A Broken Promise

06 Honoured

The days had settled into a comfortable rhythm, each one marked by the anticipated evening walks with Lord Hynnesworth. For Cornelia, these strolls had become the sole bright spot in a life otherwise filled with monotony and quiet sorrow. Montague's presence, once unexpected, had swiftly grown into a cherished part of her routine. His voice, his stories, and the subtle warmth of his company had become the threads that wove together the fabric of her days.

Each evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, she would find herself drawn to the garden, where he awaited her beneath the ancient oak tree. The garden, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun, seemed to transform into a world of their own—far removed from the rigid confines of society and the expectations that weighed heavily upon her.

Montague's conversation was always engaging, his demeanor unfailingly courteous, and Cornelia found herself captivated by him in a way that was both thrilling and unsettling. The melancholy that had once been her constant companion was gradually being replaced by a growing sense of admiration for the man who walked by her side each evening. Her heart, still tender from past wounds, began to flutter with a new and unfamiliar hope.

But on this particular evening, something was amiss. Cornelia had dressed with care, as she always did, and made her way to the garden, expecting to see Montague's familiar figure waiting for her. Yet, as she approached the oak tree, there was no sign of him. She paused, a flicker of unease creeping into her thoughts. The garden, usually a place of solace, felt strangely empty without him.

Before she could dwell too long on his absence, a soft cough from behind her startled her out of her reverie. She turned to see Thomas, the family's long-serving butler, standing with his hands clasped before him, his expression as composed as ever.

"Miss Cornelia," he said with a slight bow, "your father requests your presence in his study at once."

A ripple of apprehension passed through her. Her father's study was a place reserved for serious matters, and it was rare for her to be summoned there so late in the day. The garden, with its roses and creeping ivy, now seemed to close in around her, the once-inviting space suddenly stifling.

"Very well, Thomas," she replied, masking her anxiety with a practiced calm. "I shall attend him immediately. Thank you."

With one last glance at the empty garden, Cornelia followed Thomas back to the house, her mind racing. As she crossed the threshold into the grand hall, the familiar scent of polished wood and old books filled her senses, but it did little to soothe the unease that had taken root within her.

She reached her father's study, the heavy oak door standing like a sentinel before her. Taking a steadying breath, Cornelia knocked lightly, the sound of her knuckles against the wood echoing in the quiet hallway.

"Enter," came her father's deep voice from within.

Cornelia pushed the door open and stepped inside. The study was dimly lit by the flickering light of a single lamp and the glow of the fire burning low in the hearth. Antoine sat behind his imposing desk, his expression inscrutable as he regarded her with sharp, penetrating eyes. Seated across from him, in a chair turned slightly toward the fire, was Montague Hynnesworth.

Cornelia's breath caught in her throat at the sight of him, her unease giving way to a rush of emotion she could scarcely contain. Montague rose as she entered, offering her a gentle smile, and a polite now. But there was a gravity in his gaze that set her heart to racing.

"Father," she greeted softly, dipping into a respectful curtsy before taking a hesitant step forward. "You wished to see me?"

Antoine nodded, his stern features softened only slightly by the flickering firelight. "Yes, Cornelia. Please, sit down. There is a matter of great importance that we must discuss."