Rebecca sat in the morning light filtering through the tall windows of her sunroom, the wide cream-colored armchair beneath her framing a scene she barely recognized anymore. The house had settled into waking hours, servants bustling softly around corners, but she remained still. Her hand hovered over a cup of barely warm tea, breath suspended in the quiet.

The air smelled faintly of jasmine and old velvet, heavy with years of memories. She rose slowly, every movement weighted by absence and ...