The sharp sweep of curtains being drawn open yanked me from sleep, sunlight spilling into the room in golden streaks. I blinked against the sudden brightness, groaning softly as I turned my face into the pillow. “Good morning, mademoiselle,” Josephine's voice had a trace of amusement.

  I exhaled heavily, forcing myself upright as the cool morning air settled over me. Josephine was already at my wardrobe, retrieving my dressing gown. She moved with quiet efficiency, draping the deep red fabric around my shoulders and fastening the buttons down the front. I slipped my feet into my bck satin slippers before stepping out into the dimly lit corridor. The house was quiet save for the faint creaking of the wooden floors beneath my steps. The scent of fresh bread and crisp bacon wafted from the dining room, guiding me through the Drawing Room and past the elegant furnishings that stood as silent witnesses to years of habit and tradition.

  Eliza was already seated at the table, her posture as poised as ever, sipping her tea with the serene expression she so often wore. “Good morning,” I greeted as I took my seat, unfolding my napkin in my p.

  She gnced up with a small smile. “You look well-rested.”

  I nodded, though I still felt the lingering fog of sleep. “Josephine made sure of it.”

  Our breakfast was spread before us—eggs, bacon, sausages, fresh bread, and tea. The warmth of the meal and the rhythmic clink of silverware created an easy comfort. Conversation flowed, touching on small things—the weather, a book Eliza had started, the test letter from Grandmother. Then, with an air of casualness that belied its significance, she set down her cup and said, “I've had word that the rest of the family will be joining us for dinner.”

  I looked up, the words settling in my mind before a smile broke across my lips. “Truly?”

  She nodded, and I felt a spark of excitement bloom in my chest. The house would be alive with voices, with ughter, with the familiarity of family. It had been too long since we had all gathered under one roof. I imagined the warmth of shared stories, the comfortable hum of conversation over a vish meal, and the simple joy of being surrounded by those I held dear.

  I reached for my tea, savoring the moment. “It will be wonderful to see everyone.”

  Eliza’s eyes softened. “Yes, I think so too.”

  As I stirred my tea, a faint shadow of worry crossed my mind. "I suppose I’ll have to tell Father about my first week at the hospital," I said, gncing up at Eliza. "I just worry that he might become too protective."

  Eliza set down her cup with a knowing look. “Any good father would be protective of his daughter, dear. But you have nothing to worry about—he approves of your actions.”

  I sighed, toying with the edge of my napkin. “I know he supports me in theory, but the reality of it… the long hours, the patients, the risks—it’s different when spoken aloud.”

  Eliza reached across the table, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. “He knows you are capable, and he is proud of you. You may see his concern, but underneath it is admiration. You are doing something important, something few women of our status would dare.”

  Her words settled in my chest, soothing the unease that had begun to creep in. “I suppose you’re right.”

  She smiled. “Of course I am. Now, finish your tea. You’ll need your strength for the evening ahead.”

  I let out a soft chuckle, shaking my head. “Yes, I suppose I will.”

  After getting ready for the day, I wandered along the gavel paths of the garden, inhaling the scent of fresh earth and budding flowers. The first stirrings of spring breathed new life into the forest that surrounded the estate. Green shoots pushed through once-bare branches, and the zy hum of bees filled the warm afternoon air. A gentle breeze lifted a few loose strands of hair as I traced my fingers over the first cornflowers peeking through the soil. Eventually, I made my way back to the house and into the Morning Room. At the pianoforte, my fingers drifted over the ivory keys, coaxing a soft melody into the air. I ran through my usual exercises, each note crisp and clear, before surrendering to a piece that had once challenged me. Now, the music felt effortless, wrapping around me like a familiar embrace, dissolving the st traces of winter’s stillness.

  Later, I curled up in the Drawing Room by the window, losing myself in The Little Mermaid by Hans Christian Andersen. The tale pulled me in, its mencholy beauty pressing against my heart. I turned the pages slowly, caught in the mermaid’s silent sorrow, the ache of her unfulfilled longing. Time slipped by unnoticed—until a sudden burst of noise from the servant's hall shattered my reverie. The sharp ctter of silverware, the rustling of linens, and Mr. Lockhart’s firm voice signaled dinner preparations in full motion. Blinking, I closed the book and smoothed my skirt before rising. I carried it to the Morning Room, sliding it back into its pce on the shelf. A quick gnce at the clock told me I had just enough time to prepare for the evening.

  As I climbed the grand staircase, I lifted the hem of my skirts, careful not to let the fabric catch on the steps. The house pulsed with quiet anticipation, the promise of ughter and conversation hanging in the air. I turned into the quiet corridor leading to my room. The soft candlelight in my room revealed a space arranged with deliberate care: my gown was pressed and set aside, accessories aligned, and delicate white roses scattered like promises. There, in the gentle glow, Josephine waited, her presence both steady and reassuring. Every detail had been meticulously pnned.

