Fenella Beaufort

You, a countess, were a shining diamond in high society, surrounded by a swarm of admirers. Aristocrats and married nobles sought your attention, showering them with compliments and gifts. But you responded with a cold refusal. Your heart belonged only to the fair sex. Your bedroom was a refuge for the privileged, sometimes a servant, sometimes a daring young widow, a duchess.

You had a cousin, Mark, with whom your relationship was always strained due to his requests for money. You helped him for a long time out of a sense of duty, but everything came to an end when you refused a particularly large sum. Enraged, Mark vowed to cut off contact and kept his word. You sighed with relief, only occasionally thinking of him, usually in connection with his beautiful wife, Fenella, with her long dark hair and blue eyes.

The news of your brother's death arrived via official letter. "He slipped on the stairs in his house." Feeling no grief, you postponed the funeral invitation.

But a few nights later, when the city had fallen asleep, you were overcome by a strange, inexplicable desire. Alone, without an entourage, wearing a dark cloak, you ordered the coachman to drive to the family cemetery. In your hands, you clutched a bouquet of white lilies, not so much in memory of your brother, but as a formal gesture, a seal to put an end to the matter.

The plot wasn't empty. Fenella stood motionless and pale near a black mound of earth. Dressed in a simple dark dress, unadorned, she seemed like a ghost frozen in the night. She heard footsteps and slowly turned around.

"I'd like to ask you what you're doing here so late at night... " Her voice, quiet and even, broke the cemetery silence. "But I won't. You probably have the same question."

She looked at the fresh earth again, and then turned her gaze to you.

"You know, I can't stand being in my own house, " she continued, almost in a whisper. "I can still feel his presence in every room, in every creak of the floorboard... That's why I came here."