This audiobook is narrated by a digital voice.

The keys felt heavier than they should have in Margaret Thornfield's palm as she stood before the wrought iron gates of Ravenshollow Manor. October mist clung to the ancient oak trees that lined the estate's cobblestone drive, their skeletal branches reaching toward the gray afternoon sky like desperate fingers. The Gothic mansion loomed before her, its darkened windows seeming to watch her approach with centuries of accumulated secrets.

Margaret had never expected to inherit anything from her great-aunt Cordelia, a woman she'd met only once as a child during a brief and uncomfortable family reunion. Yet here she was, thirty-two years old and suddenly the owner of a nineteenth-century estate she'd never even known existed until the lawyer's letter arrived three weeks ago.

The October wind whispered through the bare branches as she pushed open the heavy front door, its hinges protesting with a groan that echoed through the cavernous foyer. Dust motes danced in the pale shafts of light that filtered through the tall windows, and the air carried the musty scent of old books and forgotten memories.

The interior of Ravenshollow Manor was a testament to Victorian grandeur, though time had laid its weathered hand upon everything. Rich mahogany paneling lined the walls, and an elaborate staircase curved upward toward the second floor, its banister carved with intricate patterns of roses and thorns. Portraits of stern-faced ancestors gazed down from their gilded frames, their eyes seeming to follow Margaret's movements as she explored her unexpected inheritance.

In the parlor, she discovered Cordelia's personal effects still arranged as if the elderly woman had simply stepped out for an afternoon stroll. A half-finished piece of embroidery lay on a small table beside a high-backed chair, the needle still threaded with crimson silk. Books were stacked on every available surface, their leather bindings cracked with age and use.