  Josephine stood behind me, her deft fingers fastening the st hook and eye of my evening dress. The white silk draped elegantly, the ce details along the neckline and sleeves adding a delicate touch. She stepped back, examining her work with a critical eye before reaching for the white roses she had set aside earlier. With gentle precision, she wove them into my hair, arranging them just so.

  "Perfect," she murmured, a satisfied smile touching her lips. "Now, the pearl neckce. It will complete the look."

  I hesitated for a moment before nodding. Josephine retrieved the neckce from its velvet-lined case and csped it around my neck. The cool weight of the pearls settled against my colrbone, a familiar comfort.

  "There," she said, stepping back again. "You are ready, mademoiselle."

  I gnced at my reflection, taking in the serene elegance of my attire. A deep breath steadied me. Tonight was important—our family together again under one roof. Leaving the bedroom, I made my way back down the hall. The chandelier hanging above the stairs cast a golden glow over the polished wood, the hum of quiet conversation from the staff echoing from the dining room. Just as I reached the nding, the heavy front door swung open with a measured creak.

  Mr. Lockheart stood to the side, his expression impassive as he held the door wide. A gust of cool evening air rushed in as my father, Ezra, stepped through first, followed by my mother, Adeide. My older brother, Anthony, followed soon after, as did my younger sister, Caroline. Their presence filled the house instantly, the familiar energy of home settling around me like a warm embrace.

  "Father!" I called, my voice ringing through the entrance hall as I gathered my skirts and hurried down the steps.

  My father barely had time to set down his hat before I threw my arms around him. He let out a rich, delighted ugh, his strong arms encircling me in a firm embrace. "Elizabeth, my dear girl!" he said, squeezing me tightly before pulling back to look at me. "Let me see you."

  I stepped back, grinning. "It has been far too long."

  His eyes crinkled at the corners. "It's only been a week, but it does feel like longer. And look at you—you seem more grown."

  Beside him, my mother smiled warmly, her eyes shining with affection. "You look lovely, darling."

  Anthony, ever stern, gave a small nod. "It’s good to see you, Elizabeth."

  I returned his nod, recognizing the sentiment behind his composed demeanor. "And you, Anthony."

  Caroline threw her arms around me in a tight embrace. "I missed you so much! The house has been so quiet without you."

  I ughed, squeezing her back. "I missed you too, dearest." The house was no longer quiet; the silence of anticipation had been repced by the buzz of conversation and the warmth of familiarity as we made our way to the dining room. The aroma of roasted meat and simmering broth filled the air. As we took our pces at the table, Anthony and Father assumed their positions at either end, commanding the space with quiet authority. Aunt Eliza and Mama settled with their backs to the windows, their faces illuminated by the golden candlelight, while Caroline and I took our seats across from them.

  The first course was served—chicken consommé, clear and fragrant, steam curling in delicate wisps from our bowls. “Your mother tells me you have been studying with your aunt over the weekend,” Father said before lifting a spoonful of soup to his mouth.

  I straightened slightly, pleased by the note of approval in his voice. “Aunt Eliza has been tutoring me in French and Italian,” I said, gncing at her with a small smile. “She insists my pronunciation still needs work.”

  Aunt Eliza let out a quiet ugh. “Because it does.”

  Mama shook her head fondly. “That is a fine endeavor, my dear. A dy of good education should be well-versed in many nguages. Are you enjoying it?”

  I nodded. “Very much. Though I admit, Italian verbs can be tricky. French feels more natural.”

  Father hummed thoughtfully, taking a sip of his wine. “Both are valuable. French is the nguage of diplomacy, and Italian—well, one cannot fully appreciate music and poetry without some knowledge of it.” He gave Aunt Eliza a knowing look. “Your aunt always did have a fondness for the romantic nguages.”

  Aunt Eliza lifted her gss with an amused glint in her eye. “And now I am passing that fondness on to your daughter.”

  I smiled. “I had hoped learning them would serve me well should I ever travel.”

  Father gave a nod of approval. “A wise pursuit. Education is never wasted, and nguages open doors. Continue with your lessons. You’ll find them more useful than you think.”

  I gnced at Aunt Eliza, who looked rather pleased, and then back to my father. “Then I shall do my best to master them.”

  His lips curved in a small smile. “Good.”

  The conversation eventually shifted as the main course arrived—a beautifully roasted beef, its surface crisp and glistening, accompanied by a medley of carrots, turnips, and cabbage. The conversation turned to Father’s business affairs, Eliza's nguage tutoring, and Mama’s test charitable endeavors. The warmth of the meal and the ease of familiar company soothed the earlier tension.

  “So tell us, dear sister,” Anthony began, his voice edged with curiosity, “what exactly do you do all day among the sick and wounded?”

