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As we pull up the long, gravel driveway, my heart races with a mix of awe and anxiety.
William squeezes my hand, a silent reassurance as we step out of the car. "Remember, I'm right here with you," he whispers.
The interior of the Manor is as grand as its exterior, with high ceilings, antique furnishings, and portraits of stern-looking ancestors lining the walls.
It's like stepping back in time, each room rich with history and opulence.
As we enter the entrance hall, a grand room lit by an elaborate chandelier, the atmosphere is thick with expectation.
Then I see her - Madeline.
She's as I remember her, only more refined now. Slender, with an air of French sophistication, her dark hair styled perfectly, her dress chic and elegant. She turns as we enter, and our eyes meet. Recognition flickers in her eyes, quickly masked by a polite smile.
“Emily, darling! What are you doing here?” She glides across the room, a glass of champagne in her hand, and gives me two fake kisses hovering near my cheeks. “It’s been years… you’ve grown.” She looks at my hips, and I want to recoil and hide.
But William’s hand squeezes mine, and a flash of memories flood my mind that fill me with confidence.
Sure, to Madeline, I’m not a runway model, but in William’s eyes, I’m the most gorgeous woman in the world.
“And you are…” I hesitate, trying to find a compliment, but it gets lost somewhere between my brain and my mouth. I suck on my tongue for a moment. “What are you doing here?” I ask, trying to divert the conversation.
Madeline’s dark eyes glint in the warm lighting, as she hovers next to William and reaches for his arm. “Oh. Just visiting an old friend,” she purrs.
William stiffens, but to my annoyance, he does nothing to stop the woman from clinging to his arm like a leech.
“You’re all here, marvelous.”
We all turn to find Mr. Willoughby waltzing in, his teeth flashing and eyes sharp. He claps.
“Please come through to the dining room.”
We enter a room filled with well-dressed guests, who are already deep in their conversations. Several of them look up as we enter, and when I take my seat next to William, the elderlyman on my other side offers me a smile so big, his face breaks out in wrinkles.
“Kevin Blackwood, nice to meet you,” he says, offering his hand.
I offer a shy reply and look around the sea of people across the vast dining table.
The dining room of the Willoughby Manor is a testament to old-world elegance, its high ceilings adorned with intricate moldings.
The long table is beautifully set, silverware gleaming against the white tablecloth, and fine china plates waiting to be filled with an array of exquisite dishes.
Servers, poised and discreet, move gracefully around the table, topping off glasses with vintage wine.
The air is filled with the soft melodies of string music playing from speakers artfully hidden in the room's corners.
Mr. Willoughby, at the head of the table, commands the room with an air of authority and pride. "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us this evening," he began, his voice resonating with a sense of occasion. "Tonight is a special occasion, indeed."
Beside me, William shifts slightly, his hand finding mine under the table in a comforting gesture. Madeline, sitting across from us, wears a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.
"I am particularly pleased to announce we have a distinguished guest amongst us tonight," Mr. Willoughby continues, gesturing toward Madeline.
She rises gracefully, acknowledging the room with a nod, and her red chiffon blouses waves like flames with her movements.
"The Willoughby’s and the Lonelles have a long-standing relationship," Mr. Willoughby says, and I sense the significance of his words. "And tonight, we are here to celebrate and strengthen that bond."
I glance at William, my eyes wide with curiosity.
His face is a mask of polite interest, but I can feel the tension in his grip.
