Once dressed, Jonathan navigated the unfamiliar halls of Ellsworth Manor, the thought of Genevieve guided him like a compass. He could not wait to see her this morning, he was more excited to head to breakfast than normal, and deep down he knew that was because of her. He ached to see her smile, to feel her warmth, and to maybe hear her laugh once more.
The aroma of freshly baked bread and the rich scent of brewing tea wafted through the air as Jonathan descended the stairs to join the breakfast gathering. The table was a tableau of warmth and familial camaraderie, a scene that echoed the history embedded in the walls of this grand estate.
But the moment they spotted him, all family members greeted him warmly, making him feel more welcome than he expected. The Ellsworth family truly were wonderful people.
As he took his seat, every glance, every shared smile, and every unspoken word painted a picture of connection. Eleanor’s anecdotes danced through the air, and the Ellsworth family queries filled the room with the gentle murmur of morning conversation. Yet, amidst the lively atmosphere, Jonathan’s attention gravitated toward Genevieve always. He could not seem to help himself. Something kept pulling his eyes her way, no matter how hard he tried.
Every accidental lock of their eyes sent a subtle tremor through him, a heart beat that leaped a tad more than he cared to admit. Genevieve, with her grace and determination, became the focal point of his awareness. The nuances of her presence became vivid details etched into his memory. Her fingers, delicately holding the teacup, seemed to move with a grace that transcended the simple act. The flutter of her eyelashes, the soft curve of her lips when she smiled — all became details that he could not help but notice, each nuance etched into his consciousness forever. He knew that he would not be able to forget anything about her, ever.
“So, Your Grace,” Genevieve’s father began, a genial smile playing on his lips, “tell us more about your family. I understand you come from a long line of historians.”
Jonathan, sipping his tea, met the man’s gaze. “Yes, indeed. My family has a deep rooted passion for history. My late uncle was particularly fond of unraveling the mysteries of the past, and I find myself following fascinated by his writings.”
Eleanor, chiming in, added, “It is fascinating how the love for history can be passed down through generations.”
Before anyone could say anything else, the footman entered the room with a letter for the head of the household. Everyone waited in deep anticipation to find out what was inside, even Jonathan despite this not being his family. In the moment, it really did feel like he belonged here.
“Ah, I see,” he declared with a smile. “It seems that the Winter Ball has finally been arranged. It shall be held in the village inn.”
This news rippled through the air, igniting a palpable wave of excitement. The mention of the ball resonated with the promise of festivities and shared moments. The prospect of a winter celebration, with the village adorned in the splendor of the season, fueled the energy at the table. Jonathan even found himself thrilled by the idea of a dance. The prospect of seeing Genevieve in a ball gown sent his heart racing even faster. The image of her, adorned in the elegance of a winter ensemble, unfolded in his mind like a scene from a story book.
He knew that he was not supposed to be getting too close to anyone, or allowing anyone in to his heart, but he could not seem to stop Genevieve from making her way into his feelings, no matter how hard they tried. He caught her eyes across the table once more, and was thrilled to see the joy in her face also. Would they dance once more? He could not wait to have her that close to him again. He adored dancing with Genevieve in a way that he never expected to.
As the morning unfolded, the enchantment of the impending winter ball hung in the air like a delicate promise. The grandeur of the event, the twinkle of lights, and the joyous anticipation painted a vibrant picture in Jonathan’s mind. However, eventually, the realization of the outside world gently nudged its way in to Jonathan’s consciousness. It was time for him to depart from Ellsworth Manor, much as he had enjoyed himself and wished to stay.
He thanked his hosts profusely, so grateful for them for keeping him safe from the storm, and he took his horse from the stable boy once more. He was greeted by a transformed landscape. The snow, which had veiled the world in a pristine white blanket, now glistened in the soft glow of winter sun light. The storm had subsided, revealing a serene and untouched canvas that stretched as far as the eye could see. The snow would not last for long now, so he admired the beauty while it was there.
The crunch of snow beneath the horses hooves echoed in the quiet stillness, and Jonathan could not help but feel a tug of reluctance. The wish flickered within him — a desire that the storm had lasted just a little longer, allowing him to linger in the warmth of Ellsworth Manor and the shared moments that had unfolded within its walls. Being that close to Genevieve was truly wonderful. He had truly enjoyed every moment of it.
As Jonathan finally approached the door to his home, the realization of reentering the outside world settled in. The enchantment of Ellsworth Manor began to fade, replaced by the quietude of his residence. The door swung open, revealing the familiar surroundings of the drawing room. His mother, seated by the window, looked up at his entrance, her expression a mix of relief and concern.
“Where have you been?” Rosalind demanded. “I have been so worried about you.”
“I apologise, Mother. I was invited to stay at the Ellsworth Manor to avoid the snow storm, once I took Lady Genevieve and Lord Harry home.”
“I see.” Rosalind’s eyes widened. “That is unexpected.”
He tried his hardest to avoid her gaze because he knew that she was bound to have a lot of questions about his feelings for Lady Genevieve. That was not something he wished to discuss right now. “I am fine, Mother. You do not need to worry so much.”
Her concern, though subtly masked, lingered in the air. Jonathan could sense the weight of the worry she had carried in his absence. “But you were fine? At the Ellsworth Manor?”
Jonathan grinned. “I was looked after very well, thank you. I had a nice time with the family. They were truly kind to me. But now, I think I should rest.”
His mother nodded at him, letting him leave, but Jonathan did not head for his bed chambers. He needed to rest but not sleep. He wanted to spend time in the familiar warmth of the library once more. But this time, he was not going to be alone from the very start. Lucas was already there, as if he was waiting for him.
“Ah, Jonathan, you have returned,” Lucas said with a smile. “I have been worried about you. Where have you been?”
Jonathan repeated the story, telling his friend that he took Lady Genevieve and Lord Harry home, before he was invited to stay. “I thought it better than facing the storm outside.”
“Wise,” Lucas replied with an understanding nod. “But what were you doing at the River Lox in the first place? Did that have something to do with your treasure hunt?”
“It did, yes, but we actually found something troubling while we were there.” Jonathan frowned to himself, the memory of the note weighing heavily upon him. “A threatening note, trying to prevent us from continuing on with our pursuit.”
“You did?” Lucas looked stunned. “What did it say?”
Lucas’s request hung in the air, a quiet yet insistent plea. Jonathan could feel the weight of the letter pressing against his chest, a tangible reminder of the ominous message that Genevieve and Harry had unearthed at River Lox. With a sense of reluctant determination, he withdrew the folded parchment from his pocket, unfolding it carefully. The words, stark against the aged paper, seemed to carry a weight beyond their ink.
“To those who seek the treasure of Grafton Castle,” Jonathan began, the very act of uttering the words drawing the room in to a hushed stillness. Lucas’s eyes, filled with a mix of curiosity and apprehension, remained fixed on the letter. “Cease your pursuit, for the shadows you disturb hold more than riches. This land bears the weight of secrets best left undisturbed. The river whispers warnings, and the stones remember oaths long forgotten. Turn away now, for darker forces lie in wait. The treasure you seek is not worth the price that may be exacted. Let the echoes of this warning guide your steps, or face the consequences of your relentless pursuit. A Guardian of Graftonshire.”
