Chapter 3
The moment Gabriel opened the door to see Victoria Ravenwood bathed in the last breath of the waning evening, his heart jolted.
She was here. She had returned.
Her upturned face caught the last rays of the fading sun, highlighting her golden skin.
It was hard not to notice the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and upper cheeks.
Or the way her hazel eyes shined with curiosity, a little fear, and perhaps a little recognition.
Or the way golden strands gleamed in her perfectly coifed chestnut hair.
His pulse pounded.
This woman, this Victoria Ravenwood, was not the little girl he remembered.
No. She’d grown into a vibrant, beautiful woman.
There was something warm and gentle about her that was undeniable.
Something that made his senses shift and take notice.
He feared if she remained here, that vibrancy would dull and her light would be snuffed out.
He refused to acknowledge the sudden shift in his senses. The unwelcome pull toward the beautiful young heiress standing in his foyer.
Did she know what she stepped into when she came to Ravenfell Manor?
No, likely not. How had this come to pass? Surely, had her parents lived, they’d have never let her come here alone.
He remembered her as a child. But now she was a woman.
Grown into a young lady of beauty and grace.
And far too na?ve to be the mistress of Ravenfell.
She was never meant to return and yet, there she was, looking at him with a sense of familiarity as though she remembered him, as though she saw him for who and what he was. And that hope was the worst of it.
He banished that hope immediately. Locked it away in the deep, dark recesses of his heart in the same place he’d buried all the other feelings. Where it would starve, silent and unseen.
Now, Gabriel led the new mistress up the stairs to her room, his feet slow and methodical. The house, he knew, was listening. Watching.
Irritation clawed through him at the sight of the uncle. He wanted him gone, forthwith. He wanted him to return to wherever he came from and, if had any sense at all, he’d take Miss Ravenwood with him. She didn’t belong here. She was far too delicate a flower for the sinister halls of the manor.
But the gentlemen in him refused to turn either of them away. And so, he led the uncle to his own room, handing off his bag and allowing him to settle. The man hovered in the doorway with concern gleaming in his bright eyes as he looked at Victoria.
“Good night, uncle,” she said, her tone clipped. As though she was ready to be done with him and everything for the evening.
He gave a nod. “Good night, Victoria.”
Then his gaze skipped to Gabriel. For a moment, Gabriel thought he saw a warning in the depths of the man’s eyes. But then Pembroke gave a slight bow and shut the door with a snap, leaving the two of them alone in the hallway.
“Your room is just there.” Gabriel pointed to the other end of the hall.
She nodded, saying nothing, allowing him to continue to carry her bag. He wondered, then, if there would be more bags arriving on the morrow. Trunks of dresses, hats, and shoes no doubt.
“Will your other things be arriving soon?” he asked, his voice loud in the quietness of the hallway.
“My other things?” she asked, her dark brows drawing together in question.
“Your trunks,” he explained.
“Oh.” She said the word on a breath. “I have no other things.”
Surprise etched through him. He focused on the other end of the hall, the weight of her one bag suddenly heavy in his hand.
She only had the one? Nothing more? He slid her a sideways glance wondering what happened to her.
Wondering why she had the one bag. He refrained from asking, for he knew it wasn’t his place to pry.
So, he said nothing as he picked up the pace to her room, his polished shoes making a clip-clip sound on the wood planks.
At the door, he paused for her to catch up. When she was close—too close for his comfort—he turned the knob and swung it open. He waited for her to step inside first, but she didn’t. She hesitated in the threshold, peering inside the room with her hands tightly clenching the handle of her reticule.
“This is…my room?” Her voice was soft, full of wonder tinged with apprehension.
“Yes,” he said his voice succinct.
When she did not move into the room, he stepped inside and placed her bag on the chair nearest the bed.
Finally, she took a step and gazed around with wide-eyed innocence that sent a sharp pang through his chest. Why did she have to look at it like that? Like the world was still full of beauty? Like this room was a gift?
Of course, she did. She likely hadn’t seen one like it before.
It was palatial by most standards. The far wall held towering windows covered by thick brocade draperies that blocked the sun when they were pulled together.
