What am I about to encounter?

The question repeated itself in Miss Eloise Lennox’s mind as the carriage jolted over the rough path, each bump sending a tremor through her body. Her fingers gripped the worn leather of the seat beside her, knuckles white against the dim light filtering through the carriage windows. The familiar, rolling fields and quiet villages of home were long behind her, and with each passing mile, she felt the distance not only in the landscape but in the growing weight of her unease.

She had spent the entire journey trying to keep her mind occupied, repeating reassurances. It is only business. He has summoned me regarding Father’s estate. That is all. And yet, no matter how she framed it, the truth weighed upon her thoughts: she had no idea what the Duke of Draycott wanted with her.

The countryside around her had shifted from the gentle, cultivated farmlands to wild and desolate terrain. The trees here were old, their twisted branches reaching toward the darkening sky like skeletal hands. The road itself was narrow, barely wide enough for the carriage to pass, and the path had grown more uneven with every turn. The fading light only added to the ominous atmosphere, as though the world itself was trying to warn her against continuing.

Eloise glanced at the carriage window, watching as the gray mist pressed against the glass, swirling in ethereal shapes. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was heading toward something far more dangerous than a simple meeting about her father’s estate. But what choice did she have? The Duke’s letter had been clear, even if it had been lacking in warmth. He had summoned her, and whatever this business entailed, it was not something she could refuse.

Her father’s estate.

Father never spoke of the Duke, she thought, frowning as the memory of his cryptic words surfaced again. He had mentioned debts, obligations—a conversation so rare in its seriousness that it had stayed with her, even after his passing. Yet, he had never directly referenced the Duke of Draycott. Her curiosity about the connection between the Duke and her father simmered beneath her fear. What had Father been hiding?

The carriage lurched again, pulling her out of her reverie as the rough road jostled her in her seat. Outside, the trees grew denser, their shadows thick and oppressive, blocking what little light remained. It felt as though the very landscape was trying to push her back, to keep her from reaching Draycott Manor.

No turning back now, Eloise thought, steeling herself as the first hint of the manor’s silhouette appeared in the distance.

As the carriage continued its difficult journey on the uneven road, Eloise’s thoughts drifted from the bleak landscape to her own inner turmoil. The questions swirling in her mind refused to settle, and no matter how much she tried to focus on the present, they kept pulling her back to one night in particular, a night she hadn’t thought of in years.

Eloise closed her eyes, leaning back in the swaying carriage as the image of her father floated back into her mind. It had been so long since she had thought about that conversation—the one they had shortly before his untimely death.

She could still picture him, seated in his favorite leather chair by the fireplace in his study. His brow had been furrowed, his hands clasped together tightly in his lap, a sure sign that something troubled him deeply.

“Eloise,” he had said, his voice unusually grave, “there are things in this world—obligations—that we sometimes inherit. Not always by choice, but by necessity.”

He had looked at her then, his gaze searching, as if weighing whether or not she could carry the burden he was about to place on her shoulders. She had always seen him as an immovable force—strong, unshakable, the one constant in her life. But that evening, something in him had been different. There was a heaviness in his eyes, a kind of weariness she hadn’t understood at the time.

“Father, what do you mean?” she had asked, her young heart pounding with a mixture of curiosity and concern. He had only smiled at her, a tired, sad smile that made her stomach twist in knots.

“You’ll understand one day, my dear,” he had replied, evading her question with a cryptic reassurance. “But when the time comes, you must trust yourself. You are stronger than you think. And whatever may transpire—whatever debts or promises I may have left behind—know that they were made with the best intentions. You’ll have to bear them, Eloise, but you won’t bear them alone. The right person will find you.”

At the time, she had been too young, too sheltered to comprehend the full meaning of his words. He had often spoken in such riddles, believing that he was protecting her from the harsher realities of their world. But now, as the cold wind whipped against the carriage windows and Draycott Manor loomed ahead in the distance, Eloise couldn’t help but wonder if this was what he had been warning her about.

What promises had her father made? And to whom? The questions plagued her, intensifying the sensation of unease in her stomach as the carriage bumped over the uneven countryside.

She wished more than anything that he were still alive—that she could sit with him one last time, hear his reassuring voice tell her what to do. But that was a luxury she no longer had. Whatever her father’s cryptic warnings had meant, it was now up to her to unravel them.

Draycott Estate was no longer just a distant mystery—it was about to become her reality. Her heart pounded as the carriage rattled on, and with each passing moment, the weight of her father’s warning grew heavier.

