"Violet?" Misty grunted with annoyance as she caught the hem of her dress on yet another plant. Dresses with such floaty skirts were completely useless - you couldn't do a thing in them! "Violet Hanada-Waterflower!" she demanded, using her sister's whole name, although she couldn't bring herself to add on 'Boddington'. "If I had known I was this annoying when I was out hiding, I'd have never done it," she mumbled to herself as she sought her sister's elusive self.

She grinned as she caught sight of a dark head of hair gently nodding up and down behind a grassy tuffet. Misty rounded it and grinned down at her younger sister's sleeping form, stretched out in the sun. At 16, Violet's hair was still a lustrous navy, and even Lady Rose had given up hope that it would turn honey blonde like Daisy's. "Get up you," Misty persisted, poking her sister forcefully with the pointed toe of her shoe. Violet slumped downwards on the grass, yawning and stretching. She turned her angry brandy eyes onto her sister and glared at her.

"WHAT?" she exclaimed. Misty looked at Violet incredulously.

"What's wrong with you, simpleton? Tomorrow's the Harvest Festival!" Violet looked unimpressed, and stifled another yawn.

"Then I shall deal with that tomorrow," she said, just before rolling over to try to go back to sleep. Misty grunted, and rolled her straight back.

"Idiot! Our cousins of Aylesbury are spending the holiday with us this year! They'll be here quite soon and Mama and Dame Tatham are trying to get us all to look at least halfway respectable!" Violet grinned and jumped up.

"Lord, but it has been ages since we've saw them!" She paused as she tried to count back. "Must be five - no wait - six years! I wonder if dear Cecily is due to marry? I've been hearing rumours that she's sweet on that eldest son of the Lord of Pewterbury…" Violet's voice droned on, but Misty wasn't listening.

Instinctively, her hand reached up and her nail traced down the side of her face. She hadn't forgotten the way he had touched her cheek so tenderly. Misty's mother was a harrowed woman, and although she loved her daughters devoutly, she would never hug them, or show them any affection. The only softness Misty could remember was from her father, but he had died soon after she was born, the night of Lily’s fourth birthday.

Misty began to think. If Ash is training as a Squire, of course he's going to come with Uncle Albert… The thought of dealing with him in her own territory, made Misty feel better. She had no idea why she was feeling so apprehensive. She had never felt anything like this before.

~*~

Miracles do happen, Dame Tatham wryly praised. In less than 2 hours, the Waterflower girls were all lined up outside the Manor. It was when they were lined for such functions that Misty felt the absence of her eldest sister Daisy most strongly. Rumours that she had heard outside the Church in the village swam back to her.

Her fist tightened. Dame Tatham scrutinised them for their final inspection, as the gilded carriage slowed to a stop, forcing the servant's carriage behind them to break sharply. The footman quickly jumped down and held the door open as the younger children of the family tumbled out, relieved at being liberated from the wooden prison.

A gloved hand appeared from the stuffy darkness of the carriage, and Duchess Emilia was helped out. She was followed by her namesake daughter and her husband, Duke Albert. Last of all, an unfamiliar face hopped out of the carriage to help the Lady Cecily out. Lily bent down to whisper in Violet's ear.

"That's Lord Flint's eldest son," she whispered incoherently.

Misty’s aqua eyes were already fixed on the servant's carriage…which annoyingly kept moving to the back of the estate. Misty released her eyes from the diminishing carriage with a sigh, and greeted her cousins accordingly.

~*~

Ash stared at it. He couldn't believe it. He's been at the Boddington Manor one day and he'd already ruined something. Not a big something, just a painting. It used to be a beautiful watercolour of a river, but now all it was a smushed up piece of cartridge paper with muddy paw prints on it. Ash examined the ruined art carefully, and then he saw it. And his heart fell.

In the corner were the artist's initials. M.W

Ash's heart leapt up again. It couldn't be hers. Whilst he was still staring at it, he failed to hear the footsteps, purposely quiet behind him.

Misty saw his back as she entered her sitting room. She knew it was him immediately, and wondered just what he was doing in the private wing. She crept up behind him to see what he was looking at so intently, and saw it was one of her paintings. A recent one that she had done out of boredom. It wasn't even one of her best ones, but she did feel a slight pang when she saw how ruined it was. She cleared her throat, and Ash whirled around, something close to fear in his dark eyes…but not quite.

"Right. Well, you see, your cousin’s young hound, it was er, in high spirits after being kept in the carriage…" Ash hung his head. "I'm sorry miss…" he whispered into his chest, mentally kissing his chances of being knighted for high service goodbye.

Misty looked at the top of his head with amusement. She cared nothing for the painting. She found it rather entertaining that this arrogant boy had been reduced to remorse so easily. Shyly, he looked up from underneath his hair, and saw that the slightly forced expression on her face had been replaced with a more natural one, of amusement.

Hesitantly, Misty reached out her arm and gently touched Ash's shoulder as a symbol of forgiving. Somewhere deep inside, she was aware that part of her disliked him still, but the smaller minority. She barely knew him, and he was way below her station in life, but she had a great respect for the former stable hand. He felt warm under her fingertips, through his tunic, despite the cold in the room around them. She knew he would be.

He raised his head fully, and awkwardly smiled at her. Misty smiled back at his bashful, crooked grin but then quickly broke the contact by stopping down to pick up the picture and scrunching it into a ball. She looked him wistfully in the eyes again, before starting to speak.

"I don't think anybody has to know about this if you would leave this area of the manor quickly," she murmured.

"You mean it miss?!" Misty smiled awkwardly as she shoved the parchment into a drawer.

"You did not reveal me…" she slammed the drawer shut. "…so I should return the favour. Now, I wish to sleep. Please leave."

On an act of impulse, Ash reached out for Misty's hand. He brought the creamy skin to his lips and kissed it softly. As he dropped her hand a second later, he gave it a slight squeeze.

"Goodnight milady…" he whispered, as he backed out the door, drinking in the way she looked standing there in her elegant dinner dress with her hair already liberated from it's braids for the night, floating around her head and cascading down her back. Then he was gone.

Misty stood in the centre of the room for a second, disorientated. Her mind was spinning, and her hand was burning. She could still feel the two prominent places where his lips had touched her…

~*~

Ash partly skipped into the room he was sharing with Master Brock of Pewterbury; Lady Cecily's secret fiancé. Sighing, he pushed the door closed with his body, and leaned against it for a moment, relieving the past few minutes. He knew it was one of those things that you never relive, yet never forget.

"Whatever ails you?" called Brock from his bed across the room. "You're sighing so deeply I'm being blown away!" Ash couldn't even make the effort to laugh at Brock's weak joke. He staggered across the room and collapsed on his bed.

"Wait, wait, wait…" said Brock slyly. "I know this… this is far too reminiscent of myself friend. You must be infatuated!" Ash turned around and looked at Brock, slightly embarrassed. He propped himself up on a pillow so he could see Brock better, and sighed again.

"I think you're right, friend," he said wistfully. Brock laughed, and moved to the edge of Ash's bed to enhance the conversation, twirling the twig he had just used to clean his teeth between his fingers.

"So who is the lucky wench who'll be the future Lady Ketchum?" Ash smiled wryly, rolling over and blowing out the candle on his bedside table with a sharp exhalation to signify the conversation was over.