The next few days that he spent at the Granville Manor were peaceful. He would spend his time with his younger brother going through the gardens and playing with his puppy.
He would sometimes collect the pine cones that had fallen from the pine trees in the garden, while their mother sat at the table nearby, having tea and keeping them in her line of sight. She would often gaze at them from time to time.
At other times, he would have tea with his mother quietly and engage in mundane talk, as a son and mother should.
His days were as quiet as they had ever been before, and for a moment, he forgot his worries and responsibilities.
However, that didn't last long.
On the morning of a certain day, the wind carried the scent of withered leaves and smoke as Arthur sat on the chair beside the balcony door, when a flicker of movement caught his eye.
A messenger bird sat upon the balcony railing.
Its wings, dark and dusted with gold, rustled once before folding neatly at its sides. Its presence was eerily quiet, no caw, no call. As though it had slipped through the sky unnoticed.
He rose and crossed the floor, the chill of the morning seeping through the glass-paneled doors as he opened them. The wind greeted him like a whisper. The bird did not flinch. It only tilted its head as he approached, letting him untie the note bound to its leg.
His fingers moved with instinct, though he couldn't recall when they had learned such motions.
'Let's see what has happened.'
The message was short.
Third son, dead. Ledger acquired. Princess arrived. Aide's location unknown.
The breath stilled in his throat instantly.
"What? The third son of the Arundell family is dead…? Just like that…?"
'Anyway, I can understand that he is dead. But did he have to die right when we had stolen that ledger? Damn it!!'
Its contents must contain a list of evil deeds or perhaps some sort of secrets. If news spread that he had it in his possession, the wolves would circle faster than he could respond.
"Ah. It seems the princess has safely arrived at the manor."
But what sent a cold shiver of unease through him was the last line.
Aide's location unknown.
'Eloise...?'
He had seen her two days ago. And even then, he had noticed something amiss. She had flinched when he reached to brush a leaf from her hair, her eyes flickering with something that was not fear, but self-protection. And the mark on her wrist… she had claimed it came from spilled tea. But burns did not look like that.
She had then suddenly come up with some sort of excuse and left in a hurry that evening. She was probably avoiding talking with him about the matter.
Arthur felt his chest tighten with uneasiness.
If something had happened to her under his watch, then...
No. He couldn't waste time here. Whatever quiet lull he had carved out for himself had come to an end.
He turned sharply, his voice cutting through the silence.
"Julia."
There was no need to speak louder. She was already there, just beyond the threshold, as if she had known that he would soon call her.
She stepped inside without hesitation, her presence calm, composed. She had always known when to appear and when to disappear.
"Yes, young master?"
"Pack my belongings at once. We're leaving for the Ashbourne Manor."
"I understand."
She bowed her head and turned wordlessly.
Arthur remained where he stood, fingers curling around the now-creased note. The parchment crackled softly in his grasp, as though echoing the tension now settling into his bones.
'It seems my brief respite has come to its end.'
But before his departure, there remained one final matter he had to address.
His mother.
The thought alone was strange. Years ago, he would have left without a word, believing, perhaps even hoping, that she wouldn't notice. That she wouldn't care.
But now… now, the distance between them had changed. It may not have yet warmed nor softened, but at least it was no longer the glacial, untouched void it once was.
And somehow, that made all the difference.
He made his way toward the gardens where his mother often spent her mornings. The scent of autumn hung heavy in the air: crisp, earthen, laced with the faint perfume of decaying leaves.
The wind stirred softly, rustling the foliage with a whispering grace, as if the trees themselves mourned the passage of time.
Golden leaves descended like dying embers from the heavens, brushing past his shoulders before settling silently onto the stone path.
His boots pressed against the weather-worn trail, the muted crunch of brittle foliage beneath them forming a quiet, rhythmic cadence, one he knew she could hear from a distance.
She sat beneath a towering maple, its branches stretching skyward like withered fingers, half-bare and swaying.
A book lay open across her lap, her gaze lost within its pages as though the words could carry her somewhere far beyond the confines of this world.
The pale light of early morning draped her in a cool, silvery glow, softening the edges of her stillness and casting faint shadows along the curve of her cheek. It lent her an almost fragile grace.
