Chapter 85 The gifts
Timothy
The last of the guests trickled out slowly, the once-lively estate settling into a quieter rhythm. The evening had stretched long past sunset, and now the house felt almost hollow in comparison to the laughter and voices that had filled it only hours before.
I stood near the entrance hall, half-listening to the polite goodbyes being exchanged around me.
Rowan lingered near the door with Hannah.
She stood close to him, smiling softly as he spoke, and I caught fragments of their conversation, something about traveling back early in the morning, something about writing when he arrived safely.
Then Rowan leaned down and hugged her.
It was brief. Familiar.
My jaw tightened for reasons I didn’t care to examine.
When they separated, Rowan turned toward me. For a split second, our eyes met, and the air between us thickened with the memory of the strange tension earlier that evening; the moment that had hung between us like a question neither of us wanted to ask.
But Rowan didn’t acknowledge it.
Instead, he gave me a casual grin, stepped forward, and clapped a firm hand on my shoulder.
“Good night, Timothy.”
Just like that.
As if nothing had happened.
As if the air hadn’t turned sharp between us barely an hour ago.
I nodded once. “Good night.”
He squeezed my shoulder once more before heading out the door.
I watched him go.
The sound of the front door shutting echoed faintly through the hall, and for a moment I stood there staring at the empty space he’d left behind.
Then the house exhaled.
The maids appeared almost immediately, moving through the rooms with quiet efficiency, clearing glasses, gathering plates, straightening chairs.
The soft clatter of dishes replaced the fading murmur of guests.
My body finally seemed to notice how tired it was.
A yawn pulled itself from my chest before I could stop it.
Hannah glanced at me from where she stood near the staircase.
“You look exhausted.”
“I’m fine,” I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck.
She tilted her head slightly, studying me like she didn’t believe a word of it.
Then her expression brightened.
“Oh!” she said suddenly. “I almost forgot. I have gifts for you.”
I blinked at her.
“What?”
“Gifts,” she repeated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“You didn’t have to…”
“I wanted to.”
“Hannah…”
But she had already started toward the staircase.
“Come on.”
I sighed, dragging a hand down my face before following her.
“I’m serious,” I called after her. “You didn’t need to buy me anything.”
She glanced over her shoulder, smiling slightly.
“Too late.”
We climbed the stairs together, the soft carpet muffling our footsteps. The house was quieter up here, the sounds of cleaning fading into the distance.
When we reached the hallway outside my room, she stopped.
“The gifts are inside,” she said.
I frowned.
“Inside?”
She nodded toward the door.
Then she stepped back slightly.
“Go ahead.”
I stared at her.
“Aren’t you coming in?”
The words slipped out before I could think about them.
Hannah froze.
Just slightly.
It was small enough that someone else might not have noticed, but I did.
Her fingers twisted together in front of her, and she glanced briefly down the hall.
“I… shouldn’t.”
I frowned deeper.
“Why not?”
She hesitated.
Then she said quietly, “You banned me from entering your quarters.”
The words landed heavier than they should have.
For a moment I didn’t respond.
Because I remembered.
The anger. The coldness in my voice. The way I’d drawn that line so sharply between us.
I hadn’t thought about it since.
But she had.
Of course she had.
I felt something unpleasant twist in my chest.
“That was…” I exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of my neck again. “That was a long time ago.”
Hannah gave a small shrug, still not quite looking at me.
“I just got used to staying away.”
My frown deepened.
“Come in.”
Her eyes lifted to mine.
“Timothy…”
“Come in,” I repeated, opening the door.
For a moment she just stood there.
Then a small smile spread across her face.
And she stepped past me.
I closed the door behind us.
Hannah immediately looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time.
Which, I realized, she probably was.
Her gaze moved slowly across the tall windows, the shelves, the desk, the bed.
There was something tentative about the way she walked farther in, as if she were afraid she might still be told to leave.
I tried not to dwell on that.
Instead my attention shifted to the sofa near the window.
Several objects sat on it.
Covered with cloth.
I stopped.
“What’s that?”
Hannah brightened instantly.
“Oh! Right.”
She hurried over to the sofa, grabbing the first cloth and pulling it away with a dramatic flourish.
“Your gifts.”
I crossed my arms.
“You really didn’t have to…”
“Stop saying that,” she interrupted.
I raised an eyebrow.
She ignored me and pushed a box into my hands.
“Open this one first.”
The box was heavier than I expected.
I sat down on the edge of the sofa and peeled back the wrapping slowly.
Inside was another box.
A wooden one.
I lifted the lid.
For a moment I didn’t understand what I was looking at.
Then it clicked.
Inside lay a set of beautifully crafted writing instruments…pens, seals, and small engraved tools arranged neatly in velvet.
Custom made.
My name had been carved into the side of the case.
I stared at it.
A strange feeling moved through my chest.
Overwhelmed.
And numb at the same time.
I didn’t speak.
Hannah watched me carefully.
“Do you like it?”
“I…” My voice came out quieter than I intended. “Yes.”
She smiled, clearly relieved.
“There’s one more.”
She handed me the second item.
This one was flat.
Wrapped carefully.
I peeled the paper away.
And froze.
It was a portrait.
For a long moment I simply stared at it.
It showed the vineyard.
Rosant Yards stretching across golden fields under a warm evening sky. The house stood in the distance, the sun dipping behind it in shades of amber and rose.
But that wasn’t what held my attention.
In the foreground stood a small group of figures.
My mother.
My father.
And a younger version of me.
The memory hit me like a quiet wave.
I hadn’t seen something like this in years.
Maybe longer.
I kept staring.
Minutes passed.
The room felt very still.
Behind me Hannah shifted slightly.
“Do you…” she began carefully. “Do you like it?”
My throat felt tight.
Without looking away from the painting, I slowly lowered myself into the nearest chair.
The wood creaked under my weight.
I dragged a hand over my mouth, still staring at the image.
Then I said hoarsely,
“I love it.”
The words sounded rough even to my own ears.
“I…” I stopped, shaking my head slightly. “I don’t even know what to say.”
Hannah’s expression softened.
She stepped closer.
Before I could react, she wrapped her arms around me.
The hug caught me off guard.
But something in my chest gave way almost instantly.
I leaned into her.
My forehead pressed against her shoulder as my arms slowly came up around her.
My throat felt tight.
My chest too.
“I haven’t…” I swallowed. “I haven’t received a real gift in years.”
Her fingers slid gently into my hair.
She scratched lightly at my scalp in that absentminded way she sometimes did.
“I know,” she said softly.
Her voice held no pity.
Just quiet understanding.
We stayed like that.
Neither of us moving.
Neither of us speaking