The carriage slows to a full, creaking stop.

Drawing my shawl snug around my shoulders, I step out of the carriage and into the chilly night. My breath fogs the air. The cold prickles my skin. I am tired. My legs and buttocks feel numb from sitting all day. Yet, a buzz of energy, fueled by curiosity, surges in me as I glance around.

The full moon casts a ghostly glow across the darkened courtyard. There sits a set of twin fountains on my right and on my left. Straight ahead, the manor looms like a phantasmic giant, forcing my eyes to lift skyward to take in its considerable mass and height. I feel small. Insignificant. Scattered all over the courtyard are perfect, square patches of rose bushes. A speckled galaxy of stars gleam over them, and the lushness of their blooms—even in the black of night—live up to the manor's namesake.

Already, I am intimidated by such grandeur, and I have not even set foot inside the house.

My driver helps me with my luggage. Step by step, I make my way down a paved pathway that leads to a pair of heavy, solid wooden doors.

They swing open before I can knock.

A fair-haired maid carrying an oil lamp waits inside. Her hair is blonder than mine. More of a pale wheat hue than my darker honey-colored tresses. The illumination from her lamp allows me to see the ugly scowl marring her pretty features.

For some reason, she does not look pleased to see me. "Good evening, ma'am. Might you be the new governess?"

A fleeting worry crosses my mind: Has my not-so-sterling reputation already proceeded me?

Otherwise, why would this mere maid give me such an evil eye?

With a wary smile, I confirm, "I am, indeed."

She welcomes me inside, but I cannot help but fixate on her sharp, piercing gaze. "Come with me, ma'am. Mrs. Mortimer is expecting you."

Her tone is full of bite.

On edge, I follow the maid through the foyer, down a hallway, towards a cozy-looking parlor.

She declares, "Mrs. Mortimer is waiting for you inside."

I cough awkwardly. "Thank you, Miss...?"

"My name is Agatha," the girl snaps.

"Thank you... Agatha," I mutter.

She says nothing more and remains in the hallway.

I enter the parlor on my own. I continue to study my surroundings. Bookshelves line the walls. Tucked in the corner, there is a small table with a half-played chess game displayed on it. Crackling flames dance about the fireplace, and every flicker from the fire casts eerie shadowplay around the room. Two high-backed armchairs are positioned near the fire.

An older woman with bleak, devil-black eyes and a pale, wizened face is sitting in one of the armchairs.

She must be Mrs. Mortimer.

There is an end table between the chairs. A tray with some tea and crumpets has been set out, presumably, for me.

The woman clears her throat and greets me first, "Ah, you must be Mrs. Peak?"

I nod politely. "I am, yes—and you must be Mrs. Mortimer?"

"That would be me," she replies with a quick nod.

Then, Mrs. Mortimer gestures to the empty armchair beside her. "Come, Mrs. Peak. Sit by the fire and revive yourself with some food and drink."

I approach Mrs. Mortimer and take a seat beside her. My face and hands still feel a bit chilled from the cold outside. The toasty warmth of fire feels divine on my skin, melting away the ice in my fingertips within minutes.

Mrs. Mortimer offers me some hot tea, and I gladly accept it.

"I hope your journey here was not too difficult?" she inquires.

"It was long but quite pleasant," I remark, peering at her over the steaming rim of my teacup. "Thank you for sending your driver to fetch me."

"Think nothing of it. Welcome to Rosewood Hall, Mrs. Peak."

I smile. "I am happy to be here."

"The triplets are excited to meet you."

The elderly housekeeper does not smile back, but, unlike the maid, her tone carries no malice during our conversation. The air between us feels friendly and cordial. In fact, Mrs. Mortimer's stoic, steady mien is exactly as I imagined from the tone of her letters.

I sip my tea. "I cannot wait to meet them, either."

"To be perfectly frank, Mrs. Peak, I am relieved that you are here," Mrs. Mortimer says in a hushed murmur.

