1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

L ady Evelyn stood in the shadows of Aunt Agnes' bedchamber, her heart heavy with the weight of impending loss. The room, once a sanctuary of warmth and laughter, now felt oppressive, its darkness mirroring the grim reality of Agnes' condition. The heavy curtains, drawn tight against the world outside, seemed to trap the very air within, making each breath a struggle.

Agnes lay still upon her bed, her chest rising and falling in an uneven rhythm. Evelyn's gaze lingered on her aunt's frail form, so different from the vibrant woman who had swept into her life months ago. The silence was broken only by the laboured wheezing that escaped Agnes' lips, a constant reminder of the illness that had stolen her vitality.

Evelyn's mind wandered to the plans they had made, now nothing more than wisps of smoke. America, with its promise of adventure and new beginnings, had seemed so tangible when Agnes first proposed the idea.

They had pored over maps, debating which cities to visit, which sights to see. Agnes had spoken of introducing Evelyn to her circle of friends across the Atlantic, opening doors to a world far removed from the stuffy drawing rooms of London society.

"We'll make quite the pair, you and I," Agnes had declared, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "They won't know what's hit them."

But fate, it seemed, had other plans. Agnes' illness had come swiftly and without mercy, robbing her of the strength to even leave her bed, let alone embark on a transatlantic journey.

Evelyn moved closer to the bed, her fingers whispering over Agnes' hand. Though not bound by blood, their connection ran deep. Agnes had taken her under her wing when Evelyn was adrift, offering guidance and affection without reservation. She had been more than an aunt; she had been a confidante, a mentor, a friend.

"Oh, Agnes," Evelyn whispered, her voice barely audible. "What I wouldn't give to see you well again."

Agnes' eyes fluttered open at the sound, a ghost of a smile touching her lips. For a moment, Evelyn saw a flicker of the woman she had been—strong, vivacious, unbound by convention. It was gone in an instant, replaced by a look of pain and resignation.

Evelyn swallowed hard, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall. She would be strong for Agnes, just as Agnes had always been strong for her. Yet as she watched her aunt's struggle for each breath, Evelyn couldn't help but mourn for the future they would never share, the adventures left unexplored, the memories unmade.

Evelyn quietly withdrew to a seat in the corner of the room, smoothing her dress softly as she settled into the worn armchair. She cast a final glance at Agnes, relieved to see her aunt's eyes had closed once more, her breathing slightly steadier in sleep.

With a heavy sigh, Evelyn reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded letter. The paper was crisp and its edges slightly worn from the countless times she had taken it out. She read it, and tucked it away again without reply. Amelia's neat handwriting stared up at her, a reminder of the world beyond this sickroom.

Evelyn smoothed the letter on her lap, her eyes skimming over Amelia's warm inquiries about her well-being and tentative questions about her future plans. The caring words brought a lump to her throat. How could she explain the tumultuous events of the past weeks? The excitement of America, dashed by Agnes' sudden illness?

She reached for the small writing desk beside her, pulling out a fresh sheet of paper and a quill. For a moment, she hesitated, the nib hovering above the page. Then, with a deep breath, she began to write.

"My dearest Amelia,

I hope this letter finds you well. I apologise for my delayed response; recent events have left me quite overwhelmed.

I'm afraid I must share some distressing news. Dear Aunt Agnes has fallen gravely ill..."

Evelyn paused, her pen trembling slightly. She glanced towards the bed, where Agnes lay motionless save for the shallow rise and fall of her chest. Turning back to her letter, she continued:

"Her condition worsens by the day, and I fear... I fear we may not have much time left together. Our plans for America have been set aside. Instead, I find myself playing nurse, watching helplessly as she slips away.

Amelia, I confess I am at a loss. Aunt Agnes has been my anchor these past months, guiding me through the stormy waters of society with her wit and wisdom. The thought of a future without her counsel leaves me adrift."

Evelyn set down her quill, staring at the words she had penned. The ink glistened in the dim light, a stark contrast to the pristine paper. She hesitated, her hand hovering over the letter as if to snatch it back and start anew. The melancholy tone of her missive weighed heavily upon her, and for a moment, she considered tearing it to shreds.

With a sigh, she dusted the letter with sand to dry the ink before folding and sealing it with a drop of wax. It wasn't fair to burden Amelia with such gloom, but the words had poured forth unbidden, a reflection of the fear that gnawed at her very core.

Evelyn's gaze drifted back to Agnes' still form. The steady rise and fall of her aunt's chest offered little comfort. What would become of her when Agnes was gone? The thought sent a shiver down her spine, colder than any winter wind.

She rose from her seat, pacing the room with silent steps. The walls seemed to close in, a physical manifestation of the uncertainty that threatened to suffocate her. America had been a beacon of hope, a chance to escape the suffocating expectations of London society. Now, that dream lay in tatters, as fragile as Agnes' health.

