Chapter 5: Lies and Lessons

The air inside the estate felt heavier after the garden.

Sabine walked the halls with new eyes—slower steps, measured breath, ears tuned to every door hinge and floorboard creak. The house was old, elegant, and deeply aware of itself. Everything in it had purpose. Every wall remembered something.

The staff watched her differently now.

Not with reverence. Not quite suspicion. More like curiosity. As if they knew something had shifted but weren’t sure if they were allowed to ask. And Sabine… she met each glance with the same blank serenity Celeste might have used. Chin high, hands folded, a ghost in borrowed silk.

She didn’t return to her chambers. Not yet. She wandered instead.

The east corridor held a series of portraits—former Duchesses, according to a brass plaque near the door. Each face was stiff, unsmiling, staring forward into some imagined future. Sabine paused at one with dark curls and a hooked nose. A distant ancestor, perhaps. The frame was cracked near the top. Someone had tried to hide it with gold paint.

She made a note: appearances mattered here, but truth had cracks.

She found a small library tucked into the north wing—not the grand hall she’d glimpsed near the ballroom, but something quieter. Personal. There were notebooks on a shelf beside the desk, all bound in deep blue leather. One of them had a monogram on the spine: C.V.

Celeste Virell.

Sabine checked the door, then pulled it down.

The handwriting inside was neat. Measured. Pages filled with observations, dates, schedules. Notes about household accounts. Guest preferences. Meal planning. One entry stood out, written tighter than the rest:

Lord Elbourne insists on being seated two chairs down from the head. Claims it’s a superstition. It’s not. He simply wants to remind everyone he’s close enough to replace you.

Sabine smiled faintly. “Clever girl,” she murmured.

There were more entries—names she didn’t recognize. Codes, perhaps. Or aliases. She closed the book and returned it to the shelf just as footsteps sounded in the hall.

She straightened. Adjusted her expression. Neutral. Harmless.

Thalia appeared in the doorway.

“I wondered where you’d gone,” she said, arms folded.

Sabine shrugged. “Learning the terrain.”

Thalia stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

“You don’t know anyone’s name,” the maid said softly. “Not the stablemaster. Not the head cook. Not the Duke’s secretary. Not the man who cleans your boots every morning. You’re going to slip.”

“I haven’t yet.”

“You will. Unless I help you.”

Sabine leaned a hip against the desk, studying her. “Why would you?”

Thalia hesitated. Then: “Because you’re nicer than her.”

Sabine blinked. “That’s it?”

“And because if you fall,” Thalia added, “everyone connected to you gets punished. Including me.”

There it was.

Sabine nodded once. “Fine. Let’s start now.”

They walked the estate together, late afternoon light streaking across the stone.

Thalia pointed discreetly at each staff member as they passed—names, duties, habits. The cook, Renna, hated lateness. The Duke’s valet, Merrit, couldn’t hear out of one ear. The gardener, Elsha, spoke only when spoken to. The steward, Briar, smiled too easily.

“Who should I watch?” Sabine asked quietly.

“All of them,” Thalia replied. “But especially Briar. He reports to no one but the Duke.”

“And Julian?”

Thalia’s mouth went tight. “He comes and goes. Too familiar with the Duke. Too familiar with your sister.”

“My sister?”

Thalia stopped. “I wasn’t supposed to know that. But yes. He was… around.”

Sabine’s stomach turned. “Was she in love with him?”

“I don’t think so,” Thalia said. “But he thought he could control her.”

Sabine looked out over the western hedges, the sun burning low on the horizon. “He told me he doesn’t care that I’m not her.”

“He’s lying,” Thalia said. “Everyone here lies. Except the house.”

Sabine glanced sideways. “The house?”

Thalia gave a half-smile. “It listens. It remembers. Doors swell in the summer and stick in the winter. Chandeliers flicker when someone’s angry. Carpets never quite muffle the steps of someone who’s lying.”

Sabine laughed, short and bitter. “And what do they say about the Duchess?”

Thalia met her gaze evenly.

“They say she doesn’t cry. She doesn’t forget. And she never leaves anything half-finished.”

Sabine was quiet for a long time.

Then: “We’ll see if they’re right.”

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