Ashes of Thornwood

Chapter 6

The morning of Thanksgiving dawned crisp and clear, the air sharp with the promise of winter. Thornewood's vast estate lay shrouded in a light mist, the frost-tipped grass glistening like tiny jewels in the pale light of dawn. I awoke early, the nervous excitement of the day ahead fluttering in my stomach like restless birds. Despite the cold, I pushed aside the heavy covers and slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Sebastian, who was still sleeping soundly beside me.

The house was unusually quiet as I dressed, the usual bustle of servants muted, as if even they were holding their breath in anticipation of the day's events. Thanksgiving at Thornewood was a solemn affair, a far cry from the lively celebrations I remembered from home. Back in Iowa, Thanksgiving had been a day of warmth and laughter, of family and friends gathered around the table, the air filled with the scent of roasting turkey and spiced pies. Here, it felt more like an obligation—a ritual that needed to be observed, rather than a day of joy.

As I descended the grand staircase, the familiar weight of the house pressed down on me, the grandeur of the surroundings doing little to ease the unease that had taken root in my heart. The dining room had been transformed overnight, the long table set with fine china and gleaming silver, the crystal glasses catching the morning light. A large, ornate centerpiece of autumnal flowers and ripe fruits dominated the table, a testament to Mrs. Thorne's insistence on appearances, even in times of war.

The frost crunched underfoot as I stepped outside, the cold air biting through the thin fabric of my dress. I wandered down the path that led toward the small garden behind the house, my thoughts turning inward as I walked. The mist hung low over the fields, curling around the bare branches of the trees like a ghostly veil. It seemed almost alive, creeping closer with each step I took, as if the estate itself was breathing in tandem with my mounting anxiety.

Thanksgiving. A day meant for family, for giving thanks, for reflecting on the blessings of the year. But as I walked through the mist-covered grounds, all I could feel was a growing sense of unease. The events of the past weeks had left me shaken, the strange secrets of Thornewood pressing down on me like a weight I couldn't shake. And though Sebastian had assured me that I was now part of the inner workings of the estate, I couldn't help but feel that there were still things being kept from me—things I wasn't ready to face.

The sound of a twig snapping behind me pulled me from my thoughts, and I turned to see Sebastian standing at the edge of the garden, his hands in his pockets, a smile on his lips.

"Good morning," he said, his voice warm and familiar, chasing away the chill that had settled in my bones. "I thought I might find you out here."

I smiled, feeling the warmth of his presence wash over me. "Good morning. I didn't want to wake you."

He stepped forward, closing the distance between us, and reached out to take my hand. His touch was warm, his fingers curling around mine as if he were grounding me to the earth. "You should have," he murmured, his eyes softening as he looked down at me. "I would much rather wake up next to you than find you wandering the grounds alone."

I laughed softly, the sound surprising me. "I just needed some air," I said, leaning into his touch. "Today feels... heavy."

Sebastian nodded, his expression growing serious. "I know. But we'll get through it together. I promise."

His words were like a balm, soothing the frayed edges of my nerves, and I squeezed his hand, grateful for his presence. "Thank you, Sebastian."

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to my forehead, and for a moment, everything else faded away—the uncertainty, the loneliness, the secrets. In that moment, there was only us, standing together in the mist, the world beyond us distant and unimportant.