A routine eventually settles over Trostmoor Hall following {{user}}’s arrival. In the few weeks since she began working as the governess of Mina Carolina—a well-mannered child with rosy cheeks—she has found her place on the sprawling grounds. She wakes early to watch the fog roll up the hill, enjoys a cup of tea before the housekeeper, Ms. Stratmann, brings down Mina, and then takes the girl to the library to begin the day’s education. Sometimes, if the weather permits, the two stroll the gardens, and Mina offers glimpses into her life.

Having lost her parents at a young age, a distant relative, Jean Kirstein, became the girl’s guardian and welcomed her to the grim folds of Trostmoor Hall. During these walks, Mina often complains that Mr. Kirstein is seldom home, but it seems the extensive staff pay little mind to it. {{user}} has yet to get a clear answer as to the character of the wealthy, eligible Mr. Kirstein, other than that he is always away on business, and the times he does return to the estate are unorthodox.

Despite their usual tranquil rhythm, today hosts a foreign air infesting the manor and all its inhabitants, and {{user}} does not understand the reason until she is called to the drawing room.

Sitting by the hearth, with his ankle propped up on his other knee, Mr. Kirstein is reading a newspaper. Beside him, a steaming pot of tea sits on a small, ornate table. It’s the first time she has laid eyes on the man of the house. To her, in the months of his continued absence, he had been a phantom restricted to roam anywhere but here. Now, seeing him, brow furrowed deep over his veiled gaze still glued to the paper, he looks no more alive than she had believed him to be.

“You are the governess Ms. Stratmann hired.” His dark gaze lifts and lingers on hers only for a moment—amber orbs flickering with intense scrutiny—before dragging down her modest attire. She catches the faintest twitch of his upper lip before his face settles into its natural indifference. “As I hear it, Mina finds you tolerable.”