Chapter 17: The Threshold of Wycliffe

The carriage wheels crunched over the gravel drive, and Evelyn leaned forward, her catching her breath as she caught the first true glimpse of Wycliffe Estate in full splendor.

It rose like a dream or a fortress atop a broad green rise, its stone walls streaked with age and ivy. Massive windows glinted in the afternoon sun, and spires reached up like fingers to the moody English sky. The estate was not just a home. It was a legacy, wealth, and silent judgment in every line.

A great fountain stood before the front entrance, its waters frozen mid-arc, and beyond it, the double doors were thrown open in anticipation. Gaslight flickered in the windows. Staff lined the steps in practiced formation.

Evelyn had imagined it. Of course she had. But this... this was grander than any sketch in her mind. She had grown up amidst modest countryside homes, far removed from this scale of wealth. Her gloved fingers tightened slightly around the folds of her traveling cloak.

"It's… vast," she murmured.

Seated beside her, Nathaniel said nothing. His eyes were fixed ahead, his expression unreadable. But when he stepped down and offered her a hand, it was surprisingly gentle.

"Welcome to Wycliffe," he said.

She descended the carriage steps into a world that felt colder and older than London. As her boots clicked on the stone path, she caught sight of three figures waiting just beyond the threshold.

"It's so beautiful," she marveled.

Beside her, Nathaniel stirred. "It's large," he said dryly. "You'll learn to ignore it."

The three figures stood waiting at the base of the sweeping staircase.

Lady Rosalind Wycliffe stood like a monument carved from judgment itself. Grey-haired, impeccably dressed in widow's black, she held her walking cane like a scepter, her eyes already dissecting Evelyn from across the distance.

Beside her stood Juliana, Nathaniel's younger sister. Fair, fine-boned, and striking in a pale blue riding gown, she had her brother's mouth but none of his chill. Her smile was warm and immediate.

And just behind them, arms crossed with mild boredom, was Emilio Wycliffe, Nathaniel's cousin, dressed fashionably in a wine-red waistcoat, his brown eyes sharp with curiosity.

Nathaniel barely waited for a formal introduction before striding forward and pulling Juliana into a full embrace.

Evelyn's brows lifted.

Juliana laughing softly said, "You took your time, brother."

"You've grown again."Nathaniel murmured.

Juliana smiled,"That's how time works, dear brother."

It wasn't just affection but also was fondness. Something unguarded flickered in Nathaniel's eyes as he cupped his sister's face with both hands. Evelyn had never seen that softness in him before.

Is this what he's really like with the people he cared about? she wondered.

Evelyn, standing to the side, could only stare. It was like watching an unfamiliar man emerge in plain sight. Her husband, who barely spoke more than necessary to her in the carriage, now touched his sister's cheek with something like tenderness.

"You're thin," he murmured, studying her.

"You've shrunk too," she quipped. "Too many months in London, brooding over court matter and business."

Nathaniel chuckled, low and rough, and Evelyn felt her chest tighten.

He never laughed like that with her.

"Juliana," Lady Rosalind's voice sliced through the reunion, "perhaps allow your brother to greet the rest of us before you smother him."

Juliana rolled her eyes with affection, stepping aside.

Nathaniel inclined his head to the older woman. "Aunt Rosalind."

"Nathaniel. I was beginning to think you'd send the girl alone and stay behind."Lady Rosalind said, smiling.

He didn't rise to the bait. "That would've been unkind. I'm rarely unkind."

Juliana turned to Evelyn with open interest.

"You must be Lady Evelyn," she said. "I've been writing to my brother to bring you sooner. Welcome to our crumbling little kingdom."

"Thank you," Evelyn replied with a small smile. "It's beautiful."

"It's cold in winter, haunted in spring, and entirely too grand for its own good," Juliana said cheerfully. "But it does have its charms. We'll find them." Juliana said.

Rosalind's gaze cut toward Evelyn, cool and assessing. "Duchess."

