The second day began with rain.
It battered the windows like impatient fingers, tapping a rhythm that filled the quiet manor with a nervous energy. The hallways buzzed before dawn, the scent of lavender oil and baking bread drifting through the corridors. But it was not a comforting sort of bustle. No, the manor was preparing itself.
Elowen barely managed her morning tea before Mr. Crowhurst barked at the assembled servants.
"The Lady Honoria and Lady Celeste arrive within the hour. I expect no delays, no disruptions, and no excuses."
Lady Honoria. Lady Celeste.
The Lord's family.
There was no time for questions. Elowen was handed fresh linens and ordered to assist in readying the west wing—the wing Ruth had warned her to never approach.
Ruth, now pale with nerves, only gave her a curt nod as they passed each other in the hall.
It took all morning to polish the railings, lay out the lavender-scented sachets, and make sure the Lady's private chambers were aired and arranged precisely as remembered. Elowen's back ached from lifting and adjusting, her knees sore from kneeling to scrub.
But she did not complain. Not once.
She didn't dare.
By the time the carriage arrived, the manor was silent again, save for the crack of thunder as wheels crunched over gravel outside the grand front drive.
Elowen stood at the far end of the corridor, half-hidden behind a draped curtain, and watched.
Lady Honoria Blackthorne entered like a windstorm in brocade—tall, regal, her gray hair swept into an impeccable chignon. Her eyes were the color of cold steel and twice as sharp.
Behind her came Celeste, no more than seventeen, with golden curls pinned high and a mouth already curled in dissatisfaction.
"I told you, Mother, this place is utterly depressing," Celeste complained, her voice high and nasal. "The curtains are drab, and it smells like mildew."
"It smells like restraint," Lady Honoria replied curtly. "As a noble house should."
Their coats were removed by trembling maids. Neither woman acknowledged them.
From her hiding place, Elowen watched with a strange mix of awe and revulsion. These women ruled with presence alone. They were used to having the world molded to their preference—and cared little who bent or broke beneath them.
As the women moved deeper into the manor, Elowen slipped away. Her duty now was to assist with post-arrival arrangements: warming bricks for their beds, preparing fresh tea, and delivering firewood to the smaller drawing room.
She tried not to let their voices echo in her head.
But they followed her.
By afternoon, Elowen was permitted a short break.
She took her tea in the scullery, sitting near the old stove with the warmth licking at her boots. Ruth appeared a few minutes later, red-faced and breathless from running errands.
"You've survived the storm," Elowen offered softly.
Ruth scoffed. "Barely. Celeste broke a teacup on purpose just to watch the maid flinch. Said it was an 'ugly shape.'"
They sat in silence for a while until another pair of maids slipped in, whispering as they ladled soup into bowls. Their voices were low, but the scullery was small and sound carried.
"She really is coming, then?" one whispered.
"Cook says she got the letter last week. The Lord agreed."
"She was his favorite, you know. The other Lady."
Elowen froze, her spoon halfway to her lips.
"I thought Lady Celeste was the only—"
"Not family. A guest. A very... particular guest."
"Do you think Lady Honoria knows?"
"She's arriving tomorrow. Bet she does now."
A pause. Then the second girl whispered, with a thrill of scandal:
"They say she's more than just a guest."
Elowen set her cup down gently, as if afraid any movement would break the spell.
"What's her name?" the first maid asked.
A shrug. "Doesn't matter. What matters is she used to be here. Used to share his rooms. Used to make the Lady Honoria fume."
"And now she's back?" The girl giggled. "Oh, I'd love to see the fireworks."
They both laughed and left the room, soup bowls in hand.
Ruth looked at Elowen, wide-eyed.
"You heard that?"
Elowen only nodded.
That evening, Elowen returned to her chamber but found no peace.
She sat at the small desk, quill in hand, parchment blank. The shadows on the walls seemed deeper than usual. The oil lamp flickered twice.
A storm had arrived.
But another was coming tomorrow.
And this one had a name she didn't yet know.