Hearts and Heirs (v2 Rewrite)

The last mile to Waverly Hall is a corridor of green so perfectly arranged that it seems less like a landscape and more like a decision already made.

Hedges trimmed into obedient lines. Oaks positioned as if a painter set them down and stepped back to judge the symmetry. Gravel that crunches beneath the carriage wheels with the confidence of money.

Your aunt sits opposite you, hands folded over her reticule, posture as upright as a rule. Lady Whitmore has never been poor; she has only ever been temporarily inconvenienced by other people’s mistakes.

She watches you as if you are a letter she intends to send—carefully composed, properly sealed, and delivered to the correct address.

“Remember,” she says, softly enough that the driver will not hear, “they are Ashfords. Their fortune has roots. Their name has weight. If you are to be comfortable, you must be… clever.”