2. Homecoming
2
Homecoming
Brighthall Manor was abuzz with commotion, and the excitement in the air was palpable. Fresh flowers in varying shades of violet, lavender, and lilac lined the entryway and banisters. The scent of freshly baked pastries and the delightful aromas of the extravagant feast to come wafted throughout the house. Housemaids bobbed in and out of each room, dusters in hand, drawing open curtains and fluffing pillows on every bed, settee, and armchair in sight. In the fifteen years Rosalind had resided in the manor, she had never known it to look as primed and pristine as it did today.
“Did I mention how he dressed when I went to visit him at the capital last autumn? In the most finely crafted suits I’ve ever seen. Each and every one tailored to perfection.”
Rosalind glanced up from her book to where Valentina sat in front of a large oak vanity, running a soft horsehair brush through her luxurious, black hair.
“You did. Mentioned something about his hair as well if I recall,” Rosalind remarked as she closed the book and set it beside her on the bed.
“Oh yes, styled within an inch of its life. It’s what everyone is doing over there,” Valentina said with a wave of her hand. “I suggested he move his part a smidge to the left and he dared to say I wouldn’t understand because I didn’t know what was fashionable.” She scoffed. “Me? Not know fashion? Ridiculous. I most certainly know more than he does on the matter. ”
Rosalind chuckled. “He isn’t even here yet and already he’s managed to vex you.”
Valentina interlocked her fingers and stretched her arms out in front of her. “Just airing out last-minute grievances now so I can play the doting sister when he arrives.”
Rosalind raised her brows. “And how long do you think that will last?”
“Minutes,” Valentina remarked. “If we’re lucky,” she added with a wink.
The pair burst into laughter.
“Pardon me, Lady Valentina, Miss Rosalind,” came a sheepish voice from the doorway. Sylvia, one of the young housemaids who’d joined the manor a few months back poked her head into the room. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but Louis wanted me to inform you both that his lordship’s carriage is approaching the estate.”
Rosalind shot a surprised look at Valentina, who bolted upright and rushed over to the wardrobe.
“That bastard,” she murmured. “Of course he would arrive early.”
Rosalind was the last to join the welcome party lined up beyond the manor’s double doors; her breaths were short from hurrying down the stairs. She sidled up next to Valentina and threw Maria an apologetic look. The housekeeper sighed and gave a small, disapproving shake before tapping the side of her head. Rosalind lifted her hand to where Maria had indicated and felt an unruly patch of hair.
“Here, let me get that for you,” Valentina said as she tamed the stray hairs and brushed them behind Rosalind’s ear.
Valentina looked elegant as usual. She wore an emerald dress with a tiered skirt, made from a rich silk brocade with floral embroidery. Her hair was drawn up into a low twist, held together by a delicate gold hairpin comb. A light dusting of rouge sat atop her high cheekbones.
Rosalind looked down at her outfit of choice. She wore a terracotta-colored linen dress that bunched high on one side, revealing matching billowing slacks underneath. Valentina had tried desperately to dress Rosalind in clothes similar to her own, but Rosalind didn’t like the attention it drew from certain members of high society, who thought she was taking advantage of the Rashfords’ hospitality. So she opted for simpler, more subdued clothing, though Valentina made certain they were impeccably tailored.
Everyone’s attention shifted to the gravel drive as the sound of hoofbeats slowed and a carriage adorned with a familiar violet-and-gold emblem came to a halt. Franklin, the Rashfords’ white-haired coachman, moved to open the door, and a figure seemingly twice Franklin’s size emerged. The two shared a warm exchange and then the man of the hour was bounding up the stone steps.
The Jonathan Rashford who stepped into the entryway was not the one Rosalind had been expecting. The Jonathan she remembered had a sort of unkempt look about him. His dark hair was long and tousled and fell in front of his eyes. He had a rather spindly physique, having grown nearly a foot and a half within a year, and his weight hadn’t caught up. And he dressed in plain clothes, often not bothering to darn his boots or tuck in his shirts.
This Jonathan was something else entirely. He remained tall and slim—a Rashford trait—but there was a leanness to his figure now that Rosalind hadn’t noticed before. He wore a navy suit, tailored to accentuate the long lines of his body. A silver brooch and chain was pinned neatly atop one of his black peaked lapels. His hair was slicked back and styled into a sleek pompadour .
Valentina had told her as much, but Rosalind hadn’t thought anything of it. Now she saw it for herself, she found she couldn’t look away.
“Louis, my good man, I’ve missed you,” Jonathan said with a smile, his voice deep and melodic. He held out a hand.
“It’s good to have you back,” Louis replied as he shook it.
Jonathan pulled the steward in for an embrace. “It’s good to be back.”
Turning to Maria, Jonathan smiled again. The housekeeper threw her arms open, and Jonathan drew her into him. When they parted, she cupped his face in her hands. “Your grandmother would be so proud of you.”
Rosalind could tell by the hitch in Maria’s voice that she was close to tears, happy ones. Jonathan was like their own child to Maria and Louis, who helped raise him, Rosalind, and Valentina alongside the late Lady Rashford. And she was right; his grandmother would undoubtedly be proud of him.
At twenty-six, Jonathan was the youngest to assume the Chancellorship under the New Laws established a century ago. He was one of four Chancellors who comprised the country’s High Council, each responsible for a designated region. Denault was Jonathan’s jurisdiction, which he would govern alongside a regional council of five members. If Rosalind did her math correctly, he was set to serve as Chancellor for the next twenty-four years.