Before he could announce himself, her voice cut through the hush, calm as the autumn wind.
"Are you preparing to depart today?"
She did not look up. Her gaze remained fixed on the words before her, as though they still demanded her full attention.
Arthur stopped a few paces behind her, letting the silence stretch.
"Yes. How did you know?"
Her head lifted, but she did not turn. Her eyes, reflecting the hues of dying gold, lingered on the trees beyond.
"I have my eyes and ears all over the manor, Arthur."
Of course she did. Arthur wasn't surprised; he was only mildly amused by how effortlessly she admitted it.
"Are you leaving to meet with Ophelia?"
"Yes. That is one of the reasons, but not the only one."
"Hmm... I see. I heard you've been investigating your father's disappearance."
The wind, which had been playfully stirring the leaves moments before, stilled as if caught in a breath.
His expression did not change, but he could feel something tighten within his chest, a coil wound too tightly, pulled taut by her words.
"How did you know about that?"
"Did you really think I wouldn't have my own eyes inside Ashbourne Manor after all those years living there?"
She finally turned to face him, her gaze met his. There was no warmth there, nor was there malice. But something shimmered beneath the surface.
"I had my suspicions. But I didn't realize the informant was someone working so closely around me."
The admission burned quietly on his tongue, but the taste was bitter all the same.
"It seems I'll have to cut out the rotten branches when I return home."
She smiled faintly, as if amused by a private thought.
"Sure. If that is what you want."
"Who else knows about this?"
"You need not worry..."
She returned her gaze to the book resting on her lap, as though they were only discussing the weather.
"...No one else is aware. It stays between us."
Arthur said nothing, watching her for a moment longer. Gauging her sincerity, if such a thing could be measured at all. Then slowly, he gave her a faint nod.
"If that's the case, then I'd appreciate it if you kept it that way."
"Alright. I will."
After a moment of silence, she beckoned her maid, who had stood silently a few paces away, her presence as unobtrusive as a shadow.
"Anne, bring the item I asked you to prepare."
"Yes, Madam."
Anne then left the garden quietly.
"Why don't you sit beside me, hmm?"
"Ah. Should I?"
She gave him a gentle nod, and then she moved her attention back toward the book.
Arthur, who had been standing for a while, sat on the bench quietly without disturbing his mother.
After a brief moment, Anne returned with a small box, lacquered and polished to a gleam. It sat weightless in her gloved hands, like a relic meant for someone else's past.
She then placed it delicately in her madam's waiting palms. And without ceremony, she extended it toward Arthur.
"Take this with you. I doubt you had time to prepare it yourself."
He accepted the box, fingers brushing the cool surface as he opened the lid.
Inside, nestled in velvet as dark as midnight, were two rings, crafted with a refinement that could not be mistaken. Their design bore the quiet dignity of something not meant to draw attention, but to endure.
For a moment, he remained silent. Then, in a low voice, he spoke.
"...Thank you, Mother."
She only gave a dip of the head, yet it carried the weight of something long overdue.
She stood then, brushing invisible dust from her skirts. Her movements were deliberate, graceful, but slower than he remembered, either from the years or from something else entirely.
He stepped past her, meaning to leave without another word, when her voice caught the wind again.
"Don't get injured… Arthur."
Arthur stopped in his tracks before he even realized that he had.
The wind picked up once more, carrying with it the scent of fallen leaves and a hush that seemed to swallow the world whole. Time, for that brief instant, hung suspended.
Those simple and rare words struck with a force that left no wound but stirred something far deeper.
He did not turn. His voice found its way back after a moment.
"I'll be careful, Mother. After all, I'm not the same boy who once clung to the hem of his mother's gown."
A breath of a chuckle followed, light as windchimes.
"No… You've grown up, and quite remarkably at that. Well, I never had the chance to say this before. But it must have been difficult… growing up the way you did."
Arthur said nothing at first. There were no easy words to offer in return. No answer that wouldn't cheapen the quiet honesty of what she had just confessed.
"It wasn't that hard. Nonetheless, I appreciate your concern."
He stepped forward, allowing the garden to fall behind him.
"I'll visit again soon. Don't worry too much. And… take care of yourself as well."
And with that, he left, the wind rising around him like a farewell, rustling the trees with unseen hands.