Looking out the front window, I was surprised to see the sun still out, as it had been one of the wettest summers to date. It was midday, and the party was to start soon. It was just a small meal with some outdoor games, should the weather hold. The house was lightly decorated with flowers from both the garden and the florist. In the Drawing room, finger foods dotted the side tables on decorative platters, and a teapot sat to one side circled by cups. I did one last check around the house to ensure everything was in order. And Simon was right when he said that he could have all preparations in order; everything looked amazing. 

The first guests to arrive were my work colleagues: Thomas, Alexander, and Edmund. I shook their hands and thanked them for coming before Simon showed them in. Next to arrive was my cousin, Cameron, accompanied by his parents, the Duke and Duchess of Bedford. I bowed to my aunt and uncle before shaking hands with Cameron and exchanging pleasantries. As I watched the road, everything seemed to be going well. However, my smile quickly disappeared when I saw the family carriage approaching in the distance. This wasn't going to be easy, but I'd muster through it for my mother. 

Before I could complete stuffing my feelings into a bottle, the horses stopped outside the front of my house. First to get out was my father, looking as stern as he always did. Second, was my mother, her face more aged than it was the last time I saw her. She had this sour look as if she'd had to endure the worst conversation of the century on the way here. I noticed she shook her head out of the corner of my eye as I watched Eliza emerge from the carriage. Her hair was the same color as mine, same with her eyes, and it seemed like more moles had appeared on her since childhood. She was also shorter than our mother, something I hadn’t thought possible.

Mother entered my home first and I gave her a quick peck on the cheek. Father shook my hand and headed towards the Drawing room. And then there was Eliza, standing before me, unmoving, not knowing what to do. I stood there, just the same, trying to keep my composure. After a few awkward seconds, I finally nodded at her and stepped to the side. She nodded back politely and followed the sounds of conversations. I sighed and followed after her. This was going to be a long day. 

I stepped into the drawing room, eyes sweeping across the guests as I entered. My aunt and uncle stood off to one side, speaking in hushed tones near the windows. On the opposite end, Cameron and my colleagues were laughing over something, drinks already in hand. I made my way toward the latter group, a smile forced onto my face as if I’d never been more pleased to see them.

“Cousin!” Cameron greeted me with a loud clap on the back. “Happy day! Happy day, indeed!”

I smirked. “Thank you. One more year and I’ll be thirty while you will still be just a baby.”

That earned a round of chuckles. Thomas lifted his glass in a mock toast, and Edmund smirked over the rim of his drink. “Say, that young lady who came in just after your mother,” Edmund said, raising a curious brow, “who is she?” I tensed before I could stop myself.

Cameron, all too eager to answer, leaned in. “That’s his twin sister. Eliza.”

“Really?” Thomas blinked. “You two must be close, then.”

I gave a sharp laugh before I could stop it. “Sure. Like fire and ice.”

Edmund didn’t seem to pick up on the tone. “She’s very pretty,” he said, dragging the word out like it meant something more. “Charming face. A bit of mystery in her eyes, don’t you think?”

There it was. That strange, uninvited jolt somewhere between my ribs. My fists clenched by instinct, but I kept them loosely at my sides. I told myself it was just irritation—generalized, unfocused, the kind that settled in anytime Eliza was near. But it wasn’t just that anymore, was it? I didn’t want to talk about her. Didn’t want to think about her, or acknowledge her, or hear one of my friends size her up like she was a fruit on display at market.

“She’s just arrived,” I said flatly, hoping to end the topic. “Let her find her footing.”

But Edmund wasn’t done. “I’ve always had a weakness for clever girls. She looks clever.”

I didn’t answer. I just tried to look interested in the wall. Because here was the thing no one in this room could possibly understand—not even Cameron. I’d spent weeks preparing myself to deal with Eliza again. Bracing for the weight of all that history, all that shared blood and silence. I thought I’d carved out enough space to keep my distance. And then Edmund, with his lazy admiration and casual charm, had to go and stir something else up in me. Something messier. She was my sister. My twin. And I suddenly didn’t want her anywhere near them. Not Edmund, not Thomas, not even Cameron.

