Page 2
Hugh
Madison entered the dining room with a quiet grace that commanded attention.
My gaze was drawn to her instantly, and I found myself studying this woman who would become my wife in mere hours.
She had surprised me in the drawing room. There was an intelligence behind her eyes that I’d not expected, a careful assessment masked by diplomatic courtesy.
Her hair was swept up to reveal the elegant line of her neck, and the green silk of her gown followed every curve of her delectable body.
The candlelight caught in her eyes, making them appear almost luminous.
For one unguarded moment, I allowed myself to imagine how that same light might look reflected in her gaze under different, more intimate, circumstances, before firmly redirecting such thoughts.
“Lord Trent.”
Madison offered me a slight curtsey before turning to her aunt.
“Lady Elizabeth.
I hope I haven't kept you both waiting.”
“Not at all,”
I said, stepping forward to pull out her chair.
My father had drilled such courtesies into me from childhood.
Though I had to admit, he had never warned me how the simple act of seating a lady could become a test of self-control when that lady possessed such a magnetic presence.
The sweet scent of lavender and fresh herbs enveloped me as Madison settled into her seat.
When I pushed her chair forward, my fingers brushed against her shoulder.
Barely a whisper of contact through silk, yet that same electric current sparked between us. Her spine stiffened slightly, but not before I caught the faintest intake of breath. I stepped back as if burnt, struggling to ignore how soft her skin had felt beneath my fingertips and the way she’d leaned almost imperceptibly into the touch before catching herself.
Static from the carpet.
I told myself the same lie I had offered Madison earlier.
And found the falsehood as uncomfortable now as I had then.
Lady Elizabeth Walker observed our exchange with the intensity of a hawk studying prey.
Her sharp gaze catalogued every gesture, every pause, and every breath.
I smiled and inclined my head before taking my seat, gesturing for the servants to deliver our meal.
“I hope your journey was comfortable, Lady Elizabeth?”
Madison asked.
Her question mirrored the one I'd asked her in the drawing room.
“Quite comfortable, thank you, dear.
The weather held, though I noticed mist gathering when I arrived.”
Lady Elizabeth's response carried the practiced ease of countless social interactions.
“I understand the estate is known for such atmospheric conditions.”
“Indeed.
Trent Manor was once known as Mistfall Abbey, and the name proved itself accurate.”
“Mistfall Abbey.”
Her eyes brightened with curiosity, and I noted how her interest appeared genuine and not just polite.
“I was not aware of that connection.
I would very much like to learn more of its history.”
“The conversion to a family residence occurred several centuries ago,”
I said, keeping my tone neutral despite finding her enthusiasm unexpectedly refreshing.
“Few outside the family are familiar with its origins.”
“How fascinating,”
Lady Elizabeth said, though her voice lacked the warmth that coloured Madison's interest.
“I understand the Trent family has held these lands for ten generations.”
“Twelve,”
Madison corrected gently, then added, “Olivia mentioned it when she showed me to my chambers.”
The correction surprised me.
Most people accepted whatever number they were offered without question.
Madison, it appeared, listened with purpose and retained what she heard. I found myself reassessing my bride-to-be, wondering what other observations she had made during her brief time at the manor.
“The east wing contains the oldest stonework,”
I said, settling into the familiar rhythm of polite discourse.
“Some sections date back nearly six hundred years.”
“Would that be where the family chapel is located?”
Madison asked.
I paused with my spoon halfway to my lips.
“It is.
The library too. What led you to that conclusion?”
A flicker of uncertainty crossed her features, and she glanced toward her aunt as if gauging whether she had overstepped some invisible boundary.
“Logical deduction, I suppose,”
she said after a moment's consideration.
“If the east wing houses the oldest architecture and the manor was once an abbey, the chapel would naturally be situated in the most ancient section.”
“Madison has always possessed a keen interest in such matters.”
Lady Elizabeth's tone carried a subtle note of warning.
“Haven't you, dear?”
“Father encouraged such studies,”
Madison said, her gaze returning to mine.
“He believed that understanding a family's history and architecture provided valuable insight into their character.”
The observation was astute, perhaps uncomfortably so.
She was reading the manor as one might read a book, gathering information about the family that had shaped these stones for twelve generations.
I wondered what conclusions she was drawing.
“Speaking of family,”
I said, steering us toward more conventional territory, “how is your father? I regret that he is unable to attend tomorrow's ceremony.”
Madison's carefully maintained composure wavered.
She set down her spoon and pressed her hands against her stomach.
“He deeply regrets his absence. The diplomatic mission to Vienna concluded successfully, but the negotiations proved more... demanding than anticipated.”
“Edward's health has suffered somewhat from the strain,”
Lady Elizabeth finished smoothly, clearly accustomed to managing such conversational rescues.
“Politics rarely comes without personal cost,”
I observed, studying Madison's reaction.
