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Madison
I paced along the marble floor, following the servant and counting each step.
One, two, three...
twenty-seven steps to calm my racing heart. Aunt Elizabeth's voice echoed in my mind, Control your emotions, Madison. Show only what is proper.
Indeed.
Because marrying a man rumoured to have driven his first wife to madness and death was the very height of propriety.
The security of my family's future hung on this alliance.
The Trent name carried wealth and political influence that could restore everything we'd lost.
I would not be the one to ruin it, even if it meant binding myself to a man whose very presence in court made other ladies cross themselves when they thought no one was looking.
“Lady Madison Bateman.”
The servant announced my presence while the heavy doors to the drawing room groaned open.
His voice bounced off the high ceiling and echoed around the chamber.
“Daughter of Lord Edward Bateman, here to meet Lord Hugh Trent.”
Breathe, Madison.
Just breathe.
I lifted my gaze and met the storm-grey eyes of the man who was to be my husband.
He was taller than I'd imagined, with broad shoulders and a chisel-cut jawline that was almost too perfect.
His neatly trimmed hair was dark with only a touch of silver at his temple, highlighted by the daylight streaming through the window.
My breath caught in my throat while he moved toward me, and I noticed how his tailored jacket accentuated the firm lines of his body.
I wondered what those shoulders… that chest, might feel like beneath my hands.
But quickly banished such thoughts.
I think it was his stillness that unnerved me most.
He stood tall and imposing, his posture perfectly composed beneath the vaulted ceiling and carved beams.
I resisted a shudder while imagining him as a statue come to life, cold marble that radiated heat.
“Thank you, Benjamin,”
he said.
“That will be all.”
The servant bowed and retreated with a nod, closing the heavy door behind him with a soft click that made my stomach clench.
The sound echoed through stone walls that had probably witnessed a thousand such meetings, a thousand such fates being sealed.
Hugh stepped forward and gestured toward two chairs near the fireplace.
“Lady Madison.
Welcome to Trent Manor,”
he said in a voice smooth yet utterly cold and devoid of emotion.
“Sit.
We have matters to discuss.”
Matters.
The word irked me, though perhaps irrationally.
It made me feel like a ledger to be balanced rather than a woman to be wed.
“Lord Trent,”
I replied, settling into the offered chair and arranging my skirts.
The fabric felt like armour, layers of silk and propriety designed to hide the girl underneath who wished to bolt for the nearest exit.
“I appreciate your hospitality.”
Unable to shake the feeling that beneath his controlled exterior lurked a dangerous and calculating mind, I found myself studying his face.
My family had spent months impressing upon me how important this alliance was.
But nothing they had done could have prepared me for how vulnerable I felt, or how my emotions appeared heightened in Hugh's presence.
“I trust your journey was comfortable,”
Hugh said while taking the seat opposite mine.
Even sitting, he radiated a coiled tension, like a spring wound too tight.
I forced a smile and resisted the urge to twist my fingers in my lap.
“Long carriage rides have their limitations, but it was tolerable.”
A ghost of a smile lifted the edge of his lips before vanishing.
He leaned forward, steepling his fingers.
“I want no misunderstandings between us,”
he said.
“This marriage isn’t about romance.
It is about duty. I seek only a partner who understands the responsibilities that come with the Trent name.”
A shiver rushed up my spine.
I considered his words and how to respond, while noting the rigid set of his shoulders and the tightness around his eyes.
I had always been good at reading people, at sensing their emotions. Mother had called it a woman's intuition. Aunt Elizabeth called it dangerous. Whatever it was, I had been raised to suppress it, but right now it was urging me to flee.
“Our families have arranged what they believe to be a mutually beneficial match,”
I said, surprised my voice remained steady despite the nerves building within me.
“I know what is required of me.”
To produce an heir.
To smile at the right people.
To pretend I do not exist beyond my function.
Hugh sat back in his chair.
A log shifted in the fireplace, sending sparks flying upward, but I held my gaze steady on his.
“The Trents hold power and influence at court,”
he said.
“With that comes certain… obligations and needs.”
