The day after the fire, Eleanor awoke to the sounds of hammers and saws echoing through the estate. Workers, hired by Nathaniel, were already salvaging materials from the charred remains of the manor. Despite the devastation, Nathaniel had refused to delay. "Ashwood Manor will not remain in ruins," he had declared. His determination gave the staff hope, though his relentless pace left little room for grief.
Eleanor found herself drawn into the planning, assisting Nathaniel in choosing designs and managing schedules. She marveled at his ability to balance the weight of his losses with the demands of reconstruction. Yet, in quiet moments, she noticed the weariness in his eyes. "You're carrying too much alone," she said one evening as they reviewed blueprints. Nathaniel only nodded, his silence a shield she couldn't yet breach.
Arabella's trauma lingered. The child clung to Eleanor during the day and wept in her sleep at night. Eleanor crafted bedtime rituals to ease her fears, reading tales of brave heroines and victorious knights. Slowly, the shadows in Arabella's eyes began to fade, though her questions about the fire remained unanswered. "Will we ever be safe again?" she asked one night. Eleanor hugged her tightly, promising, "As long as I'm here, nothing will harm you."
Meanwhile, rumors about the fire spread among the staff and neighboring estates. Some whispered it was an accident, while others suspected arson. Eleanor overheard conversations between the maids, their voices hushed with fear. "First the governess, now this," one said. "The Ashwoods seem cursed." The sentiment gnawed at Eleanor, leaving her more determined than ever to uncover the truth.