There were no sons. No brothers and no nephews. The sake of the family line was in y/n. Rain had slowly trickled down the window panes of the estate,  maids and the rest of the help began the mourning process. Long drapes were thrown over the mirrors, the great grand clock that sat at the foot of the main staircase was stopped at the time of his death. In the early hours of the morning, he took his last breath. Wether it was painless or not, y/n didn’t know. 

 

It hadn’t yet hit you, your mind still was running down the list of all the preparations that still needed to be made. 

 

Your hands were taken in by Edwards, the overseer of the estate since your father had taken ill. “What would you like to do, miss y/n.”

 

“Call the mortuary. Father already had his plans to be in the family’s mausoleum.” You pulled the hair pin out of your hair, letting it come down to breathe. Your hands took to your roots, running through your hair. “I need his suit.”

 

Edwards nodded, proceeding to relay your request to the maids. 

 

The house was dull, no light graced it’s presence along the wooden floors, or the family paintings. A grey tone began to germinate the home. 

 

People paced past you, attending to what was supposed to happen next. Your steps took you back into the room where it happened. Slowly you nudged the door open. He laid still, eyes cold, pale skin, and peaceful. The doctor stood at the dresser, packing his tools into his medical bag.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry y/n. I will leave you to say your goodbyes, will anyone else be joining you?” The doctor asked politely, taking his bag in had and adjusting his glasses. 

 

Your head slowly swiveled side to side. “No… it was just the two of us.”

 

His head bowed in sympathy. “I am so sorry for your loss, I will leave you now.”

 

“Thank you, Mr. Brown. For all of your efforts.” A smile came to your lips, what little you could manage. 

 

The air became still, almost stagnate. Completely motionless almost plagued with the same sickness that had stricken your father. Your hands floated gently across the bureaux, opening one of the smaller drawers in search of his cuff links. Yet, a small suffocating feeling washed over you. Your throat tightened around an emotional ball stuck in your throat while your eyes began to fill with tears. While you intended to search for his cuff links, your soul clutched the small family portrait your father kept in his drawer. 

 

Tears fell from your cheek, holding it together for this long was quite impressive. But it didn’t make you feel any better knowing you were truly alone in this room. 

Your head slowly looked behind you, seeing his sleeping self lay in bed. 

 

“Oh papa…” You fell to your knees before the bed, your hands still clutching the framed picture in your hands. 

 

Cecilia had stumbled into the bedroom, her hands full of curtains and long sheets of fabric. 

 

You immediately rose to your feet, wiping what tears were left on your cheek.

 

“Oh I’m so sorry, Miss Briarcliffe.” Cecilia quickly turned around and started to walk out. 

 

“No it’s okay.” You stopped her. “Can you please get the mortuary over here as quickly as they can.” 

 

“Yes, ma’am.” She nodded and walked away. 

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

Black wasn’t your favorite color, nor a color you thought suited you. Yet to wear it in this black sea as everyone else in this room, you felt it almost protected you. You were the same as everyone else. When they didn’t realize it was you sitting here, their apologies came quickly, but in that moment of them almost passing you by you felt normal. 

 

The wake went as wakes go. People apologizing for something they had no control over, claiming he was somewhere better. But it didn’t make you feel any different. It didn’t change that the only family you had was gone. In some strange distance, you could hear someone saying how great of a time this was. The inheritance was finally yours. But that couldn’t have been further from your mind. 

 

The pallbearers loaded the casket onto the carriage, leading the way for the funeral party to meet at the mausoleum. 

 

When all had left and said their goodbyes and sorrows, it was just the two of you. Your hand rested on the cold stone, in the room of where your family laid to rest.

 

“One day,” you told yourself. “I will come to join you and relish in our reunion.” A kiss to your fingertips gently brushed the plaque on the wall. Placing the veil over your head again, you made your way back to the estate. 

