Duvalle pushed himself away from the table and sighed contentedly. There was nothing like a good meal to break the ice. While there was still an uncertain edge to everyone, they had seemed to come together, briefly during the meal, sharing the experience with relish.

Only Elizabeth and Marco seemed to still be completely reserved. Though he didn't completely understand Marco's frame of mind, his emotions indicated he have been processing a similar shock as Liz.

Duvalle made a mental note to make an appointment with Marco to see about helping him through his troubles. There seemed to be something related to the young man's grandmother's death and funeral that still bothered him. Duvalle hoped he could help.

Harold led the group deeper into Manor. They retraced their path, back to the foyer, where Harold led them through an archway behind the grand stair case towards the center of the manor. The aromas of cooking food stirred the air, adding to the ambiance. The collection of fine art wasn't limited to the foyer; paintings and sculptures were tastefully placed throughout the manor.

Jack was well into his second tumbler of the excellent whiskey, Bushmill's 1608 anniversary edition, when he noticed the car had slowed to gentle stop. Looking out the window he could see they were on a small wooded country lane. They'd stopped at a gate and what appeared to be a guard was talking to the driver.

A few moments later they were being waved through the open gate, and Jack thought they'd been transported back into time. The car wound through an estate the likes of he'd rarely seen aside from the grounds around the Royal residences. perfectly manicured lawns, gave the grounds an idyllic park like setting. Any minutes he expected to see sheep grazing, or a young lord pelting across the lawn on a horse, hunting hounds milling around the horse's feet.

The evening of the dinner invitation arrived soon enough, and Miles closed the shop early to get ready and allow travel time. He dressed casually in a turtleneck and dark jacket, and tucked the invitation into a pocket.

Traffic on the M3 was light for that time of the evening. Miles maneuvered his Bentley easily through the last of the afternoon commuters, heading west at somewhat over the legal speed limit. He wasn't running late -- he simply enjoyed driving fast. The directions he'd received over the phone were clear and concise. 

Miles looked up from the desk in the back corner of the book shop as the small bell above the door announced an arrival.

"I'll be right with you," he said. He carefully finished applying a small strip of archival tape to a small tear in the dust jacket of the book he was working on. Satisfied that it wouldn't continue to tear any further, he closed the book and stood up to greet his visitor.

His customer was a middle-aged man in a grey business suit, somewhat worn but of reasonable quality. He held a book carefully in both hands.

Miles looked up from the desk in the back corner of the book shop as the small bell above the door announced an arrival.

"I'll be right with you," he said. He carefully finished applying a small strip of archival tape to a small tear in the dust jacket of the book he was working on. Satisfied that it wouldn't continue to tear any further, he closed the book and stood up to greet his visitor.

His customer was a middle-aged man in a grey business suit, somewhat worn but of reasonable quality. He held a book carefully in both hands.