I kept my smile up, but behind my teeth, I was seething. “Please remember that you’re under my roof and I expect you to act with a certain level of decorum.” The words hung in the air, heavier than I’d planned. Even Alexander, who’d been mostly quiet, raised an eyebrow. Edmund blinked, his grin faltering just a little. “If you’ll excuse me..” Without waiting for a reply, I turned and cut through the room, heading toward the refreshments table at the back. The sound of conversation softened behind me, like someone had just opened a door to a quieter world. I poured myself a glass of lemonade with deliberate care, keeping my hands steady. Breathe. Reset. Don’t let them see it.

"My darling boy," called my mother, "Everything looks wonderful! You've done such a splendid job."

"Thank you, mother. However, you do know that all of this was Simon." I gestured towards the decorations in the room.

"Of course, of course. He's very handy. Sometimes we miss him and his capabilities back home. But I am glad that your father had him come with you out here. Who knows how you would have fared left on your own?" She headed for the love seat that was situated by the fireplace and I followed, enjoying our conversation. "Do you remember the Clarkes that run the mill just down the road from us?"

I stiffened, knowing exactly where this was going. We had known the Clarkes since I was a boy and their eldest daughter was just a few years younger than me. And, apparently, hasn’t found a husband yet. Mother loves playing matchmaker, but she's not that good at it. "Perhaps this is a conversation for another time, mother," I said stiffly.

"Nonsense," she insisted, "They're such a delightful couple. And their eldest daughter, Adelaide, is simply charming. You should see her with the younger ones. She'd make a wonderful mother. Wouldn't she, Mr. Geldart?" She looked up at my father, who gave a quick nod before going back to his conversation with my uncle.

I spotted Eliza leaning casually against the back wall, cradling a cup of tea like it was a trophy. Her lips were curled in that faint, smug smile she wore whenever the spotlight shifted away from her. She caught my eye for a second and raised one eyebrow—barely—but it was enough to say, better you than me.

Meanwhile, Mother kept going. Miss Clarke’s virtues spilled out of her in an endless stream: her posture, her piano skills, the way she always remembered to send handwritten thank-you notes. I didn’t interrupt. What would’ve been the point? I just sat there, sipping my lemonade, nodding every so often to keep the peace. A well-timed “Mm-hmm” here, a noncommittal “She sounds lovely” there. Eliza took another sip of her tea, eyes still on me, clearly enjoying the show. She didn’t need to say a word. The longer I stayed quiet, the more Mother talked, as if my silence was agreement. My lemonade was nearly gone before I realized I’d been nodding for ten straight minutes.

 

“Well, there it goes,” Alexander muttered, stepping to the window. “So much for lawn tennis.”

The rain had started as a whisper—subtle, almost polite. Then it surged without warning, loud and unapologetic. Heads turned. Groans rippled through the room.

“Not again,” Thomas sighed. “Is this the fourth week in a row?”

“Fifth,” Cameron said, not missing a beat.

The light in the room began to dim as the clouds thickened, rolling in heavy and low. Thunder grumbled in the distance, not close yet, but closer than anyone wanted it to be. I caught a flash of silver across the windows, and then everything darkened another shade. The candles came out of drawers and cabinets. I watched as a few were lit—hands moving quickly but without panic, like this had all been rehearsed before. Shadows leaned and flickered as flames flared to life. Warm light slowly returned to the corners of the room.

“Well,” Cameron declared, clapping his hands together, “if the skies insist on gloom, we shall not follow their lead! Who’s up for charades?” A few faces lit up at the idea. Thomas raised a hand. Edmund gave a theatrical bow. “Come now,” Cameron coaxed, eyes sweeping the room, “even you, Alexander. No excuses this time. You were tragically robbed of your miming crown last year.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Alexander replied dryly, but a smirk tugged at his mouth nonetheless.

