Chapter 2
Tobias stood at his study window and watched the mist lift from the far edge of the grounds. The morning had begun with a restless weight in his chest, and the letter on his desk had not helped. He had opened it before dawn, read it twice, and folded it with more care than it deserved.
The paper still lay where he had placed it, the seal broken cleanly, the handwriting unmistakable.
Each line had carried a tone he had not expected, and the contents had left him with more questions than answers.
He had tried to set it aside, but the unease of it remained, steady and unwelcome, pushing at the edges of his thoughts as the light grew stronger outside.
The study felt unusually close around him.
He had spent years in this room without ever feeling confined by it, yet the letter had altered something in him.
The handwriting alone had stirred a tension he had not expected, a reminder of conversations he had no desire to revisit.
He rubbed his thumb once along the edge of the desk, as though the grain of the wood might comfort him, but the unease stayed where it was.
Tobias glanced at the clock, letting his eyes rest on the hands for a moment. The time was later than he expected. He had spent longer with the note than he intended, reading the same lines without gaining anything new from them.
He straightened a little, the shift in time bringing him back to the morning he actually had. Weatherby would already have the dogs waiting. The guns would be checked. The route would be set. Tobias had agreed to join him, and the household expected him to keep to his routine.
I wonder, he thought, and not for the first time, whether I enjoy any of this, or simply do it because I always have?
The predictability of his mornings brought comfort, even if he no longer knew whether he enjoyed them.
The estate ran on routine, and so did he.
Each hour was accounted for, and each task familiar.
It was easier to keep moving than to question why he did any of it.
The dogs, the fields, the steady rhythm of the hunt: they asked nothing of him beyond presence and competence.
He looked once more at the folded note on the desk, then turned away from it. What it contained could wait until he returned. The hunt would not.
Tobias crossed to the corner of the study where his coats hung on a simple wooden stand.
The morning light reached only part of the room, leaving the rest in a muted stillness as he lifted the navy coat from its hook.
He shook the fabric once to settle it, then slipped his arms into the sleeves.
He fastened each button with steady, regular movements, checking the collar with a brief touch to ensure it lay flat.
Behind him, a quiet throat-clearing sounded from the doorway. Tobias turned and saw Weatherby standing just outside the threshold, his posture straight, his expression composed. He had clearly been waiting for the right moment to announce himself.
Tobias finished the last button, then faced him fully.
He motioned for Weatherby to come into the room.
Weatherby’s duties had always reached a little farther than those of most butlers, and no one questioned it now.
He and Tobias were the same age, and in their thirty-one years had both grown into their responsibilities, each shaped by the demands of Ravenshollow in their own ways.
“Your gun is prepared, My Lord,” Weatherby said. “Shall I bring the dogs round?”
“Yes,” Tobias replied. “I will meet you by the south field.”
Weatherby hesitated. The pause was slight, but it broke the steady rhythm of the morning. Tobias noticed the shift at once. Weatherby’s eyes moved, not toward Tobias, but past him, settling on the desk behind his shoulder.
Tobias followed the direction of his gaze. The letter lay exactly where he had left it, the broken seal visible even from across the room.
Tobias sighed, knowing it must be addressed.
“It is from her,” Tobias said. “You may as well know.”
Weatherby’s brows lifted a fraction. “Miss Stanhope?”
Tobias nodded.
Weatherby did not reply. His posture remained straight, his hands clasped behind his back, but a slight tightening around his eyes showed he understood more than Tobias wished to say aloud.
He kept his gaze steady, waiting, neither encouraging nor questioning.
A steward in his position could not ask what the letter contained, yet the silence made it clear he was prepared to hear more if Tobias chose to continue.
Tobias looked away from him, his jaw set.
“She intends to visit,” Tobias said.
The words felt bitter. He could already imagine the sound of her voice filling the halls again, the way she would walk through the house as though she had every right to direct its course. He had not invited her, yet she would arrive all the same, certain she was needed. Certain she was welcome.
Weatherby looked up. “She intends to visit, sir?”
“Yes.”
“May I ask why?”
