After yesterday’s rush, Ben rode the horses slower, and it was early evening when we passed our first familiar landmark. As Brighmor Hall came into view, my heart swelled with an onslaught of emotions. It should have been impossible to feel so much at one time—grief, anger, and fear contended for space, but even beyond these, was a great sense of relief to finally be home.
The carriage came to a stop at the front entrance where I saw our head housekeeper, Mrs. Ryan, waiting to greet us along with the rest of the household staff. In general, we did not stand by such ceremony, and I assumed Mrs. Ryan had called everyone from their duties to welcome the new Master of Brighmor Hall. She had most certainly acted in haste as there could not have been more than a few minutes’ notice before we arrived.
Alice and Mary, the two chambermaids, wore friendly smiles, while Karta, the cook, appeared her usual somber self. Evie, the scullery maid, was an anxious girl who looked like a nervous child next to Karta’s mountainous form. I studied each of their faces, struck by the realization that, along with Ben, these women were the closest thing I now had to a family.
Henry stepped out of the carriage and then turned to assist me, his jaw clenching from the strain to his injuries. I released his hand the moment my feet touched the ground, and we stood side by side in the shadow of the big stone manor.
“Welcome to Brighmor Hall, Mr. Kilbrid,” I said. “Let me present the staff and then you may get situated in your room.”
Eager to be by myself, I kept the introductions brief before disappearing in through the front door and dashing up the stairs. Without stopping in my own chamber, I continued on to my father’s. Although he had died the day after I left for Philadelphia, and most likely been buried in the family plot by sundown the following day, I needed to be near him somehow, to sit among his things and feel his comfort.
Mrs. Ryan must have ordered the drapes to be left shut out of respect, but I found little solace in the dark room. Crossing to the windows, I pulled back the heavy panels, hooking each one around the black iron tiebacks to let in the last of the day’s light. Though the sun sat low on the horizon, it chased away the worst of the shadows from the room.
As in my father’s life, everything remained in perfect order, without a speck of dust in sight. The bed was neatly made, and a single book rested on the nightstand next to a fresh candle, giving the impression of his imminent return. At his dressing table, his hairbrush and comb sat alongside a large porcelain pitcher and bowl, as if he had just used them this very morning. On the other side were his shaving razor and a clean hand towel. Taking a seat at the table, I pulled in a long deep breath that carried my father’s familiar scents. Filled with the heady smells of leather and bergamot, it was easy to imagine that he still lived until my eyes fell on a gold pocket watch toward the back of the table. Resting on a silver tray with his other accessories, it vanquished any remaining doubts of his death—he never left the room without the watch directly on his person.
I reached out and picked it up. Flipping it open, I read the inscription:
To my dearest, with all my love
The sole reason he hadn’t been buried with his beloved watch was because it had once belonged to my maternal grandfather, and my father insisted I would someday want to pass it along to my own husband. At present, this seemed highly unlikely with my fiancé dead, and his proxy being a surly servant bent on hating me. If each girl was allotted only one Prince Charming per lifetime, mine had unfortunately been struck with the palsy and tossed overboard into the Atlantic, along with my best chances of a happily ever after.
Holding the watch firmly in my hand, I crossed over to the windows to look out over the hundreds of acres of newly sprouted wheat. The past several days had been a whirlwind, leaving me little time for anything other than making it from one minute to the next. Now alone in my father’s room, I felt the magnitude of my situation and knew it would be impossible to run Brighmor by myself. I had minimal knowledge of how to manage labor or keep books, let alone how to successfully grow crops. My cousin, the real Samuel Kilbrid, was supposed to take over all of this upon my father’s death. Overwhelmed by the responsibility, I was just about to sit down and indulge in a much-needed cry when I heard someone approach the door.
“May I come in?” Henry asked.
“Of course.” I didn’t move from the windows, and he crossed the room to where I stood. “Is there anything you need?” I asked.
“Well,” he started hesitantly. “Mrs. Ryan has had my belongings delivered to your room, but I was sure you’d want to make other arrangements.”
I grimaced, realizing I had neglected to tell her otherwise on my rush into the house. “Yes, I will have your things brought to my brother’s old room.”
He let out a breath of relief. “Thank you.”
Unsure if he needed anything else, I looked at him expectantly, but he was staring down at the watch in my hand. “May I see that?” he asked.