Chapter 19

The autumn chill whips up a scattering of brown leaves as I walk up the main stone pathway of the Anderson estate to the grand double doors. I’m no stranger to money as my parents were wealthy before Dad’s investment and embezzlement issues, but the Anderson wealth is on an entirely different level.

The carefully trimmed hedges in the gardens seem right at home, surrounding the only single standing mansion left in Manhattan, where every square foot costs an arm and a leg. We’ve just arrived at the estate after spending our wedding night in two separate suites at The Orchid.

Maxwell ended up drunk by the time the reception was over, surprising everyone because he stayed far longer than the one hour he promised.

I remember how I recoiled when he tossed me a key card to a guest suite.

He stumbled toward me, the stench of whiskey in his breath. His eyes were glazed, but he clearly noticed my reaction to his dismissive behavior.

“What? Does my wife want to consummate our marriage already? Want to start trying for a baby?” he slurred, but his eyes flared at his words, like he wouldn’t mind acting on them.

“You’re drunk off your ass, Maxwell.”

“I can still pleasure you, you know.” He dipped his nose in the crook of my neck and inhaled before pressing a soft kiss there.

I bit back a moan as my nerves lit up from his light touches. “Maxwell, stop.” The refusal came out in a breathy whisper .

“Are you sure, my little muse?” he rasped at the tender spot on my neck. My heart fluttered at his nickname—such a sweet name. If only it were filled with love instead of derision. “The sooner you get pregnant, the faster you can l-leave me.”

His voice caught at the last words, pain etched in every syllable.

It was enough for me to snap out of that strange trance, and I stepped back and looked at him.

His head was dipped down, his eyes refusing to meet mine.

“Maxwell, you aren’t making any sense.”

He chuckled at the floor, his head shaking.

I sighed. “You’re drunk, why don’t you rest and we’ll talk tomorrow.”

I pushed him toward his room, trying to fight the disappointment that I wouldn’t be having a wedding night with my husband after all.

No, Belle. You don’t want a wedding night with this asshole! You should be rejoicing right now.

The door beeped and opened and he stepped inside.

I turned toward the adjacent suite, but his voice stopped me.

“I won’t fall in love with you, Belle. A-And don’t fall for me.”

His warning sounded ominous, and my chest ached at his words, images of my Silas still filling my mind. Somehow, I wondered if I was destined to fail at his demand?

Bang!

The trunk of the car closes, the sound shaking me from the unsettling memory. Silas barks in the background as he darts off to explore the expansive grounds—no doubt heaven compared to the SoHo apartment, where I couldn’t let him run free for fear of him being discovered by the building manager.

As the driver retrieves my bags from the car, and Maxwell finishes a work call, I marvel at the massive structure—the white marble and tan limestone exterior, copper cornices oxidized into pale green, towering spires and soaring arches, all hallmarks of the Gothic architecture I’ve studied in college in an art and architecture core class .

The land it sits on must be at least an acre in size. If it weren’t for the historical building designation and how powerful the Anderson family was, it probably would’ve been razed and rebuilt by some big developer.

Several crows lounge on the roof next to sculptures that are too far away for me to make out if they are angels or gargoyles. A curl of unease slithers down my back as their eyes seem to follow my every move.

I smell the scent of roses in the air, the cloying sweetness clinging to the moisture in the atmosphere, a desperate attempt by summer begging fall to stay away. Turning my attention to the rose garden, I notice the decaying flowers and a strange patch of soil that is barren. I shiver, a suffocating sadness gripping my throat. A gut feeling tells me to avoid that place.

The door opens, drawing my attention away from the garden, and out steps an elderly gentleman with kind eyes and a full head of white hair, dressed in livery , down to the bow tie and tailcoat. He’s the man who escorted Cole away at the reception.

“Welcome to the Anderson Estate, ma’am. I’m Morris, your butler, and always at your service.”

Smiling, I nod to him. “Thank you. Please call me Belle.”

A middle-aged woman with a severe bob haircut steps to the side of Morris, her simple black dress swishing from the movement. She bows her head and dips her body into a small curtsy, and I almost startle in surprise. I feel like I’ve stepped into a BBC period drama.

“I’m Agnes, your housekeeper.” Her lips are pressed tightly as she eyes me from top to bottom, and I can’t help but frown at her cold introduction.

