The carriage stopped in front of the main courtyard. The large stone house stood tall and welcoming, its windows glowing with warm, yellow light. It was a stark contrast to the cold, deceitful atmosphere of the Golden Swan. This was a place of love. This was a place of safety.
The door of the carriage opened. A footman in the Thompson livery stood there, bowing low.
"Welcome home, Your Grace," he said.
Marissa gathered her skirts and stepped down. The ground felt solid beneath her feet. She took a deep breath of the clean air, smelling the pine trees from the garden.
She walked up the stone steps to the main entrance. The heavy double doors were already open.
Mrs. Alma, the head housekeeper, stood in the doorway.
"Welcome home, Duchess," Mrs. Alma said warmly, curtsying. "It is a cold night. Come in, come in."
Marissa stepped into the foyer. The heat of the house embraced her. It smelled of beeswax and lemon oil, the scent of a well-kept home.
