Threads Of Fate

Calming the Waters

"I'm truly sorry I couldn't attend the funeral, Mr. Smythe," Anya said softly as she guided Mr. Richard Smythe, the dignified advisor to Duke Alistair Cavendish, down the long, elegantly adorned hall of Attenborough Manor, though now worn down. The walls were painted in soft shades, adorned with portraits of ancestors whose gazes seemed to follow them, as she led him toward the inviting living room where they often entertained guests.

With a graceful wave of her hand, she indicated a plush armchair for him to occupy before settling herself into a beautifully upholstered chair directly across from him. She and Edward had unexpectedly crossed paths with Mr. Smythe on their way to the bustling tavern, nestled just a stone's throw from Duke Cavendish's mansion. Mr. Smythe had taken it upon himself to insist on a private conversation. He had informed them of the preparations the mansion was undergoing for a private gathering of the Duke's well wishers that evening so Anya invited him to Attenborough hoping to be invited to the gathering of the Duke's secret keepers. Edward, however, had lagged behind to inform Anthony and Zenith of their unexpected change in plans. 

"It's quite all right, dear," Mr. Smythe said, a hint of melancholy mingling with the warmth of his smile. His eyes, though sad, held an understanding that seemed to bridge the gap between them. "I knew it was unreasonable for me to expect your attendance, especially with the loss still so raw."

Anya nodded slowly, the words lingering in the air as she processed them. For a moment, she contemplated the sincerity of his tone. Despite the expectation that followed someone in her position, she had always felt detached from the sorrow that surrounded Duke Cavendish's passing. He was a man far older than she, and their marital union would have been steeped in discomfort and treachery. 

A brief shudder coursed through her as she remembered the nature of the man she had narrowly evaded marrying. Duke Cavendish was not merely old; he was cruel, a puppeteer who had reveled in manipulating her brother's vulnerabilities for his own gain. The thought of a life bound to such a malignant force sent a wave of relief washing over her, a stark reminder of how fortunate she had been to escape what could have easily been a dark and confining fate.

"Would it be alright if my friends and I attended the gathering this evening?" Anya inquired, her voice laced with a feigned melancholy. Her large, expressive eyes shimmered with an artful sadness as she added, "I never really got the chance to know him, and I think that speaking with his friends might help me understand the kind of person he truly was."

Mr. Smythe paused, his brow furrowing slightly as he considered her request. Clearing his throat, he offered her a tentative smile, though his eyes held a glimmer of concern. "I don't think that would be a wise decision," he replied carefully. "This gathering will consist of his associates, a gathering dominated by men, I might add, with drinks flowing freely. How could I, in good conscience, invite a young and enchanting woman like yourself to a gathering of that nature?"

"Of course, I understand," Anya replied, her voice laced with a hint of disappointment. She straightened her posture, determination flickering in her eyes. "But what about my brother? He has a connection with the Duke."

Mr. Smythe nodded thoughtfully, his brow furrowed in contemplation. "I believe that would be quite acceptable," he said, his tone shifting to one of encouragement. "It could be beneficial for Viscount Attenborough to expand his business acumen, and this gathering would serve as an excellent opportunity for him to begin."

A grateful smile blossomed on Anya's face, her earlier trepidation fading like the morning mist. The sincerity of Mr. Smythe's words warmed her spirits, and he reciprocated her smile, the corners of his mouth lifting in genuine approval. 

With a swift bow of his head, he expressed his gratitude for her time, then turned to depart from the manor, the rich warmth of the moments shared lingering in the air.