"Yes, ma'am," Evelyn said, trying not to fidget.

"Welcome."

No greeting. No warmth. Just two words that settled like frost.

Before Evelyn could reply, the last figure stepped forward.

"I'm Emilio," the man said, offering his hand with a sly smile. "Welcome to Wycliffe, Duchess. I assume you have questions. You'll find I often have answers."

"That'll do, Emilio," Nathaniel said mildly, but his tone held an edge. "Not everyone needs your introductions."

"And yet the house would be terribly dull without me," Emilio replied with a wink toward Evelyn.

Juliana grinned. "Ignore him. He only behaves when he's asleep." She told Evelyn.

"I've missed this," Nathaniel said quietly.

Evelyn watched him, not the duke, not the cold nobleman, but a man surrounded by fragments of his youth. And in this moment, he wasn't unreachable. He looked more human.

"You're quiet," he said, turning to her at last.

"I'm watching," she answered softly. "You. Them. This house."

"And?"

"It's all more than I imagined. And less terrifying. At least... for now." She replied.

Nathaniel's eyes lingered on hers.

"That will change," he said, voice low.

But there was no threat in it. Only truth.

Evelyn followed one of the servants up the grand staircase, her soft slippers nearly silent on the runner. Each step echoed against the high ceilings and paneled walls. Oil portraits stared down at her - Wycliffes past, their gazes haughty and stern, as if judging her worth with every creak of the stair.

They turned down a long corridor lit by low sconces. The doors here were tall and ornate, carved with motifs of vines and birds. No two were alike.

Finally, the maid paused and gestured toward a pair of double doors, already slightly ajar.

"Your chambers, Your Grace."

Evelyn stepped inside and caught her breath.

The room was enormous, larger than her family's entire cottage back in Derbyshire. A canopied bed draped in pale gold silk stood at the center, its posts carved into climbing roses. Heavy curtains framed windows opened and a marble hearth crackled gently with fire. An armoire the size of a carriage stood against one wall. A faint scent of lavender and polished wood hung in the air.

"It's like something out of a dream," she murmured.

"That's Wycliffe," came a voice behind her. Not the servant.

She turned.

A woman in a dark gray dress stood at the threshold, her hands folded neatly. Her face was severe; pale and sharp-boned. Her hair slicked back without a single strand out of place. But her eyes were not unkind. Merely alert.

"I'm Mrs. Carroway. The Housekeeper."

Evelyn inclined her head. "A pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise, Your Grace." Mrs. Carroway stepped inside, glancing around. "Your trunks arrived ahead of you. I took the liberty of having your gowns aired and stored. The green muslin was folded improperly by your maid in London, but we've corrected that."

Evelyn blinked. "Thank you. That was very thoughtful."

"It was necessary," Mrs. Carroway replied without emotion. "This household functions with precision. The Duke does not tolerate otherwise."

Evelyn didn't talk but smile.

"If you need anything," Mrs. Carroway continued, "ring twice. Once alerts the corridor. Twice brings me. Do not ring once expecting haste. Do not ring thrice unless there is blood."

She said it so flatly Evelyn wasn't sure if it was a joke. Judging by the woman's expression, it wasn't.

"I understand," Evelyn said, unsure if she did.

Mrs. Carroway's eyes swept her once, cataloguing something. "You're pale. The journey was long. I'll have warm milk sent up before bed."

"I don't...thank you."Evelyn wanted to refuse but ended up agreeing anyway.

The housekeeper nodded. "Lady Juliana prefers warm rosewater baths after travel. Would you like the same?"

Evelyn hesitated. "Yes. That would be lovely."

Mrs. Carroway gave a slight bow. "I'll get it done.". She turned and left.

Evelyn stood alone again, letting her gaze travel across the vast room.

The silk sheets.

The embroidered drapes.

The velvet chaise before the hearth.

It was beautiful and rich but it was not hers.

She crossed to the window and looked out. From here, she could see the stables, the long path winding toward the gardens.