Interests: Hugh, Godfrey and Beatrice
2.0 - Lady of the house
The dining room smelled faintly of lemon oil and old books, sunlight filtering through tall windows and settling across the table. Katie sat at the head, coffee cooling in front of her, hands wrapped around the mug but not drinking. A plate with toast and jam sat untouched.
Hugh Montford stood by the sideboard, hands behind his back, posture flawless as always. Beatrice Aldercott had taken the chair to Katie’s right, her coat still on, her folder placed precisely before her. The keys were in a small, polished wooden box that now sat between them, heavy with the weight of ownership.
“I wasn’t sure how else to do this,” Katie said, her voice scratchy with lack of sleep. - “Or what the right… protocol is. But it felt strange not to say anything. Or invite anyone.”
Beatrice gave a small, noncommittal shrug. - “There is no protocol for this sort of thing. Only choices,” she said, coolly. - “But I imagine you understand why some of us are… curious.”
“It’s kind of you to invite us.” His voice was even, but his gaze moved around the room—not tense, exactly, but assessing.
Beatrice pushed the box toward Katie. - “These are yours now. I collected everything from the solicitor’s office and the safe. Front gate, basement, study, all the wings. There’s even a key labeled ‘greenhouse,’.”
Katie stared at the box a beat too long before she lifted the lid. Dozens of keys, each one different—some ornate, some plain, some that looked like they hadn’t been touched in decades. - “Feels like a test,” she said softly.
“Or a puzzle,” Beatrice replied, without looking at her.
“I don’t know where to start,” Katie admitted. Beatrice leaned back slightly, watching Katie with a narrowed eye.
“Forgive me, Miss Sinclair, but I have to ask. Why do you think Lord Harrowden chose you?”
Katie gave a tight smile. - “I don’t know. I didn’t know him. I didn’t even know about him.” Hugh’s brow twitched—just barely. Beatrice’s expression didn’t change. Hugh stepped closer, arms now folded across his chest.
“You didn’t know Lord Harrowden,” he said—not accusing, but not gentle either. - “Yet you were named the heir. To the entire estate.” Katie nodded slowly.
“I didn’t know him. Not even his name until a few weeks ago.”
“That is unusual,” Beatrice said, her gaze sharp now, fingers drumming lightly against the folder. - “He was not the sort of man to make impulsive decisions.”
There was a beat of silence.
“Were you contacted directly?” she asked. - “Before the letter? Had anyone from his circle reached out?” Katie shook her head.
“No. Just the letter.”
Hugh’s eyes narrowed slightly, - “and you didn’t find that… strange?”
“I did,” Katie said honestly, “I still do—“ Beatrice opened the folder, flipping to a page.
“The change to the will was made two weeks before his death. While I was on holiday. My assistant handled it. Odd timing, if you ask me.” Katie didn’t answer right away. She looked at the keys again—old, mismatched, oddly personal.
“I’ve been asking myself the same thing. Why me?”
“And?” Hugh asked.
“And I still don’t have an answer,” Katie said, meeting his gaze. - “But maybe that’s something I can figure out here.” Neither Beatrice nor Hugh spoke for a moment. Then, Beatrice folded the folder shut.
“Well,” she said, tone even. - “I suppose we’ll all be figuring things out together.” Hugh gave a faint nod, though he didn’t smile.
“Just know the House carries weight. History. Memory. It has a way of revealing the truth. Whether we want it or not.” Katie looked between them—the solicitor and the caretaker, neither of them entirely hostile, but neither of them entirely at ease. She set her coffee down.
“Good,” she said. “Then I won’t be the only one with questions.”
Katie stepped onto the gravel path with her coffee balanced in one hand and a cigarette in the other. The cold bit at her ankles where her socks didn’t quite meet the cuffs of her jeans. She should’ve grabbed a scarf. Or actual shoes. But the air was clear, the garden quiet except for the rustling of the trees and the soft crunch of her footsteps.
She found a spot on a half-cracked stone bench near an overgrown rose bush and sat, letting out a long breath as she lit the cigarette with one of the three lighters she always carried.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Eva.
Katie answered without saying hello.
“What the hell is going on?” came Eva’s voice, half a whisper and already full of judgment. - “You inherit a haunted manor and forget how to text back?” Katie smiled faintly, letting smoke drift toward the hedges.
“Sorry. It’s been… a lot.”
“I bet. Are you staying?”
A pause.
“For now,” Katie admitted. - “I don’t really know what I’m doing yet. But I’m not walking away.” Eva sighed, loud and dramatic.
“I knew you were gonna say that. You love this weird shit.” Katie smiled again, even though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“I haven’t even told my parents yet.”
“Classic,” Eva said. - “Let me guess—your mom will think you’ve joined a cult and your dad won’t even ask why?”
“Close enough.”
Katie stared out across the garden. Ivy climbed half a stone wall; someone had cut back the lavender, and there were fresh lines dug in the earth, damp with morning.
“They’re not exactly welcoming here,” she murmured.
“They’re strangers, you dropped out of the sky into their dead lord’s house, and you’re charming as a thunderstorm. I’d be cautious, too.”
