The Everleighs had been close to ruin since his presumed death. The estate had faltered, tenants had grown restless, and Sidney’s elder brother, the steward, had been overwhelmed with the responsibilities thrust upon him.
If William Everleigh truly lived, he owed them an explanation—and a great deal more.
The carriage slowed as they approached the gates of Aylesford Manor, its wrought-iron frame towering above them. Time and neglect had left their mark; the once-pristine metal was tarnished, vines creeping insidiously through the gaps. The sight gave Sidney pause, a flicker of unease rippling through her. If the gates had fallen into such disrepair, what state would the manor itself be in?
As if in answer, the house came into view moments later. Aylesford Manor stood shrouded in the mist of the early morning, its stone façade weathered but still imposing. The windows glinted dully in the pale light, giving no hint of the man who awaited within.
The footman opened the carriage door, offering Sidney a steadying hand as she alighted. Her boots crunched on the gravel path, the sound unnervingly loud in the stillness. Mrs. Hawthorne followed closely, her gaze darting about as though expecting specters to emerge from the mist.
Before they could approach the door, it opened.
A man stepped out, his silhouette tall and commanding against the dim interior. He moved with deliberate grace, the kind that spoke of long-forgotten privilege.
Sidney’s breath hitched as he stepped fully into the light.
He was not the William Everleigh she remembered. The boyish charm, the easy smile that had once defined him, were gone. In their place stood a man with sharp features, his face marked by a faint scar along his jawline. His eyes, a deep gray, held no warmth as they met hers.
“Lady Sidney,” he said, his voice smooth yet devoid of emotion. “Welcome to Aylesford.”
Sidney’s practiced composure threatened to crumble. She inclined her head, forcing her voice to remain steady. “Lord Everleigh. It appears the rumors of your demise have been greatly exaggerated.”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips, though it held no humor. “One might say the same of my inheritance.”
And with that, he turned and strode back into the house, leaving Sidney to follow. She squared her shoulders and stepped forward, knowing full well she was walking into a battle she could not yet comprehend.
Sasha hadno idea who she was supposed to be playing in the romance her sister had thrown them into. She didn’t really even have time to process any of the information around her.
Not the decaying old estate with its flaking paint and water stains under the window jambs. Or the dress that she was wearing which wasmeantto be nice but was a bit frayed. She was the housekeeper, she assumed.
It was hard to tell, when one was being shoved forward before she could even get a second to figure out when, who, and where she was. Her hips impacted a counter top—a butcher block island that had been worn down in areas over a century or two of use. The kitchen.
A door slamming shut behind her made her jolt and whirl to face whoever had thrown her into the room.
Vile was briefly the steward of the house, judging by the clothing he was wearing. Clothes that pretended to a status that the older, grizzled man clearly didn’t truly have. But it didn’t matter, because the form melted away from him like so much wax as he stormed toward her.
“Here is the funny thing about series books, Sasha dear.” Vile sneered. “They must always end with a raising of the stakes. Each book must build meaningfully upon where it began, or else the story becomes trite, repetitive, and boring.”
“I—wh—” She stared at Vile, wide-eyed and terrified.
“We cannot end this book the way we began it—the scorecannotremain tied. Do you understand?” He took a step closer to her, smiling in what could almost be excused as something friendly.
She was trembling. “What are you saying?”
“One of you has to die. This story must end with the score one-zero. I do not care which of you it is. I am impatient. And Ihateregency romance.” He looked around the room in disgust. “But I will tell you what. Since we are meant to be on the same side, I will let you choose who dies. You or her.”
Sasha’s heart was pounding in her ears. Adrenaline was rushing through her body. “Vile, don’t do this—please—let’s just play this story out fairly?—”
He snorted at the wordfair.“Choose, Sasha. Either you die here and now, or I march upstairs and dragLady Sidney Whitmoredown here instead. I would love nothing more than to show her a far more realistic interpretation of what happens when the house staff feel their way of life is threatened.”
Sasha had already been responsible for her sister’s death once.
She couldn’t do it again.
She couldn’t.
Vile rolled his eyes. “How utterly noble. And predictable. Well, let’s get on with it, then.” He moved toward her.
“Get—no—get away from me!” She scrambled to put the kitchen island between them. But he was too fast. Faster than she could predict. He could move in the blink of an eye when he needed to.