She motions to a blonde woman dressed in a similar black outfit behind her and says, “This is Melody. She’ll be your lady’s maid and we will assist you with any duties around the house and beyond.”

I giggle before I can stop myself. “Wow, I didn’t expect all of this, a lady’s maid and everything. I’m perfectly capable of dressing myself, you know. ”

Melody laughs and says, “Just think of me as your personal assistant then.”

Agnes shoots her a glare before turning toward me. “It is our honor to serve the Anderson family.”

A foreboding tickle of dread wraps itself inside my chest.

Morris clarifies, “We have a small staff here on the estate, much smaller than it used to be in the bygone era, but our families pride ourselves on working for the Andersons for generations, even if it may seem outdated and stuck in the olden days, very much like myself.”

He gives me a wink and I relax, the strange tension from earlier dissipating.

A waft of amber and sandalwood cologne alerts me to him and I feel a gentle press of his hand on the small of my back.

“I see you’ve met the staff. They’re practically family. Mora, the chef, works here as well. She’s Melody’s mother. I’m sure she’s puttering around the kitchen, crafting a welcome meal for the new mistress of the estate,” Maxwell says.

He fishes out a black metal card and hands it to me. “I forgot to give this to you, but this has no spending limit and is for your use.” His voice thickens as he adds, “What’s mine is now yours.”

My fingers grip the black Amex card—of course he has a black Amex card—but it’s his words that have me losing my voice.

I really am married to the man.

We step into the grand foyer, and it’s almost like stepping back in time as I marvel at the dark oak finishes and pristine black and white marble floors. After the door is shut, the space is bathed in darkness, lit up only by a few wrought iron sconces. I’m hit with a sense of comfort and home, even though I’ve never been here before.

“Morris, I’ll be in the study if you need me. Please set Belle up in the Gardenia suite as we discussed.” Maxwell disappears down the corridor.

“I’ll get things ready,” Agnes murmurs, leaving with Melody in tow, but not before shooting me a sharp glance .

The earlier unease makes a resurgence and I rub the goosebumps on my arms as I await Morris’s instructions.

The butler smiles at me, his eyes crinkling. He strides down the main hallway and I hasten my steps to follow him. For an elderly man in his seventies or eighties, he walks quickly, and I have a feeling he’d be even faster if it weren’t for the limp in his right leg.

“I’m sure Sir Maxwell will give you a tour later, but I can give you highlights.” We make a right into a grand entrance hall that’s at least two stories high, featuring a vaulted ceiling, ornate paneling, all in the dark wood of the foyer.

“Wow.” I gasp. This place is a museum frozen in time.

A massive crystal chandelier hangs from the ceiling, illuminating a grand staircase with intricately carved railings and a spectacular Persian runner that’s probably an art piece in and of itself.

The hall glows from the light let in by the stained-glass windows, adding a touch of eerie beauty to the space.

“The estate was built in 1850 but remodeled in the 1860s. It has withstood The Civil War, two world wars, hurricanes, and other natural disasters. The family has outfitted the building with modern amenities—electricity, plumbing, but mostly, they’ve kept the original decor. We’re quite lucky—much of the furnishings here are well preserved and intact.”

I follow Morris up to the third floor and turn left, my lungs huffing out rapid breaths. I clearly need to exercise more because Morris looks like he hasn’t broken a sweat. Curiously, his limp also seems to have disappeared.

“There are fifty-two rooms, four stories, and two wings. The first floor is public space, with a living room, grand ballroom, two sitting rooms, dining room, indoor theater, and galleries. The second floor houses the gym, an indoor swimming pool, guest quarters, and a library.”

“That’s a city in and of itself. ”

He nods. “This floor, the third floor, is the master and mistress’s rooms and a few more guest rooms, including the Gardenia suite Sir Maxwell mentioned.”

“Sir Maxwell?”

“He has asked us not to call him by his honorifics, which would be ‘my lord’ for him with his marquessate and ‘His Grace’ for Sir Linus because of his dukedom.” Morris clears his throat and continues, “The fourth floor houses a study, music room, studios, and an indoor conservatory. There’s an abandoned garden on the roof, but it’s in disrepair, so no one really goes there. This side is the east wing, which is the master’s side of the suites and the other side,” he motions to the darkened corridors on the right of the staircase, “is the west wing. It’s currently not in used but historically features the mistress’s set of rooms.”