Of course he’d insist on wringing fun out of the storm. That was always his gift. I wasn’t in the mood to match it. My glass was empty, so I excused myself from my mother and moved to the refreshment table, away from the voices. I poured myself another lemonade, careful not to spill it. The room buzzed behind me. I was just beginning to exhale when I heard her voice.

“Ezra.”

The voice. It stopped me in place. Not loud. Not demanding. Just… soft. Clear. And nothing like I remembered. I turned, heart thudding once—once was enough—and there she was.

Eliza.

She looked unsure, like she’d rehearsed what she was about to say and still wasn’t convinced it would land. Hands folded in front of her. Eyes on me, but not too directly. A portrait of practiced calm that couldn’t quite hide the flicker of nerves underneath. “Can I steal you for a moment?” she asked. And just like that, the room might as well have vanished.

I stared at her for a second too long. Not because I didn’t know how to answer—but because I hadn’t heard her voice in years. “Yes,” I said. Or something like it. “Of course.”

I set the glass down without drinking and followed her out of the Drawing room. Behind me, I heard Cameron laughing too loudly, someone trying to act out a chicken, but all of that faded with each step. As we stepped into the Hall, I saw Simon with one hand resting near a newly lit candle. Our eyes met just briefly. He gave me a subtle nod—barely a movement, but steady, like a breath in the middle of a storm. Reassurance, maybe. Or a silent reminder to be decent. I wasn’t sure which I needed more.

 

The rain drummed quietly against the windows now, constant and distant. The floorboards beneath us groaned as we moved—her steps light, mine heavier. Neither of us spoke. We climbed the staircase in silence, the hush between us stretching with every step. The soft rustle of her dress was the only sound apart from the rain and the creaking wood. At the top, the landing opened up before us in dim candlelight. I gestured to the left. “This way,” I said, my voice a little too sharp. She didn’t react.

She stepped into the study first, pausing just inside. I watched her as she took in the room—the shelves of books, the heavy curtains, the scattering of small, necessary comforts. I waited, not quite crossing the threshold. Her gaze traveled slowly across the space, as though trying to find some trace of the boy I used to be. Or maybe just searching for something she recognized. “You’ve done well for yourself,” she said finally, her voice soft but measured. “I didn’t expect… all of this.”

I stepped inside, closing the door behind me. “It’s not much,” I said, “but it’s comfortable. It’s… quiet.”

She gave a small nod, her eyes still moving, as if committing the room to memory. “It’s nothing like our parents’ house.”

“No,” I agreed. “It isn’t.”

A long beat passed. “Feels like yours,” she added, almost gently. “Which is good. It should.”

I offered her a tight smile, the kind I only ever gave at funerals and long dinners with extended family. “That was the idea.”

The silence returned, heavier now. Neither of us moved to sit. We stood at opposite ends of the room like chess pieces, too cautious to open the game. I hated this. The awkward, artificial conversation. The brittle civility. She cleared her throat, arms slipping behind her back. “I was surprised you invited me,” she said quietly. “I wasn’t sure if I should come.”

I looked at her then. Briefly. Just long enough for our eyes to meet. “Mother insisted,” I said. The words came out colder than I intended.

She flinched—just slightly, but I saw it. Her eyes dropped for a second, then came back up. “I thought as much,” she murmured.

I shifted where I stood, suddenly uncomfortable in my own space. “Still. It was good of you to come,” I added, softer this time. “Really. I mean that.” She nodded again, but the tension between us didn’t ease. “It’s just…” I began, then paused. Ran a hand through my hair. “Our childhood was…” Eliza tilted her head, waiting. “Our parents…” I tried again, then stopped. The rest of the sentence wouldn’t form.

