“Will you be resting for the day, sir…?”
Frederic studied his master’s expression carefully, the man’s discarded outer coat held neatly in his hand.
Clifton had returned from the capital a full week ahead of schedule.
Considering it was March, the height of the social season when parties were in full swing, it was a conspicuously early return.
His recent arrival after the armistice only made the decision more puzzling.
After returning from the battlefield, Clifton had been consumed with the transition from soldier to head of the Greenfield Company.
Learning the ropes had left little time for socializing.
Frederic had naturally assumed he would remain in the capital for some time.
It only made sense, given the number of people clamoring for an audience.
‘He seemed to have met all the key figures immediately upon arriving, but still…’
His decision to make a first appearance at the Duke of Whitby’s garden party had been a masterstroke.
Predictably, the Duke, ever the showman, had expanded the scale of the event the moment the Grand Duke confirmed his attendance.
And just as planned, Clifton had met most of his key contacts on that first day.
Still, considering the veritable mountain of invitations that had awaited him, his return to Greenfield was undeniably premature.
He could have visited the gentlemen’s club that awaited his patronage, or gone hunting with the Crown Prince.
Having refused so many engagements, Frederic could only surmise that pressing company business had called him back.
Given the piles of documents waiting, it wasn’t an unreasonable assumption.
And yet, upon arriving at Greenfield late that morning, he had gone not to his office, but straight to his bedroom.
Clifton leaned back in an armchair.
“I will rest today.”
Despite the clear dismissal, Frederic hesitated.
With his expectations repeatedly subverted, he couldn’t help but wonder if his master was unwell.
But a covert glance revealed no such signs.
He had no choice but to depart, watching as Clifton began to wordlessly remove his jacket.
As the door clicked shut behind his secretary, Clifton paused, his fingers on the cuffs of his shirt.
His gaze fixed on the calendar.
Sixteen days.
He counted them from the day Merdi had left.
A week to reach Belloc.
If the conversation with her father ended in disappointment, she would be returning within days.
At the earliest, she could arrive as soon as late tonight.
Clifton swept his tongue over the roof of his mouth as if savoring an aperitif, a faint smile touching his lips.
He had forsaken the capital’s eager social circles and returned to Greenfield for one reason: Merdi.
He wanted to be here to witness her return—to watch the woman who had left with such high hopes come back drenched in disappointment and betrayal.
The very thought had brought him a keen satisfaction, a welcome diversion amidst the endless, boring parties.
The letter had arrived two years ago, a desperate plea from the King of Belloc.
‘I am truly sorry to ask this, but I urgently need money due to a matter concerning my son, William.
Please help us just this once, for the sake of my daughter.’
It was a letter so desperate it was hard to believe a King had penned it.
A feckless Crown Prince, a desperate father borrowing money from his daughter’s fiancé to cover for him, and a fiancée who was likely oblivious to it all.
Clifton had been back in the Empire briefly to regroup during the war, but that single sheet of paper had exhausted him more than his heavy combat boots.
It was a letter that painfully illustrated just how uncultured and reckless his fiancée’s family was.
Clifton had sent the 300,000 pounds without a word.
It wasn’t a sum worth agonizing over, and more importantly, he had no desire to engage in any further correspondence of that nature.
By now, his immature fiancée would surely realize what a shameful thing her father had done by using her name.
And how absurd her demand for an annulment truly was.
The debt was trivial, but Clifton fully intended to use it as leverage, a tool to hold and sway the fiancée who so annoyed him.
In fact, he was now rather glad he had lent the money.
He had criticized her for her lack of responsibility, but her silence until now suggested that Merdi Langlen, at least, possessed a modicum of shame her family so clearly lacked.
Perhaps this debt would serve as a useful reminder of that shame.
Clifton lowered his gaze, then swept it around the room.
The space was utterly silent, the only sound the soft ticking of the clock.
Anticipation was one thing, but sitting idly by was simply boring.
He considered working, but he had already dismissed Frederic for the day.
Clifton removed his dress shirt and pulled on a cashmere knit.
Now dressed more comfortably, he left the bedroom and made his way to the stables.
As he entered, the stableman, who had been brushing a glossy-coated horse, shot to his feet.
“Good day, Master!”
The man, his hunting cap pulled down low, had pale skin and large eyes that gave him a boyish look.
As Clifton quietly surveyed the stalls, the stableman asked cautiously, “Shall I saddle a horse for you?”
