The Lockhart manor loomed solemnly under the gray sky. Its once-welcoming facade felt dulled, the colors dimmed as if mourning alongside the family. The air was thick with damp earth and whispered condolences.
Beatrice stepped down from the carriage with care, her skirts dragging through wet gravel. Her gaze scanned the gathered crowd until it landed on familiar faces. Her parents had arrived ahead of them, standing near the side of the entry hall in their polished travel coats, looking appropriately mournful.
She approached.
"Mother, father..."
Ethel turned first, her mouth forming a measured frown. "My dear girl. Such a tragedy, isn't it? Poor Johanna."
Conrad nodded solemnly. "Devastating. Simply devastating."
But when Ethel leaned in for a kiss on the cheek, she whispered behind her veil, "Still, one less to worry about."
Beatrice recoiled slightly, eyes narrowing.
"What did you say?"