  I set my fork down gently, meeting his gaze. “I assist with patient care, dress wounds, administer medicine when needed, and keep the ward clean. Sometimes, it’s as simple as sitting with someone who has no one else.”

  My father frowned, his brow furrowing. “And there are no concerns for your safety? No risk of infection?”

  I expected this. “Of course, Father, there are always risks, but precautions are taken. I am careful.”

  His lips pressed into a thin line. “You may believe yourself careful, but disease does not discriminate.”

  Caroline sighed dreamily, completely ignoring Father’. “But how wonderful to be surrounded by such galnt doctors, dedicated to saving lives.” She leaned forward, eyes alight. “Surely there must be one who has caught your attention?”

  Eliza gave an almost imperceptible smirk and I braced myself. “Well,” she mused, her voice innocent but her expression anything but, “I may have heard a certain name mentioned more than once.” I shot her a warning gnce, but it was too te. “Benedict.”

  Anthony let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as if he had already anticipated this revetion. “Ah. And who is this Benedict?”

  I lifted my fork once more, feigning interest in some carrots. “A colleague.”

  Caroline all but squealed. “A doctor?”

  Eliza’s smirk widened. “An almoner, actually.”

  Father’s expression tightened, his fork pausing mid-air. “An almoner?” His voice was measured, but his eyes flickered with something unreadable. “And what exactly is the nature of your association with this man?” Anthony raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained by the shift in our father’s tone, while Mama and Eliza exchanged knowing gnces.

  I lifted my chin. “We work together. Nothing more.”

  Father studied me for a moment before setting his fork down. “Elizabeth, you must know he is not a suitable match.”

  I tensed up. "And why do you say that?"

  Father exhaled, shaking his head. “His circumstances. His connections. A man in such a position would be looking for opportunity, Elizabeth. He is not of your standing. The life he would offer you—it is not what you were raised for.”

  I tilted my head. “And yet he serves the same hospital I do. Is that not admirable?”

  Father’s frown deepened. “Admirable, perhaps. But suitable? No.”

  Caroline exhaled wistfully, clearly unbothered by the tension. “Oh, but imagine—romance amidst the halls of healing.”

  Anthony chuckled. “More like scandal, if our father has his way.”

  Ezra shot him a look but returned his gaze to me. “You would do well to remember your pce, Elizabeth. I will not have you entangled in something that will only bring you difficulty.”

  I met his gaze evenly, swallowing my frustration. “I understand, Father.”

  He studied me a moment longer before nodding. “See that you do.”

  The table was silent for a moment before Mama smoothly shifted the conversation elsewhere. I allowed myself to rex, savoring the sweetness of the Yorkshire pudding that had just been served, the ughter that soon danced around the table once more, and the quiet understanding that, despite the protectiveness, I was cherished. And that, for now, was enough.

  As the final course was cleared away, we rose from the dining table and made our way into the Drawing Room. The warmth of candlelight softened the grand space, casting golden hues over the grey velvet settees and intricately carved wooden furnishings. The scent of tea and warm biscuits drifted through the air as the servants arranged the refreshments on the low table near the hearth.

  I lingered near the archway that connected the dining room and Drawing Room, my mother standing beside me. I exhaled slowly, folding my arms as I observed the family settling in—Father and Anthony in quiet conversation near the firepce, Caroline selecting a biscuit with a delighted hum, and Aunt Eliza arranging herself gracefully on a settee with her tea.

  Mama tilted her head slightly. “What is it, my dear?”

  I hesitated before answering, my voice soft. “I didn’t like how Father reacted to Benedict.”

  She studied my face for a moment before speaking. “Your father only wants what is best for you.”

  I let out another sigh, my gaze drifting to the scene before us. “But I haven’t even spoken to Benedict. Not truly. I don’t know what he thinks or what kind of man he is. And yet, Father has already decided he isn’t suitable.”

  Mama reached out, smoothing a loose strand of hair behind my ear with a gentle touch. “That may be true,” she admitted, “but your father has always been cautious. Especially when it comes to you.”

  I turned to look at her, frustration flickering in my eyes. “But why must he always assume the worst? That Benedict’s intentions are anything but honorable?”

  She gave a knowing smile, one tempered with years of experience. “Because he is a father. And that is what fathers do.” She paused, letting her words settle. “But give yourself time, Elizabeth. If you truly wish to understand this man, you must take the step to do so. Only then will you know whether your father’s concerns are unfounded.”

  I pressed my lips together, absorbing her words. She was right—I had formed no true opinion of Benedict because I had not allowed myself to. And yet, something about my father’s disapproval stirred a quiet defiance within me.

  “Everything will be alright, my love.” she gave my hand a reassuring squeeze.

  I nodded slowly, though uncertainty still lingered. As I allowed myself to be led into the room, accepting a delicate china cup of tea from a waiting servant, I resolved that I would not let assumptions—either my father’s or my own—define Benedict before I had spoken to him myself.