“The burden often falls heaviest upon those with the least voice in the decisions being made.”
Madison lifted her chin, fire flashed in her green eyes, and I saw the passion inside that she fought to contain.
“Precisely.
Though I sometimes wonder whether those who bear the sacrifices are ever the same ones who reap the benefits.”
“Madison!”
Lady Elizabeth's rebuke was sharp and immediate.
“I apologise,”
Madison said instantly, though her posture remained defiantly straight.
“It was not my place to speak so directly about such matters.”
Her boldness surprised me.
Most women of her station would never voice such pointed observations, particularly not to a man they had known for mere hours.
The comment revealed a mind that questioned, that refused to accept comfortable assumptions without examination.
“On the contrary,”
I said, genuinely intrigued by this glimpse beneath her diplomatic facade.
“I value honesty far above empty flattery.
Meaningful discourse proves infinitely preferable to pleasant meaninglessness.”
The admission revealed more than I had intended.
Most of my conversations were carefully orchestrated performances, each word chosen for its strategic value rather than its truth.
Madison's directness was both refreshing and dangerously appealing.
Heat prickled along my collar while our gazes held across the table.
The candlelight cast dancing shadows along the walls, and I found myself wondering how those same shadows might look playing across her skin before forcing such thoughts away.
The mere idea sent fire racing through my veins.
“Lord Trent,”
Lady Elizabeth said, her voice cutting through my distraction.
“Are you quite well? You appear rather flushed.”
“Perfectly well,”
I replied, ensuring my voice betrayed nothing of my internal turbulence.
“Perhaps the wine is more potent than usual.”
Silence settled over the table, broken only by the gentle percussion of silverware against porcelain.
Madison lifted her wine glass to her lips.
The crystal caught the light as she took a delicate sip. The gesture was entirely proper, yet the way her lips touched the crystal, the delicate movement of her throat as she swallowed, made my body ache and my mouth go dry.
The shadows in the room deepened, responding to emotions I always kept under strict control.
Shadow magic had been part of my heritage for as long as I could remember.
My father had taught me discipline, restraint, and the absolute importance of never allowing emotion to dictate power.
But since my betrothal to Madison had been announced, the darkness had responded to my moods without conscious direction.
“Wedding planning can be quite overwhelming,”
Lady Elizabeth said.
“I understand the ceremony will include the traditional exchange of family rings.”
“Indeed.
Tradition dictates that each Lord Trent and his bride wear them.”
I kept my voice carefully neutral, though the thought of donning that heavy gold band again made my stomach churn.
The ring had never sat comfortably upon my finger.
Always too cold, too heavy, too much like a manacle around my soul. I’d removed it immediately following Eleanora's funeral, vowing never to wear it again.
“They must be remarkable pieces,”
Madison said.
“Do you know their history?”
“They date back centuries.
Family records indicate they were forged in the ancient realm of Emmadra, though I confess uncertainty about where that region might be located in modern geography.”
“Did Lady Eleanora wear one?”
Madison asked.
Lady Elizabeth's sharp intake of breath testified to the impropriety of mentioning my first wife so directly, yet Madison's steady gaze suggested the inquiry came from compassion rather than curiosity.
“She did,”
I said, deliberately keeping my response brief while studying her face.
I saw no cruelty there, no hunger for gossip.
Instead, her expression carried the weight of genuine sympathy.
“Such a tragedy,”
Madison said softly.
“Loss carves wounds that never fully heal.”
I reached for my wine glass, using the motion to steady both my hands and my voice.
“Eleanora suffered from delusions that grew progressively worse.
In the end, they consumed her entirely.”
The words felt like shards of glass in my throat.
The official explanation was sanitised, safe.
It revealed nothing of the true horror I'd witnessed. The way Eleanora had pressed her hands to her temples while screaming about voices only she could hear… the way she'd looked at me with such terror in her final days, as if I were the monster from her nightmares.
“My mother died when I was quite young,”
Madison said, her tone gentle and understanding.
“I still carry questions about what might have been had she lived.”
She sighed and shook her head.
“Some losses echo through all our days.”
Her words caught me unprepared.
Most people offered empty platitudes about time healing all wounds, but Madison spoke from a place of genuine sorrow that resonated with my own.
Lady Elizabeth cleared her throat with pointed emphasis.
“Perhaps we might turn to more pleasant topics.
The weather, or Lord Trent's assessment of this evening's menu.”
“Of course,”
I said, though I found myself reluctant to abandon the first honest conversation I had enjoyed in months.
“The pheasant is exceptional, though I confess myself no expert in culinary evaluation.”
The corner of Madison's mouth lifted in the barest suggestion of a smile.
“The preparation is exceptionally skillful, though perhaps a touch more rosemary wouldn't go amiss.”
“I shall convey your suggestion to the cook,”
I said, surprised to find myself smiling in return.
“She will be pleased to know her efforts are so thoughtfully appreciated.”