Chapter 1: My Lord.

The manor was vast.

Vast in a way that made a person feel smaller simply by standing before it. It loomed against the pale afternoon sky, all sharp stone edges and towering windows that reflected no warmth back to the earth below.

Ivy crept along its sides like grasping fingers, clinging stubbornly to cold gray walls. It did not look like a home. It looked like a place where rules lived.

Like a reform school for girls who laughed too loudly and dreamed too boldly. As the carriage wheels crunched over gravel and slowed to a halt before the wide stone steps, my stomach twisted so tightly I feared I might be ill.

This was to be my home.

I clasped my gloved hands together in my lap as the coachman climbed down. The horses snorted clouds into the cool air. I could see my breath when I exhaled.

“Belle,” my father said gently beside me. I turned toward him.

He looked proud, tired, relieved and maybe there was a slight glimmer of guilt in his eyes.

The carriage door opened before I could gather another thought. A footman stood waiting, expression neutral, posture perfect. The world here already felt polished and unyielding.

I stepped down carefully, my boots touching the gravel of a life I had not chosen.

Before I could properly orient myself, something small and warm collided with me. I gasped as little arms wrapped around my waist with such force that I nearly lost my balance.

“I’m Katherine!” the girl announced breathlessly, clinging to me as though I might vanish if she loosened her grip. “And I am so happy that you are here!”

Her hair was the color of chestnuts, tied loosely with a ribbon that had begun to slip. Her cheeks were flushed from running. Her eyes wide and hopeful searched my face as though looking for something specific.

A mother.

My heart tightened.

Behind me, I heard my father give a quiet, relieved chuckle. “I see you’ve made an immediate friend,” he murmured.

I forced a smile down at the child.

“Hello, Katherine,” I said softly, though my voice felt distant, as if it belonged to someone braver than I.

I wished I could say I was happy to be here.

But terror coiled low in my stomach, tightening with every passing second.

Could I truly do this?

Could I bury myself so completely?

“Come now, Katherine.” The voice cut through the moment like a blade. Sharp. Measured. Accustomed to obedience.

“Do not burden our guest.”

I stiffened.

“Your new husband,” my father whispered quietly beside me, his tone almost reverent. “Lord Rathcliffe.”

I straightened immediately and stepped back from the child, lowering my gaze as he approached.

He was taller than I had imagined. Lean, angular, dressed immaculately in a dark coat and gloves. His hair was streaked faintly with silver at the temples. His expression was unreadable, neither cruel nor kind.

His eyes moved over me slowly.

Not boldly.

Not improperly.

But clinically.

As though assessing fabric quality at market. As though ensuring the sheep he purchased was healthy before leading it to slaughter.“Katherine,” he said again, without raising his voice. “Go wait with your brother inside.”

The girl hesitated only briefly before releasing me. She glanced up at me once more as if to confirm I would not disappear before running toward the doors.

Without looking at me, Lord Rathcliffe clicked his fingers once. The two maids standing begind him stepped forward to collect my bag.

My father shifted beside me. I could feel his tension now, masked beneath polite composure. Lord Rathcliffe finally spoke again, already turning toward the house.

“I trust you've recieved my payment, Mr. Abbott.”

Payment.

The word landed heavily.

My father gave a stiff nod. “Yes, my lord.”

There was no ceremony. No lingering pleasantries. No acknowledgment of the magnitude of what had just been sealed. With one final, appraising look in my direction, Lord Rathcliffe turned on his heel and ascended the stone steps.

He did not offer his arm.

He did not ask if I required assistance.

He simply expected me to follow.

“Go,” my father whispered gently, squeezing my hand.

I turned to him.

This was the moment.

His eyes were bright with unshed tears, though he smiled bravely. “You are stronger than you think,” he said. He pulled me into one final embrace. His coat smelled faintly of wool and tobacco and home.

“Take care of yourself,” he murmured against my hair.

I almost asked him to take me back.

Instead, I stepped away.

He climbed back into the carriage. And just like that, the wheels rolled away from the only life I had ever known.

The interior of Rathcliffe Manor was just as imposing as the exterior. Tall ceilings. Dark wood paneling. Oil portraits of stern-faced ancestors lining the walls as if silently judging each newcomer who crossed the threshold.

The air smelled faintly of polish and stone.

Cold.

The only warmth in the entire entrance hall came from two small figures waiting near the staircase.

