Morning Light

Morning sunlight filtered through the heavy curtains, casting warm patterns across the sitting room. Edward stood quietly in the doorway, a twinkle in his aged eyes as he observed the scene before him. His young master was stretched out on the sofa, still in his rumpled tuxedo from the previous night, while Ms. Morrison slept curled in an armchair nearby, her head resting at an uncomfortable angle.

Edward suppressed a chuckle. In his sixty years of service to the West family, he had witnessed many dramas unfold within these walls, but this particular development brought him a secret satisfaction. He had recognized Ella Morrison the moment she stepped through the door, though he'd kept that knowledge to himself. Sofia's daughter, all grown up and back in the mansion where she had once played as a child.

Perhaps there was hope yet for his troubled young master.

Adrian stirred, his face contorting slightly as consciousness brought with it the painful consequences of last night's overindulgence. He groaned softly, one hand moving to his temple as his eyes fluttered open, squinting against the light.

Edward quietly stepped back into the shadows of the hallway, not wanting to interrupt the moment about to unfold. Let them have this brief time without an audience, he thought, though he couldn't resist staying close enough to observe.

Adrian pushed himself up to a sitting position, wincing as his head protested the movement. His eyes scanned the unfamiliar surroundings with momentary confusion until they landed on Ella's sleeping form.

He stilled, surprise evident in his expression. The sight of her asleep in the chair clearly hadn't been what he expected to find. For a long moment, he simply looked at her, his usual mask of cold control absent in these unguarded moments of early waking.

Edward watched as something softened in Adrian's expression. The young man rose slowly, moving with deliberate quietness so as not to wake her. He approached the chair where Ella slept, studying her face with an intensity that seemed almost like wonder.

Hesitantly, as if unsure of his own actions, Adrian reached out. His fingers gently brushed a strand of hair from Ella's face, the touch feather-light. The tenderness of the gesture was so at odds with the man Edward had watched grow increasingly cold and bitter over the years.

At the touch, Ella startled awake. Her body jerked as her eyes flew open, instantly alert with a fear that spoke volumes about her experiences these past months. She was on her feet in an instant, backing away from Adrian with the instinctive wariness of someone expecting punishment.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—" she began, her voice tight with anxiety.

Adrian seemed taken aback by her reaction, his hand still suspended in the air where her face had been. Something flickered across his features—realization, perhaps, of how she had learned to fear his touch.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked suddenly, his voice lacking its usual sharp edge.

The unexpected question seemed to confuse Ella even more than if he had been angry. "I... yes. I mean, the chair wasn't very comfortable, but—" She stopped, clearly unsure how to navigate this unfamiliar territory.

An awkward silence fell between them. Adrian ran a hand through his disheveled hair, looking almost as uncertain as she did.

"I should go prepare your breakfast," Ella said suddenly, seizing the excuse to escape the tension. Before Adrian could respond, she was hurrying toward the door.

Edward barely managed to step aside in time as she rushed past him, not even noticing his presence in her haste to put distance between herself and Adrian.

"You needn't hide in doorways, Edward," Adrian called out, not turning around. "It's unbecoming for the head of staff."

Edward stepped into the room, his expression innocent despite the amusement in his eyes. "I was merely confirming that you were awake, sir. Shall I have Henri prepare breakfast?"

"Henri isn't here?"

"Called in sick this morning, sir. Something about his back acting up again."

Adrian nodded absently, his attention still focused in the direction Ella had fled. "She brought me here last night," he said, more to himself than to Edward. "From the conservatory."

"Did she, sir?" Edward replied, his tone carefully neutral despite knowing perfectly well what had happened. He had observed Ms. Morrison's struggles to transport his inebriated master from the conservatory to the sitting room, but had judged it better not to interfere. Some things needed to happen without assistance.

"Why would she do that?" Adrian asked, seeming genuinely perplexed.

Edward gave a small shrug. "Perhaps, sir, because it was the decent thing to do."

Adrian's eyes narrowed slightly at the implied criticism, but he said nothing. He moved to the window, staring out at the gardens, his posture rigid with the tension Edward recognized all too well. The boy was fighting his better instincts again.

"Will you be returning to the city today, sir?" Edward asked, changing the subject.

Adrian didn't answer immediately. "No," he said finally. "I think we'll stay another day."

"Very good, sir. I'll prepare the master suite properly. And Ms. Morrison's room as well?"

Adrian nodded, still distracted.

"If I may say so, sir," Edward ventured, "it's good to see you back at the estate. It's been too long."

Adrian turned, studying the elderly butler with a complex expression. Edward had been more father to him than his own, a constant presence through the darkest days of his childhood. If anyone could speak truths Adrian might actually hear, it was Edward.

"Does it disturb you, Edward?" Adrian asked suddenly. "Having her here? Sofia's daughter?"

Edward met his gaze steadily. "Not at all, sir. Quite the contrary."

"She doesn't remember being here before," Adrian said. "At least, she claims not to."

"She was very young, sir. Children often retain impressions rather than clear memories."

Adrian's jaw tightened. "Why did you call her a 'lovely young woman' last night?"

Edward didn't flinch under the scrutiny. "Because that is what she is, sir. And because I remember a sweet child who deserved none of what came after."

