Chapter Text
Prologue
The day's warmth was as stifled as Isak’s ability to speak. He’d imagined many things about Lady Bech’s return, but this wasn’t one of them.
“Have I done something wrong?” he asked tentatively. “I know I may have taken liberties with some of my ideas, but nothing’s set in stone. I can make changes—” His words fell flat when she gave a dismissive wave of her hand, but the smile offered was soft. There was warmth between them, but something lingered beneath her placid beauty. Isak couldn’t figure out what was wrong, but it was as clearly present as a small stone would be in his boot.
Lady Bech reclined on a red velvet lounger, slim framed and dressed in finest sky-blue silks with travel dust marring the toes of her dainty slippers. Isak may not have seen her for almost two years, but her trouble was evident; the crease in her brow a signature of overthinking. She seemed unbothered by the bustling throughout Highfield as her retinue brought in chest after chest of her belongings—a busy procession through the grand halls and towards her suite. After years of a threadbare staff, it was disorientating for Isak to hear so many pairs of feet and voices moving through the space he knew like the back of his hand.
A sigh came that was more truthful than her smile. “I wish I could elaborate, Isak, but I only ask that you trust me. Can you do that?”
“Of course,” he replied with no hesitation. He owed everything he had to this household—Lady Bech in particular. Without her, Isak would have no future and no home. He was useless at the very thing that should have been instinctual—his defining gender—but he found a use here, within this estate. “I’ll do as you ask, My Lady.”
Her smile lingered a moment longer, and there may have been regret that tinged her gaze. But regret over what? “Thank you, Isak. I’m immensely proud of the work you’ve been doing here in the absence of the family. And this is a holiday—so to speak. You’ve worked tirelessly for god knows how long.” Her light laugh was musical, and it lightened the thickened atmosphere. Reaching across to Isak, her nimble fingers found his nape, massaging as she would know best to soothe an omega being one herself. His rigid frame began to ease. “You’ve taken the estate further than I could have imagined given that—” she cut off, reassessing her words and accusations. The redacted comment would likely scrutinise the nature that they shared. “Given that you’ve had no formal training. I can’t quite believe how lucky we are to have such a jewel as you in the family. In fact, it might do you well to visit some of our estates that need modernising. I shall have to speak with my husband about it, but you are indeed talented. Never doubt that.”
Nodding, Isak began to let go of his quickly acquired stress, although the thought of leaving this place was not pleasant. What she proposed wasn’t a punishment, and he wouldn’t be rejected. As odd a request as it was, he did trust her. This family was the closest he had to one, and this home was his own. “So I should pack today? For how long shall I remain?”
She hummed thoughtfully, eyes on her fingers as they began to comb through his curls, long enough now to brush his shoulders. “It should only be for two weeks. I’ve had someone check the cabin. Despite the lack of a groundskeeper, it is in wonderful condition. You’ll have everything you need, and I’ll have Eskild check in on you and bring food and supplies daily.” She paused before directing her study at him; seriousness smothered any levity Isak had witnessed. “But you must not come back to the house until I send for you. Is that clear?” Her crystalline blue eyes held him unblinkingly.
Nodding fervently, Isak wanted to appease her. She would never do anything to harm him. “I understand. I promise I’ll patiently await your orders.”
Her mood shifted abruptly, and the serious mask cracked beneath relief. “The weather will be glorious, too. You just wait!” She clapped her hands together in excitement on Isak’s behalf, and that enthusiasm was contagious. “Oh, and you can fish. You still love to fish, don’t you?”
“I do when I can get out there—in the shallows.”
“That’s right, on the banks where it’s calm. And I’m sure Emma will come and keep you company. If she doesn’t, I fear Madame White will flatten her with a rolling pin.” The chiming laughter stirred the curtains, breathing fresh air into the room.
Yes . It would be just fine. A two week holiday was a gift, and it was rare—almost unheard of—for a servant to be afforded such a thing. No matter how curious the circumstance or the vagueness in the commands, Isak would see the silver lining. Once refreshed, he could look again at the estate and plot new and marvellous ways to improve the Bech household.
Teeth clinked together as the cartwheels hit another bump and Even wondered if it was remotely possible for his mood to darken any further. The skies contrasted his constitution—blue and bright, stretching this way and that with endless optimism. The scenery was just as fresh with its green rolling hills that more than trumped the city's grey that he’d become accustomed to. Perhaps the change of scenery would help—at least that’s what he hoped.
The frown he wore had set for so long that it was difficult to imagine the feel of a different expression. What was he expecting to find out here? Was it simply to gain anonymity or to save face? Perhaps those two things were indistinguishable. One unquestionable motive was the desire to escape his mother’s accusations. Even did not doubt that she would propel him straight into the next farce that best suited him—in her opinion—as soon as she caught wind of recent events. At least here, he might have some breathing space from her, the family, and his soon to be ex-wife. He would drown in the guilt and shame if he carried it a moment longer for an audience.
Dark thoughts were interrupted by the sound of hoofs approaching the coach at a fast gait. “Even,” the face of his friend and manservant levelled with the open window of the coach.
“Yes, Jonas?” His voice had long ago taken on a low lifeless tone that betrayed no emotion.
His man hesitated, eyes darting back the way he’d come, which was also the direction they were headed. It was customary for someone to ride ahead and alert the household—or whatever skeleton staff manned this abandoned estate—so that they could ready themselves. But the messenger didn’t often return. “Well, it’s just—there’s—well—”
“Spit it out, man.” Gruff impatience bit Even’s words, the alpha within stretching and grumbling from his deep slumber.
“Lady Bech. She’s here, at Highfield.”
Even was momentarily blindsided. “My mother?” What business could she possibly have here? “Are you quite sure?” The question was obsolete. Jonas would never speak on something he wasn’t willing to wager his horse on.
Dark curls flopped forward as Jonas nodded; his gloved hand pushed the hair out from his eyes on reflex. The man needed a haircut. “I am as sure as I can be. I spoke to one of her ladies briefly while they unloaded a carriage. She said your mother heard you planned to return so decided to join you.” Whatever questions or queries that rose in Jonas, which were evident by the frown he levelled in the direction their destination lay, remained unsaid. Even’s man was sharp-witted but only voiced his opinions or discomfort when asked.
The fragmented nature of his soul shifted while Even pondered the odd and frustrating predicament ahead. The same clouds that gathered in his mind threatened. Something was coming like a storm brewed over him that contrasted with the serene landscape of reality. There was a reason for it, and he was sure: his broken spirit, his failed endeavours, his desire to return here—out of all the other destinations he could have chosen—there had to be a reason. Otherwise, what was the point in it all? He had to believe there was a purpose to keep going.
“Let’s not keep mother waiting.”