"Right," Ambrose said, staring up at the imposing facade of what was less a house and more a small castle complete with actual turrets. Golden light spilled from dozens of windows, suggesting the family was still very much awake and probably wondering where the hell they were. "This is fine. Everything's fine. We're only four hours late for dinner with my entire family, including my terrifying grandmother who probably thinks I'm dead in a ditch somewhere."
"Breathing, Ambrose. Remember breathing." Sasha craned her neck back to take in the full scope of what she was walking into. The building seemed to go on forever, all honey-colored stone and ivy-covered walls and the sort of architecturalconfidence that came from centuries of never having to worry about mortgage payments.
"I'm breathing. I'm also panicking, but I'm doing it quietly and with good posture, which is what matters." He straightened his shoulders as if preparing for battle.
The front door opened before they'd even made it up the stone steps, and a man who Sasha assumed was some kind butler appeared. Not that she’d ever seen one before.
"Master Ambrose," he said with the sort of diplomatic neutrality that probably required years of training. "And this must be Miss Fox. I'm Davies. Welcome home."
"Thank you," Sasha managed, trying not to gawk at the marble entrance hall that was roughly the size of her entire flat. There were actual portraits on the walls, the kind with eyes that followed you, and a chandelier that looked like it belonged in a palace hung overhead, casting rainbow prisms across the polished floor. Everything smelled of lavender and faintly of damp.
"The family have finished dinner," Davies continued, leading them deeper into the house, "but Lady Charlotte has asked me to show you to your rooms and see if you require anything to eat."
"That would be lovely," Ambrose said, shooting Sasha a look that clearly saidbe charming but not too charming and also please don't break anything.
They were intercepted before they made it to the staircase by a woman who could only be Ambrose's mother, all flowing scarves and warm smiles and the sort of effortless elegance that probably came with good breeding. She moved like someone who had never doubted her place in the world. She was also, Sasha couldn’t help but notice, exceedingly good looking.
"Darlings!" Lady Charlotte descended upon them, her voice carrying just the faintest hint of relief. "You poor things, what an awful journey you must have had. Davies, do see about somesandwiches, won't you?" She turned to Sasha with the kind of smile that suggested she knew exactly what was going on but was far too well-bred to mention it. "And you must be Sasha. How lovely to finally meet you."
"Thank you so much for having me," Sasha said, accepting the offered embrace and trying not to feel like a complete fraud. Lady Charlotte smelled of expensive perfume and fresh flowers. "I'm sorry we're so late."
"Trains," Lady Charlotte said with a dismissive wave. "Dreadful in this heat. I do hope you won't find it too warm here. The house does retain the heat something awful in July. Victoria's already complained twice about her room being stifling."
The rest of the family went by in a blur of names and faces. Sir Archibald emerged from somewhere called "the morning room" looking like he'd rather be anywhere else, all gruff politeness and weathered handsomeness. He shook hands with efficient politeness and immediately disappeared again.
"Don't take it personally," Ambrose whispered. "He's allergic to social interaction."
Then there was Archie, all golden hair and easy charm and natural confidence. "Sasha! Finally, a face to put to the name." He gestured to the woman beside him. "This is Tiffany."
Tiffany looked like she'd stepped out of a magazine, with perfect makeup and strategic poses. She was also filming everything on her phone.
"Oh my God, this lighting is amazing," she said, panning her camera across the entrance hall. "The aesthetic here is just so authentically British aristocracy, you know?" She turned the camera on Sasha with predatory enthusiasm. "And you must be Ambrose's girlfriend! How did you two meet? What's your Instagram handle?"
"I…" Sasha glanced desperately at Ambrose, who looked like he was rapidly regretting his life choices. "We met at a party."
"How romantic! I'm definitely going to feature this in my 'Country Estate Life' series." Tiffany studied Sasha critically. "You should really consider getting some highlights, though. The camera washes you out a bit."
"Right," Sasha said weakly.
Sophie, the youngest Sullivan, appeared at the bottom of the staircase looking like she'd rather be reading a book than meeting new people. She had dark hair and serious eyes and a sharply intelligent look that made Sasha feel like she was being quietly assessed.
"You're the girlfriend," Sophie said without preamble.
"That's… yes." Sasha glanced at Ambrose, who had gone slightly pale. "I'm the girlfriend."
"Right." Sophie studied her with scientific intensity. "You know he's gay, don't you?"
The words hung in the air like an unexploded bomb. Sasha felt her cheeks burning.
"Sophie," Lady Charlotte said mildly.
"What? Everyone knows. Well, except Grandmother."
Sasha felt like she was drowning in social quicksand. "I… yes. We're… it's complicated."
"It always is," Sophie said with a worldly wisdom that seemed unusual in a fifteen-year-old. "Well, I like you better than Archie's Instagram person already."
"She's an influencer," Archie protested, looking down the corridor to where Tiffany was arranging a vase under a lamp.