Clifton gave a concise nod, and the man put down his brush and hurried to bring out a brown stallion.
Even among the other well-maintained horses, this one had an exceptional sheen.
It was the horse Clifton favored for polo.
He hadn’t had the leisure for the sport in years, not since enlisting, so it had been quite some time since the horse had left its stall.
Taking the reins, Clifton glanced around.
“Weren’t there sheep here?”
There used to be sheep in a fenced area in the corner of the stable.
It was a long time ago, but he vaguely remembered them huddling together and bleating.
“The sheep were moved a year ago, sir.
Lady Langlen came to see them so often that the Grand Dame had them moved far away.”
‘So she had come to see them often.’
Margaret’s claim that she either visited the sheep or holed up in her room seemed to be true, after all.
Clifton dismissed the image of a sighing Margaret and swung himself into the saddle.
It had been a long time since he’d ridden, but the familiar sensation remained.
Horsemanship was a basic skill at the military academy; there had been a time when he spent more hours on horseback than on his own two feet.
He pulled the reins, and the horse broke into a refreshing run.
Without a destination in mind, he rode along the Schultz River, which cut a wide path across Greenfield.
The water, sparkling in the spring sunshine, flowed with elegant force.
As the sound of hoofbeats echoed through the forest bordering the riverbank, birds fluttered into the air.
After riding for some time, Clifton’s horse was walking along a creek that branched off from the river.
The creek led to the Annex.
Unlike the main house, which bustled with servants, the Annex was small and secluded.
Clifton reined in his horse, his gaze settling on the building.
With his fiancée away in Belloc and Margaret typically out socializing, the place would be empty.
At the thought, Clifton impulsively turned the horse’s head.
It was Merdi Langlen who had sparked this sudden curiosity about a place that, despite being on his own land, had never felt like a part of his world.
The quiet, secluded Annex and the woman—still so much like a young girl—seemed a complete mismatch.
Clifton tied the reins to the terrace railing and stepped inside.
The interior was as quiet as the surrounding garden.
A lone maid was sweeping, and at the sight of an unexpected visitor, she froze before bowing deeply.
“Good day, Master!”
“There aren’t many people here.”
“Ah!
The other maids went to pick strawberries a little while ago.
The Grand Dame went out early this morning.”
Just as she’d said, the Annex felt deserted.
Clifton nodded.
“Where is my fiancée’s bedroom?”
The maid hesitated, her eyes flickering away.
Clifton noted her discomfort but didn’t bother to press her on what she was hiding.
“I… I will show you,” she finally stammered.
She led him down the hall, his own neat footsteps echoing behind her.
“This is Lady Langlen’s bedroom.”
It was a modest room.
Contrary to what he might have expected, it was neither cluttered nor messy.
In fact, there were so few personal items that Clifton’s eyes narrowed.
“Is there anything else you require…?” the maid ventured.
“The curtains in the Annex seem old.
Have them changed by today.”
The maid blinked at the sudden command.
If she left now, it would be evening by the time she reached the city.
Finding a shop selling curtains at that hour would be a frantic scramble, and she would be lucky to return before midnight.
But the man before her was too far above her station to question.
It was a long moment before she managed to find her voice.
“Understood.
I will see to it as quickly as possible…”
“You may go.”
Clifton cut her off with a flick of his eyes toward the door.
His expression and tone were unchanged, but the maid sensed a forbidding atmosphere and scurried out, closing the door behind her.
She had to leave at once if she had any hope of fulfilling his order.
Left alone, Clifton approached the window frame and ran a finger along the sill.
Gray dust smeared onto his fingertip.
He glanced at it indifferently before pulling out a handkerchief to wipe his hand clean.
His gaze next fell upon the books on the desk.
There was a variety of them, and every single one was tattered, as if read many times over.
‘Elsmere Chronicles’
Clifton pulled the book from the shelf and settled into the chair.
‘Tick, tock.’ As the time passed, Clifton remained, reading.
Eventually, dusk fell, and the shadows of the trees stretched long across the lawn.
The maids who had gone to pick strawberries returned, their noisy chatter echoing down the hallway.
“Oh my, the light is on in the bedroom.
Did the young lady return from Belloc already?”
“If so, we must hurry and prepare dinner.
We can’t have the young lady feeling neglected after her long journey.
Let’s prepare something delicious.”
Their tone was light, but laced with mockery.
Clifton listened, and slowly turned the page.