I lean towards the housekeeper. "Oh?"

She lowers her voice even more and confesses to me, "Do not get me wrong, I find the little darlings to be endearing, but, as much as I adore them, even I must admit, they can be quite a handful. In fact, Lord Hawthorne wishes for me to convey to you that—he believes Vivian, Violet, and Reginald require more... discipline and structure... in their day-to-day lives. He hopes you will be able to provide the discipline and structure necessary for them to become better behaved children."

I blink. "Ah."

I frown slightly as I try to decipher what Mrs. Mortimer has left unsaid.

At present, I do not know if the housekeeper is hinting that the triplets are disorderly hooligans—

Or if Lord Hawthorne is simply a man unaccustomed to the pluck and mischief of normal children?

Mrs. Mortimer grimaces. "I feel as though poor Lord Hawthorne is somewhat at his wit's end. He has not been in the best of moods since the triplets' arrival at Rosewood Hall. I think he would greatly benefit from some peace and quiet."

Would he, now?

Even though Lord Hawthorne is beginning to sound like a bit of a grouch, I swallow the urge to judge the man without having first met him.

I offer diplomatically, "I shall do my best to give the children the discipline and structure needed for them to grow and thrive whilst providing Lord Hawthorne with some of the peace and quiet he so covets."

Approval beams from Mrs. Mortimer's face. "I am glad we have reached an understanding."

"As am I."

Mrs. Mortimer clears her throat again. "At any rate, I do not wish to keep you longer, my dear. I know you must be exhausted from your day of traveling. If there is nothing else you need at the moment, I will have Agatha show you to your room so you can get settled for the night."

"That would be lovely. Thank you."

Mrs. Mortimer turns towards the doorway and summons, "Agatha?"

The blonde maid reappears in the doorway with a surly expression. "You called, ma'am?"

Mrs. Mortimer instructs, "Please take Mrs. Peak to her room once she is ready to go. I will be retiring to my room now."

"Of course," Agatha mumbles. "Good night, ma'am."

As the housekeeper takes her leave of us, I drink my tea and eat my crumpet as quickly as I can manage. When I am done, I rise from my chair to join Agatha. I do not want to keep the girl waiting for long. She is already not fond of me. I do not wish to irritate her any more.

Her eyes narrow. "Are you finished, ma'am?"

I nod. "Thank you for waiting."

Agatha huffs, "Follow me."

She turns abruptly on her heel.

We walk down another long, dark hallway before coming across a grand staircase. Picking up her skirts, Agatha heads up the stairs. I scurry after her with luggage in tow. I struggle with the weight of my belongings as we ascend the steps, but Agatha ignores my panting grunts and does not offer to assist me.

When we finally make it to the second floor, the maid leads me down yet another corridor. Her oil lamp lights the way. This corridor, however, appears far too stately and palatial for servants. There is crown moulding all across the high, arched ceilings, floral-motif wallpaper with gold-leaf detailings line the walls, and a long Persian rug stretches across dark mahogany wood floors.

After a few turns, Agatha stops in front of a room with a pair of double doors.

She urges, "Go on. This is your room."

I eye the ornate woodwork on the doors with a touch of skepticism. "Are you certain? It almost seems too... nice... for a governess."

A small, knowing smirk appears on Agatha's lips. "Oh, pish-posh! Lord Hawthorne treats all of his servants very well. He only wishes for you to be... comfortable... during your employment here. However long that may last."

Something the girl's final remark does not feel right to me. It sounds... snide.

Quietly, I protest, "I—"

But she is already dashing away from me. "Sleep well, Mrs. Peak."

It is too late at night to call for Mrs. Mortimer, and I do not wish to disturb the entire household with unnecessary commotion.

Agatha is long gone now.

As I stand, alone, in the darkened hallway, I do not know what else to do except trust the maid's word.

Sighing, I grab my luggage. Then, with a soft 'click,' I open the double doors and head quietly into "my" room.