The house had quietened, yet the air remained heavy with the remnants of the evening. The dining candles had burned low, their glow replaced by the cold silver of the moonlight that streamed through the tall windows. The scent of vanilla and oaks lingered faintly, a reminder of Madame Wellington’s meticulous attention to every detail. Despite the outward calm, the tension in the house had not dissipated. Tonight’s pledges, Matthew’s stammered promises and the formal acknowledgment of my ...