Mag-log inI waited outside Lord Rathcliffe’s room long after William entered. The corridor had fallen into silence again, swallowed by a heavy stillness that seemed to consume a household whenever illness settled over it. Candle flames trembled weakly in their brass holders, throwing restless shadows across the walls while rain whispered faintly against distant windows deeper within the manor. Somewhere belowstairs, a grandfather clock chimed softly, the sound strangely mournful in the darkness.Whatever conversation was happening behind those doors belonged to William and his father alone. Yet anxiety rooted me to the spot so completely that even breathing felt difficult.Part of me feared William would emerge angrier than before.I clasped my hands tightly together, trying to stop them trembling. My thoughts had become unbearable these past few days—fear tangled endlessly with guilt, grief, and exhaustion until I no longer knew which emotion consumed me most.Lord Rathcliffe was dying.Will
William's POV I had spent the entire carriage ride convincing myself I was only returning for Belle. Not for him. Not for the man upstairs who had lied to me my entire life. The townhouse loomed ahead through the rain like something haunted. By the time the carriage stopped, dread sat heavily in my chest. Belle stepped out first. I followed a moment later, slower, suddenly uncertain. The house was unnaturally quiet when we entered. Even the servants looked relieved to see me, which somehow made everything worse. I was not better than them in this situation. The expectation of the eldest son was to handle these matters and as the realization dawned on me. I could hear nothing but ringing in my ears. Belle turned toward me softly. “He is upstairs.” I nodded once. But my feet refused to move immediately. Because I was still furious. I was not ready to confront him yet. Belle seemed to sense it. Her fingers brushed lightly against my sleeve before falling away almost imm
By evening, the house had descended into fear once more. The doctor had remained inside Lord Rathcliffe’s room for nearly an hour while the rest of us waited helplessly outside. Every servant who passed through the corridor wore the same grim expression, and even the children had fallen unusually silent. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. I stood near the bedroom doors twisting my hands together while Emma paced restlessly near the windows. “Why has he not come out yet?” she whispered shakily. I had no answer. At last, the door opened. The doctor stepped into the corridor looking exhausted. The moment I saw his face, dread settled heavily in my stomach. “My lord?” Emma asked immediately. The doctor removed his spectacles slowly before answering. “He has taken a turn for the worse.” Emma let out a broken sound beside me. I forced myself to remain steady. “What happened?” “His heart is weakening.” The doctor lowered his voice carefully. “I fear the strain of these
The remainder of the week passed like a slow march toward disaster. Each day felt heavy with tension, as though the entire household stood balanced on the edge of something terrible waiting to happen. The wedding preparations had stopped almost entirely. The flowers ordered for the ceremony had been quietly cancelled. The musicians dismissed. Tailors and dressmakers sent away with polite excuses. I spent most of one dreadful morning writing urgent letters to guests informing them that William and Cora’s wedding had been postponed due to Lord Rathcliffe’s declining health. Even writing the words made my chest ache. Postponed. Not cancelled. Lady Ashbourne had made certain of that.Worse still, the groom himself had not returned home. Every morning, I woke with the same foolish hope. I would lie in bed listening carefully for footsteps in the corridor or the sound of William’s voice downstairs speaking to Katherine and David as though nothing had changed.But the house remained
One moment I had been sitting beside Lord Rathcliffe’s bed watching the steady rise and fall of his breathing, and the next, darkness had pulled me under completely. Pale morning light spilled softly through the curtains, casting silver across the room.For a few blissful seconds, I forgot where I was. Then I looked up. And found Lord Rathcliffe watching me. I startled upright in the chair so quickly my neck protested painfully. “My lord—” “You look terrified,” he said weakly. His voice was rough from sleep, quieter than I had ever heard it before. Relief rushed through me so suddenly my eyes burned. “You are awake.” “Clearly.” Despite the dryness of the remark, there was little strength behind it. He looked exhausted, pale against the pillows, dark shadows beneath his eyes. I leaned forward immediately. “I shall call the doctor at once," I said, rising from my chair. “No," he said, stopping me in my tracks. “ But you collapsed.” “And yet I survived.” He glanced toward the
The house felt unbearably heavy after midnight. Every clock tick echoed too loudly. Every creak of the floorboards made my heart jump, thinking perhaps the doctor had come downstairs with news, or that Lord Rathcliffe had finally awakened. But neither happened. Emma remained upstairs beside his bed while the doctor rested briefly in the sitting room. The servants moved through the townhouse like ghosts, speaking in hushed whispers. And William still had not returned. I sat near the drawing room fire with a blanket wrapped around my shoulders, though the warmth never reached me. My eyes burned with exhaustion, but every time I tried to close them, I saw John’s face again. I saw the heart break in Williams eyes that this truth would haunt him for the rest of his days. A sudden crash shattered the silence downstairs. I jolted upright. Voices erupted in the foyer. Then the unmistakable sound of someone stumbling into a table. “Sir—perhaps you should—” “







