Fane listened to Lord Upton with his fingers lightly grazing the side of his chin. He had misgivings about this, but there was something else as well stirring within him that couldn't be ignored. He could faintly see why the Lord had hit upon him and forwarded such a flyer through mutual connections. He had experience hunting out forgotten details, piecing together truth (or as close to the truth as he could get) from reminiscences and hearsay, and tracing a pattern others didn't notice. There was a reason he had become practically exclusive to being employed by the oldest families (and the most important, for the worn rock is a nonentity, but the mountain has a name, becomes a landmark.)

He was sure the gypsy girl would have marked abilities as well, or she wouldn't be here. She seemed very unsure of herself, but then at her place in life she was probably cursed with being belittled, thus staying downtrodden, regardless of her abilities. He really couldn't say. He didn't even want to guess at what specifically her abilities were to qualify her for the task the Lord was setting them, for he didn't think he could avoid making stereotyped mistakes. He knew nothing of gypsies and her way of life except what the prejudiced ascribed to them, and he didn't want his judgement to be led by that. At any rate, he was glad for her part in this. He might have turned down the Lord's offer were it not for her. This would be extraordinary, unlike anything he had undertaken ever before, and as such he was afraid. That there would be someone by his side, someone less accustomed to the safe monotony of an ordinary life, helped him make the decision to agree to the Lord's task, along with the intrepid part of him that surfaced like a fish to bait. He didn't know if she'd take the Lord up on his offer as well, of course, but he couldn't imagine a reason for her not to. The Lord would certainly cross her palm with more silver than she could ever have hoped to see.

He couldn't take his eyes off the rose. It looked like any rose picked up off the garden walk, then discarded on being noted as not worthy of putting in a vase. The clefts and crumples of its petals, the gentle wilt, the serrated leaf- even if it was art and not magic, he certainly wanted to find out the person behind such exquisite craftsmanship. And if it was magic- his heart skipped a beat at the thought of something that rendered him powerless and helpless, something he could not fully understand- he's be just as curious as to what purpose could be served by turning a rose to silver, other than preserving it in a way.

"I am honoured that you would call upon me to do so, Lord Upton," said Fane, inclining his head. "And I will fulfill, to the best of my ability." A slight hesitation crept into his manner as he admitted, "However I have never embarked on a trail such as this to trace. My previous dealings have always been very commonplace. I hope not to make mistakes. And I hope you will not mind me calling upon you even when I have nothing to report and nothing unearthed- sometimes I may not be able to see the way forward and any guidance would be welcome to illumine the path. Such as now." He stared at the rose, scintillating and sinking into the plush red. "I don't know where to start. Who to talk to, or where to refer."