 

~~~~~

 

 

 

Edward opened the door for you, leading you inside. “Miss y/n. A Mr. Horace Langford is waiting for you in your father’s study.” 

 

“Oh.” You realized. “Right, thank you.” In your dark gown, you made your way to meet him. 

 

Upon opening the door, your veil came off and so did your coat. “Mr. Langford I am sorry to inform you, but I truly wished you came at a better time.”

 

He met you with a gentle hug, a nod of condolences. Finally someone did the thing you wished, not bringing it to your attention. “I am sure, Miss y/n. But your father requested this be made to your knowledge as soon as possible.”

 

The two of you took your seats across from each other. The feeling of sitting in the same spot your father used to sit, felt wrong and very surreal. 

 

He opened his briefcase and pulled the stack of papers. “ This is the last will and testament of Mr. Henry Walton Everly, dated fifth day of March, eighteen hundred and seventy-nine.” 

Horace adjusted his spectacles, pulling out a pen to keep track of what he lines he was reading. “Ah yes. I, Henry Walton Everly, being of sound mind and body , do hereby declare this  be my last will and testament. Of course your father had his wishes to be laid to rest in the family mausoleum, which of course happened.” Almost like a check list. “And your father had made changes since the death of his brother Alexander, who had no children. Which leaves, in short, just you my dear.”

 

Your eyes habitually rolled on their own with a small nod to your head. “I am well aware, Mr. Longford.” 

 

“To my beloved, one and only child, Y/n Everly, I bequeath unto my daughter all of my lands, hereditaments, chattels,” Horace continued to list more.

 

Your eyes only grew wider with each item that came next on his listing. What didn’t he leave you. 

 

“And personal estate of every kind and description, to be held and enjoyed by her.” Horace finished. “It is all your’s my dear. Every piece and speckle of dust.”

 

Shock was maybe the lightest way to put it. “To me?” 

 

“Well of course, who else?”

 

“But-“

 

Horace continued to read some to himself while your mouth stayed ajar in shock. “There is one condition.”

 

“Only one? Anything, I can’t believe this. The whole estate is left to me-“

“No, not yet.” He stated. 

 

Your mind snapped back to reality. “Pardon?”

 

“Your father’s last wish, or condition I believe. Upon the express condition that she shall be lawfully married to a gentleman of suitable birth and station within six months of my death. Should she fail in this condition, the said estate and belongs will pass in donation to the-“

 

“I beg your pardon?!” You exclaimed, rising up from your seat. “He wants me to marry?!” 

 

The look of fear washed over Mr. Langford as he clutched the papers in his hand, sinking into his seat. “Well… yes those are his wishes but- I am sure we can-“

 

“Oh my god! I knew it!” You started to pace the room.

 

“Miss Everly, you have six months. I believe you have plenty of suitors at the ready for you to meet?” Mr. Langford said carefully. 

 

“Even when you are married,” he flipped through the papers. “Everything will still be in your name, not a shared inheritance with your spouse.”

 

“Oh.” You exhaled. The thoughts began to run through your mind, the past talks of suitors and gentlemen who were well equipped for marriage. Your heart started to steady. “I can’t go through with this. I am not fit for marriage.”

 

Langford had continued the rest of the will, things that ensured you well into your elderly days. 

 

Your pace slowed, still strolling the room as the wheels in your mind turned. “Thank you, Mr. Langford. I need time to think about this.”

 

He nodded respectfully, closing up his briefcase and began to leave the room. “Miss Everly, you’re father had your best interest at heart. He spoke proudly of you at every one of our meetings. This isn’t to punish you.” He tried to assure you, but it didn’t change the written feelings your father made clear in the will. Horace left quietly, closing the door behind him. 

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

The home was quiet, a deafening silence that almost brought a ringing to the ears. Laying in your bed, your eyes stared at the little details of the curtain that hung on your bed. Your eyes occasionally drifting to the rest of your room, a painted portrait of your young parents sharing a frame together, small toy carvings made by your father that still sat nicely on your vanity, all of these gifts in your life and you only wanted one. Marriage had never seemed to have any appeal to you, the fear of making a family only to be taken home by the lord and leave precious things behind. 

 

Lord,

 

You began to pray.

 

Don’t take me away from this Earth just yet, I want more of this life…

 

Your stomach turned at the thought, making you roll over on your side and drift into sleep. 

 

~~~~~

 

 

It finally came to a decision. Edwards called upon gentlemen who had already been made know to the Everly family, for their wealth, station, and occupation. Many doctors, lawyers, and bankers were gathered in the garden. Gentlemen dressed in lovely suits, decorated with flowers y/n didn’t like. 

 

From the window of your father’s study, you watched as these men mingled amongst themselves, sipping drinks and speaking in the same low, polished tones. The clouds partly covered the sun, leaving behind a pale light over the garden’s carefully arranged blooms.

 

Edward knocked gently at the door. “Ma’am, I believe they are ready for you.”

 

“Are all the men accounted for?”

 

“Um, I will check.” His puzzled look disappeared after the two of you went downstairs.

 

So many eyes turned at the opening of the French doors, smiles breaking in unison as though rehearsed. Men smoothed the fronts of their jackets, slicked back hair already slick, and stood at attention. There was a sameness to them — in age, in posture, in expression. Some looked old enough to be your father, others too close to your age. Their bellies pressed against waistcoats, their roses and peonies pinned in precisely the same fashion.

 

They were men cut from the same cloth — the same pressed lapels, the same empty compliments worn smooth by years of use. Their laughter had the same hollow timbre, their cologne the same bitter spice.

 

You began at the front, three men crowding you with eager bows while others played at horseshoes and croquet.

 

“Kenneth Wellington, my lady,” one said with a smug smile, bringing your hand to his lips for an overly damp kiss.

 

Your eyebrows drew together, your stomach turning in quiet revolt. “Pleasure.”

 

No, not him.

 

And so it went. Eight introductions, each a mirrored reflection of the last.

 

“I have a family heirloom ring that looks to be your size.”

“My father has given me his business, and I am to expect—”

“I fear my reputation will not survive your smile, and I care very little if it does.”

 

All trying to prove their worth in coin, in beauty, in pedigree. Young men boasting the same education, older men rehearsing the same gallantries. Not one spoke like they meant a word.

 

Then, from the doors, a rugged man descended the steps. A light shadow clung to his jaw where bristles had been left too long. His hair was slicked back but already coming loose, with strands curling stubbornly around his ears. His suit didn’t look ironed that morning, nor perhaps the one before, and on his hips hung two guns in their holsters — an adornment so out of place among this gathering of well-polished replicas that you could not look away.

 

He didn’t weave through the crowd so much as part it, like a shadow cutting through glass.

 

Edward stepped toward him, his brows pinched. They exchanged words, quiet and brief, leaving Edward no less puzzled but not alarmed.

Without thinking, you found yourself drawn to him.

 

“And once I graduated, I inherited my father’s place at—oh… uh… Miss Everly?” The young gentleman paused when he realized you were no longer listening.

 

You stepped past the waiting smiles, hand extended. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

 

The stranger glanced around before looking down at you. “Er… no… we haven’t.”

 

“I’m Y/N Everly.” For the first time that day, a smile found your lips.

 

He returned it with a crooked smirk, taking your hand in a gentle shake instead of a kiss. “Arthur. Arthur Morgan.”