The sun rose with agonizing slowness over the sprawling grounds of the Kingsley estate. It was the dawn of the sixth day.
To any casual, outside observer—perhaps a delivery boy bringing fresh milk to the kitchen doors, or a passing tenant farmer walking down the long, winding dirt lane—everything within the grand country manor was proceeding incredibly smoothly. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn back at exactly the right hour, the chimneys plumed with thick, gray woodsmoke against the pale morning sky, and the servants moved about their daily, rigorous chores with their usual swiftness. The silver in the dining room was polished to a blinding, high shine, and the roaring fires in the formal drawing rooms were kept burning bright and hot against the biting chill of the English country air.
Cole Kingsley was, as he had been all week, in a state of absolute, giddy anticipation.
