I did, however, remember the day after. It was difficult not to, seeing as it was the first time that I met Lady Haywood's father.

When the butler had entered the parlour room and announced who'd come to visit, I nearly jumped out of my skin in fright. I had finally ventured out of the bedroom so I could stare into the distance and rot elsewhere for a change. In no way was I prepared to speak to anyone! Especially not someone who knew the woman whose body I'd been transmigrated into intimately!

It had been a challenge to interact with the staff at the Haywood Estate, but I had quickly gotten the hang of it. It helped that I was their employer and they my employees. Though we spent practically the entire day in the same house every day, there was an unspoken line between us which could not be crossed.

Thank goodness for rigid class structures. Which was something I never thought I'd think.

Today, though, I was about to face my first proper challenge: Meeting Lady Haywood's father.

Trying my best to project an air of calm, I instructed the butler to invite him in. Then I waited. I didn't have to do so for long.

Within seconds, which felt more like minutes, a middle-aged man stepped into the parlour. His salt and pepper hair was parted on the right and combed neatly, crow's feet twitching at the corners of his golden eyes with every blink. The wrinkles framing his mouth made it appear like he was perpetually frowning. He was impeccably dressed, wearing a navy blue double-breasted frock coat over a dark grey waistcoat. His buckskin breeches were tucked into his Hessian boots. A white neck cloth was knotted under his chin.

Only days ago, I would have had no idea what any of these terms meant. Now, my mind readily supplied them to me. All thanks to Lady Haywood's past knowledge and experiences.

Lord William Sheffield peered down at me, his gaze piercing. "Daughter," he began slowly, "I came as soon as I received your letter."

I rose from my seat, uncertain what to do or say. What would be appropriate in such a situation? Technically, my husband had died out of the blue, and I had become a widow at the young age of one and twenty. Life as I knew it would never be the same again.

Surely the real Lady Caroline Haywood would have collapsed into tears, or sought the embrace of her father. (Though given how stern he was, maybe she wouldn't have done the latter.)

I didn't feel like doing either of those things, to be honest. Even if I forced myself to, I had the feeling that I wouldn't be very convincing. Best not to chance it.

"Th-thank you for coming," I said instead, the words sounding stilted and uneven to my own ears. I resisted the urge to wince.

If William was suspicious over his daughter's lacklustre response, his expression gave none of it away. It gave nothing away, really. I had no idea what he was thinking or feeling. My gaze did catch his hand clenching into a fist at his side, before relaxing.

William stepped further into the room. "I am sorry for your loss," he murmured, breaking eye contact with me to stare at the floor. "Daniel was a good man."

"He was," I said lamely.

A silence swept over the parlour. My mind raced to break it, but I had no idea what to say next. I frantically combed through Lady Haywood's memories for anything that would help.

At first, to my dismay, nothing came to mind. Then a memory surfaced.

When Caroline was a child, her mother had passed away. She had been ill for over a week, with no sign of recovering. There was nothing the doctor could do, save ease her pain. Caroline had sobbed hysterically throughout the funeral. Through it all, her father and brother stood on either side of her. Her brother was a child himself, only a few years older, and too caught up in his own pain to focus on her. As for her father...

Well, he had tried. But it was obvious to me that he had no idea how to comfort a young girl. Even if that girl was his own daughter.

Still, I knew that Caroline appreciated the time that her father had spent with her after. His words had been clumsy and lacking, but he always made time for his children afterwards, despite how busy he must have been with funeral preparations. He must have grieved over his wife's death at some point, but I had no memory of it. Perhaps he'd done so privately, away from the view of his children.

By the look of him, I had pegged him to be a cold aristocratic father who never had time for his children, too busy with Business™ to pay attention to his family. The truth could not be more different.

I should have spent more time out of the house in my previous life (I ignored the immediate pang I felt at the thought); that was just a common trope found within the pages of a web novel or manhwa. This world was not either of those things.

Right?

Before I could pursue that line of thought, my rumination was broken by William's voice.

"How have you been faring, child?" he asked. When I looked up, I saw that he was already staring at me. His brow was furrowed.

I swallowed. "I have been taking it day by day. There is, ah, much to do. It gets overwhelming if I think about it for too long." This time, at least, I spoke the truth.

William nodded, accepting my response. "I had felt the same when your grandfather passed." He seemed to almost be looking through me, then. "There was a lot to take care of. Your uncle helped where he could, but as the next Lord Sheffield, the decisions were all left to me."

A wry smile twisted his lips. "After that, I had experience with death when the time came for your grandmother, and your mother after her. I knew then what arrangements to make and how. Though experience never made the mourning any easier."

I nodded as if I understood. In reality, I felt as if I shouldn't be privy to such details. I was a stranger, an interloper. Caroline should be the one commiserating with her father over their tragic family history, not me. Yet here I was anyway.

"I ramble. What I mean to say is, well." He reached out, hesitated, then patted me on the shoulder. He left his hand there. I tried my hardest not to flinch away from the contact. "I am here to assist you in any way that I can."

"I appreciate that. Father."

William smiled, genuinely this time. The action transformed his austere features into something warmer. Kinder.

There was a sudden knock on the parlour door, bringing the moment to an abrupt halt. We sprung apart from each other almost guiltily, as if we were a pair of misbehaving children in danger of being caught.

I straightened my skirts and cleared my throat. "C-come in," I said.

The butler opened the door, his gaze lowered respectfully. "Lunch has been prepared, my lady."

Oh, yeah. I glanced at grandfather clock situated across the parlour, ticking away. It was getting to be about that time, wasn't it?

I turned to William. "Would you, um, care to join me?"

He agreed immediately, looking relieved by the interruption. I felt exactly the same way.