seen from Hong Kong SAR China
seen from United States
seen from Philippines
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Japan
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Bangladesh
seen from Philippines
There was music in the old ballroom for the first time in memory, laughter in the rafters. Elias and Imogen waltzed in the room that had always been waiting for exactly this. The old ranch opened its arms and the community gathered, dancing and laughing well into the evening.
It was a farewell and a homecoming all at once.
And somewhere between the music and the moonlight, Hector Stacey noticed Maranda Smith for what felt like the very first time.
Since the conversation with his parents—his parents, not just Mother and Elias, but truly his parents—Julius had felt different. He’d never been overly confident. He knew he was capable, but something had shifted lately. It was as though a new steadiness had settled in him, one that only deepened when he was accepted into the prestigious University of Britechester—his father’s alma mater.
The shadow his father once cast had faded, leaving only an echo of memory. The breadth of his father’s treachery was staggering; Julius wasn’t sure they’d uncovered all of it, but he’d done what was necessary to save the family’s coffers, and he was glad he had.
Time’s weight showed on the others. His mother’s eyes now carried lines he hadn’t noticed before, and Elias seemed older still. But Julius felt a sense of purpose. He would be the one to carry the family forward, to lift them higher. And it would begin with his studies at Britechester.
His mother had been ecstatic when they read the acceptance letter together, and equally thrilled when the scholarship offers arrived. They didn’t need the money, but the recognition of his years of hard work was sweet nonetheless.
Peg and Prim swept in with the January air - bright and fresh as the sun blinding off the snow. It was chaos, and it was glorious.
Autumn 1918
Dearest Mother,
The blasted war is over and I cannot sit in this grief any longer. I am bringing Prim home.
She has never seen California and that is frankly an embarrassment I intend to correct. She is nine years old and has never eaten a proper grape off a vine or gotten dirt on her shoes in the way that actually matters. England is very good at a great many things. Dirt is not among them.
The barony is stable. The new earl is being uncharacteristically amenable. I should remember to write Alaina and thank her.
Prim asks about you constantly. About Father and the vineyard and what California smells like in autumn. I have done my best to describe it but I find my words have been somewhat thin lately.
We will book passage as soon as it is practical. Do not fuss about the rooms. We will manage.
All my love to Father and Hector.
Your Peg
The casket held no body, but its weight was no less real. Friends from Julius’s university days joined the family as they said goodbye to their eldest son. Peg’s tear-stained letter had railed against her absence—Algernon’s sudden passing and the dangers of crossing the Atlantic made travel impossible. Though her words were still in transit, Imogen assured her that her thoughts and presence would be felt as they honored Julius.
When the service ended, the family lingered by his final resting place. It felt cruel that he should share a crypt with Cornelius, but it was the family’s tomb. In time, they’d all be there—Joseph included. Imogen made the announcement. Julius had loved Joseph as deeply as any of them had loved him. It would be wrong to part them in eternity simply because life had not allowed them to be together.
Joseph had collapsed when she spoke those words. To the others, it was an act of grief; to him, it meant something far greater—more than she could possibly know.
Outside the crypt, beneath the traitorous blue sky, the family wept for a future that would never come.
The late morning sun stretched across the garden, gilding the edges of the flowers in a unrelenting shimmer of golden rays. Imogen sat in her wretched chair, as she called it, drumming her fingers against the armrest while Julius pushed her along the gravel path. Hector darted ahead, inspecting a line of potted cuttings with the intensity of a scientist, his hat askew and his shirt unbuttoned.
“I swear that boy’s part plant himself,” Imogen muttered, watching as Hector crouched to brush a leaf between his fingers. “Just like his father, always fussing with something green.”
Julius smiled faintly. “He’s got an eye for it, though. That one could coax fruit from a fence post.”
“Mm,” Imogen said, her tone fond but distracted. “Still, I’d rather he save his knees and find a clean hobby. Heaven forbid we have another man in the house tracking soil through my halls.”
She shifted in the chair, grimacing as a dull ache rippled through her side. Julius caught the motion immediately.
“Careful, Mother.”
“I am being careful,” she snapped, then sighed, softening the edges. “Six weeks since they took that wretched thing out of me and I’m still treated as though I’ve lost both legs.”
Julius steered her toward the shade of the trellis. “You nearly died. Forgive us for being cautious.”
She shot him a sharp look, but there was affection beneath it. “Overprotective, the lot of you. Even Hector’s caught it—look at him, scolding me if I so much as breathe too deep.”
At that, Hector turned, hands on his hips. “You’re supposed to be resting, Mama. Doctor said so.”
Imogen’s lips twitched into reluctant amusement. “See? Tyrants, the both of you.”
Julius chuckled and adjusted the brim of his hat, his gaze drifting toward the distant rows of workers. “Speaking of tyrants… Matthew’s proving himself a solid hand. Hard worker. Keeps to himself mostly.”
