Episode 1, Chapter 1: The New Steward

If someone were to ask about Feltham, most people would describe it as an idyllic village.

Its fertile fields, carefully managed forests, abundant hunting grounds, and a river that had flowed peacefully for centuries without ever flooding.

Lining its quiet streets stood stately old homes, each lovingly repaired and expanded by generations of the same families. And every evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, the rooftops glowed like burnished gold beneath its warm light.

It was precisely because of this that Feltham had long been the perfect countryside retreat for the nobles of the distant capital.

A peaceful haven cherished by the wealthy and refined.

Or rather, that was the dream the people of Feltham desperately wished would come true.

The world had begun to change rapidly after last year's war.

Railways now reached even the most remote villages, allowing people to travel farther than ever before in a fraction of the time.

As a result, the aristocrats of the capital, Newham, had grown bored of quiet country estates. Instead, the latest fashion among them was the Grand Tour, a journey across the continent where they could meet all manner of fascinating people.

The ferries crossing the strait were always packed to capacity, and people joked that a carriage driver working the harbor could earn more money than a country landowner.

It was that kind of age.

Meanwhile, Eloise Surbiton sat quietly at home, painting.

"Miss, it's time to eat."

Perhaps the nobles in the capital rose well past noon and enjoyed leisurely late breakfasts, but such customs had no place in Feltham.

Least of all for Miss Eloise Surbiton, the only daughter of the Surbiton household.

...“If you wish to preserve your daughter's health, she must live somewhere with clean air and adopt the lifestyle of a farmer. She should rise early, eat early, and never skip any of her three meals."...

When the physician who examined Eloise as a child had spoken those words, her mother, Lady Grace Surbiton, had wept as though the heavens themselves had collapsed.

She had dreamed of presenting her daughter to Newham society as soon as her health recovered.

Instead, she had been told that Eloise would likely spend her entire life hidden away in the countryside.

But beneath her blankets, hidden from her mother's eyes, young Eloise had smiled.

‘Finally! I'll never have to set foot in that filthy, smelly, overcrowded Newham for the rest of my life!’

Girls her age usually dreamed of Newham's glamorous social season and its elegant shopping streets overflowing with luxury.

Eloise, however, wanted nothing to do with it.

The polluted air.

The endless crowds.

A life where every word had to be weighed carefully, every second spent worrying about appearances.

Compared to that, how wonderfully free Feltham was.

Though she had originally come here to recover from a mysterious illness, the moment twelve-year-old Eloise first laid eyes on the village, she had decided she would love Feltham for the rest of her life.

Now she was twenty-six years old.

Long past the age society considered ideal for marriage, living every day beneath her mother's sighs of disappointment.

And still, she loved Feltham just as dearly.

"Miss!"

"I'm coming!"

With the maid Emily's voice growing louder by the second, Eloise sighed and set down her charcoal pencil.

Lately she'd begun painting people instead of landscapes.

Unfortunately, she had no suitable models, and her latest work had made little progress.

"Oh dear, look at your hands. Take off your apron too."

"Emily, you're only eighteen, yet you nag more than Mother does."

"I'd be saying the same thing even if I were four. Now go wash your hands."

For a maid addressing the daughter of the house, Emily's bluntness bordered on outright rudeness.

Yet no one in the Surbiton family ever complained.

Emily was hardworking, the finest cook in all of Feltham, and fiercely loyal.

Anyone foolish enough to insult the Surbitons would soon find her charging at them like an angry rooster until they were left in tears.

Compared to that, a few worried lectures were a small price to pay.

Besides, if one annoyed Emily too much, one might end up being served a poorly seasoned stew.

To the Surbiton family, that was a fate second only to missing Sunday church.

As Eloise returned after washing her hands, the goose wandering the front yard began honking loudly.

"Lancelot! That's enough."

The goose, named after the legendary Knight of the Round Table, a title far grander than any goose deserved, immediately folded its wings at her command.

"What a clever bird."

As a reward, Eloise tossed it a handful of barley that Emily had been drying before greeting the postman, who stood outside waving several letters.