Legislation preceding the New Laws dictated that the Chancellorship transfer to a different member of the regional council as determined by the public every seventy-seven years. During that time, the position could be assumed by any next of kin should the need arise. A little more than half a century into the era of the New Laws, the Chancellorship transferred from the DuPonts to the Rashfords. Lord Thomas Rashford, husband of the dearly beloved late Lady Rashford, held the role for twenty-one years before his son, Lord Arthur Rashford, succeeded him. Jonathan and Valentina’s father was fourteen years into his tenure when both he and his wife perished at sea. Because Jonathan was only eight years old at the time, his grandmother stepped in as Chancellor Regent in his stead. When she passed away, Jonathan chose to defer his induction until he had completed his schooling, leaving the governing of Denault in the hands of the regional council.
Jonathan continued down the line, taking his time to greet every member of the household. He clapped a hand on the shoulder of Groundskeeper Kemba, who, like Louis and Maria, had attended the family for more than two decades. He proceeded to introduce himself to the newer staff members who had joined in recent years. First was Colby, a young footman who’d arrived at the estate two years ago. Next were Maria’s two housemaids, Charlene and Sylvia. Both were young and had only joined the household a few months back.
Though Jonathan was only four years her senior, Rosalind felt it could have been so much more at that moment. It was the way he carried himself, with confidence beyond his years. He exuded an almost palpable charisma that captivated those around him, apparent in the way the housemaids looked at him in awe and fawned over him as soon as he turned away.
His eyes briefly caught on her as he made his way over to where she and Valentina stood. He cocked his head slightly, and Rosalind wasn’t sure whether it was out of intrigue, surprise, or something else. Whatever the reason, it made her heart skip a beat.
Jonathan approached Valentina, brow arched. “Glad to see you haven’t burned the place down.”
Valentina raised her chin and brought a hand to her hip. “Perhaps I should have. Then we could have built a place large enough to house your undoubtedly inflated ego, Chancellor Rashford ,” she drawled .
“If it’s been able to weather yours for the past few years, I suspect it’ll do just fine as it stands,” he said wryly.
Valentina scoffed, but before she could dole out a retort, Jonathan pulled her in for a hug. She groaned for a moment before relenting and wrapping her arms around him.
“Maddening as ever,” she grumbled as she pulled away from him, but Rosalind spied the slight upward curve at the edge of Valentina’s mouth.
Rosalind huffed a laugh at her friend’s poor attempt at feigning annoyance. Sensing his gaze on her, Rosalind turned to Jonathan, who eyed her curiously.
“Rosalind, it’s been a while.”
She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. “Yes, it has,” she breathed. Words seemed challenging to come by as she peered up at the man before her. She recognized the eyes looking back at her, but the fine lines between his brows and lines at the corners of his eyes were less familiar. He was handsome but not exceedingly so. Individually, his features were quite sharp and pronounced, but together, they seemed to soften each other out somehow. And his lips appeared fuller, though she didn’t think she had paid them any mind before.
“You look quite well.” The sound of his voice brought Rosalind’s attention back to the moment, and she felt her cheeks warm. How long had she been staring at him?
“Th-thank you,” she stammered. “And you look…” She paused, trying to drum up some semblance of coherent thought. Impressive seemed fitting, but the idea of saying it aloud unnerved her, so she said the only other word that came to mind. “Different.”
Valentina snorted. “Different is one way to put it,” she interjected.
“In a good way, I hope,” Jonathan mused, ignoring his sister’s retort .
Rosalind felt gooseflesh prickle at the back of her neck as his gaze roamed her face, pausing fleetingly at her mouth. His eyes returned to hers and lingered for a moment longer before he turned and grinned at Maria.
“Any chance there’s a blueberry scone in my near future?”
Jonathan insisted everyone take the rest of the evening off to join him in the drawing room. Maria brought in a delightful selection of treats and refreshments—freshly baked rye topped with red wine and shallot-infused butter, cucumber sandwiches, warm blueberry scones with homemade apricot jam, and white wine and champagne.
For the next hour, Jonathan regaled the group with stories of his time at Sauvign’s capital, where he had spent the past three and a half years, studying law and observing High Council meetings. He spoke of the people he’d met, those he’d befriended, and others he recommended they steer clear of. He fielded questions from Charlene and Sylvia about the extravagant dinner parties and balls he’d attended. He described what it was like to walk through the halls of the oldest university in the country, its corridors adorned with paintings and sculptures designed by some of the country’s most illustrious artists.
In return, Valentina caught him up on happenings at the estate, which were few and far between—life at the manor had run smoothly while he was away, thanks largely to Maria and Louis. Valentina had managed estate affairs and ensured all accounts remained in good standing. She assured him she had returned the study to the way he liked it—dark and drab, she teased.
Charlene and Sylvia, giddy from the champagne, filled him in on the most lurid scandals and rumors that plagued high society. Not even Maria’s critical eye could keep them from divulging the latest gossip they’d heard from fellow housemaids at neighboring estates.
Rosalind smiled and laughed along with the rest of the group. It warmed her to see everyone she cared about in the same room, happy and relaxed. Any fears or reservations she’d held about Jonathan returning from the capital, cold and imperious, like so many others in high society, quickly dissipated. In its place, however, rose a new sort of uncertainty. One that questioned the way her heart fluttered whenever their gazes met.