He'd just returned from London, a city of smoke and clamor, summoned back to the countryside by his father's curt letter: "Manage Greystone Manor. It's time you proved your worth." As the second son of the Carter family, James bore no title to inherit, no grand estate to claimonly the burden of a crumbling old house in the north, a relic of his family's fading glory. Greystone Manor loomed in his mind like a specter: ivy-choked walls, stained glass dulled by time, and a legacy he'd rather forget.
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