"Good morning, William. Anything interesting happening in Cambourne?"

Cambourne was the nearest town to Feltham, large enough to maintain its own social circles.

Lady Surbiton had long since given up on introducing Eloise to Newham society.

That did not mean she had abandoned all hope of her daughter mingling with respectable ladies.

...“No matter how deep in the countryside you live, you're still a lady. Never forget that."...

Because of this, Eloise had been dragged to Cambourne's social gatherings once every month.

But even those visits gradually became less frequent after whispers began calling her an old maid.

Lady Surbiton simply couldn't bear hearing people speak ill of her daughter.

These days, Eloise only appeared once each season before quietly returning home.

"As lively as ever," William replied.

"Now that every ordinary soldier has finally been discharged, veterans are returning home in droves. The young ladies of Cambourne can hardly sleep these days. The moment they spot a man in a red uniform, someone inevitably drops a handkerchief and faints. It's gotten so bad the mayor ordered more benches placed around town."

William shook his head as though thoroughly exhausted by the spectacle.

Eloise could picture the scene perfectly.

The war with the neighboring kingdom, which had dragged on for more than ten years, had ended only last year.

Fortunately, their nation had emerged victorious.

The enormous war reparations did not go solely to the Crown.

Many of the soldiers who had fought for their country received pensions in recognition of their service.

Honor.

Money.

And for those fortunate enough to return alive, the strong, capable bodies that had survived the battlefield.

While Newham had no shortage of wealthy noblemen, in places like Cambourne and Feltham, retired officers made extraordinarily desirable husbands.

Just a month earlier, the well-known Mr. Courtney had been so delighted that his eldest daughter was marrying a decorated soldier, the recipient of the White Lion Medal, that he gifted bottles of Highland whisky to nearly everyone he knew.

Eloise had secretly sampled some behind her father's back.

She had fallen completely in love with its rich aroma and smooth taste.

Ever since then, she had sincerely prayed that Mr. Courtney, who still had five unmarried daughters, would somehow gain another soldier for a son-in-law.

In any case, with so many eligible veterans wandering about, it was no wonder Cambourne was in such an uproar.

"Here you are," William said, handing over a heavy bundle of letters tied neatly with string.

Although Mr. Surbiton now lived quietly in Feltham for his daughter's sake, he had once been a respected professor of history in Newham.

Retirement had done little to diminish his reputation.

Letters requesting his advice still arrived regularly from scholars and professors at the university.

Assuming these were more of the same, Eloise untied the bundle.

A single ivory-white envelope slipped free and landed on the ground.

"Where's that one from?"

William, unable to hide his curiosity, leaned in instead of leaving.

Proper gentlemen were not supposed to pry into another person's correspondence.

Fortunately, neither William nor Eloise valued propriety nearly as much as curiosity.

"Let's see..."

"Rupert Derby... Baron Stanford?"

Without realizing it, Eloise's voice rose.

William's eyes widened just as much.

"Oh my..."

At that moment, Mr. Surbiton appeared.

Whether he had heard Eloise's surprised exclamation or Emily calling everyone to the table, no one could say.

After giving both of them a mildly disapproving look, he took the letter from Eloise's hands.

"If it's addressed to me, you ought to have brought it straight to me."

"I was about to. I only checked the sender first in case it came from someone dangerous."

"I see. So you were making sure an enemy spy hadn't sent me a threatening letter."

Eloise pouted.

She recognized the teasing immediately.

When she was eight years old, after reading a spy novel she'd received as a birthday present, she'd become convinced her father's letters might be poisoned and had soaked every single one in water before he could read them.

Even so, Mr. Surbiton was clearly curious himself.

He picked up the paper knife resting on the windowsill and carefully slit open the envelope.

Inside lay a sheet of paper as pure white as the envelope itself.

As he read, surprise slowly spread across his face.

"...Well now."

"What is it? Has something happened?"

Even William, who still hadn't left, leaned forward expectantly.

Mr. Surbiton lowered the letter.

"It seems... a new steward is coming to Blissbury Manor."

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