Katie let out a dry laugh. - “Thanks for the pep talk.”
“They’re protecting his legacy,” Eva added, voice gentler now. “You’d do the same if it were your patient.” Katie flicked ash to the side.
“Yeah,” she said. “I get it.”
They were quiet a moment.
“You okay?” Eva asked.
Katie glanced down at her boots. - “I don’t know yet.”
They hung in that stillness for a beat longer before Katie mumbled a quiet goodbye and hung up. Just as she slipped her phone into her coat pocket, a voice cut through the quiet.
“You’re either the most fashionable ghost I’ve seen out here, or Miss. Sinclair.”
Katie turned. Edmund Winscombe stood a few paces away, sleeves rolled up, a shovel over one shoulder and a half-amused smile playing at his lips. His hair was slightly damp with sweat, and there was soil on his boots. He looked like the kind of man who didn’t mind getting dirt under his nails.
“Depends on who you ask,” Katie said, squinting toward him.
He walked over, leaned casually on the handle of the shovel. “Name’s Ed. I keep the plants from taking over. Most days.”
“Katie,” she offered. - “I guess I… inherited you, too?” He chuckled.
“First time anyone’s put it that way. Don’t worry, low maintenance. Feed me and I won’t revolt.” She raised an eyebrow, blowing out another curl of smoke.
“You flirt with all the new residents?”
“Only the ones brooding in the garden at ten in the morning.”
Katie tilted her head. - “Fair.”
Ed nodded toward the beds he’d been working. - “Just turning over some earth. Thought I’d freshen things up. Spring does that—makes you think something might start growing again.”
She looked at him for a moment longer, then down at the rose bush trying to come back from neglect.
“Let me know if it turns out anything worth keeping,” she said.
“I’ll try to manage squeezing in to keep you posted.”
As he walked off toward the other side of the garden, Katie let herself smile— just a little.
2.1 - The Secrets Start to Slip Out
The light slanted low through the tall windows of the library, catching dust motes in its golden grip. Katie stood at the edge of the desk, her fingers brushing the edges of a leather-bound journal.
It had taken her over an hour to figure it out—an old key hidden behind the portrait of a woman whose cheekbones mirrored hers just enough to raise the hairs on her arms. The key had fit perfectly into the locked drawer of George Harrowden’s desk, and with a click that echoed louder than it should’ve, the past had cracked open just enough to breathe.
She pulled out three journals—thick, worn, the kind of books that had been returned to over and over again. The first one was dated five years ago. The last ended just a month before his death.
Katie didn’t open them.
Not yet.
She stood with one still in her hand when she heard the soft creak of the door.
“Miss Sinclair.”
Katie turned, the journal now resting against her hip. Hugh Montford stood just inside the doorway, posture straight, voice measured. He wasn’t scowling—but something close. His eyes landed on the open drawer. With the key still in the lock.
“I wasn’t sure it would open anything,” Katie said quietly. - “But it did.” Hugh took a slow step into the room, his hands folded behind his back.
“Those would be George’s personal journals,” he informed. Katie glanced down at the journal again. - “Some things are meant to remain untouched.” He nodded toward the desk. “You’ll find the late Lord Harrowden was… precise about what he shared, and what he didn’t.”
“And yet,” Katie said, running her thumb along the edge of the book, - “he left all of this to me.”
There was a long pause.
“Yes,” Hugh said at last. - “He did.”
“Don’t you want to know why?” She looked at him. His jaw tightened for just a moment, a flicker of something beneath the surface.
“Curiosity isn’t the same as permission.”
“That’s a line I used on a patient once.” Katie smiled faintly, more tired than amused.
“Did it work?”
“Not remotely.” Hugh stepped forward, his gaze softening slightly, though his voice didn’t lose its edge.
“Whatever’s written in those journals… that was George’s private mind. His fears, his failings. Perhaps even regrets. He trusted you with his house, Miss Sinclair. I can only hope he meant to trust you with his memory, too.” Katie nodded slowly, the weight of the moment settling like a coat on her shoulders.
“I’m not going to read them. Not now.” She placed the journal back into the drawer and closed it with care. The key she removed, slipping it into her pocket. A compromise, for now.
Hugh watched her carefully. Then, with a small nod, turned to leave.
At the doorway, she stopped him. - “Hugh.”
He turned back.
“If it were you—wouldn’t you want to know?”
There was a flicker behind his eyes. Not an answer, not really.
“I think,” he said slowly, - “some answers change you. And not always for the better.”
Then he left her alone in the room, with only the fading light and the quiet drawer of secrets, still behind lock and key.
The next morning was grey and still, a low mist hanging over the grounds like breath on a mirror. Katie sat by the window in the breakfast room, nursing a cup of strong coffee and buttering toast she wasn’t sure she’d eat. The estate felt quieter than usual—like it, too, was waiting for something.
She didn’t hear Godfrey until he cleared his throat in the doorway.
“I was in the area,” he said, like this was a casual stopover and not the looming estate of a recently deceased relative he once assumed he’d inherit.
Katie didn’t look surprised. - “You’re always in the area now.”
