The study was far larger than Arthur had expected. The walls were flanked by shelves, each packed meticulously with leather-bound books.
A faint aroma of aged parchment mingled with the subtle sheen of polished wood, forming an invisible haze of quiet grandeur.
At the heart of the room stood a heavy mahogany desk, a monolith of order, its surface immaculate save for a handful of neatly stacked documents and a single framed photograph.
A flash of lightning cracked across the sky, illuminating the chamber in brief, ghostly brilliance. Arthur's gaze drifted, almost instinctively, toward the frame.
There, frozen in monochrome stillness, stood a younger Marquess Granville beside a man Arthur recognized instantly.
"Fa–father...?"
But unlike the commanding figure steeped in authority etched into his memory, the man in the photograph was subdued.
His posture was stiff, his expression carefully neutral, as if he were enduring the moment rather than partaking in it. It felt… unnatural. As though someone had placed him there, sculpted into that position by force.
Before the weight of the image could settle fully in his mind, the heavy door creaked open behind him.
Marquess Granville stepped into the room, covered in a long robe, his hair slightly damp. He carried the faint scent of roses.
'It seems he came in quite a hurry.'
His gaze, sharp and discerning, fell at once on the untouched glass cradled in Arthur's hand.
"Oh? You've already begun without me?"
Arthur raised the glass with measured calm, letting the amber liquid glint beneath the fractured glow of the chandelier overhead.
"Yes. Your aide mentioned it would take you a while, so he poured me a glass."
The Marquess smiled, the expression sitting comfortably on his face.
"I see. And what were you looking at just now?"
His gaze drifted to the framed photograph.
"This…?"
"Ah, that…"
He stepped closer, his tone dipping with a hint of nostalgia.
"That's an old memory. Your father and I were friends once."
'Really…? Because to me, that doesn't seem to be the case at all.'
Arthur noticed the rigid and distant look in his father's eyes, which told a different story entirely.
And perhaps sensing his unspoken thoughts, the Marquess gave a wry smile.
"As for how we became friends… well, that's a story for another time."
He moved to the sideboard and poured himself a drink, then leaned back into a nearby armchair, watching Arthur with a bemused expression that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"You know… I dislike unnecessary formality. Feel free to address me however you wish."
Arthur raised his glass once more, letting the burn of the whiskey trail down his throat like a quiet fire.
"Is that so? Then I suppose you may call me whatever you wish as well."
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
"Very well, Arthur."
After taking a slow sip from the glass, the Marquess' tone shifted, quieting into something more serious.
"Now that you'll be staying with my family for a while, I want you to be mindful of my son. He's still young. I don't want him to be hurt, physically or otherwise."
'I see. It appears this is what he wanted to say, or rather, to warn me, when he asked to have a drink together.'
"You're concerned that I might harm my half-brother…?"
"A part of me is, yes. But that doesn't mean I don't want you two to get along."
Arthur watched the amber liquid swirl within the glass, catching the low light like molten gold.
"You have nothing to worry about, Marquess. I have no intention of harming Theodore. In fact… I like my younger brother. And I wouldn't want anything to happen to him either."
A flicker of surprise passed across his features, followed by something more elusive.
Arthur set the glass down with a soft clink, the weight of the evening pressing at the edges of his awareness.
Then he stood, smoothing the front of his robe.
"It seems the rain has stopped. And it's gotten rather late for idle conversation over whiskey."
The Marquess inclined his head slightly.
"Alright. Have a good night, Arthur."
"You as well, Marquess."
Arthur turned and left the study, the door closing softly behind him, the warm haze of whiskey lingering in his chest like an ember.
And by the time his head touched the pillow, sleep claimed him before he could even realize it.
***
The morning light spilled through the towering windows of the Granville family manor, gilding the vast dining hall in a pale, golden hue.
The air was rich with the scent of freshly baked bread and the faint bitterness of roasted coffee.
Arthur took his seat at the long, gleaming table across from his mother.
Not long after, a bright, clear voice broke the silence with a burst of warmth.
"Good morning, Brother."
Theodore.
Arthur's younger half-brother sat beside his mother, his golden curls slightly tousled, cheeks tinged with the soft flush of sleep. His large and shining eyes carried none of the shadows that clung to Arthur's.
"Good morning. Did you sleep well, Theo?"
His face lit up, as though Arthur's words were a gift.
"Yes, Brother."
But before the brief, tender moment could unfold into something more, the Marquess cleared his throat.
"Ahem."
He lowered his coffee cup with practiced grace, the fine porcelain clinking gently against its saucer. His sapphire eyes, sharp and calculating beneath the soft fall of his hair, settled on Arthur.
"It seems I misspoke last night. I was too tired and may have given the wrong impression. I hope you didn't take it to heart. If you ever feel like having a drink again, feel free to ask the butler. He'll fetch it for you from my personal wine cellar."
Arthur tilted his head, one brow arching as he regarded him.
"Marquess, your words weren't even harsh compared to my father's, nor are we close enough that I'd take them to heart. But I won't refuse access to your private wine cellar."
A flicker of amusement passed through his eyes.
"Hmm. So, what do you plan to do today?"
Before Arthur could offer an answer, Theodore spoke on his behalf, brimming with childish confidence.
"Brother will spend some time with me!"
A soft chuckle escaped Arthur at his younger brother's cuteness.
Just then, his mother's fingers reached for the napkin. After taking it, she leaned over and dabbed her beloved son's lips clean.
"Theo, speak after you finish your breakfast."
It was a strange sight.
His mother, who had once been no more than a distant, untouchable figure in his life, now sat there tenderly caring for someone else. There was a softness to her gaze, a warmth in her touch that he had never known.
It stirred something unfamiliar in him.
He couldn't understand whether it was envy or jealousy. No… it was something deeper than that. It was loneliness, perhaps.
"Ah. Sorry, Mother."
"It's alright."
Her voice was gentler than Arthur had remembered.
The Marquess drew a golden pocket watch from his pocket and flipped it open. Its surface gleamed in the morning light as he checked the time.
"I should take my leave now, or else I'll be late for the meeting."
He rose from his chair, his aide promptly appearing with his coat. He slipped it on with the ease of ritual, then moved toward his wife.
Arthur had expected a formal nod or a passing word. But instead, the Marquess leaned down and pressed a soft, brief kiss to her cheek.
"Take care."
The gesture was fluid, unforced, an affectionate act of habit rather than performance.
However, Arthur, who watched such a sight, was quite surprised.
'Was it meant for me to see?'
He wondered: Did the Marquess want me to see that he was not like my father? That he could love, could offer the warmth my father never once did?
Arthur then looked closely at his mother, half-expecting the same frosty indifference that once filled every silence between them.
But contrary to his expectations, her expression shifted as the ever-perfect mask of hers cracked ever so slightly. And there it appeared, a fragile, almost wistful smile.
"Alright."
'Was it genuine affection? Or was it merely a performance, carefully displayed to protect their son's innocence?'
If that was the case… if they were merely pretending to be affectionate for the sake of their child. Then would Arthur's life have been any different if his father had been kinder, if warmth had also filled the silent halls of Ashbourne Manor?
'Would our family have been different…?'
"Take care, Theo."
The Marquess ruffled Theodore's hair with an ease that came from familiarity.
"Yes, Father!"
Theo grinned brightly, radiant with affection.
The scene pierced deeper than Arthur had cared to admit.
It reminded him of the last time he had seen his own father.
Without realizing it, his grip on the fork tightened.
'It feels like I shouldn't have been here.'
Arthur couldn't understand what he was feeling, and why now, after all these years?