 

Eliza’s jaw tensed. “Our parents?” she echoed. “Ezra, the things they did—they pale in comparison to what you did.”

I stiffened. “What I did?”

“You shut me out,” she said, voice rising. “When I needed you the most, you vanished. You acted like I didn’t exist. All I ever wanted was for you to be at my side, and you made me feel like a stranger. Worse. Like I wasn’t even worth the trouble of being remembered.”

I clenched my jaw. I’d spent years trying not to feel what I was feeling now. It came rushing back all at once—every cold glance, every polite silence, every moment I’d buried under excuses. “I shut you out?” I said, laughing once, bitterly. “You were never shut out. You were the center of everything. Don’t stand there and act like I abandoned some poor, overlooked sister. Eliza, you were adored. You walked into a room and people looked at you like the sun had arrived.”

She stared at me, stunned. “Do you even hear yourself? Are you kidding me?”

“No,” I said, voice rising. “I’m not. Do you have any idea what it was like being your twin? To grow up next to you and know—know—that they’d already chosen a favorite? That they looked at you and saw grace, promise, a future? And then looked at me and just… expected obedience? That I’d quietly find some respectable job and keep out of the way? No matter how hard I tried, it was always you they praised, you they cherished, and I was left to feel like nothing.”

“You think I wanted that?” she snapped. “You think I enjoyed being forced to play mother’s poor, sickly, little daughter while I watched you? You got freedom, Ezra. You got to climb trees, sneak out with friends, talk back to father without being smacked for it. You got books, and rifles, and ideas. I got posture lessons. I got lectures on modesty. I got silk gloves at age nine and a list of future husbands by twelve! So don’t you dare act like this is all on me.”

“You got affection,” I shot back. “You got warmth. You got our mother’s hands fixing your hair, not yanking you by the collar. You got father’s pride. I got instructions. Expectations. Orders. You’ve spent your whole life wrapped in luxury, never having to fight for anything! And now you stand there and act like I’m the villain?"

Her eyes flared. “I would’ve killed for expectations that didn’t involve my womb, Ezra!” I fell silent for a second. That line—how viciously true it sounded—hung between us like a crack of thunder. She pressed on, voice lower now, but shaking. “You don’t get to romanticize my life just because they dressed it in lace. You have no idea what it was like, being groomed to smile and sit still and shut up. You could storm out of a room and people would say, ‘boys will be boys.’ I did it once and they said I was hysterical.”

I turned from her, dragging a hand through my hair. “You still had their attention. Even if it was controlling. Even if it was suffocating. You had their eyes on you. I used to pray for that. Just once. Just one damn moment of being noticed.”

“You were noticed,” she said. “Just never in the way you wanted.”

I turned back to her, frustration boiling over. “Exactly. I was the afterthought. The other twin. The one who didn’t need tending to because he was quiet and didn’t cry.”

“You think I didn’t cry?” she asked, incredulous. “I sobbed behind doors, Ezra. I screamed into pillows until my throat went raw. But no one ever noticed because I had to smile the next morning, didn’t I? I had to wear ridiculous dresses and say thank you and make conversation while my insides were collapsing. Almost dying was the worst thing that ever happened to me and sometimes I wish I hadn’t survived. At least then, I wouldn’t be stuck in this hollow existence.”

 

We stared at each other, breaths coming fast, years of resentment crashing into the room all at once. Neither of us willing to back down. Neither of us willing to say the one thing we were both clearly aching to admit: that we missed each other.

“I envied you,” I said, finally. My voice wasn’t angry anymore—just wrecked. “Every day, I envied you.”

“I hated you,” she whispered. “For leaving me behind.” That silenced us both.

I swallowed hard. “I thought you’d be fine. You always looked so... put together.”

“I was dying inside, Ezra.”

“I didn’t know how to help you.”

“You didn’t even try.” That hurt more than I expected. Because she was right.

“I couldn’t fix it,” I said, the words nearly strangled. “So I stayed away.”

