Page 90 of When Hearts Surrender

“What’s going on with Agnes and Morris? They don’t look happy with each other. I mean, Agnes isn’t exactly the warm and fuzzy type,” I murmur, staring at the housekeeper and Morris in some sort of heated discussion in the corner, a flush creeping up the old man’s neck.

Melody shrugs. “I have no clue, but my money would be on Agnes being the problem. Morris gets along with everyone—he’s like the old grandpa we all want to have. Agnes, on the other hand…” She doesn’t finish the sentence, but she doesn’t need to. The woman is as cold as the Arctic.

Morris throws his hand in the air before turning around and stomping off, his limp much more pronounced.

“Why doesn’t Morris retire? His leg looks like it’s hurting him a lot,” I ask.

Melody sighs. “Trust me, Sir Linus and Sir Maxwell have both asked him to retire, saying he can just stay here in the estate and enjoy his remaining years, but he refuses. I think he wants to feel useful. The Andersons are like the only family he has left.”

“What do you mean?”

“His parents and older sister, Ruth, used to work for the family. Now, mind you, this was way before my time. But from what Mom told me, Ruth was ten years older than Morris and the two were very close, but she died young.”

Melody looks at me and whispers, “They said she disappeared one day and was found dead. The killer was never found.”

I gasp. “What? How horrible!”

Melody nods. “It gets even worse. Apparently, their parents were so overcome with grief that in a span of a year, they both died, leaving Morris alone. I think he was,” she scrunches her brows, “fifteen or sixteen at the time?”

My heart aches for the old butler. What a young age to lose everyone you love. “So he’s been here ever since? Never married?”

“Yeah. I think he’s stuck—like he can’t move on if his family can’t either. It’s really sad. Luckily, the Andersons are good employers. They treat him like family.”

I nod. I should talk to him more, give him some company then. I know how it feels to be alone in the world…and my parents, as problematic as they are, are still alive.

We make our way around the ballroom and finish the final touch ups—adjusting the white tablecloths at the tables spaced throughout or relighting candles that have snuffed out in the twelve-candle candelabras serving as centerpieces.

The gothic atmosphere of the house lends to an air of mystery and romance, and I intend to play it up as a nod to the gala name: The Anderson Legacy Ball. It may have been a bit on the nose to name the gala after the family. However, Lana said that with all the swirling press about Fleur Entertainment’s leadership and Maxwell’s mental health, it’d be a good thing to associate a charity ball with the family name.

My phone buzzes in the pocket of my gown and I take it out, absentmindedly swiping it open.

Cole

Merry Christmas, Belle. I’m sorry I can’t come to your gala and it took me so long to respond.

The three dots appear and I wait for him to finish his thoughts.

Cole

The holiday season is a period of mourning for my family because this used to be my cousin’s favorite time of the year, but she’s no longer with us.

Oh, Cole.My fingers fly across the keyboard as I reply.

Belle

I understand. I’m sorry this is a difficult time for you. I hope you find a spark of happiness in the dark hours. Merry Christmas.

Cole

Thanks. Remember what I said before. You deserve better, Belle. Just remember that.

I frown, unsure how to respond.

“Wraithmoor Abbey back to its former glory!” Melody whistles under her breath after making her way back to my side.

“Wraithmoor Abbey?”

The name echoes in my mind. Goosebumps prickle my arms as I remember what Eleanor, the shopkeeper, told me when I picked up the necklace I’m wearing around my neck now.

---