“Mostly,” Imogen echoed, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Something’s off about him, though. Can’t quite name it. He’s polite, but his politeness feels… measured. As if every word’s been rehearsed.”
“His wife’s expecting, I heard,” Julius said. “Bit of a May–December match, isn’t it?”
Imogen gave a dry hum of agreement. “Indeed. Though I suppose stranger pairings have worked.”
Julius’s mouth quirked. “My father managed it, after all.”
Imogen arched a brow. “Julius.”
He shrugged, tone half rueful, half resigned. “I don’t say it to honor him, Mother — only to remind myself what not to become. He was a man of appetites, not principles.”
Her expression softened, the reprimand fading. “No one could ever mistake you for him.”
“Perhaps,” Julius said quietly. “But sometimes I wonder if a man’s shadow can stretch further than he means it to.”
“It does. I suppose that’s why we spend half our lives stepping sideways to escape them.” She paused, squeezing his hand before continuing. “You’ve always walked your own line, my dear. Don’t lose it now.”
They fell into a companionable silence for a moment — until Imogen noticed Hector hovering nearby, pretending to fiddle with a leaf while his ears strained toward them.
“Mind your volume,” she murmured to Julius. “The boy doesn’t need that name haunting his head.”
“I heard that,” Hector said, turning around with a frown. “What name?”
“None of your concern,” Imogen said swiftly. “And if you want to make yourself useful, you can lend me that arm of yours so I can finally stand.”
Hector hesitated. “You shouldn’t. Doctor said—”
“The doctor said a lot of things,” she interrupted. “Most of them nonsense. Now, come along.”
Before he could move, Julius interjected, laughter in his voice. “For once, listen to the boy, Mother. You’d do well to follow your own orders.”
Hector grinned at that, and Julius winked at him.
Imogen rested her hand on the wheel, her back arched as if a steel rod had been placed, the picture of royal indignation. “A fine pair of sons I’ve raised. No respect for their poor, convalescing mother.”
But there was warmth in her scolding, pride glinting beneath the annoyance. Julius leaned down and kissed her temple.
“Respect, yes. But obedience? That’s another matter entirely.”
She swatted at him lightly, a smile breaking through her stubbornness. The sun shone brighter, painting the vineyard in golden light — a family scene as fragile and fleeting as the peace that held it together.
Morning light filtered through the lace curtains, spilling soft pink across the dressing table where Imogen sat fastening her earrings. Elias was still perched on the edge of their bed, bare-chested and unhurried, his robe open and his hair still tousled.
“You’re not even dressed yet,” Imogen said, glancing at him through the mirror. Her tone carried more affection than reproach. “The sun’s been up an hour, and the vineyard won’t tend itself.”
Elias smiled faintly, stretching his arms. “I’ll be along soon enough. There’s a comfort in letting the morning breathe before we rush into it. Besides, Joseph has it in hand.”
“Hmm.” She smoothed a hand over her skirts and reached for a letter resting beside her brush. “Well, while you’re breathing, Peg’s written again.”
That caught his attention. He straightened, eyes brightening a touch. “And?”
“And,” she said, turning in her chair to face him, “she says there may be legal ground for her to keep Crumblewick and the barony intact—for Prim’s husband, if not for Prim herself. She sounds as determined as ever.”
Elias huffed a quiet laugh. “She’d wrestle the Crown itself if she thought it meant keeping that land.”
“That’s likely true.” Imogen smiled, folding the letter. “And there’s a note from Hector, too. He says school suits him. He’s found a small fishing hole behind the grounds and goes there when he can. He wrote that he thinks of you whenever he catches anything, though he’s yet to manage more than a minnow.”
Elias chuckled, the sound soft but warm. “That boy was born for quiet places. I hope the world lets him keep them.”
Imogen nodded, setting both letters aside. “It’s nice, isn’t it? To hear they’re well. Peg fighting her fight, Hector content in his little corner. For once, no chaos.”
“Don’t jinx us, my love,” Elias said with a teasing grin, rising at last to ready for the day.
“I wouldn’t dare,” she replied, moving toward him. She leaned in to press a gentle kiss to his cheek, her perfume mingling with the scent of morning air. “Finish dressing, Elias. Breakfast won’t wait.”
With that, she swept from the room, leaving him smiling faintly as her footsteps faded down the stairs.
Imogen unfolded the letter again, her fingers tracing the neat English handwriting. “Peg writes that Nathaniel’s gone to serve. She says he wouldn’t hear a word against it, title or no. Felt it his duty.”
Elias frowned, setting aside his spectacles. “And Aubrey?”
Imogen gave a soft, humorless laugh. “Aubrey feels no such calling. Says he’s of better use tending to his estates. Peg doesn’t say it outright, but I can feel it between the lines — she’s furious.”
Julius leaned against the piano, quiet for a moment before saying, “Some men choose comfort over conviction. I can’t fault her for being angry.”
Imogen’s eyes softened. “No, nor can I. She’s seen enough of duty to know its cost.”
