Chapter 9
Victoria closed the front door behind her with a hollow click that echoed through the cavernous foyer.
Dust veiled the floor in a thin film. Cobwebs draped from the corners like tattered lace, and the once-grand chandelier hung motionless above her.
There seemed to be dust and cobwebs and neglect everywhere she looked.
Her uncle was right. This house, as proud and sprawling as it was, needed help. It needed life again.
She would start with staff.
But first, food.
She turned toward the dining room, her stomach hollow. Maybe some remnants of breakfast remained. But when she stepped through the archway, the long table was already cleared. Not a crumb in sight. The room was silent. A faint clink drifted from beyond.
She followed the sound to the kitchen.
The moment she pushed the door open, she halted. Surprise etched through her.
Gabriel stood at the sink, sleeves rolled to his elbows, rinsing the final teacup. He moved with quiet precision, his back to her, utterly unaware—or unconcerned—by her presence. He placed the cup on a cloth to dry and turned, finding her staring.
“Oh,” she said, breath catching. “You’ve already cleared everything. I thought perhaps there was a cook I hadn’t met yet.”
He reached for a linen towel, dried his hands in smooth, practiced strokes, then met her gaze. His face, as always, was unreadable.
“There is no cook, Miss Ravenwood,” he said simply. “I prepare what’s necessary.”
“You?” The word slipped out, tinged with disbelief. “You do all this yourself?”
That explained the dust. The disrepair. He was only one man. And this house—this estate—was far too much for one person to manage.
“It’s part of my duties,” he said, voice neutral, practiced.
She crossed her arms, gaze sweeping the room. Unlike the rest of Ravenfell, the kitchen was tidy. Counters gleamed. Copper pots hung in perfect rows above the stove. No splatters. No crumbs. No clutter. Every drawer and cabinet shut tight, everything in its place.
His place.
This was his domain.
And yet, he stood there like a statue. Towel clutched tightly in his hands. Eyes guarded. Walls so thick she’d need a chisel to get through them.
Was it that he didn’t want her here? Or was that just who he was—distant, cold, unknowable?
Either way, if she didn’t find a way to coexist with Gabriel Allward, her new life would be far lonelier than she’d imagined.
“I can’t have you doing it all,” she said, stepping farther into the room. “I intend to send out inquiries today. The house needs a proper staff. A cook, for sure. A housekeeper. A groundskeeper. Possibly a butler.”
His jaw ticked. Barely. But she noticed.
“As you wish, Miss Ravenwood,” he said, folding the towel with precision. “I’d be happy to deliver the letters on your behalf.”
She arched a brow. “No need. I’ll manage. A walk will do me good.”
Something unreadable passed through his expression, then vanished as quickly as it came. “As you say.”
She left the kitchen with a new sense of purpose and a touch of unease. The manor might not want her here, and Gabriel certainly wasn’t going to make it easy.
But it was her house now.
And she would make it her own.
When she left the kitchen, Gabriel sagged against the sink. The quiet returned. But it wasn’t comforting. Not anymore. He braced himself against the sink. The thought of strangers roaming the halls again, touching things best left untouched, made his skin crawl.
Apprehension swept through him at the thought of the lady hiring more staff. If she hired staff, where did that leave him? He was bound here. He could not leave, even if he wanted to. He knew, from experience, that would not go well. Ravenfell would not want that.
Nor would Lenore.
He hadn’t sensed her presence all morning. A reprieve, he hoped. The moment new employees arrived, she would become ever present. Lingering in the shadows and doing her best to make life unbearable for everyone in the manor.
Himself included.
He hadn’t had a chance to look over the ledgers he took from the study. But the fresh ink with Victoria’s name haunted him. He suspected he knew what that meant, but he didn’t want to admit it. He preferred not to think about the past.
And he certainly could not think about a future with the new mistress.
The scent of lilacs lingered, enveloping him. As though his thoughts conjured her. She was here.
You cannot allow her to hire staff.
His chest constricted. “Please, don’t,” he whispered. “She is the new mistress.”
She’s already disturbed the west wing more than once.
“She didn’t mean to. She didn’t know.”
That doesn’t matter. It didn’t then. It doesn’t now.
His mouth went dry as he turned to face the sink. His gaze fixed on the window over it, peering into the garden where the herbs swayed in the wind and the flowers fluttered against the breeze.
The days of serenity were over. His solitude was gone. And with that meant the return of Lenore and—
No. He wouldn’t think of that now. He couldn’t. The memory was too painful. He shoved the thoughts back down into the shadowed recesses of his mind. His eyes closed against the cheerful garden to push those dark thoughts back.
Darkness. Yes, he deserved to live in darkness for the rest of his miserable days for what he did. He deserved to be alone and forgotten.
Get rid of her. Or I will.
Lenore was gone leaving behind her dangerous threat.
He sagged against the sink, that tightness in his chest refusing to leave.
There was no way to get rid of Victoria.
Her determination to stay was written all over her face when she stood in the kitchen and announced her intention to hire more staff.
He offered to take the letters for one reason only—to destroy them.
He didn’t have the heart to tell her no one would answer her advertisements, but she would find out soon enough.
The rumors Ravenfell manor was cursed or haunted had swirled through the village for years.
But then, they weren’t mere rumors, were they?
The manor was cursed and haunted. And only now that the new mistress was in residence did the shadows stir once again.
Which reminded him about the ledgers. Thinking of them once again, he flung down the dishtowel and headed out of the kitchen. He paused in the foyer, listening for any signs of life within the manor. Victoria was likely in the study writing her letters. If so, she would be there for a while.
Which would give him time to look at the ledgers undisturbed. He hurried up the stairs to his room at the far end of the hall in the east wing. He did his best to avoid the west wing whenever possible. Too many memories. Too much sadness.
And when Victoria forced him to open the door to the child’s room, his heart cleaved in two.
At his room, he shoved open the door and closed it with a click. He’d hidden the ledgers under the dusty bed. Kneeling, he pulled them out, then sat back on his heels and stared down at the books.
Apprehension swept through him as he reached for the top one, his hand shaking. When he flipped it open, he halted. There was Victoria’s name written in the blood-colored ink.
But below was a new line scrawled there.
Do not love her or she will take my place.
He slammed the book closed and shoved it back under the bed. He scrambled back to his feet and stumbled backward until his back smacked the closed bedroom door.
The warning was clear. The danger was present. And he was certain Lenore would make good on her threat.