Caspien Manor

The rain had started before Liora reached the gates. It was not the soft kind that made old houses look romantic. It came down in heavy sheets, blurring the road until the forest became little more than black trees and silver streaks.

The advertisement had been almost as unusual as the road leading her there. After widening her search to any position that included housing, she had found it buried in the online edition of a small regional newspaper, between estate sales and obituary notices.

Private Estate Assistant. Live-in Position. Excellent Salary. Discretion Essential.

There had been no company name, website, or email address, only a landline number and instructions to call between nine and five. She had nearly laughed and kept scrolling, but another rejection email sat unopened in her inbox, the rent was due at the end of the month, and her savings seemed to shrink each time she checked the balance.

So she had called.

The older gentleman who answered introduced himself as Mr. Graves. His voice had been polite and measured, almost old-fashioned, but his questions had been practical enough. He asked about her education, previous employment, and willingness to relocate before arranging an interview and giving her directions to Caspien Manor.

Nothing about the conversation had prepared her for this.

Her driver had barely spoken during the last twenty minutes of the journey. At first, Liora had appreciated the silence. She preferred it to the strained conversation strangers often felt obligated to make. As the signal disappeared from her phone and the road narrowed beneath the trees, however, the quiet became less comfortable.

The driver leaned toward the wheel, his hands fixed firmly at ten and two. He took each sharp bend without slowing, his eyes never leaving the road.

The iron gates appeared without warning, standing open between two stone pillars.

Beyond them, barely visible through the rain, stood the manor. It rose above the trees in a dark silhouette of steep roofs, tall chimneys, and narrow windows glowing faintly against the storm. Even from a distance, it seemed impossibly large.

Liora leaned closer to the window and read the name carved deeply into the stone pillars.

CASPIEN MANOR

The driver brought the car to a stop.

“You’ll have to walk from here.”

Liora turned toward him. “In this rain?”

“This is as far as I go, ma’am.”

“Is there a reason?”

He kept his eyes on the road. “Mr. Caspien doesn’t like cars on the grounds.”

“You’ve met him?”

The driver gave a short laugh. “No.”

“Then how do you know?”

“Small towns talk.”

Before she could ask anything else, the trunk opened behind them. A minute later, her suitcase stood on the wet gravel while the driver climbed back into the car.

“For what it’s worth,” he said through the open window, “they say he isn’t an easy man to work for.”

Then he reversed away from the gates. The red taillights disappeared between the trees, leaving Liora alone with one suitcase, a folder containing her résumé, and the growing suspicion that the salary had been high for a reason.

She had spent most of the day traveling through a storm for an interview with a man she had never met because of an advertisement in a newspaper. It sounded considerably less sensible now than it had from her apartment.

Still, there was no point reconsidering it in the rain.

Liora tightened her grip on the handle of her suitcase and stepped through the gates.

From the road, the manor had looked close. On foot, the driveway seemed much longer. It curved through neglected gardens, past cracked fountains and weathered stone angels whose faces had worn away. Rain ran down the empty iron lanterns lining the path, and the suitcase wheels caught repeatedly in the gravel.

By the time she reached the front steps, her clothes were soaked through and her fingers had gone numb.

She lifted her hand to knock, but the door opened before she could touch it.

An older man stood inside wearing a perfectly tailored black suit. His eyes moved over her soaked coat and dripping hair before he stepped aside.

“Miss Vaeren?”

“Yes.”

“Please come inside.”

Warm air met her as soon as she crossed the threshold, carrying the scent of polished wood, candle wax, old books, and smoke from a distant fire. The man closed the heavy door behind her, shutting out the storm.

The entrance hall was enormous. Dark wood covered the walls beneath a ceiling that rose several stories above her, and a broad staircase climbed through the center of the room before dividing toward the upper floors. Portraits lined the walls, all stern faces and dark clothing. Unlike the neglected gardens outside, everything within the house was spotless, carefully arranged, and unexpectedly warm.

The older man took the handle of her suitcase.

“I am Mr. Graves. I manage the household.”

“You’re the man I spoke to on the phone.”

“I am.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“And you, Miss Vaeren.”

She glanced toward the staircase. “Will I meet Mr. Caspien tonight?”

Mr. Graves followed her gaze. The pause before he answered did not reassure her.

“Master Caspien is aware that you have arrived.”

Footsteps sounded from the floor above.

A man stood at the top of the staircase with one hand resting on the banister. Shadows obscured most of his face, but Liora could see that he was tall and dressed entirely in black.

Mr. Graves inclined his head. “Master Caspien.”

The man began to descend.

Liora had expected someone older. She was not sure why. Perhaps it was the manor, the newspaper advertisement, or the fact that his household manager called him master. She had imagined a stern, aging recluse who rarely left his study.

Lucian Caspien looked no older than his late twenties.

As he moved into the candlelight, she saw black hair, pale skin, and eyes of such a clear blue that they seemed almost unnatural against the dark interior of the house. His features were sharply defined, and he descended without looking away from her.

Liora realized she had been staring too long and lowered her gaze to the folder tucked beneath her arm.

“Miss Vaeren,” he said.

His voice carried easily through the entrance hall. He glanced at the watch on his wrist.

“You are approximately five hours late.”

“I wasn’t aware the weather could be scheduled.”

“It cannot.”

“Then I’m not sure what you expected me to do about it.”