The journey seemed endless, the road growing darker and more perilous with each turn. The mist had thickened into a low-hanging fog that wrapped around the trees and the path, making it difficult to see more than a few feet ahead. Eloise shivered, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders, though it did little to ward off the cold, creeping sense of foreboding.

The sound of hooves striking the uneven ground broke through the eerie silence, and Eloise’s heart quickened as the carriage finally slowed. The coachman’s voice called out to the horses, his tone clipped and tense, as if even he felt the weight of the place they were approaching.

“Draycott Manor, Miss,” the coachman announced, his voice muffled by the mist.

Eloise leaned forward, peering through the window, but at first, all she could see was the thick fog swirling around them. Then, as they crested a small rise, the looming structure of the manor came into view, barely visible through the haze.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Draycott Manor was larger than she had imagined, its dark stone walls rising up like a fortress from the rugged landscape. Ivy clung to the sides of the building, winding its way up the turrets and creeping toward the roof, as though the very earth was trying to reclaim it. The windows were narrow and dark, casting no light into the gloom that surrounded the manor. It was a place of shadows, of secrets buried deep within its walls.

The carriage came to a stop, and the coachman hurried down to open the door for her. Eloise paused just a little, her heart pounding as she stared at the ominous entrance. The massive wooden doors, reinforced with iron, stood like a barrier between her and whatever lay inside. For the briefest moment, she considered telling the coachman to turn the carriage around, to take her back to the familiar warmth of Hartwell House.

But I cannot run from this, she reminded herself, pushing the fear aside. Whatever this business is, I will face it head-on.

She stepped down from the carriage, her boots sinking into the damp ground as she pulled her cloak tighter around her. Her maid followed right after her with fear evident on her face. The air was cold, and the mist clung to her skin like a wet shroud, making her shiver. As she stood there, taking in the sight of the manor, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had just crossed a threshold from which there was no return.

***

The massive doors creaked open, and Eloise found herself standing in the grand entrance hall of Draycott Manor. The interior was as imposing as the exterior, with high ceilings and walls lined with dark, heavy tapestries. The floor was cold stone, polished but worn with age, and the air smelled faintly of dampness and decay, as though the manor itself had been forgotten by time.

A figure appeared in the shadows of the hall, moving with a slow, deliberate pace. Mrs. Thorne, the housekeeper, emerged from the gloom, her sharp eyes assessing Eloise with a look that was both welcoming and wary.

“Miss Lennox,” Mrs. Thorne said, her voice clipped but respectful. “His Grace is expecting you.”

Eloise nodded, her pulse quickening as she followed Mrs. Thorne deeper into the manor. The corridors were long and dimly lit, with the occasional flicker of candlelight casting eerie shadows all around. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the soft echo of their footsteps.

Finally, they reached a set of heavy oak doors, and Mrs. Thorne stopped.

“The Duke will see you now,” she said, her expression unreadable. “Do not be alarmed by his manner, Miss. His Grace is… not accustomed to visitors.”

Eloise’s heart was racing as Mrs. Thorne opened the doors and ushered her inside.

The room beyond was large and sparsely furnished, with a single, imposing figure standing near the hearth. Graham Morland, the Duke of Draycott, turned slowly to face her, and Eloise’s breath caught in her throat at the sight of him.

Standing before her was a man whose presence dominated the room. His towering frame, once likely a source of pride, now seemed weighed down by invisible burdens. The jagged scar etched across his face was not just a mark of injury but of something deeper—anguish, rage, and years of isolation. His eyes, hollow and intense, seemed to burn with an unspoken plea, yet held walls so high that no one could climb over them.

Eloise swallowed hard, trying to steady her breath as she took in the sight of him. The scar that cut across his face wasn’t just a physical mark—it was a wall, she realized, one that kept the world at arm’s length. There was pain in his eyes, though he kept it buried beneath the cold mask of indifference. She wondered, for a fleeting instant, what could have happened to a man like him to make him shut himself off from the world.

But whatever it was, it had left him distant, almost untouchable. His gaze, piercing and sharp, made her feel exposed, as if he could see each one of her insecurities. But what did he see when he looked at her? Did he see someone unworthy, just like the others in her life had once seen? Or was he too far gone behind those barriers to care at all?

“Your Grace,” Eloise managed, offering a small curtsy despite the sudden tightness in her chest.

The Duke’s gaze did not waver. “Miss Lennox,” he said, his voice low and gravelly, as though he rarely used it. “You’ve made the journey.”

His tone was not welcoming. If anything, it was laced with something like annoyance, as though her presence was an intrusion he could barely tolerate. He did not move toward her, did not offer any sign of hospitality or warmth. Instead, he remained by the fire, his tall, scarred frame casting a dark silhouette in the quivering light.