Evelyn's mind wandered to the Judge, his stern visage looming in her thoughts. She could almost hear his voice, cold and unyielding, speaking of duty and family obligation. The mere thought of returning to his household, of being once more under his thumb, made her stomach churn.

She pressed a hand to her mouth, stifling a sob. The fear she had been holding at bay surged forth, threatening to overwhelm her. Where would she go? What would she do? The questions swirled in her mind, each one more daunting than the last.

Evelyn forced herself to take a deep breath, then another. She couldn't afford to fall apart, not now. Agnes needed her, and she would be strong for her aunt's sake. But in the gloom of Agnes' room, with only the sound of thick, syrupy breathing to keep her company, Evelyn allowed herself to acknowledge the truth she had been avoiding.

She was afraid. Terrified, even. The future, once so bright with possibility, now loomed before her like a yawning chasm. At the edge of that chasm stood the Judge, waiting to drag her back into a life she had fought so hard to escape.

A week had passed since Evelyn sent her letter to Amelia, each day blurring into the next as she kept vigil at Agnes' bedside. The inevitable finally came in the early hours of the morning, Agnes slipping away with a quiet sigh that seemed to echo through the now-silent room.

Evelyn sat motionless in the chair beside the bed, her eyes fixed on Agnes' still form. The weight of grief pressed down upon her, threatening to crush her very soul. She had known this moment was coming, had tried to prepare herself, but nothing could have readied her for the stark reality of Agnes' absence.

The world outside continued its relentless march forward, oblivious to the loss that had shattered Evelyn's world. She felt adrift, untethered from all that had anchored her. The future she had once dreamed of with Agnes by her side now seemed a cruel jest, mocking her with its impossibility.

As the morning light crept through the cracks in the curtains, Evelyn's thoughts turned to the Judge. The spectre of her past loomed larger than ever, a dark cloud on the horizon of her uncertain future. She shuddered at the thought of returning to that life, of once again being under his control.

A knock at the door startled Evelyn from her grim reverie. She rose slowly, her limbs heavy with exhaustion and grief. Who could it be at this hour? She hadn't sent word of Agnes' passing to anyone yet. Rather than rouse one of the servants, Evelyn went down to open it herself, groggy from grief and fear.

Evelyn opened the door; her eyes widening in surprise as she beheld the familiar heart-shaped face before her, the calm blue-grey eyes and golden curls peeking out from beneath her bonnet. "Amelia?" she breathed, scarcely believing her eyes.

Without a word, Evelyn threw her arms around her friend, nearly knocking her off balance and clinging to her as if she were a lifeline in a storm-tossed sea. The tears she had been holding back for days finally broke free, and she began to sob, her whole body shaking with the force of her grief.

Amelia gently led Evelyn into the drawing room, her touch a comforting anchor in the chaos of emotions. Evelyn sank onto the settee, her body trembling with exhaustion and grief. Amelia sat beside her, still holding her hand, a silent pillar of support.

"Oh, Amelia," Evelyn whispered, her voice cracking. "I don't know what to do. I just have nowhere to go, nothing to hide behind." She looked down at her hands, clenched tightly into the folds of her skirt. "What if the Judge finds me? What if—"

Amelia reached out and clutched Evelyn's hand, squeezing reassuringly.

"You're not alone, Evelyn," she said softly. "We'll figure this out together."

Evelyn took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm herself. Amelia's presence was a balm to Evelyn's raw nerves, her quiet strength a reminder that not all was lost. She continued to fret inwardly, her body still tense as if preparing to flee. Amelia listened to all of her anxieties, murmuring sympathetic sounds.

The first light of dawn was creeping through the windows when Evelyn felt her eyelids growing heavy. She fought against the exhaustion, afraid that if she closed her eyes, she'd wake to find Amelia gone and herself alone once more.

But sleep was a relentless foe. As Amelia's soothing voice washed over her, Evelyn felt herself drifting off, her head coming to rest on her friend's shoulder. Her last conscious thought was one of gratitude for Amelia's unwavering support.

As Evelyn drifted off against the unstoppable tide of sleep, she could just hear Amelia saying, "I may have an idea..."

Evelyn awoke with a start, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings. The events of the previous night came rushing back, and she felt a fresh wave of grief wash over her. Agnes was gone, and the world seemed a colder place for it.

Forcing herself to rise, Evelyn dressed quickly, her movements mechanical. There was work to be done, no matter how much she wished to hide away from the world. Agnes' great-nephew, a man Evelyn had never met, was eager to claim his inheritance. The thought of it made her stomach churn.

As she left the drawing room, she found Amelia already at work, a white dustcloth draped over her arm. The sight of her friend brought a small measure of comfort to Evelyn's aching heart.

"Good morning," Amelia said softly, her eyes filled with concern. "I've begun in the drawing room. How shall we proceed?"