Godfrey smiled thinly, then gave a little shrug and stepped in further. “Well. Thought maybe I’d drop by. See how the new mistress of the manor is settling in.”
Katie gestured to the coffee pot. - “Only if you stop calling me that.” He accepted a cup when she poured it, sitting across from her in a silence that wasn’t awkward so much as… curious.
“No hard feelings, then?” he asked, sipping.
She shrugged. - “Not really. I didn’t know the man. And now I live in his house. You, on the other hand…”
“Tried to charm him and got overlooked anyway?”
“I was going to say you might be a distant cousin, which would explain the bone structure. But sure, we’ll go with that.” She stood, coffee in hand. - “Come on. Walk with me.”
They strolled through the back garden, dew wetting the edges of Katie’s boots. Godfrey glanced sideways at her. - “George was always decent, you know. Kind, in his way. My mum adored him. Said he helped pay her tuition when she couldn’t afford the last term. He was good like that. Not always warm, but good.” Katie nodded, letting the words settle.
“That’s what I keep hearing. Doesn’t make this any less strange, though.”
“No. It doesn’t.” There was a long pause before he added, “still. You’re not what I expected. Nor is my earnestness, perhaps it’s even idiotic.”
”Well firstly tempered people tend to have an idiotic streak. Or it might be another cheekbone situation which we share.” She shrugged, - “anyways. Are you disappointed?” She arched her brow.
“Curiously not.”
Katie had taken to the saloon sometime after lunch, the silence thick and oddly comforting. A book on psychiatric trauma lay open on her lap, a half-glass of red wine on the table.
She heard the door open behind her but didn’t look up until Hugh’s voice cut through the quiet. - “I saw you out in the garden,” he said mildly, stepping into the room. - “With Godfrey.”
Katie lifted her eyes. - “Let me guess. You disapprove.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Hugh replied, crossing his arms. - “But I do find it curious. He’s not always been the most… invested member of the family.”
Katie smirked. “Neither have I.” He didn’t smile, not exactly, but something about the tension around his shoulders softened.
“You’re not what I expected, Miss Sinclair,” he said after a pause. - “Most people would be halfway to selling the silver by now.” Katie closed the book gently and leaned back.
“That’s the thing. I don’t know what I’m doing yet. So I’m doing… this.” Hugh didn’t answer right away. He studied her for a moment, then glanced at the book in her lap.
“You planning to treat the village next?” he asked dryly. Katie let out a soft breath of a laugh.
“I was planning to avoid them a little longer, actually.”
“Tempting,” Hugh said. “But if you mean to stay—and I believe you do—it’s best you let them know who you are. Or at the very least, who you’re not,” he began, voice slower now, “you ought to be seen. Heard, even. The village— Grenton-on-Lyre they’ve got big mouths and long memories. Right now, they’re trying to decide whether to make room for you in theirs.”
“What do you suggest? Bake sales and friendly hellos?” Katie tilted her head, - “you have a proposal, I take it?”
“I do,” his mouth twitched. - “Modest in scale, but purposeful. A gathering. Here, at the House. Nothing lavish. Just enough to show you’re not some distant inheritor coming to flip the place and vanish. Informal, but thoughtful. An introduction, if you will.”
She watched him a moment, then set the wine down and folded her hands in her lap.
“Is that what they think?”
Hugh shrugged. - “Some do. Others are still deciding.” She reached for her wine again, thinking.
“And what do you think?”
“I think the House needs a presence again,” he said. - “It needs a voice. Whether that’s yours… time will tell. But introductions never hurt.”
”Awfully political,” Katie tilted her head. - “You’re protective of this place.”
“I’m protective of what it stood for. And of the people in it who tried to do right. George Harrowden wasn’t a perfect man, but he didn’t treat this house like a prize. He treated it like a responsibility.”
“You want me to throw a party.” Katie was quiet for a beat. - “Alright,” she said, - let’s do it. A gathering. Nothing lavish.” Hugh nodded.
“Good. You just have to show up. And— try not to look like you’d rather be anywhere else.”
“That’s just my face,” she sipped the wine. Hugh allowed the barest trace of a smile as he turned to leave.
“Then consider smiling. Once. For diplomacy.”
“Noted,” Katie said behind him. - “But no promises.”
Afternoon light spilled across the long table now cluttered with notes, fabric swatches, and two half-empty coffee mugs. Katie curled barefoot in one of the chairs, her sleeves pushed up, a pen twirling between her fingers.
Valeria Mortimer sat across from her, legs crossed, as she scanned the guest list for the third time.
“I still can’t believe you’re doing this,” Valeria said, glancing up with a crooked grin. - “A garden party at Stormhaven House? You do know the town is already chewing on it like a dog with a bone.” Katie shrugged, but a small smile tugged at her mouth.
“Well, if they’re going to gossip, I’d rather give them something accurate.” Valeria chuckled.
“Smart. Preemptive strike.”
They both laughed, the kind of easy, low hum of sound that meant the room felt safe. Katie’s gaze drifted to the window for a moment before she spoke again.
“I appreciate you helping,” she said. - “Planning things isn’t really my thing. I can medicate someone through a full-blown psychotic break, but hors d’oeuvres make me nervous.” Valeria waved her off.