The heavy drapes were drawn aside, leaving only gossamer sheers to veil the tall windows, now tinted with dusk.
In the morning, sunlight would spill through the gauze and slash across the hardwood floor and its thick, jewel-toned rug.
Before the windows, a balloon-backed chair and a fainting couch in muted embossed damask sat in a quiet arrangement.
A fireplace, now dormant, was on the wall across from the large four-poster bed draped in velvet curtains. The marble mantle was bare. No portraits, no keepsakes. Just emptiness where memories should have been.
Next to the bed, on either side, a mahogany side table. A brass candelabra on each dulled by age. And finally, a mahogany armoire, ornately carved, on the same wall as the hearth.
Gabriel stood beyond the doorway, uneasy with how alive the room felt now that she was in it. Ravenfell had not been lived in for a long, long time. And yet, he feared it might remember how.
When she’d taken in the full expanse of the room, she turned to him. A blush crept into her cheeks as she caught his gaze still fixed on her. He hadn’t looked away once. He should have looked away. It would’ve been polite. Safer. But he couldn’t.
“I hope you find it to your liking,” he said at last.
“Yes, thank you.”
“I’m glad. If you need anything, use the bellpull.”
He backed out of the room as she nodded.
With his hand on the knob, he gave her one last glance before stepping out and closing the door.
He paused outside her room for a long moment and waited.
Listening. The silence pressed in. The only sound was that of his labored breathing and the roar of his pulse in his ears.
He had to step away. He had to return to his own space.
As he turned for the stairs, he noticed it. Fog curled low through the corridor like smoke from an unseen fire. The house was stirring.
When the door shut behind Gabriel, Victoria remained rooted in place in the middle of the room. She had never been in something so grand. She didn’t recognize the space and couldn’t even recall where her childhood room was. As though the house had shifted in her absence.
Gabriel’s innocent question about the rest of her trunks conjured unwanted, raw memories to surface. The fire. The smoke. Her parents. Gone. Everything she owned burned with them. Life as she knew it, gone up in flames.
The only clothes she managed to bring with her were the ones packed in the case. A few gowns—one of those her mourning gown. No hats to speak of. A pair of shoes and gloves, which she wore. Though she doubted she’d need ball gowns or any other finery here in the isolated country.
It wasn’t as though she’d have a season, like she’d hoped.
A chill permeated the room. She clutched her elbows and eyed the hearth, blackened from use. No fire resided there now. She should have asked Gabriel to start one before he left.
No matter.
At the armoire, she pulled open the door. Inside, on the top shelf, an extra blanket. Nothing else. It smelled faintly of dust, old wood, and non-use. Unpacking and hanging her gowns seemed rather ludicrous, so she left them for now and moved to the darkened windows.
Pushing aside the gossamer curtain, she peered out. Full on darkness pressed against the window panes. The full moon overhead cast a blue-white illumination over the perfect lawn, making it glisten. Beyond that, nothing but shadows and shapes.
She heaved a sigh as she let the curtain fall back into place.
“Well, then,” she murmured. “I suppose this is home now, isn’t it?”
She said it to no one but herself. The air thickened. A soft creak echoed through the rafters. The room shifted as though hearing her and agreeing. The air around where she stood turned suddenly icy, her arms pricking under the sleeves of her gown. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end.
She wasn’t alone. She knew that without knowing how. A shudder went through her.
Shoving those thoughts away, she scurried to the bed where she kicked off her shoes, removed her gloves, tossing them on the bedside table, and quickly shucked her dress.
Wearing nothing but her shift, she pulled back the coverlet and slid underneath the blankets, pulling them up to her chin.
She left every candle burning in the hopes it would ward off whatever phantom lurked within the confines of her room.
Her wide eyes skipped from the cold fireplace to the windows to the armoire. Whatever she sensed, though, was gone.
Perhaps her tired mind was doing nothing but playing tricks on her. It was a long day, after all. She needed rest. In the morning sun, everything would look different.
She hoped.
She had to.
Because the dark was listening.