“I didn’t want you to fix anything,” she said. “I just wanted you to sit next to me again. Just once. And say nothing. Just be there. I wanted you—I wanted my brother. But you shut me out every time I tried to reach for you."

"I never asked to be in your shadow," I muttered, my voice quieter now. "I never wanted to hate you. But it was easier than feeling... invisible."

Her expression softened, "And I never asked to be put on a pedestal. I never wanted to be their favorite. But I wanted you. I’ve always wanted you in my life. And yet, you’ve spent all this time punishing me for something I couldn’t control. Don’t you see? We both suffered. And we’re still suffering because of it."

I felt the years between us like a mountain. We’d both climbed opposite sides of the same hell and never thought to call each other’s name. Eliza stood there, hands trembling at her sides, her eyes burning with the kind of exhaustion that doesn’t come from lack of sleep, but from years of being ignored—years of holding it all in. I turned away again, not because I was angry—this time, it was shame.

God. I had been so selfish.

I’d been so wrapped up in my own bitterness, in the cold logic that I’d been wronged, that I never once stopped to consider that she’d been drowning, too. It had never even occurred to me that Eliza might have hated the way our parents treated her just as much as I hated the way they ignored me. All I ever saw was the lace, the praise, the spotlight—and I never thought to ask what it cost her. I told myself she had it all. That she was lucky. That she didn’t need me. But she did. I saw that now. She wasn’t built for the role they cast her in. She wasn’t delicate or docile or content to be ornamental. She was fierce. She was smart. She was mine—my other half—and I had abandoned her.

I looked at her again. Really looked. Not the surface—her carefully done hair, her posture, the dress she probably despised wearing. I looked past all of it. And what I saw nearly broke me. There was pain there. Deep and hollow and old. But beneath it—beneath the anger, the hurt, the steel spine she’d grown to survive—was something quieter. Something worse. Longing. She just wanted me. Not as a mediator, not as some polished sibling to nod politely across a drawing room—but as her twin. Her brother. Her Ezra. And I’d been gone for so long.

The walls I’d built in myself—the ones made of hurt and blame and years of silence—began to crack. Slowly. Unevenly. But crack they did. And behind them, something raw stirred. Guilt, yes. But more than that… grief. For the years we’d lost. For the childhood we could’ve shared instead of resenting. For all the letters I never opened. For all the nights she might’ve cried with no one to hear her. She’d wanted to climb trees, not wear ribbons. She’d wanted a friend, and I’d given her a stranger. And what shattered me most of all was knowing she’d carried that hope for years. That even now, after everything, she still wanted me to come back. To stand beside her again.

“Eliza,” I said, voice cracking more than I expected. Her eyes snapped to mine. Wide. Guarded. Still hurt, but bracing. I took a step forward. “I didn’t know,” I whispered. “I didn’t see it. Any of it. I was so—so convinced you had everything that I never thought to ask what it felt like. I told myself you were fine. That you didn’t need me. That it was safer that way.” She didn’t speak, but I saw something shift in her expression—just barely. I kept going. “But you did need me. Didn’t you?”

She nodded once, slow and deliberate. “I did,” she said quietly. “And I still do.” 

 

The last of the walls inside me broke like glass underfoot. Before I could think twice, I crossed the room and pulled her into me. Eliza gasped, startled—but only for a second. Her body tensed, then melted against mine like she’d been waiting for this—for me—for far too long. Her arms wrapped tightly around my back, clutching my coat in her fists as though afraid I might vanish again. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice barely holding together. I pressed my chin to the top of her head, shut my eyes. “I’m so—so sorry, Eliza. For all of it.”

I felt her breathe in, shuddering. And then I felt it—the wet warmth against my collar. The sob she’d been holding in for what felt like years finally broke free, quiet and shaking. She clung to me like she was trying to stitch time back together. “I missed you,” she murmured into my shoulder. “And I’m sorry too. For not fighting harder. For not screaming loud enough to make you hear me. I should’ve done more.”