“You’re a nurse. You know chaos better than anyone. This is just… rural diplomacy.”
“That’s what Hugh said,” Katie pointed out. Valeria’s brow lifted slightly.
“He’s not wrong. People here don’t take kindly to mystery. They’ll accept you eventually—if you don’t give them a reason not to.” Katie looked at her, thoughtful.
“You think I won’t?”
“I think it’s too soon to tell,” Valeria said. - “But I don’t think you’re the type to stay put unless it’s by choice.” Katie’s mouth twitched.
“That obvious?” Valeria leaned back, watching her.
“The first thing I felt when I saw you wasn’t suspicion—it was sympathy. Not the pitying kind. The… I’ve-been-there kind.” Katie nodded slowly.
“It’s weird. I keep thinking how absurd it is—me, in this house. But I also don’t hate it. Which is new.” There was a beat of companionable silence. Then Valeria reached for her mug.
“So,” she said casually, - “are we pretending Rupert just strolled into the will reading with zero idea it was happening?” Katie laughed.
“You think he planned it?”
“I think he never does anything by accident,” Valeria said. - “Man’s a walking unsolved crossword.” They grinned at each other, the wariness having melted between them.
The phone call went about as well as Katie had expected.
Which is to say— not great.
Pacing slowly across the bedroom floor as she told her mother the short version of the truth. Inheritance. An old house. No, she hadn’t known the man. Yes, she was staying. For now. No, she hadn’t told Dad yet.
Mirabelle Sinclair hadn’t yelled—but her silence had a specific weight to it. It was the kind of quiet that had made Katie eat vegetables as a kid.
“Well,” her mother finally said. - “I suppose if you’ve already decided.”
“I haven’t,” Katie replied. - “Not really.”
Another pause.
“You never do anything, not really,” Mirabelle said. - “You just do it and wait to see if it falls apart.”
That was that. The goodbye was short. Not unkind, but clipped. Katie slipped the phone into her pocket and made her way downstairs, her bare feet quiet against the steps.
The hallway was dim, the amber wall sconces giving the old house its usual haunted glow. She was halfway to the kitchen when the front door creaked. Hugh was there, coat folded over his arm, keys in hand.
He looked like he hadn’t expected to see her.
“You’re heading out?” she asked, her voice still scratchy from the phone call. Hugh nodded.
“Just finished checking the west lock. Thought I’d leave you to your evening.” She offered a small smile.
“Not the worst idea.” He lingered a moment, then nodded at her phone.
“Everything alright?”
“Family call,” she said simply. - “Not quite scandal-level, but definitely dramatic enough for a Thursday.” Hugh allowed the ghost of a smile.
“We’ve all had one of those,” he agreed.
They stood there in that comfortable-uncomfortable way people do when they’re still figuring each other out. Eventually, Katie tilted her head slightly, studying him.
“The last few days have been trying,” Hugh continued. Katie nodded.
“For all of us. I can see why Mr. Harrowden trusted you.”
“I hope so,” Hugh said. “I trusted him.” She caught the shift in his tone— guarded, but sincere. It made her want to say something kinder than she usually managed.
“I think he picked people carefully.” She said. Hugh’s gaze lingered on her a beat too long.
“That’s what we’re all wondering, isn’t it?” Katie gave a small, crooked smile.
“Well. I’m still here.” She replied in a calm voice. He nodded once, and then turned toward the door.
“Goodnight, Miss Sinclair.”
Katie pinned her hair back with one hand and balanced the phone between her shoulder and ear with the other, squinting into the mirror. Stormhaven’s bathroom lights were too soft, the kind that made everything seem vaguely romantic and vaguely suspicious. Fitting, really.
Laura picked up after the third ring.
“Wow,” Katie said without preamble. - “You actually answered your phone. Did hell freeze over, or is this a special occasion?”
“Katie.” Laura’s voice was dry, a warning and a greeting at once. - “Is this about the…house thing?” Katie laughed under her breath, setting down the curling iron she had no idea how to properly use.
“You mean the entire estate I apparently inherited without even knowing the man? Yeah. Thought you might want to hear it from me before Mom blows a gasket and sends out a family-wide memo.”
“Too late,” Laura muttered. - “She called me yesterday. Thought you’d lost your mind.” Katie rolled her eyes at her own reflection.
“That makes two of us.” A pause stretched between them. Katie, always the one to crack first, leaned against the sink.
“I’m the middle child Laura, not exactly prime heir material. I’m the one who left, remember? Not the one who made honor rolls and married a dentist and did everything right.” Laura made a small sound—something between a laugh and a sigh.
“I remember.” An answer which made Katie hesitate.
“It’s not like Dad ever saw me as much more than the family embarrassment, anyway.” She didn’t mean to say it out loud. But there it was, in the air between them, stubborn and sharp.
Laura was silent for a beat.
“You’re not an embarrassment,” she said finally, in the clipped, too-careful way that suggested maybe she wasn’t quite sure how to argue it convincingly.
Katie changed the subject before the silence got too loaded.