Katherine and a younger boy, perhaps seven, with the same chestnut hair and wide blue eyes.

He stared at me as though unsure whether I was real.

“David,” Katherine whispered to him excitedly. “This is her.”

Her.

I was not yet Belle here.

I was a role.

“I thought you had three children,” I said before thinking.

Lord Rathcliffe stopped walking.

He turned slowly.

“I do,” he replied evenly. “William is traveling. Attending to business on my behalf, as I am not currently fit to do so.”

Business.

I studied him more carefully then.

There was a faint pallor to his skin. A stiffness in the way he held himself. A man accustomed to strength now forced into restraint.

Still.

Traveling meant grown. I had imagined three small children clinging to my skirts.

Not a son old enough to represent his father.

“Follow me,” he instructed.

Not asked.

I swallowed my fear and obeyed. He led me down a long corridor into his study. The room smelled of ink, leather and authority. A massive mahogany desk dominated the center, polished to a reflective shine.

He took his seat behind it immediately, folding his hands together as if this were a negotiation.

I remained standing.

“I trust,” he began coolly, “that you understand why you are here.”

“Yes, Lord Rathcliffe.”

“This is a deal between myself and your father. Nothing more.”

The bluntness of it made my spine stiffen.

“I required a wife,” he continued, “to ensure my children are properly cared for. Should anything happen to me, they must not be left vulnerable.”

His eyes sharpened slightly.

“I do not expect William to raise his siblings. He will one day find a wife of his own and continue my legacy.”

I nodded carefully.

“I will not give you the expectations one traditionally associates with marriage,” he said flatly. “I will not give you children of your own or do anything to give you the hope of children.”

A strange mixture of relief and sorrow flickered through me. Relief that I would not share his bed. Sorrow that motherhood, in its truest form, was being quietly denied to me.

“The world will see us as husband and wife,” he continued. “But you would do well to understand your position clearly.”

His gaze hardened.

“You are here as caretaker to my children. You are educated. Presentable. Suitable. Nothing more.”

I felt something sharp rise in my chest. Something dangerously close to indignation.

But I swallowed it.

“Your father spoke highly of your embroidery. Your piano. Your fluency in French,” he went on. “Katherine must acquire these skills before she is of marrying age.”

Of course.

This was not a home.

It was preparation.

A finishing school.

A transaction.

I opened my mouth to speak but a knock interrupted us.

“Enter,” he commanded.

The door opened.

And the air shifted.

A man stepped insidse. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in fitted white shirt and brown trousers. His dark hair was slightly wind-tossed, as though he had just ridden in. His features were striking in a way that stole breath unintentionally. But it was his eyes that caught me.

Stormy blue.

Sharp.

Alive.

They flickered to me briefly.

Then stilled.

“William,” Lord Rathcliffe said, and for the first time since I had arrived, something resembling warmth touched his tone. “I did not expect you back so soon.”

“I came to inform you I have returned,” William replied evenly.

His voice was deep. Controlled. His gaze shifted back to me. Lingering this time.

Assessing.

Questioning.

“Good timing,” Lord Rathcliffe said. “This is Belle. My new bride.”

Silence.

The word seemed to echo against the study walls.

Bride.

William did not react immediately.

For a heartbeat, his expression was blank.

Then something flickered behind his eyes.

Shock.

Then disbelief.

Then something darker.

His jaw tightened visibly.

His gaze moved over me but not like his father’s had.

Not clinical.

Not transactional.

But burning.

Accusing.

As though I had personally insulted him by existing.

He did not bow.

Did not greet me.

Did not offer even the barest courtesy.

Without a word, he turned sharply and walked out. The door closed with quiet finality.The silence left behind felt heavier than shouting. I realized only then that my heart was racing. But I didn't know why.

Lord Rathcliffe exhaled once through his nose.“He will adjust,” he said dismissively. “He has always been… passionate.”

Passionate.

The word felt inadequate.

I stared at the closed door, my pulse unsteady.

William.

The eldest son.

The one expected to carry the legacy.

He didn't look any older than me and he too seemed to have a burden on his shoulders.

And judging by the way he had looked at me.

He did not see a bride.

He saw an intruder.

And for the first time since arriving, a new fear began to bloom beneath the others. Living under Lord Rathcliffe’s cold indifference would be difficult.

But living under William Rathcliffe’s...

That might be unbearable.