at the house where she was employed. It was perhaps an odd sight – the stern yet affectionate chaperone seated alone in the dying light of evening. Delilah would have given anything in her power to be seated beside the headstrong blonde Parker heir, yet once again the choice had been wrenched from her hands by the flighty Dorothy. That girl was nothing but trouble. It was simply preposterous that a young lady of high society should have such notions. Notions of freedom and rebellion and all the things which the aristocracy looked down on with distain. It was not of course the first time that Mrs. Holland had reflected on the matter – no, every month without fail her pale-faced ward would somehow slip away into the night to frolic with the lower classes; and every month without fail it was weary old Delilah Holland who had to pick up the pieces. Her who had to find some excuse or another to throw the Parker parents off the scent, and her who had to calm down the over-excited child after another of her escapades. She had half a mind simply to stalk into the house and tell Mr and Mrs Parker all about their child’s spectacularly scandalous outings… though she never would. She hated to admit it, but she had grown attached to Dorothy, in an odd way.

With a heavy sigh Delilah pushed herself to her feet and headed for home, preparing another intricate lie to protect her ward from herself.

- - - -

Dorothy Bianca stood beside the ever-rippling water of the Thames, wrapping the night around herself as she forgot herself in the darkness. It was beautiful to her – the lights of the great city glancing off the river. Standing here, with the buildings towering over her and the water stretching out before her, Dorothy could pretend that she simply stopped existing. It was like one long breath of fresh air – letting the near silence of late evening wash over her and remind her that, in the grand scale of things, she was irrelevant. That no matter what the petty dramas of her own life were, out here there was infinite beauty that could never be tarnished. A light, quavering smile rested on rosebud lips as she let the harsh breeze tug and wild blonde locks. She did not look her part – standing alone beside the Thames with her hair unfettered and her gown covered in a long black cloak. She did not feel her part. As she let her thoughts slow to a standstill she could forget completely that she was a woman of the aristocracy, ever held back by the unwritten laws of society. But there were things even rare moments of freedom, solitude and silence could not let her forget.

The silent smile flickered and vanished, leaving the fair face bereft of all emotion. Even here she could not deny the weakness that stole through her ever-wasting frame. Even here she could not deny how weary she was of the chore of living – how every breath seemed to take a heavy toll. Even when she wrapped the navy night time around her like a heavy velvet shawl, she could not forget, even for a moment, that she was dying. To go through each day knowing that she would never find love, have children or live to see London change for the better was eternally wearing down her soul.

A forceful scowl appeared upon her face suddenly as she determined to push her thoughts away from such matters. For tonight she was her own and no one else’s. For tonight she would be happy and enjoy what time was left to her. With a fuller smile now shining forth from her countenance she moved for the first time in what seemed days – breaking into a run along the filthy road which followed the great snake of the river. The night rolled past, tugging at her wild mane of hair, reminding her that even now to be alive – to be alive was such a joy!

The thrill of freedom was, however, short lived. She could no longer run for miles like she had once done – now mere yards burnt at her chest like hot coals, and she came to a halt sooner than she would once have wished to, crouching to try desperately to catch a breath that would not come. Horror flared in emotive brown eyes as harsh, hacking coughs tore through her throat. She saw the flecks of scarlet on her pale trembling fingers, and the filth of the road rose up to meet her as she fell oblivious into its cold embrace.