“There’s this guy—Godfrey Penhaligon. He’s…something.” She tugged at a stubborn strand of hair. - “He’s supposed to be the old man’s nephew. Was pissed at first that I inherited the estate instead of him, and now he’s suddenly my new best friend. Charming and suspicious, like a con artist at a wedding.”
“Sounds like a man.” Laura snorted. Katie grinned, even as she felt the underlying unease stir again.
“I don’t trust it. But I’m trying not to turn this into a whole Katie pushes people away because she’s paranoid.”
Another pause. Laura’s voice softened, just slightly. - “Maybe you’re not wrong to be cautious.” Katie didn’t answer right away. She pulled open the bathroom drawer, rummaging for lipstick, letting the soft creak of the drawer say what she didn’t.
Finally, she said, “It’s strange, Laura. I’m supposed to host a party tonight. For the town. Be the lady of the manor or whatever.” She caught her own eye in the mirror, lifted an eyebrow at herself. - “I can barely keep a houseplant alive.”
“You’ll be fine,” Laura said, almost fond. - “You always land on your feet. Even if it’s seldom graceful.”
Katie closed the drawer, smiling faintly.
“We’ll see.”
They said goodbye, the conversation hanging somewhere between old sibling habits and something almost tender. Katie ended the call, slipped the phone into the pocket of her jeans, looked at herself one last time and went to find her shoes.
Katie sat on the edge of the bed, one heel already buckled, leaning down to fasten the second. Her outfit, something simple but flattering, now felt almost like a costume. Lady of the manor. Hostess of Stormhaven. She gave a soft, disbelieving huff under her breath.
A knock came at the door, firm but polite.
“Miss Sinclair?” Hugh’s voice carried through, clear and measured, the same way he spoke when delivering facts, not opinions. - “They’ve started to arrive.”
“Be right there,” she called, voice steady. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror: composed, careful, a woman ready to greet strangers who already had their minds made up about her. She pulled open the door to find Hugh standing there. His expression was as composed as ever, polite, professional, the faintest flicker of something softer under the surface.
“They’ll be expecting you,” he said, voice low. - “Best not to keep them waiting too long.” Katie smiled faintly, brushing past him into the hallway.
“Right. Wouldn’t want to cause a scandal on my first official night.” Hugh allowed the smallest of smiles at that, not approval exactly, but something close. He fell into step beside her. And as they moved toward the grand staircase, Katie found her mind drifting despite herself. Hugh had been unfailingly proper, unfailingly loyal to Stormhaven, to Lord Harrowden. That much was clear.
But could loyalty like that be extended to her? Or was it already spoken for, locked in with the dead man who had once ruled these halls? Katie tightened her hand around the railing for just a second, steadying herself.
Hugh turned slightly, offering her a nod that was almost a cue.
“Ready, Miss Sinclair?”
Katie met his gaze, searching it for a beat longer than necessary. Maybe. Maybe not. She smiled.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
The low hum of conversation and the soft clink of glasses greeted them as Katie and Hugh descended the staircase, the polished wood creaking faintly beneath their steps. Katie could feel the weight of the evening ahead pressing against her collarbones, but Hugh’s steady presence beside her grounded her.
At the bottom of the stairs, near a side table draped in white linen and a small arrangement of early spring flowers, Beatrice stood waiting. She wore a deep green dress and a practiced smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Miss Sinclair,” Beatrice said, inclining her head slightly. - “Mr. Montford.” Her voice was perfectly civil. Katie smoothed her hand down the side of her skirt, offering a smile that was equal parts polite and self-protective.
“Beatrice. You look lovely.”
“Thank you,” Beatrice replied, brisk, as if brushing away the compliment before it could settle. Her eyes flicked over Katie’s outfit, her expression unreadable, then shifted briefly to Hugh. - “You seem to have everything well in hand,” she added, her tone teetering between a statement and a pointed suggestion. Katie shared a quick glance with Hugh, who, to his credit, kept his face impassive.
“We’re hoping it’ll be a good night,” Katie said lightly. - “Maybe answer a few questions.” Not that Beatrice was the type to offer answers easily. Beatrice’s mouth twitched—something too wry to be called a smile—and she folded her hands neatly in front of her.
“One can only hope,” she said. - “If you’ll excuse me, I have a few things to oversee.” Without waiting for a response, she turned, disappearing into the slow-moving crowd like a stone sinking into water.
Katie let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and glanced sideways at Hugh. - “Friendly bunch,” she murmured, only half-joking. Hugh’s mouth curved into something dry, almost fond.
“You’re holding your own,” he said. - “That’s more than half the battle.” Katie smiled thinly and smoothed a hand over her skirt again, the fabric cool under her fingertips.
Katie and Hugh exchanged a final look, something wordless, some small current of mutual understanding and split off in different directions. Katie drifted toward the edge of the saloon, her glass cool against her fingers, surveying the faces around her. A few seemed curious. Some, wary. And a handful, downright suspicious. She could feel it, pricking at the edges of her awareness like static.
Before she could retreat entirely to a corner, Valeria caught her eye with a quick, warm smile and approached, Rupert trailing a step or two behind her.