“Appearances to foster… alliances to forge and strengthen,”
I added, choosing not to mention how my ancient family name carried the respectability his lacked.
“This is a political marriage.”
He nodded, looking almost pleased.
“Precisely.
I am glad we agree.”
I should have agreed.
But while I understood my duty, in my heart, I had always hoped for more.
I was young when my mother died, but I’d still observed my parents' political marriage with dismay.
They were two strangers occupying the same grand house, speaking only when necessity demanded it.
I’d dreamt of a different life, but that was never to be my fate.
I should have smiled and nodded and played the part of the dutiful bride-to-be.
Instead, the words slipped out before I could stop them, “What if I want more?”
The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.
Hugh's eyes darkened while he studied my face, and, just for a moment, the shadows in the corners deepened and reached toward us like grasping fingers.
“Then I suggest you adjust your expectations,”
Hugh said before rising and making his way to the mahogany drinks table.
I stood, smoothing my skirts while silently cursing my loose tongue.
This is why Aunt Elizabeth drilled propriety into you until it became second nature, you foolish girl.
“A toast to our arrangement.”
Hugh poured amber liquid into two crystal glasses, the clink of decanter against rim sounded unnaturally loud in the silence.
Our fingers brushed when he offered me a glass, sending a spark of energy through me, as hot and as sudden as lightning.
The sensation raced up my arm, making my breath hitch.
Hugh’s eyes widened, darkening as they fixed on mine. His lips parted, and for a heartbeat, I felt that there was more beneath his carefully constructed exterior.
Desire.
Sharp and needy.
But tinged with fear.
The shadows in the room deepened further.
They moved, shifting and curling like living smoke drawn to our joined hands.
The very air shivered with unspoken possibilities.
“What was that?”
I whispered, my voice surprisingly husky.
Hugh's mask snapped back into place so quickly I almost believed I’d imagined it all. Almost.
“Static from the carpet,”
he replied far too quickly, though his eyes remained fixed on mine for a moment too long.
Liar.
The word formed clear as crystal in my mind, though I would never voice such an accusation.
But I nodded anyway and raised my glass in a silent toast, letting the whiskey burn away the taste of questions I should not ask.
Hugh watched me over the rim of his own glass, and I had the uncomfortable sensation of being catalogued, assessed.
It looked as if he might say something, but a knock on the door interrupted whatever he might have said.
“Enter,”
Hugh called, his voice perfectly controlled once more.
A woman with steel-grey hair and sharp eyes entered, her severe black dress marking her as upper household staff.
Everything about her radiated competence, from her ramrod posture to the way she assessed me with a single sweeping glance.
“My Lord, Lady Elizabeth Walker has arrived,”
she said, referring to my aunt.
“She requests that her niece be given time to refresh herself before the evening meal.”
“Thank you, Olivia.”
Hugh set down his empty glass.
“Please escort Lady Madison to her chambers.”
Olivia inclined her head, and when her gaze met mine, I was struck by an emotion so intense it nearly buckled my knees.
Satisfaction.
Deep satisfaction mixed with triumph.
The feeling crashed over me like a wave.
Her emotions, not mine, pressed against whatever barriers I had built in my mind.
“This way, my Lady,”
Olivia said, her tone perfectly proper even while the intensity of her emotions made my head spin.
I followed her from the room, acutely aware of Hugh's gaze heavy between my shoulder blades.
The sensation sent an unexpected thrill down my spine.
It didn’t fade until we were well into the corridor, where ancient tapestries and paintings lined the walls. Many depicted hunting scenes, though the prey in some appeared unnatural. No doubt they helped fuel the rumours of the family's dark magic.
“The manor has been in the Trent family for twelve generations,”
Olivia said, noting my scrutiny of the artwork.
Her voice carried the pride of someone who'd watched those generations rise and fall.
“Have you worked for the family for a long time?”
I asked, still trying to process that wave of emotion that had crashed over me.
Olivia's smile was cryptic.
“Longer than most remember, my lady.
I have served three generations of Trent lords. Watched them all take their wives, raise their children.”
Her voice carried the same pride I felt in her emotions.
“I have seen much in these halls.”
