Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
Russ stepped inside the grand estate, his journalist’s instincts buzzing as his eyes darted around the room. The house was opulent—almost overwhelming in its sheer scale—but there was something about it that felt... off. The air inside was cool, carrying a musty scent that reminded him of an old museum, like the house had existed in another time and was struggling to catch up with the present.
The floors beneath his feet were polished to a gleaming shine, reflecting the soft glow of antique chandeliers that hung from the high ceilings. Every surface seemed to radiate wealth: intricate wood paneling lined the walls, rich tapestries adorned the corners, and the art—he focused on one of the large, framed pieces hanging near the doorway—was unmistakably French. Old. The brushstrokes were delicate, the style reminiscent of the 18th-century Rococo period. It wasn’t just art; it was history, preserved in gilded frames.
Years ago he’d written a piece on an heiress who’d made the decision to donate all of her possessions to charity and climb Mount Everest. This house matched hers in size and design, giving him a rough idea of just how wealthy the owner must be.
As they walked farther inside, he was stuck on a thought, a strange one but unshakable. He didn’t know what town they were in. His last memory was of dozing off in the van somewhere in the middle of nowhere, and now here they were. In some mystery location he couldn’t point out on a map if his life depended on it. He nearly chuckled at the irony. Their life did depend on the mystery at this point.
His mind buzzed with questions as he tried to piece together their location.
The woman, still standing by the door, smiled politely. Her white hair shimmered in the low light, and although her face was lined with age, her eyes were sharp—watchful. Russ caught the trace of an accent when she spoke. European, he guessed, though he couldn’t quite place it. French? Maybe. There was something in the way she carried herself with grace and authority.
“I am Madame Fournier,” she said, her voice soft yet commanding. “Please, make yourselves at home. You must be exhausted after such a long journey.”
Before Russ could reply, a team of staff appeared—almost out of nowhere. They moved around the house with ease, their steps light and their movements purposeful. They seemed comfortable here, as though this mansion wasn’t just their place of work, but a second home. There was no nervous energy, no hesitation in their actions, which only deepened Russ's curiosity.
“Please, sit.” Madame Fournier gestured toward a set of high-backed chairs near the hearth. “I’ve had some tea prepared for you both.”
Russ exchanged a glance with Hillary, his curiosity growing with every passing moment. There was something deeply unsettling about being in a house like this and knowing nothing about it.
Hillary’s curiosity seemed to bubble over as she sank into the plush chair. “Where are we exactly?”
“This is the Willowbrooke Estate,” Madame Fournier said gently. “It was built by my grandfather in 1857. Our family has lived here ever since. It’s a grand estate, spanning over five hundred acres of private land. You’ll find forests, rolling hills, and gardens that were planted by my grandmother herself. It’s quite peaceful, I assure you.”
Russ’s mind latched onto the number—500 acres. That was a significant amount of land, especially considering the isolation he already felt. His eyes wandered to the window, trying to grasp how vast the estate was, but all he could see were looming shadows of trees and the fading light of dusk.
“Just beyond the main house,” Madame Fournier continued, her voice steady, “there’s a stable where we keep a number of horses. You’re welcome to visit them if you wish. The staff will be happy to show you around.”
Russ nodded absently. The information she was giving sounded like a casual rundown you’d hear at a guided tour, not the details he was hoping for about his own future.
“There’s also a lake about a mile down the path from here,” Madame Fournier said, gesturing vaguely in the direction of one of the many windows. “It’s quite serene. My grandfather had it dug out when the estate was first built. He thought it would add to the beauty of the land.”
“And how long are we supposed to stay here?” Russ interjected, his journalist instincts taking over. He wanted to know their situation, not a guided tour of the house’s past.
Madame Fournier smiled, a serene and slightly mysterious expression on her face. She didn’t seem bothered by Russ's direct question, but her response was as vague as before. “As long as it’s necessary,” she said. “At a minimum until the party is over.”
“Party?” Hillary asked before he could press the word from his own lips. “What party?”
“It’s the one hundred fiftieth anniversary of Willowbrooke Estate. We have a gala planned in two days. We hope you’ll stay long enough for that. As our guests, we’ll ensure you have anything you need for your stay and for the event. I know your luggage was lost. Your driver informed me. I am sure, as the grandniece of Clarissa Kinross, you’re accustomed to a standard of living and we’ll do our best to live up to that, isn’t that right, Sophie?” The woman refilling their tea curtseyed a bit and smiled.
“Of course, Madame, we’ll make you both feel right at home. We’re thrilled to have you joining us for the gala.”
Hillary didn’t skip a beat. “And we’re so pleased to be here. We appreciate the hospitality. I did lose some of my favorite items in that luggage but they are just things. We don’t sweat the small stuff.”
It threw Russ slightly off-kilter for a moment. The augmentation of reality. The ease at which she jumped it was impressive.
“Thank you,” he choked out after a sip of tea went down funny. He cleared his throat a few times and offered an awkward smile.
“I’ll get your measurements for your gown,” Sophie continued as she put the attractive porcelain teapot back on the tray. “And one of the valets will get your measurements, sir. We’ve already taken the liberty of adding some casual clothing to your closets that should be a suitable size.”
“Thank you,” Hillary sang kindly.
“Now,” Madame Fournier said, placing her teacup down, “why don’t we show you two newlyweds to your room. I am sure you’d like to freshen up and rest a bit before dinner.”
Russ, still flustered, put his dainty teacup down harder than he intended, the sound interrupting the serenity of the beautiful sitting room.
“Sorry,” he croaked. He’d always considered himself a nimble man. He’d go where the story took him and risked whatever was needed to get to the truth. He could play the part. But for some reason, the idea of being suddenly married to Hillary was enough to make his palms sweat.
Hillary shot him a comforting look and it settled him a bit. She took his hand as Sophie led them out of the large room and up a grand staircase.
Their footsteps were muffled by the plush, ornate carpet that covered each step. When they reached the top, Sophie stopped before a large set of double doors, each carved with intricate details that hinted at the estate's long history. She turned to them with a polite smile, her hands clasped in front of her.
“This will be your suite for the duration of your stay,” she said, opening the doors to reveal an elegant room bathed in the soft glow of antique sconces. The room was vast, dominated by a grand four-poster bed draped in luxurious fabrics, with a sitting area by the windows that overlooked the estate's expansive grounds.
“Wow,” Russ said through a long breath. He felt Hillary’s elbow jab him gently. There was a part to play here. They were meant to be an affluent couple and while it was beautiful here, he needed to tone down how impressed he was.
“Thank you, Sophie,” Hillary sang. “We’ll let you know what else we need.”
With a slight bow Sophie stepped out of the room and closed the doors tightly.
“Not too bad,” Hillary said, waggling her brows playfully. “Just how I pictured my honeymoon suite."