“There you are,” Valeria said, tilting her head slightly. She wore a navy dress, understated but elegant, and her dark hair was pinned neatly back. She looked comfortable — or at least better at pretending than Katie felt.
“You’re popular tonight,” Rupert added, flashing a charming grin. He was sharper dressed than usual, a navy jacket over an open-collared shirt, looking very much like he was here to observe and take notes in some hidden mental notebook.
Katie laughed under her breath. - “That’s one way of putting it.” She shifted her wineglass to her other hand.
“I was just talking to Beatrice,” she added, dropping her voice slightly, “and… I don’t know. She was polite, but it was like standing in front of a very beautiful ice sculpture. Makes you wonder what she’s thinking.” Valeria’s smile thinned a little.
“She’s… protective. Especially about things she thinks she understands better than anyone else. Give her time.” Valeria’s reassurance was kind, if not entirely convincing.
Rupert leaned in slightly, his voice pitched lower for their small circle. - “Or don’t. Sometimes it’s better not to wait for people to make up their minds about you.” There was a glint of amusement in his eyes, but something sharper underneath too—like he was speaking from experience. Katie sipped her wine.
“Fair point.” She let herself relax a fraction before glancing between them. - “I feel like I’m piecing together a man I never really knew. Everyone’s version of George is…different.” Valeria’s expression softened.
“He was strong when I met him. Quiet, but you knew he was paying attention. It was hard seeing him—” she paused, choosing her words carefully, - “—change. By the end, he wasn’t himself anymore.” She glanced at her glass, swirling the last sip of wine thoughtfully.
Rupert nodded. - “Formidable,” he said, his voice quieter now. - “Even when he wasn’t at his best, there was something about him. He let me dig around the archives for a project I was working on.” He gave a vague gesture with his hand.
“I think he liked the idea of his life—this place—being remembered. Not just the neat version either. The real one.”
Katie turned that over, the words sitting heavier than she expected.
“So he was…aware,” she said slowly. - “That he was changing. That it wasn’t going to end neatly.”
Rupert shrugged one shoulder, almost apologetic. - “We’re all aware. Some just have the guts to admit it.” Valeria reached out, touching Katie’s arm lightly.
“You’re doing better than you think, you know. Most people would’ve already bolted.” She smiled, genuinely this time and Katie felt some of the knot inside her chest loosen.
“Maybe I’m just stubborn,” Katie said lightly, though she wasn’t sure it was a joke.
The cool night air hit Katie like a splash of water. She slipped onto the terrace, slipping her hand into the pocket of her dress to pull out a slightly crumpled cigarette. Her fingers shook a little as she lit it, the flame jittering in the breeze.
God, she wasn’t used to this. The feeling that every polite word hid a knife under it. She took a shaky drag, trying to steady herself, feeling the thud of her own heartbeat against her ribs.
Footsteps clicked lightly behind her. Katie didn’t need to turn to know who it was.
Godfrey.
He leaned against the stone balustrade a few feet away, arms casually crossed, an easy smirk on his face like he owned the night. - “You’ll find we don’t usually smoke on the terrace,” he said lightly, - “but I suppose rules are meant to be broken.” Katie gave him a sideways look, exhaling smoke into the night.
“I’ll send my apologies to the garden.” Godfrey chuckled lowly. It wasn’t exactly unkind.
“I doubt the roses will file a complaint.” There was a pause, not entirely uncomfortable.
“You look the part,” he added, his tone lazy, like he was only half-invested in the compliment. - “Elegant. Poised. Stormhaven suits you more than I’d have guessed.” Katie huffed a laugh.
“You mean, considering I’ve been here all of two minutes?” He shrugged, an infuriatingly graceful motion.
“Time’s relative in places like this.” He watched her a moment longer, the playful glint in his eyes sharpening into something harder. - “You settling in, then?” Katie hesitated. She took another drag and let the smoke drift upward before answering.
“I’m…not sure,” she admitted, the honesty slipping out before she could stop it. - “It’s a lot. I didn’t exactly plan on any of this.”
For a moment, Godfrey said nothing. Then his mouth twisted—not quite a smile, not quite a sneer.
“Then maybe you shouldn’t stay,” he said, voice smooth but cold enough to bite. - “Simple solution, really. Pack up. Go back to wherever it is you came from. Save yourself the trouble and save us the confusion.” The words landed harder than she expected. Katie stiffened, her fingers tightening slightly around the cigarette.
There it was. The real him slipping through the cracks.
She didn’t answer immediately. Part of her itched to snap back. Another part— the part that had spent a lifetime measuring how far to push just stared at him, calm and unreadable.
Godfrey tilted his head, as if studying her reaction, some curiosity threading through the disdain. Before Katie could say anything, a figure moved swiftly through the open doors behind them.
Lucile, all warm smiles and wide, observant eyes.
“Oh, there you are,” she said brightly, a little too brightly. She latched onto Katie’s arm with gentle insistence. - “I’ve been looking for you, dear.” Katie shot a look at Godfrey, his face was neutral again, the mask back on.
“My cue to leave but think about what I said Miss. Sinclair.” Godfrey excused himself.
“Of course,” she said smoothly.