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

Liora knew she should probably stop talking. She had not yet been interviewed, and the man standing in front of her had already been described as difficult by someone who refused to drive onto his property.

She tried again. “My flight was delayed for nearly three hours. By the time I landed, there had been an accident on the highway, and the roads were starting to flood.”

“I see.”

His gaze moved to the water collecting beneath her boots before returning to her face. Liora pulled the sides of her wet coat together.

“You are trembling, Miss Vaeren.”

“I just walked half a mile through a thunderstorm.”

“Why?”

Liora frowned. “Why what?”

“Why did you walk half a mile through a thunderstorm?”

She stared at him, unsure whether the question was serious. “Your driver abandoned me at the gates.”

“I don’t employ drivers.”

Liora blinked, then glanced toward Mr. Graves. “The gentleman Mr. Graves arranged to collect me.”

Lucian followed her gaze.

“I hired a local taxi service, sir,” Mr. Graves said. His eyes moved to Liora’s soaked clothes. “He was instructed to bring her to the house.”

Lucian looked back at her. “And he refused to drive beyond the gates?”

“He said you didn’t allow cars on the grounds.”

Lucian looked toward the rain beating against the front doors.

“I wasn’t aware I’d made that rule.”

Liora adjusted the damp folder beneath her arm. “I can still do the interview.”

“I have no doubt.”

“Good.”

He looked again at the water dripping from the hem of her coat.

“I would prefer, however, that the interview not take place while you are half-frozen.”

He turned toward Mr. Graves. “Please show Miss Vaeren to a room and have something warm sent up.”

“Of course, sir.”

Liora hesitated. “Does that mean I have the position?”

Lucian looked back at her.

“No. You have an interview.”

She pressed her lips together.

“We will conduct it tomorrow morning at eight o’clock in the library.”

He inclined his head once before walking past her toward a corridor beyond the staircase. His footsteps faded along the hall.

Liora watched the darkened corridor for a moment before turning to Mr. Graves.

“Is he always like that?”

Mr. Graves considered the question as he lifted her suitcase.

“No, Miss Vaeren.”

Liora nearly smiled. Maybe she had caught him on a bad day. No one could behave like that all the time and still keep a household.

“Tonight,” Mr. Graves said, “I believe Master Caspien was considerably more welcoming than he intended.”

Liora’s mouth flattened. If that had been him making an effort, she did not want to meet him on a bad day.

She looked once more toward the corridor where he had disappeared, then followed Mr. Graves toward the stairs.

He led her up the grand staircase, past the portraits and down a hallway lined with closed doors. Wall sconces lit most of the corridor, with candles burning on small tables between them.

Finally, he stopped at a door near the end of the hall and pushed it open.

The room inside was surprisingly beautiful. A four-poster bed with dark curtains stood against one wall, and a fire was already crackling in the hearth. Tall glass doors opened onto a small stone balcony, its iron railing shining beneath the rain. Beyond it, the gardens disappeared into the storm.

Mr. Graves placed her suitcase at the foot of the bed.

“Dinner was served several hours ago, but I will have something sent up.”

He moved toward the door, then paused.

“A word of advice, Miss Vaeren. Master Caspien values punctuality above all else. Eight o’clock means eight o’clock. Not a minute after.”

Mr. Graves inclined his head before closing the door behind him, leaving her alone in the firelight.

A knock came several minutes later.

“Come in.”

The door opened, and a young woman stepped inside carrying a tray balanced carefully in both hands. She looked to be around Liora’s age, with dark hair pinned neatly back and a simple black dress that marked her as part of the household staff.

She set the tray on the small table near the fireplace and brushed her hands against her skirt.

“I’m Mara.”

“Liora.”

“It’s nice to finally have someone else around.”

Liora laughed. “That bad?”

Mara lifted one shoulder. “Mr. Graves doesn’t count. He’d disagree, but he doesn’t.”

Liora smiled and reached for her phone. “Can I get the Wi-Fi password? I don’t have any reception here.”

Mara snorted as though Liora had asked for something ridiculous. “There isn’t one.”

Liora looked up. “There isn’t a password?”

“There isn’t Wi-Fi.”

Liora waited for her to correct herself.

“Or internet,” Mara added.

For a moment, Liora thought Mara had to be joking.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

Liora stared at the useless screen before setting it beside her. “I probably should have read the employment agreement more carefully.”

“You didn’t?”

“I got as far as the salary.”

Mara laughed. “Fair enough.”

“It was a very convincing number.”

“I know. That’s why I’m still here.”

Mara lifted the cover from the tray. Steam rose from a bowl of soup beside a plate of bread and butter.

“Eat before it gets cold,” she said. “You look frozen.”

“I feel frozen.”

“I’ll let you change.”

Mara wished her good night and closed the door behind her.

Liora carried her phone to the glass doors and held it near the window, then crossed the room and tried again near the bed and the hallway door.

Not a single bar appeared.

She returned to the table and ate the soup beside the fire. By the time she finished, some feeling had returned to her fingers.

Her résumé was still inside the folder she had carried through the rain, its edges slightly warped despite her efforts to keep it dry. She placed it near the fire and sat on the edge of the bed, trying to remember everything Mr. Graves had told her over the phone.

It amounted to little more than a title, an address, and a salary large enough to make the unanswered questions seem less important at the time.

Tomorrow morning, she would have to convince Lucian Caspien to hire her before she even fully understood what the position required.