“I did,” Eloise replied, forcing herself to stand tall despite the chill that ran down her spine. “I hope I am not intruding.”

The Duke’s lips twisted into something that might have been a smile, but it was devoid of any real humor. “Intruding? No. You were summoned, were you not?”

Eloise nodded, feeling the tension between them settle like a thick fog. “Yes, Your Grace. You requested my presence regarding a matter involving my father’s estate.”

The Duke’s eyes darkened at the mention of her father, and for a short while, something sparked across his scarred face—something like pain. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by the cold, distant expression that seemed to be his default.

“Yes,” he said, his voice clipped. “We will discuss that matter in the morning.”

Eloise blinked, surprised by the abruptness of his response. “As you wish,” she said slowly, unsure of what to make of his strange behavior. “I… I appreciate your hospitality.”

The Duke said nothing for a long pause, his gaze still fixed on her as though he were studying her, weighing her presence in his home. Then, without another word, he turned back to the fire, his broad back now facing her.

“You will be shown to your chambers,” he said over his shoulder. “Rest well, Miss Lennox. Tomorrow will be… enlightening.”

Eloise lingered, feeling the weight of his words. There was something unsettling about the way he said it—something that made her stomach twist with apprehension. But before she could respond, Mrs. Thorne reappeared at her side, her stern expression unchanged.

“This way, Miss Lennox,” Mrs. Thorne said, gesturing toward the door.

Eloise gave the Duke one last glance, but he did not turn to face her again. His tall, brooding figure remained by the fire, the flickering flames casting long shadows across the room. With a quiet sigh, Eloise followed Mrs. Thorne out of the room, her thoughts racing.

As Mrs. Thorne led Eloise through the shadowy halls of Draycott Manor, the oppressive atmosphere of the place seemed to grow heavier. The manor was vast, its corridors long and dim, with fluttering candlelight illuminating haunting shadows within it. Every creak of the old wooden floors echoed ominously, and the air felt cold, damp, and stale, as though it had not been touched by sunlight in years.

Eloise’s thoughts were still whirling from her brief encounter with the Duke. His scarred face and cold demeanor had unsettled her, but it was the way he had looked at her—like a man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, yet kept everyone at arm’s length—that was troubling her mind.

What kind of life has he lived to become such a man? she wondered as they turned down another long hallway.

“Do not mind His Grace,” Mrs. Thorne said suddenly, breaking the silence. Her voice was low, almost conspiratorial. “He is not used to guests… or company, for that matter.”

Eloise glanced at the housekeeper, noting the way her eyes darted to the shadows as if she feared the very walls might listen. “Does he not have any visitors?” Eloise asked, her curiosity piqued.

“None,” Mrs. Thorne replied shortly. “You are the first in… quite a long time.”

The answer sent a chill through Eloise, though she wasn’t entirely sure why. What kind of man lived in such complete isolation, hidden away from the world? And why had he summoned her here, to this place that felt more like a mausoleum than a home?

They passed by a large portrait hanging on the wall, and Eloise couldn’t help but pause, her gaze drawn to the image. It was a painting of a young man, handsome and proud, with sharp features and clear, intelligent eyes. He was dressed in the fine attire of a nobleman, and there was a sense of vitality and promise about him—a stark contrast to the broken, scarred man she had just met.

“That’s His Grace… before the accident,” Mrs. Thorne said quietly, noticing Eloise’s interest.

Eloise stared at the portrait, her heart sinking as she realized just how different the man in the painting was from the Duke she had encountered. “What happened to him?” she asked softly, though she immediately regretted her boldness.

Mrs. Thorne’s lips pressed into a thin line, and for quite some time, it seemed she would not answer. But then, with a sigh, she said, “It was an accident—a terrible one. His Grace does not speak of it, and neither do we.”

Eloise’s mind raced with questions, but Mrs. Thorne’s expression made it clear that she would not indulge further inquiries. Whatever had happened to the Duke, it was a wound that went far deeper than the scars on his face.

They continued down the hall in silence, the air between them thick with unspoken words. Finally, they reached a large door at the end of the corridor, and Mrs. Thorne pushed it open, revealing Eloise’s chambers.

The room was grand, far larger than she had expected, but it was cold and uninviting. A fire burned low in the hearth, casting faint, flickering light over the worn furniture and faded tapestries that adorned her bedchamber. The bed, though large and draped in fine linens, seemed almost too grand for one person, and the air felt heavy, as though it had been sealed away for too long.

“I’ll send a maid to tend to you, Miss Lennox,” Mrs. Thorne said, stepping back toward the door. “If you require any assistance,  kindly ring the bell, and a servant shall attend to your needs. I am sure your maid will need time to adjust as well.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Thorne,” Eloise replied, though her voice sounded distant even to her own ears.