Tobias let out a slow breath. “She believes her presence will be of use to the children.”
Weatherby nodded once. “I see. And is that all?”
Tobias hesitated. “No.”
Weatherby waited, giving him room. “There is something further, then?”
Tobias’s jaw tightened. “She believes her presence will be of use to me as well.”
Weatherby absorbed that in silence, his expression unmoving. “I understand.
Tobias felt a flicker of irritation. She had always assumed she understood him better than he understood himself, as though her judgment were a gift for which he ought to be grateful.
Weatherby’s stillness only sharpened the feeling.
The man knew enough of the past to understand what the letter implied, but not enough to speak of it.
They sat without speaking for a moment. Tobias shook his head slightly, a small, final gesture that made it clear he would not say more.
Weatherby inclined his head, accepting the boundary. “Very well, sir.”
“See to the preparations, Weatherby. I will join you outside shortly.”
Weatherby gave a single, sharp nod. He turned at once, his movements quiet and efficient, and crossed the threshold without another word.
Tobias watched him go. The door closed with a soft click, and the sound of Weatherby’s footsteps carried down the corridor in an even rhythm.
The steady tread grew fainter as he moved farther from the study, until it blended into the stillness of the house and left Tobias alone with the lingering quiet.
Tobias stepped away from the desk, leaving the note where it lay.
Of course, she intends to visit. She never doubts her own usefulness.
He crossed the study in a steady line, his hand closing around the door handle.
She has always been certain of her place, certain that others must welcome her judgment.
He pulled the door open and stepped into the corridor, the quiet of the house settling around him.
I once admired that certainty. Now it unsettles me.
He started down the hall, his footsteps even on the polished floor.
I do not know what I feel about her return, and I do not care to examine it closely.
He reached the main staircase and descended, the morning light growing stronger with each step.
I have no wish to reopen old expectations.
At the bottom, he crossed to the entrance, the air shifting cooler as he neared the door.
Yet I cannot refuse her without inviting talk, and I have endured enough talk this past year.
He stepped outside, the grounds opening before him. Weatherby and the dogs waited at the edge of the field, prepared and expectant. Tobias stepped toward them, leaving the note and its questions behind for now.
Tobias drew alongside Weatherby, and they crossed the gravel path that led away from the house. The morning air was cool, and the ground still held traces of moisture from the night. Ahead of them, the hunting dogs trotted in a loose formation, their bodies alert, their ears pricked.
They kept a steady pace, pausing now and then to test the air or glance back to be sure Tobias followed. Their paws left faint marks in the soft earth, and the quiet sound of their movement carried across the open space.
The view widened as they walked. The lawns gave way to a stretch of rougher ground, where the grass grew taller, and the soil darkened.
A few crows lifted from the fence posts as they approached, their wings beating in slow, regular strokes.
Beyond that, the fields opened fully, the far hedges still touched with the last of the morning mist. The sun cast its pale light across the land, revealing the uneven lines of the plowed earth and the distant shapes of the tenant cottages.
Tobias slowed a little, taking in its breadth. “It is a fine morning,” he said quietly.
Weatherby followed his gaze. “It is, sir. The land shows well today.”
“The mist lingers longer than I expected.”
“It does,” Weatherby replied. “It gives the fields a calm look. Almost still.”
Tobias nodded, his eyes traveling over the cottages in the distance. “I forget, at times, how much there is to see.”
Weatherby gave a small, approving sound. “It is a good place to begin the day, sir.”
They walked on in silence, the quiet settling comfortably between them.
The dogs reached the edge of the field first and stopped, waiting for Tobias to catch up.
One of them gave a short, low sound in his throat, not a bark, but a signal of readiness.
Tobias slowed his steps as he reached them, taking in the breadth of the land before him, the quiet, and the steady presence of the animals at his side.
He stepped forward into the field. Weatherby opened the case and began to load the gun.
Tobias watched the fluent movements, the sure way Weatherby checked each piece before setting it in place.
The familiar click of metal and the steady pace of each action settled into the quiet around them. Nothing was hurried or uncertain.