"You think I'm being too harsh with her," Adrian stated flatly.

"It is not my place to judge, sir." Edward's voice remained respectful but firm. "But I will say this—the sins of the mother are not the sins of the daughter. And even the mother's story may not be as simple as a ten-year-old boy understood it to be."

Adrian's expression darkened. "You don't know what Sofia did—"

"With respect, sir, I know more than you imagine." Edward's face softened slightly. "I've served this family since before your birth. I was here for... everything."

Something in the way he said "everything" made Adrian pause. Before he could question further, the sound of footsteps approaching drew their attention to the doorway.

Ella appeared, carrying a tray with what appeared to be a simple breakfast. Her expression was guarded, uncertain, as she glanced between Adrian and Edward.

"I... I made something," she said hesitantly. "Since the chef isn't here."

Edward stepped forward, intending to take the tray from her, but Adrian raised a hand to stop him.

"Set it on the table, please," Adrian instructed Ella, his tone carefully neutral.

She complied, arranging the dishes with practiced efficiency. Edward noted that despite her evident nervousness, there was a natural grace to her movements, a competence born of long practice.

"Noodles?" Adrian asked, looking at the steaming bowl with surprise. "For breakfast?"

Ella's cheeks colored slightly. "It's all I really know how to make well. My mother taught me. I can try something else if you prefer—"

"No," Adrian interrupted, studying the simple dish with an odd expression. "This is fine."

Edward recognized the dish immediately—a special recipe Sofia used to make for Elizabeth. The young Adrian had loved it too, often sneaking into the kitchen to beg for a bowl when it was being prepared.

"Will that be all, sir?" Edward asked, already knowing the answer.

Adrian glanced at Ella, who stood awkwardly beside the table, clearly unsure of her role in this unfamiliar setting. In the penthouse or at the office, Edward knew, she would stand silently until dismissed or instructed otherwise.

"Join me," Adrian said suddenly, gesturing to the chair across from him.

Ella looked startled. "Sir?"

"Sit. Eat." He indicated the second bowl on the tray. "You made enough for two, I see."

"I... yes, but I thought I would eat in the kitchen, as usual."

"This isn't the penthouse," Adrian replied. "Different rules apply here."

Edward suppressed a smile as he quietly withdrew from the room. Different rules indeed. Perhaps the old house was working its magic already.

Ella slowly lowered herself into the chair, perched on the edge as if ready to flee at any moment. Adrian took a spoonful of the noodles, and Edward paused in the hallway just long enough to see the flash of recognition cross his face at the familiar taste of his childhood.

"This is exactly how I remember it," Adrian said softly, almost to himself.

"Remember what?" Ella asked, confused.

Adrian looked up, seeming to realize he had spoken aloud. "Nothing. It's good."

They ate in silence for a few moments, the awkwardness between them almost palpable. Edward lingered just out of sight, knowing he should leave them to their privacy but too invested in the outcome to walk away just yet.

"I wanted to thank you," Adrian said finally, setting down his spoon. "For last night. Bringing me inside."

Ella looked up, clearly surprised by both the acknowledgment and the gratitude. "You're welcome," she replied cautiously.

Another silence fell, less tense than before but still heavy with unspoken thoughts. Adrian continued eating, his expression thoughtful as he worked through whatever was on his mind.

Ella fidgeted with her spoon, gathering courage with each passing second. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, reconsidering her words.

"Is something wrong with the food?" Adrian asked, noticing her hesitation.

"No, it's not that," she replied quickly, her eyes fixed on her bowl. "I was just... I was wondering..." She took a small breath. "It's been over two months since... what I mean is..."

Adrian waited, one eyebrow slightly raised.

"My mother," Ella finally managed, her voice barely above a whisper. "I usually visit her every week at St. George's. She might... I don't know if she notices when I'm not there, but..." She trailed off, suddenly aware of how presumptuous her request might seem.

Adrian's spoon paused halfway to his mouth. "You want to visit her."

It wasn't a question, but Ella nodded anyway, her eyes still downcast. "Only if... I mean, I understand if it's not possible..." She twisted the napkin in her lap nervously. "It was just a thought."

Edward held his breath, waiting for the explosion, the cold rejection, the harsh reminder of her position. Instead, Adrian was silent, studying Ella's face with an unreadable expression.

"Please," she added, the word so soft it was barely audible.

Adrian set his spoon down deliberately. "Very well," he said finally. "We'll go this afternoon."

The surprise on Ella's face must have matched Edward's own. This was not the response either of them had expected.

"Thank you," she said softly.

Adrian nodded once, then resumed eating, his expression closed off once more. But the fact remained—he had granted her request, an unprecedented concession in their power dynamic.

Edward finally turned away, a small, satisfied smile on his lined face. Yes, perhaps there was hope yet. The house remembered, even if its occupants did not fully recall. And in this place where so much pain had begun, perhaps healing might finally find room to grow.

Sofia's daughter and Elizabeth's son, breaking bread together at the same table. It was a small step, but a significant one.

As Edward moved away to begin his morning duties, he couldn't help but think that somewhere, Elizabeth might be watching, and perhaps—just perhaps—approving of this fragile, tentative peace between her son and the daughter of the woman who had once been her dearest friend.