With a nod, the housekeeper left, closing the door softly behind her. Eloise stood in the middle of the room, listening to the silence that seemed to press in from every corner. The fire crackled softly, but it did little to chase away the chill that clung to the air.

What is this place? she wondered as she walked slowly toward the window.

Pulling back the heavy drapes, Eloise looked out over the grounds of Draycott Estate. The mist had thickened, swirling around the trees and casting everything in a ghostly haze. The gardens, which might have once been beautiful, were overgrown and wild, their paths lost beneath tangled vines and weeds. Beyond the gardens, the dark shapes of the woods loomed, their branches twisting like the arms of some ancient, forgotten creature.

A sense of unease settled deep in her chest as she stared out into the night. There was something about this place—something dark and secretive—that made her feel as though she was not just an unwelcome visitor, but an intruder in a world that had been locked away from the light for far too long.

***

Despite the weariness from her journey, Eloise found sleep elusive. The grand, cold bed seemed more like a prison than a refuge, and no matter how many times she turned over, she could not get comfortable. Her mind was too full of unanswered questions—about her father, about the Duke, about this strange, foreboding place that seemed to hold more secrets than walls.

Finally, with a sigh of frustration, Eloise sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. The fire in the hearth had burned low, casting long shadows across the room, and the faint light of the moon filtered through the window, illuminating the edges of the mist that clung to the grounds outside.

As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, something on the nightstand caught her attention. A book—old and weathered—sat there, as though it had been left just for her.

Curious, Eloise reached for it, running her fingers over the cracked leather cover before opening it. The pages were yellowed with age, the ink faded in places, but it was the name inscribed on the inside cover that made her heart skip a beat.

Her Grace Margaret Morland.

The Duke’s mother.

Eloise stared at the name with her thoughts racing. Why would this book have been left here for her? Was it some kind of message, or simply a forgotten artifact from the past? She turned the pages slowly, her eyes scanning the faded text. It appeared to be a collection of letters—correspondence, mayhap, between Her Grace and someone else.

Then, in the margins of one of the pages, Eloise spotted a handwritten note. The ink was smudged, but she could just make out the words: “Debts must be paid… promises broken cannot be undone.”

A chill ran down her spine as she read the note again. Debts… broken promises… The words reminded her father’s cryptic warnings, the ones he had spoken so many years ago. Could this be connected to the reason the Duke had summoned her? Could her family’s history with the Morlands be far more complicated than she had realized?

Eloise closed the book carefully, her mind racing with questions that had no answers. The weight of it all pressed down on her—the mystery of her father’s connection to the Duke, the strange tension between them, and the dark, frightening atmosphere of the manor.

But most of all, she couldn’t stop thinking about the Duke himself.

His scarred face, his cold demeanor, the way he had looked at her as though she were both a burden and a puzzle he had no desire to solve. And yet, there had been something else in his eyes—something beyond the bitterness and anger. For a split second, she had seen a hint of sadness, a depth of pain that went far beyond the physical scars he carried.

With her thoughts still swirling, Eloise crossed to the window once more. She gazed out over the misty grounds when, suddenly, the distant sound of footsteps reached her ears.

Her heart leapt in her chest.

She moved quickly to the door, opening it just a crack. The corridor was dark, but she could make out the figure of the Duke, walking slowly down the hall, his broad shoulders tense, his posture rigid. Their eyes met, and Eloise felt a strange flutter in her chest—an unexpected spark of sympathy.

There was something deeply sad about him, something that stirred a feeling inside her that she could not quite explain. He was a man who had been broken, not just in body, but in spirit. And yet, despite his beastly demeanor, there was something in his eyes that told her he had not always been this way.

The Duke held her gaze for a brief time before turning away, disappearing into the shadows of the hall. Eloise stood there, her hand resting on the doorframe, her heart racing. She knew that whatever lay ahead, it would not be easy. The Duke was a man shrouded in darkness, and she was only just beginning to glimpse the depth of that darkness.

With a sigh, Eloise closed the door and leaned against it, her mind full of unanswered questions and the image of the Duke’s scarred face lingering in her thoughts. She had come to Draycott Estate seeking answers, but now it seemed that she had only found more mysteries.

As the wind howled outside and the mist continued to swirl around the manor, Eloise lay awake in the cold, grand bed, her thoughts tangled in the shadows of Draycott Manor and the man who ruled it.

This is only the beginning, she thought, her heart pounding in the stillness of the night. But whatever the Duke is hiding… I have a feeling it will change everything.