The morning sun barely pierced through the fog as the carriage rolled through the quiet countryside. Eleanor sat in silence, her gloved hands folded tightly in her lap. The landscape passed like a memory familiar yet distant fields and hedgerows blurred with time and worry.
Clara sat across from her, watching with gentle concern.
"Are you certain you want to do this, miss?" she asked softly.
Eleanor gave a small nod. "I must. Ashford Hall is part of my past. I cannot carry it like a shadow forever."
The carriage creaked as it turned onto the long gravel drive. Ahead, Ashford Hall rose from the mist tall, stately, and unchanged. Its stone walls bore the weight of generations, and to Eleanor, they seemed to stare back at her like an old wound.
The carriage came to a stop. A man stood waiting at the grand entrance. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a crisp black coat, he removed his hat as she stepped down.
"Miss Whitmore?" he asked.
"I am."
"I'm Captain Thomas Ashford. Steward of the estate." He bowed slightly, his tone reserved but respectful. "Welcome home."
Home. The word echoed strangely in her chest.
"Thank you, Captain," she said, trying to keep her voice steady.
They walked through the great oak doors. The air inside was cool and smelled faintly of old books and polished wood. Eleanor's boots echoed on the stone floor as she passed familiar portraits and staircases.
"I've prepared your old chambers," Thomas said as they ascended the stairs. "I took the liberty of having them aired out."
"I appreciate that." She glanced sideways at him. He looked young to be steward of such a grand estate, though there was something world-worn in his eyes.
When they reached her rooms, he paused. "If you need anything, you may find me in the east wing."
She met his gaze for a moment. "Captain Ashford… were you close to my uncle?"
His expression didn't shift. "Not as close as I might have wished."
And with that, he turned and left.
Eleanor stepped inside her childhood room. It was all still there the carved bed, the window seat overlooking the gardens, the faint outline of old drawings hidden behind the wardrobe. But everything felt quieter now. Dustier. Sadder.
She stood by the window, watching Thomas disappear down the path toward the stables. There was a stiffness in his stride. A burden.
She didn't know yet what secrets Ashford Hall still held.
But something told her Captain Ashford might be one of them.
They fell into step, silent for a moment. Birds chirped overhead. Then Eleanor asked, "Why did my uncle summon me? He barely wrote in the years after we left."
Thomas hesitated. "There's a letter. Left for you. In his study. Sealed."
She stopped. "You've read it?"
"I haven't."
"Why not?"
He met her eyes, calm but steady. "Because it wasn't meant for me."
Later, in the study, Eleanor sat alone, the envelope trembling in her hand. Her uncle's handwriting stared back at her neat, cold, impersonal.
She opened it.
Eleanor,
If you are reading this, it means I am gone and that the estate must pass on. You may wonder why I call you back, why I claim you after years of silence. You deserve to know what truly happened. About your mother. About Ashford. About me.
There are truths hidden beneath these stones, girl. But beware: truth rarely offers peace.
Reginald Ashford
She read it again.
And again.
Her fingers clenched around the paper.
Somewhere behind these walls, the truth waited. She had come for closure, for inheritance. But now, Eleanor realized Ashford Hall wasn't done with her yet.
And neither, it seemed, was its past.