“Some company’s better left behind, darling.” Lucile murmured as Godfrey slipped inside. Katie didn’t disagree. But Godfrey’s words stayed with her, like a splinter she couldn’t quite dig out.
2.2 The Guests, Both Announced and Unannounced
The pub was humming with easy chatter when Katie stepped inside, the scent of ale and roasting meat wrapping around her like a familiar coat. The old pub had a cozy, lived-in charm, dim wooden beams, curling smoke from the hearth, and the low murmur of conversations layered over an old song spinning from the jukebox in the corner.
At the bar, Ginger was polishing glasses, and Lucile sat perched on a stool, waving enthusiastically the moment she spotted Katie.
“Ah, there she is!” Lucile beamed, patting the seat next to her. - “We were wondering if you’d turn up tonight or if you were already too grand for us village folk.” Katie smiled, shrugging off her coat and sliding onto the stool.
“Not yet,” she said. - “Give it time.” Ginger snorted and poured her a drink without asking, sliding a glass of red wine across the bar.
“First one’s on us,” Ginger said. - “Celebrating the fact you’re still standing after that party. You survived the town’s finest vultures.”
“Thanks,” Katie said dryly, taking a sip. - “I think.” They laughed, and for a moment, Katie relaxed into it—this easy, teasing atmosphere she hadn’t realized she missed.
“So,” Lucile began, her voice casual in that way that meant she was absolutely not being casual, - “you and that handsome Hugh seem to be getting on all right.” Katie raised an eyebrow, amused.
“I barely know him.”
“Doesn’t mean you can’t admire the view,” Ginger chimed in, grinning. Before Katie could respond, Lucile leaned closer, lowering her voice like she was passing state secrets.
“Bit of gossip, if you’re interested,” she said. - “Word is, that Rupert Ellingham, your charming neighbor, is sometimes seen wandering the grounds of Stormhaven at night.” Katie blinked.
“Seriously?” Lucile nodded sagely.
“Mind you, no one’s caught him at it. Just little whispers here and there. Light seen moving about. Footsteps on the gravel.” She paused for dramatic effect.
“Could be nothing. Could be he’s looking for something,” she added, as if that explained everything. Ginger made a face.
“Or he’s just got a touch of the weird. Wouldn’t surprise me.” Ginger suggested. Katie smiled faintly, filing that away for later. She didn’t quite know what to make of Rupert yet but the idea of him poking around the grounds after dark was unsettling.
“Anyways,” Lucile said, nudging her. - “Enough about that. What about you, darling? What’s your story? You never did tell us—any broken hearts left behind? Any secrets we should be wringing out of you?” Katie laughed, caught between amusement and wariness.
Well, if they wanted gossip, she could give them a little.
“I’ve been married before,” she said lightly, watching the way both women immediately leaned in. - “Didn’t stick,” she added, as if brushing dust off her hands. Lucile’s eyes practically sparkled.
“Oh, well now,” she said, delighted. - “That’s a tidbit we didn’t expect.”
“First time’s practice, love. Happens to the best of us.” Ginger nodded. They laughed again, and Katie found herself relaxing properly for the first time in days. She took another sip of her drink, feeling the warm buzz of friendliness starting to settle her nerves.
Then, with a little shrug, she let herself spill a bit more. - “Well… while we’re airing out the gossip, might as well add another one for you two.” Lucile leaned in immediately, all sparkling eyes and eager mischief.
“Oh, go on, darling. Don’t leave us hanging.” Katie toyed with the rim of her glass, gathering her words carefully.
“Godfrey,” she said lightly, though a faint tension crept into her voice. - “He, uh… he wants me to sell the estate to him. Or just leave, really. He wants me to think it’s all in my best interest.” Lucile gave a sharp, scandalized gasp, while Ginger let out a bark of laughter.
“That boy’s got nerve, I’ll give him that,” Ginger said, shaking her head. - “Barely let the poor girl unpack her bags before trying to shove her out the door.” Lucile tutted, clucking her tongue.
“Typical London attitude. Always thinkin’ they know better. You just got here, Katie. Don’t you let him sweet-talk you into anything you don’t want.”
“I’m not planning on it,” Katie said, smiling a little, but there was a thread of real uncertainty underneath. Lucile nodded in agreement, her face suddenly more serious.
“You just be careful, sweetheart. Everyone’s smiles in this town… but not everyone’s friends.”
“I’ll be careful,” she reassured At least, she hoped she would be.
Maybe Stormhaven wasn’t home yet. But sitting here, wine glass in hand, the easy buzz of gossip in the air. It didn’t feel half bad.
The walk back to Stormhaven House was quieter than usual. A chill rode the breeze, tugging at Katie’s jacket, and the sprawling silhouette of the old house loomed ahead under a mottled sky.
She hesitated at the gate, glancing up at the upper windows. For a second, just a second, she thought she saw movement. A flicker of light.
It was gone almost immediately, swallowed by the dark.
Katie frowned, instincts prickling. Maybe Lucile’s gossip was getting into her head. Maybe it really was just Rupert being strange.
Or maybe it was something else entirely.