We stayed like that, just breathing, just being—and in that moment, all the lost years wrapped around us like shadows that could finally begin to loosen their hold. When she finally loosened her grip, it was me who stepped back first—only just enough to reach into my pocket and offer her my handkerchief. She took it with a weak, tear-slicked laugh. “Always prepared, aren’t you?”

“Only just recently,” I said, managing a small smile. “But I thought you might need it.”

She dabbed at her eyes, trying and failing to regain some poise. “Thank you.”

When she handed it back to me, I looked at her and asked, “So… where do we go from here?” She blinked, caught off guard by the question. “I mean,” I continued, voice softer, “we’ve finally said it all. Or close enough. We know how it was for each other. We’ve… apologized. What now?”

Eliza sniffled again, but her voice was steadier. “We start again. Maybe slowly. Maybe messily.”

I nodded. “I’d like that.”

She hesitated, then added, “We could start by me staying here.”

That made me huff out a laugh, light and unsure. “What, for dinner?”

“No,” she said, voice utterly serious. “Until autumn.”

I blinked. “You’re not joking.”

Her brows lifted. “Do I look like I’m joking?” I stared at her, stunned. “There’s no way I could do this from our parents’ house,” she said. “Mother already has a calendar packed with dinners and garden parties and god knows how many balls. She doesn’t want me resting—she wants me presentable. And if I’m there, I won’t have a single moment to breathe, let alone fix this.”

“You’d stay here. With me.” I repeated it aloud, trying to picture it.

Eliza gave a small nod. “If you’ll have me.”

For the first time in years, I felt something inside me steady. “I think,” I said carefully, “that sounds like a very good place to start.”

A feeling of hopefulness mixed with anxiety washed over me. Sure, I was more than willing to try to repair our relationship, but there was also a part of me that was nervous about her being here, especially if she discovered what Cameron and I had been up to. I took a steadying breath, pushing the thought aside for now. There were more immediate matters to attend to.

 

When we finally headed back downstairs, I sought out Lottie and Simon, who were tidying up after the earlier luncheon. I pulled them aside and quietly explained that Eliza would be staying with us for a few months. Their brows lifted in surprise, but they nodded quickly, ever professional. I asked them to prepare one of the spare bedrooms for her and to make arrangements for her lady’s maid to have appropriate quarters as well. Lottie assured me that everything would be ready by evening, and Simon immediately set off to oversee the necessary preparations.

Feeling satisfied, I made my way back into the Drawing room, where the remnants of our gathering were still unfolding. The fire crackled warmly in the hearth, and the low hum of conversation filled the space, punctuated by occasional laughter. At the center of it all, Cameron was in the midst of a hopeless attempt at charades. He flailed his arms wildly, his expression both determined and exasperated as he tried to act out whatever obscure clue he’d been assigned. A few people shouted guesses, none of which were even remotely close, and the others were doubled over in laughter at his efforts. I couldn’t help but grin as I sank into a nearby armchair, watching the scene play out.

The hours trickled by as we passed the time with cards, lighthearted chatter, and the occasional debate over the rules of charades. Outside, the rain drummed steadily against the windows, a gray curtain that showed no sign of lifting. Finally, in the early evening, the storm began to ease. The heavy patter softened into a gentle drizzle, and one by one, our guests began to make their departures.

Before Eliza left, I made a point to approach her. As the others put on their greatcoats and pelisses, preparing for the brief dash to their carriages, I extended my hand to her. She hesitated for the briefest of moments, but then took it firmly. Her grip was steady, though her hand felt small and fragile in mine.

"Safe travels for now," I said, keeping my voice calm and even. "We’ll be ready for you when you return." She nodded before stepping back to join the others. I watched as she disappeared into the bustle of farewells and goodbyes, already turning over everything I would need to arrange before her arrival in the coming days.