Evelyn took a deep breath, steeling herself for the task ahead. "We'll need to take inventory of everything," she replied, her voice hoarse from crying. "And settle the servants' accounts. The new master of the house will want a clean slate, I'm sure."

They moved through the rooms methodically, Evelyn's heart constricting with each familiar object they catalogued. Every piece of furniture, every trinket, held a memory of Agnes. Amelia worked quietly beside her, offering silent support as she draped dustcloths over chairs and tables.

In Agnes' study, Evelyn paused before her aunt's writing desk. How many letters had Agnes penned here, full of wit and wisdom? How many plans had been made at this very spot? Plans that would now never come to fruition.

"The funeral," Evelyn said suddenly, her voice tight. "It's to be held the day after tomorrow. Far too soon, if you ask me, but the great-nephew insists."

Amelia looked up from the ledger where she'd been noting the contents of the room. "That seems awfully rushed," she agreed, frowning. "Surely he could wait a few days more?"

Evelyn shook her head, bitterness creeping into her voice. "Apparently not. He's eager to take possession of the house. Agnes is barely cold, and already he's counting his inheritance."

She turned away, blinking back tears. The thought of strangers living in Agnes' home, using her things, sleeping in her bed – it was almost too much to bear. But what could she do? She had no claim here, no right to protest.

As they continued their work, Evelyn found herself growing increasingly agitated. The hurried funeral arrangements, the eager great-nephew, the methodical dismantling of Agnes' life – it all felt wrong, disrespectful to the woman who had meant so much to her.

As Evelyn and Amelia worked through the morning, the repetitive nature of their task provided a welcome distraction. Evelyn was trying to focus on each item, carefully noting its description and value, leaving little room for her mind to wander to darker thoughts.

The constant movement from room to room, the scratch of pen on paper, and Amelia's quiet presence beside her created a bubble of focused activity that kept her anxieties at bay.

It wasn't until they paused for a light luncheon that Evelyn's mind began to drift. As they sat in the kitchen, picking at cold meat pies neither of them had much appetite for, Evelyn suddenly remembered Amelia's words from the night before.

"Amelia," she said, setting down her barely touched plate. "Last night, just before I fell asleep, you mentioned something about an idea. What did you mean?"

Amelia's hand paused midway to her mouth, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face. She lowered the sandwich, her brow furrowing slightly as she seemed to consider her words.

"Well," Amelia began, her tone cautious. "I'm not entirely sure it's a suitable solution, but..." She trailed off, her eyes darting away from Evelyn's gaze.

Evelyn leaned forward, curiosity piqued. "Go on," she encouraged, desperate for any glimmer of hope in her current situation.

Amelia took a deep breath before continuing. "I recently came across a job posting in the newspaper. It's for a governess position in the West Country, at a baron's household."

Evelyn blinked, taken aback. "A governess?" she repeated, the word feeling foreign on her tongue. She had never considered such a role for herself, having been raised to expect a life of leisure and society.

"I know it's not what you're accustomed to," Amelia said quickly, "but it could provide you with a respectable position, away from London and... certain individuals."

Evelyn's mind whirled at the prospect. A governess? The idea seemed almost laughable, yet... The promise of distance from London, from the Judge and whatever lackeys of his might still be lurking there was undeniably tempting.

"I... I don't know, Amelia," she said, her voice hesitant. "I've never even considered such a role. And children? I hardly know the first thing about them."

Memories of her own rigid upbringing flashed through her mind. Stern-faced nannies, endless lessons in etiquette and deportment, the constant pressure to be the perfect little lady. She had never truly experienced childhood as most would understand it.

Amelia leaned forward, her eyes bright with encouragement. "Oh, come now, Evelyn. It's not as daunting as you might think. Besides, how much can a country baron truly expect in terms of manners? I'm sure you're more than qualified to teach a child which fork to use for fish."

Evelyn couldn't help but smile at her friend's enthusiasm. Still, doubt gnawed at her. "But how would I even secure such a position? I have no experience, no references."

A mischievous glint appeared in Amelia's eyes. "Well," she said, lowering her voice conspiratorially, "I could write you a letter of reference. It wouldn't be lying, exactly. Just... embellishing the truth a bit."

Evelyn's eyes widened. "Amelia! You can't be serious."

"Why not?" Amelia replied, her tone light but her eyes serious. "You're intelligent, well-educated, and more than capable of instructing children. The fact that you haven't done so before is merely a technicality."

Evelyn bit her lip, considering. It was a mad idea, surely. And yet... The thought of escaping to the countryside, far from the Judge's reach, was undeniably alluring. Perhaps, in such a setting, she could finally breathe freely, find her footing in a world that had suddenly become so uncertain.

Wordlessly, she nodded, and with a simple gesture, her future was decided. Outwardly, she maintained her calm exterior, but inwardly, her stomach roiled and clenched nervously, the few bites of the meat pie turning to lead. Despite her best efforts, she was once again cast adrift, her future in the hands of others.