A scent.
Not cloying like the ton’s ladies drowned themselves in.
This was… subtle. Warm. Wild. A whisper rather than a shout.
I inhaled again, brow furrowing. Alluring.
Unmistakable.
I ignored the rain dripping down my collar and scanned the street. Only men stood around me—rail workers, porters, travellers clutching their coats as the downpour thickened.
No one who smelled like that.
A strange flutter rippled beneath my ribs.
Again.
The rain came harder, drumming against stone and drowning everything in cold noise. The scent thinned, washed away by coal smoke and wet pavement. I gave the area one last look, earning a few odd glances for my trouble.
Ridiculous.
It was all in my head.
I stepped fully into the carriage, shivering from the colder climate. It was a different kind of cold here—sharp, biting, like the air carried teeth. I shrugged off my travel cloak and shook it out, droplets scattering across the floorboards.
Rowlands climbed in moments later, cheeks red from the rain. He was being trained by my father’s secretary; one could only hope the boy had a functioning brain.
The carriage lurched forward, wheels splashing through rainwater, and I leaned back, watching rivulets snake down the fogged window.
My father had chosen the perfect punishment.
An estate in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but sheep and their caretaker for company.
I sighed heavily, the kind of sigh that came from deep annoyance and deeper resignation.
A few months, I told myself.
A few months, and I’d be home in time for Christmas.
? ? ?
The manor was a grand building—or had been, once. I lost count of how many bedrooms there were as Graham led usthrough the echoing halls. Every corridor smelled faintly of damp stone and disuse.
He’d met us at the door with the keys and some much-needed sustenance. It wasn’t the quality I’d grown accustomed to, but I forced myself to eat his wife’s offering. Better than nothing, and better than the hellish journey north.
The estate itself was sprawling: five cottages, grazing fields, and the cattle.
Potential.
I could already see it—tenants brought in, the land put to proper use again, income restored.
But the house…
The house was another matter entirely.
Though impressive from the outside, it was crumbling from within. The floorboards groaned. The walls were chilled even with fires lit. And the roof… God, the roof needed urgent repairs before the winter storms tore it open entirely.
By the time I reached the bedchamber, the fire Graham had set was struggling against the cold that crept through the stone. I changed into my nightshirt but left my dressing gown on, teeth nearly chattering, and slipped between the stale sheets.