Before I could question her further, we reached the end of the long corridor and stopped outside a heavy wooden door.
“Your chambers, my lady,”
she said while producing a key and opening the door.
The room beyond stole my breath.
It was gorgeous and terrible all at once.
A massive four-poster bed draped in blood-red velvet dominated the space, while a faded forest mural covered the ceiling. A fire crackled in the enormous stone hearth, casting dancing shadows across walls that felt somehow aware, as if the very stones held memories.
“Dinner will be served in one hour,”
Olivia said, moving to adjust already-perfect curtains.
“Ring if you require assistance.”
She indicated a brass pull near the fireplace; its surface worn smooth by centuries of use.
“Thank you,”
I said, but she was already closing the door behind her.
A weighty silence followed her departure.
I debated leaving the room and seeking out my aunt, but sensing I was expected to remain where I was until dinner, I sank onto the edge of the bed.
I immediately regretted the decision. The mattress was so deep I nearly disappeared, and the red velvet bed curtains closed around me like a shroud.
Control your emotions.
Show only what is proper.
The stress of the day was getting to me.
Everything felt too intense.
From the journey to meeting Hugh, and the strange energy I felt in the house. There was something… off about everything. Hugh’s family had been plagued by rumours of dark magic for generations, and yet I was strangely drawn to him. He hoped to gain some semblance of respectability from our union. Tomorrow, I would be bound to this place… to him, forever.
I took a few steadying breaths before flopping backward onto the mattress, staring up at that painted forest.
The longer I looked, the more details emerged.
Animals hiding in painted undergrowth and faces in the bark of trees.
A sound made me bolt upright.
Scratching, soft but insistent, and coming from outside.
I moved to the window and drew back the curtains. Twilight was approaching, bringing with it a heavy mist that shrouded the formal gardens. Beyond them, the forest loomed dark and forbidding. A flicker of movement caught my eye. A raven with feathers as black as midnight perched on a branch of a nearby tree.
It tilted its head and fixed me with curious eyes.
I felt unsettled… judged by its gaze, and a shiver ran down my spine.
Then it spread wings and took flight, leaving me with the certainty that I had been measured and found wanting.
Drawing the curtains, I moved to the armoire and selected a gown of deep green silk for dinner.
I changed and studied my reflection in the mirror hanging inside the armoire door, then pinned my auburn hair into an elegant arrangement, leaving a few tendrils loose to frame my face.
My aunt would expect perfection tonight. Calm, controlled perfection.
I had never failed to give her what she wanted, so why did my skin prickle and my insides churn now, when it mattered most? I had been steady on the journey to Trent Manor, but the moment I crossed the threshold, an awareness I’d spent my life suppressing had threatened to break free.
A wave of dread washed over me.
Unable to bear looking at the composed and serene image in the mirror, knowing it to be a fabrication, I closed the armoire door with more force than necessary and gripped the bedpost to steady myself.
It was not merely the fear of marriage or even of the man I was to wed.
There was a deeper wrongness here.
I could feel it pulsing through the very stones of the manor. A sorrow so profound it made my chest ache, an anger that raged like a thunderstorm, and beneath it all, a need to be free. I wanted to dismiss these sensations, to say that my nerves were playing tricks on me, but...
The image struck without warning.
A woman with silver-white hair and a face untouched by age, although her eyes carried the weight of centuries.
She stood in this very room, smiling with lips that spoke of secrets and sorrows.
She reached toward me, her mouth forming my name...
“Madison...”
I pressed my hands to my temples, but the vision was already fading, leaving behind only the taste of winter and the certainty that I was not the first woman to stand in this room and feel the world shifting beneath her feet.
I considered documenting what I had seen, but then I thought of Hugh's first wife and the madness that had overcome her.
If anyone learned of my vision, of what I thought I had seen, would they call me mad as well? My heart raced at the thought.
I couldn’t risk such a fate.
Tomorrow I would become the second Lady Trent.
And now, more than ever, I wondered what had truly happened to the first.
Unable to bear my own company for a moment longer, I straightened the silk of my dress, squared my shoulders, and headed for the door, determinedly ignoring the emotional turmoil that pressed against me.