I blow out a breath, my eyes trying not to bug out from this lavish overview of my new home. Growing up, my parents only liked new, new, new—everything new, from turnkey apartments to brand-new appliances and gadgets.

The Anderson Estate is the complete opposite of it. I feel like the air I’m breathing in is steeped in history, so much history I don’t even know how to understand it all.

And now I’m going to be the mistress of this house?

It’s unfathomable.

Morris leads me down the corridor to the second door on the right. He opens it and gestures inside. “This is your suite. Please settle in. Sir Maxwell had it redone two weeks ago. I hope you like it. Agnes and Melody will come find you before dinner.”

He motions to a small panel with a row of buttons and a tiny speaker by the door. “Each room has an intercom you can press. It connects to our phones and allows you to contact us at any time.”

“Thank you.” I smile, and he shuts the door behind him.

The drapes are drawn closed so only a sliver of daylight is seeping in. I flick on a light switch and gasp at what I see .

The most beautiful shade of shimmering teal wallpaper greets me, the crystal pendant light illuminating the delicate floral patterns, clearly hand-painted in silver, gold, and rose gold.

My hand flies to the locket he gave me, the one I can’t bear to take off. The design on the wallpaper is so similar to the carving on the locket—the same coloring, similar flowers and golden touches.

The same uncanny feeling of déjà vu hits me in the face and I pull in a rapid breath to steel my nerves.

Old houses, romantic notions—reading too many gothic novels.

Blowing out an exhale, I look around, noting a platform king-sized bed, an elegant white rug and bedspread, two beautiful armchairs by the bay windows, and a small coffee table, also in the same alluring shade of teal.

Atrovirens.

He decorated the entire room in a palate of atrovirens, my favorite color.

My breath flutters past my lips as I admire the artwork hung on the walls—bright colorful prints and sharp lines, all unmistakable works of Frida Kahlo.

He remembered—he remembered everything I told him that night.

The thought sends a sharp current to my chest, and my heart skips a beat.

A bouquet of lilies sits atop the mirrored nightstand and on it there’s a note.

Belle,

I hope you enjoy this room. Maybe this arrangement isn’t the adventure you’ve been seeking, but I hope you get what you’re looking for.

Maxwell

My fingers clutch the note tightly as I reread his words. Who is this man—one who seems so cold and sensitive at the same time?

Creeeak. Seconds later, a ghostly moan echoes outside my door.

I startle at the noise, my pulse roaring in my ears, and I carefully open the door to peer outside.

There’s no one there.

It’s an old house and don’t they say old houses settle? I shake myself at my silliness.

Just as I close the door, a hand snakes in and blocks it from closing fully.

I let out a shriek, leaping a back few steps before I hear a knock.

“Ms. Belle, I’ve brought you refreshments.” Agnes appears in my room a moment later with a tray, and I let out a sigh of relief.

I’m such a wuss.

Straightening up, I smooth my damp palms over my linen dress. “Thank you. Please set it over there.” I motion to the small coffee table by the windows.

She nods and keeps her eyes averted as she sets the drinks down and hurries toward the door. I frown. I may not be a mind reader, but this woman doesn’t like me. I’m sure of it.

“Agnes?”

She stops and turns toward me reluctantly. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Belle, please. Ma’am makes me feel old.” I let out a few chuckles, but she doesn’t smile…not one bit.

After clearing my throat, I ask, “Was it you just now out there? I heard a loud creak and someone moaning before you came in. I wasn’t aware there were guests here.”

Agnes looks at me, as if debating how to respond. I fight the impulse to fidget under her intense scrutiny.

“Ms. Belle, that wasn’t me before, but,” her voice is soft and foreboding, and I can’t help but shiver, “I may be speaking out of turn, but a house and a family this old are bound to have ghosts and…unwanted visitors.”

Cold sweat forms on my upper lip as she leans toward me and whispers, “I’d be careful if I were you…and not go asking questions you may not want the answers to.”

With that, she leaves the room and shuts the door quietly behind her. The beating in my chest intensifies and an icy chill sweeps over me. Stories of curses and the mysteries of the family float to the forefront.

What’s going on in this place?