The Duke of Barrowmere

Lenore knows the rumors, but not what to expect when she finally enters the gates of the duke's estate. Ever since leaving the inn room, wearing a dress her uncle packed that makes her look like a stranger in the mirror—its elegance and lace decorations, she noticed that the land here is different. It's gray and desolate—not just unwilling to support life, but actively rejecting it.

She feels the veil of the curse over the land as it creates an eerie quietness. Instead of fear, there's a heavy sadness filling her. However, she doesn't have time to mull over it as the carriage stops in front of the Manor's main entrance. Reality hits, and her dress—which must be an old one that Alina no longer cares for, but looks decent enough to give Lenore in order to make a good first impression—becomes constricting. She's about to meet her fiancé, a man many whisper about as if he's not even human. 

What if life with the duke is worse than life with Claude?

Mary steps out of the carriage first, heading to its back to help unpack luggage and pass it to the duke's servants, several of whom are waiting to begin the process of moving Lenore's meager belongings into the manor and helping her settle as their new lady. Then, Lenore takes a deep breath and steps from the carriage, helped by one of the escort knights.

Nervousness leaves her unsteady, and she grips the escort knight's hand a little tighter to keep her balance. One step, two, and then she's on the ground, facing the wide staircase that leads to the looming double doors of the manor—carved with Barrowmere's thorny rose crest and adorned with golden doorknockers. They're open wide enough to let people in and out at the moment, and in front of the—at the top of the staircase—stands the duke himself.

He's taller than she imagined. Broad-shouldered and straight-backed, draped in a long, dark cloak with gold embroidery woven throughout like the vines that climb the walls of her uncle's manor. His attire is simple, formal, and sharp—black doublet with muted gold fastenings, a plain shirt and dark cravat. It's enough to make him appear polite and noble, but not extravagant. His dark hair is slightly tousled by the wind, the strands long enough to cast shadows over his face, but his eyes—

They're old.

Not tired, not weary. But old, as though they'd seen centuries pass. A deep gray, shadowed beneath his brows as they settle on her with unreadable intent to match his expression that gives her no hints about his thoughts of his new bride.

As he descends the stairs to meet her, his cloak flutters behind him, brushing over the marble like nightfall. Standing in front of him, she feels small. But he bows and holds out his hand, in which she places hers, letting him greet her with a formal kiss on her knuckles.

There's no warmth in the gesture.

"Welcome to Barrowmere, Lenore," he says, his voice deep and rich like velvet. "I hope you'll find it to your liking."

Lenore curtsies once he releases her hand, flustered by the unfamiliar—yet welcome—kindness, even if it's done out of obligation. "I'm Lenore Rowanhart. Thank you for accepting me in Alina's place."

It's a greeting Claude tested her on in the days before she left. In the back of her mind, she thinks about the name that was left behind with her family. A surname she no longer remembers.

The Duke nods. "The butler will show you around. We'll go over the details of the marriage tomorrow, after you've had time to rest."

With that, he turns and leaves, slipping back into the manor like a shadow. Lenore is left in the middle of the servants and knights as they fulfill their roles, preparing to take the horses to the stables to rest before starting the journey back to Rowanhart Duchy.

Before she gets lost in the movement, a man in a crisp suit steps in and bows. His hair has streaks of gray mixed in with the chestnut brown, but his face remains youthful with a polite smile. "My name is Corwin, the head butler of Barrowmere. Allow me to show you to your room, my lady."

"Thank you," she says.

Corwin leads her into the foyer, a grand room with a wooden staircase in the middle. Perhaps it's because of Barrowmere's reputation, but the manor feels larger than Rowanhart's. More imposing, but not enough to be unsettling. Just overwhelming. They go up the stairs to the next floor, turning into a hallway gently lit by sconces on the wall.

Lenore tries to take in the portraits and landscapes hanging on the walls and the ornate vases without flowers in them. Corwin tells her about every room they pass by and what she might need to use it for, but there are so many and the doors all look the same. She hopes that Mary, who tags along behind them, remembers the layout better than she does.

Then, they reach the Duchess' Chambers, which she's told is connected to the duke's room by a door near the head of the bed.

"Take some time to rest and familiarize yourself with the room," Corwin says. "I'll come back when dinner is ready, which shouldn't be long from now."

"Alright," Lenore says. "Thank you."

Corwin excuses himself, and Lenore collapses onto the bed that's now hers. The room is more extravagant than her meager room in Rowanhart. However, her old room was light wood and white cloth, where this one is all dark, rich tones.

Lenore feels Mary tug her boots off and toss them to the side. "Would you like to take a bath before dinner?"

Now that she's on the bed, she doesn't want to move. "Do you think the Duke will be at dinner?"

"If I had to guess, then I would say yes."

With a sigh, Lenore pulls herself into a sitting position. "Okay. I'll bathe and put on fresh clothes, then. See if you can find another of Alina's old dresses stuffed in my luggage. I don't want the Duke to think poorly of me if he's at dinner."

While she doesn't enjoy wearing clothes from Alina, who was a major source of torment throughout her childhood, she's grateful that Claude had the decency to include her old dresses. It simply saves him from the trouble of throwing them away, but it's enough to hide that her own wardrobe is painfully bare.

As she prepares for her first meal in Barrowmere, she prays that her nerves settle enough to let her keep the food down.