A Visitor Unexpected
Chapter 1
It was a day like any other—the sun shining, maids and manservants bustling through the estate, Father locked away in his study, and me wandering the garden paths with no real purpose. At that age, my world was still small—measured in garden paths, afternoon lessons, and the quiet certainty that my place in it was secure. I had not yet reached my twelfth year.
Father had been terribly busy of late. Last spring he had ventured to the Americas to further his endeavours in trade, and when he returned, he was… changed. He smiled more, yet hid himself away in his study, a contradiction that confused my young mind. How could someone be so happy and still retreat from the world?
The estate itself began to shift over the following months. The west wing, closed for as long as I could remember, was suddenly thrown open—dust sheets removed, windows polished, rooms prepared for guests. On more than one occasion, I asked Father the reason for such a transformation. Each time he merely smiled and said, “Things will be very different soon, my darling Sera. I can’t tell you yet, but something wonderful is going to happen to this estate.”
That morning, I had been gathering wildflowers, my hems dirtied with soil as I knelt among the beds. I collected a cheerful array of blooms for Mrs Mabel, the estate’s cook, who had recently lost her husband to a sudden illness. I hoped the small bouquet might brighten her day, if only a little. With my hands full, I ran inside to fetch a ribbon to bind the stems together—but just as I reached the front door, the sound of hooves drew my attention.
Living so far into the countryside, we rarely received visitors. I turned to see a carriage rolling slowly up the drive. Before I could wonder at it for long, the front door flew open. Father rushed out of the estate, taking the steps two at a time before halting at my side at the base of the stone banisters. A broad smile lit his face—one I had not seen in quite some time.
The carriage came to a stop. Footmen hurried forward and opened the door, and out swept a beautifully dressed woman draped in rich red silks, her dark hair pinned elegantly atop her head. She approached and curtsied to Father, who took her hand and kissed it, ever the gentleman. She smiled at him fondly, her green eyes glistening in the sunlight.
“Ah, Belladonna. I hope your journey was not too uncomfortable,” Father said warmly. “I know the sea can be rather rough at times.”
“Oh, Patrick, it was a perfect trip,” she replied, a soft French lilt weaving through her voice. “So much scenery along the way—it is quite different from the city.”
“Indeed,” Father replied. Only then did I notice the house staff lined up behind us as he gestured toward them and began his introductions. “This is my staff—Mr Finnley, the estate’s butler; Mrs Mabel, our chef…”
His voice faded into the background as my attention drifted. I could not imagine why this woman needed to know every servant by name. Father finished introducing the last of the staff before turning Belladonna’s attention toward me.
“And this is my beautiful daughter, Seraphina.”
Her gaze slid over me as I curtsied. “It is lovely to make your acquaintance, my lady,” I said carefully.
Her smile faltered—just slightly. Whether it was at my words or at Father’s, I could not tell.
“Patrick, you had not told me of a daughter,” she said lightly, though her voice carried a faint edge of disdain.
“Well—yes. Had I not?” A confused look crossed Father’s features. “I hope that—”
A sudden sound interrupted him: a soft giggle drifting from inside the carriage.
“Mother, may we come out now? This carriage is dreadfully small,” a young feminine voice called, despite the carriage being anything but.
“Oh yes, please, Mother,” another, smaller voice chimed in. “I would like to stretch my legs.”
“Ah,” Father said, his expression brightening once more. “That must be Octavia and Celeste.”
He stepped forward and offered his hand. A delicate, gloved one appeared from within the carriage, followed by a girl no older than fourteen. She had a pointed nose, dark hair, and wore a green dress that matched her swamp-coloured eyes. She descended gracefully and walked straight to her mother, paying Father no attention whatsoever.
After her came a smaller girl, no older than ten, dressed head to toe in pink. Ruffles spilled from her skirts, her puffed sleeves nearly as large as her head. Her green eyes were small and sharp, studying everything at once.
“Welcome to your new home, girls,” Father said, gesturing proudly toward the estate.
“Father,” I said, unable to stop myself, “what do you mean new home? Who is this woman?” I did not care if I sounded rude. They were far too elegantly dressed to be new maidservants.
“Belladonna and I met in the Americas,” Father said gently. “We were married while I was there. It has taken some time for her to close her estates and travel here.” He smiled, as though this explained everything. “She is to be your new mother, and these two young ladies are your new sisters.”
I was wrong.
That day was not like any other at all.
