(Ruby's POV)
The day after the party, I woke to silence.
The snow had stopped overnight. The world outside the window was still, white, muffled. The sea was calm, the sky pale gray. The fire had burned down to ash, and the room was cold.
Nicholas was still asleep. His face was turned toward me, his dark hair spread across the pillow. The scar on his chin was faint in the morning light. I watched him for a while, then slipped out of bed.
The floor was cold under my bare feet. I pulled on my robe and walked to the window.
The garden was buried. The paths were invisible, the flowerbeds just soft mounds of white. The new west wing was a skeleton dusted with snow, the wooden frame dark against the pale sky.
I heard Nicholas stir behind me.
"Ruby?"
"I'm here."
He sat up, rubbing his eyes. "What time is it?"
"Early. Go back to sleep."
"Can't." He swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Too much to do."
"There's nothing to do. Mrs. MacLeod has everything under control."