Drawing her jacket tighter around herself, she pushed the gate open and headed up the path. She was halfway to the front door when something or someone moved beside the hedge. She let out a startled gasp, nearly dropping her bag.
“Whoa, easy,” a familiar voice said, stepping into the light.
Edmund. Hands raised slightly in peace, a sheepish grin on his face.
“God, Edmund,” Katie breathed, pressing a hand to her racing heart. - “You scared the hell out of me.”
“Sorry,” he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. - “Didn’t mean to. Just finishing up for the night.” Katie blew out a breath, laughing a little at herself.
“I’m just jumpy, I guess. Long day.”
“You and me both,” Edmund said, falling into step beside her. They headed toward the front door together, the gravel crunching under their feet.
“You guys have been busy,” Katie said, casually. - “I’ve seen you and Hugh cleaning a lot around the house lately.” Edmund glanced sideways at her, a twinkle in his eye.
“Yeah, well. House this size, the work never really ends.” She almost mentioned it, the burning papers she had noticed once or twice, the faint scent of smoke trailing from the old stone outbuilding but stopped herself.
Curiosity was a dangerous thing here.
At least until she figured out who, exactly, she could trust. Instead, she just nodded. - “You’re doing a good job. It’s looking… well, less haunted,” she joked. Edmund laughed.
“Give us another week and it’ll look like a palace.” They reached the front steps and paused. Edmund tipped his head toward the door.“Get some rest, Katie. Big place like this—you need your energy just to keep from getting lost.” His grin was easy, but his gaze lingered on her a second longer than casual. Almost like he was trying to reassure her. Or warn her. Maybe both.
“Goodnight, Edmund,” she said softly. Katie stood for a moment, key in hand, staring up at the house. She didn’t have the answers nor the correct questions.
The next morning, the gray skies and steady drizzle did little to brighten Stormhaven House, but Katie found herself oddly grateful for the gloom. It matched the restless energy that had clung to her since last night.
The knock on the door was brisk but not unfriendly. When she opened it, Ivy Bellemore stood there, a canvas bag slung over one shoulder and a polite, expectant smile on her face.
“Hey,” Ivy said. “Mind if I come in?” Katie stepped aside, letting her in.
“I was wondering when someone would brave the weather.” Ivy shrugged out of her jacket.
“I’ve got a few things to pick up. Some old bits and pieces from when I lived here.” Katie blinked.
“You lived here?”
“For a while. Years ago,” Ivy said, her tone casual but carrying the weight of something more complicated beneath it. “Back when I was a child.” Katie tried not to gape. She hadn’t even thought about the house being anything but Lord Harrowden’s private domain. It was strange to imagine it filled with other families’ lives, too.
“I didn’t realize,” Katie said carefully.
“Most don’t.” Ivy gave a wry smile. “George was good to us. Strict, but fair.” Katie watched her for a moment, sensing how genuine her feelings were. Ivy shifted the bag on her shoulder. - “Mind if I poke around upstairs? There’s a couple things in storage I’d like to grab.”
“Go ahead,” Katie said. “If you need help finding anything, just shout.”
“Thanks, Katie.” Ivy just smiled and disappeared up the stairs, leaving Katie standing in the great echoing hall, wondering again just how many lives had shaped this place before it had fallen into her hands.
By noon, Katie found herself tucked away in the office, a lukewarm cup of coffee forgotten in her hand. The room smelled faintly of old paper and wood polish, comforting in a way she hadn’t expected. Her eyes kept drifting to the painting over the fireplace a portrait of a woman in muted, regal tones, her gaze steady, her features unmistakably similar to Katie’s own. It had rattled her the first time she’d noticed it, and it still did, a quiet unease prickling at the edges of her mind.
“Family resemblance, maybe,” she muttered to herself, tapping her fingers against the porcelain mug.
“You shouldn’t trust everyone so lightly.”
The voice startled her. Hugh, standing in the doorway, arms loosely crossed over his chest. He didn’t look hostile, but there was a weight behind the words, heavier than his usual measured tone.
Katie set the mug down, heart giving a slow thud. - “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, voice even.
But even as he gave a short nod and shifted his weight, ready to leave her to her thoughts, a sharper question unfurled in her mind: did that warning include him?
Before she could say anything, footsteps clipped down the hall. Beatrice appeared, all business, a thick folder tucked under one arm. Her smile was brittle around the edges, as if stretched too tightly over nerves.
“I thought I’d bring this to you personally,” she said briskly, offering the folder. - “The deed to Stormhaven House. All the formalities are in order now.” Katie stood to take it, the papers heavier than they looked. Beatrice hesitated, just a moment, before adding, almost offhandedly, - “Oh, and… it seems the office couldn’t locate the previous version of Lord Harrowden’s will. Strange, but these things happen.”
Katie blinked. Her fingers tightened on the folder.
“Right,” she said, managing to keep her tone light. - “Of course.” As Beatrice gave a small nod and retreated, Katie sat back down heavily, staring at the folder as if it might sprout fangs. The coffee sitting next to her had gone cold and bitter.
She really should switch noon coffee to morning wine instead.
Complete
Last edited by Mimira (28/04/2025 at 12:44)
