Page 20 of Hannah.
Astrid nods, the hint of a smile playing on her lips. “This is my great-great-grandfather,” she answers, her voice mingling pride with a touch of amusement at my wide-eyed fascination. “He was quite the character—served in the military, then as a diplomat. And over here,” she moves to the next portrait, a stern-looking woman with sharp eyes, “is his wife, known for her philanthropy and her stern management of the estate.”
“What does your family do?” I venture.
“Well,” she says, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes, “my parents are Viscount and Viscountess Goschen.”
I blink, stunned. “Viscount and Viscountess?”
“Yep,” she says with a shrug. “It’s not as glamorous as it sounds, trust me. Come on, your room is just down here.”
She opens the door to a charming guest bedroom, where a large four-poster bed draped in luxurious linens stands next to a window that overlooks the sprawling gardens. “This will be your room for the weekend.”
“It’s lovely. Thanks.” Standing by the window, I gaze out at the rolling hills and sculpted flower beds, caught between disbelief and excitement at the unexpected layers of history and legacy that shape Astrid's world.
“Well, see you in twenty downstairs,” she says before walking out. “Wear something nice.”
I slip into a dress I brought specifically for dinner, a deep emerald-green piece with a flowing skirt that swishes softly around my legs as I move. It feels right for the occasion—a blend of elegance and comfort that matches the atmosphere of Goschen Hall perfectly. After a final glance in the mirror, I make my way back down the grand staircase to the dining room.
“There you are!” Astrid exclaims as I enter the room. “I was about to send Lauren to call you.”
“Did I take that long?” I ask, worried.
“Oh, nonsense,” Nina protests, shaking her head and giving a side look at her daughter. “We just arrived, too.”
I settle into my seat, noting the intricate floral centerpiece and savoring the subtle fragrance of roses and lilies.
Glancing around the dining room, I’m captivated by its high ceilings adorned with delicate plasterwork, the long table set with fine china and gleaming silverware, and the soft warmth from the fireplace, which lends the room an inviting glow.
The first course is served: delicate asparagus soup with truffle oil that melts on the tongue. Conversation flows easily between Astrid’s parents and me, punctuated by laughter and the gentle clinking of glasses. Then, out of the blue, Astrid’s phone buzzes on the table beside her plate. She doesn’t lookbothered at first, but when she looks at the screen, a frown creases her face.
“Excuse me for a moment,” she says, slipping out of her chair and leaving the room.
While Astrid is gone, I notice Nina leaning in closer to me and lowering her voice to a discreet tone. “I’m truly delighted Astrid has found a friend like you. She’s a remarkable young woman, but even the strongest souls need companionship.”
“Thank you, Nina,” I reply, tilting my head slightly down. “Astrid has made me feel very welcomed at Cambridge.”
“Do you know anyone else there?” her dad asks.
“Just her.”
“Well, tomorrow, you will meet a few more folks. All wonderful people. Some are doing their PhD while others are academics.”
The atmosphere at the table shifts from comfortable to somber as Astrid returns, carrying with her a noticeable tension.
“What's happened, sweetheart?” Nina inquires, dabbing at her mouth with a white napkin.
Astrid hesitates for a moment, her eyes flickering to me before she looks back to her mom. It’s then that I’m sure whatever she’s about to say is school-related. I’m relieved it wasn’t Johan calling, but problems at Cambridge could cut our weekend short.
“One of the bracelets from my exhibit has gone missing,” she declares, her brow furrowing. “One of my assistants asked me if I took it.”
The revelation hangs in the air, a silent accusation that makes my stomach churn with guilt. Oh crap… I don’t have the bracelet on me, but I can see it in my mind's eye, wrapped in a lacy handkerchief and hidden in the back of my underwear drawer. Ancient, unbelievably valuable…and stolen.
Stolen from my new friend, Astrid.
I fight the urge to press a hand against my upset stomach and distract myself by drinking deeply the water in my glass. After a second thought, I reach over for the glass of wine and drink that one, too. It’s fresh and dry, but I’m not drinking it for the taste. I’m drinking it because I’m a thief on the precipice of getting caught.
Mr. Goschen interjects, immediately jumping in to comfort his daughter. “Have you checked the security cameras? Perhaps you can see if anyone else was in the room.”
Astrid’s response is laced with frustration. “The bracelet was inside a jewelry box on a cabinet on the other side of the room, away from the camera's view. It didn't capture anything of value—just the backs of everyone that was there. We couldn’t even see their hands or faces.”