By the time Joseph arrived home, he noticed the glow of a soft lamplight in the sitting room. A chorus of familiar laughter carried out to greet him. Stepping inside, he found his family gathered together—Miranda in her military uniform seated beside Alice, while Rebecca sat nearby. They were chatting animatedly, and as Joseph hovered in the doorway, warmth settled over him at the sight of everyone under one roof.
"Joseph! You're home early tonight," Alice said in surprise, while Miranda turned to offer a small smile and Rebecca looked up with mild curiosity.
"Yes," Rebecca agreed softly. "You usually get back later than this."
Joseph returned her smile and sat down next to his wife. "My work finished up sooner than expected, so I got to come home early," he said simply, glancing around to indicate he preferred not to go into job details.
Alice took the hint and asked no further questions, having learned over time that her son's duties were often complicated. Rebecca understood too, so she refrained from prying. Miranda sat quietly, as though she had questions but chose to keep them to herself.
Rebecca handed Joseph a cup of hot tea. "Here—have some. It'll help you relax."
He took the cup gratefully. "Thank you."
Miranda, who had been silent, now spoke. "What exactly are you working on at the moment?" she asked. "I recall you once mentioned wanting to become Grand Arbiter, yet when I saw you earlier, you and your colleague were in the middle of tracking someone?"
Joseph's brow quirked. "Yes, but certain matters are classified. I can only say what I've already told you. I can't really share more than that." Joseph answered politely, though he seemed to be trying to avoid discussing the topic as much as possible.
Miranda accepted his response. With her own high rank, she understood all too well that one could not reveal certain military or government secrets, and so she dropped the subject.
She turned her gaze to Rebecca with a gentle smile. "Rebecca… I truly hadn't expected to come home and find you and Joseph already married."
Rebecca glanced shyly at Joseph. "I didn't expect it either, at first. I was worried… afraid I wasn't worthy—just a commoner, trying to stand by his side as his wife." Her voice held traces of lingering uncertainty, though she kept her smile warm.
Miranda listened intently. "You have no need to feel that way, Rebecca. My parents always believed that their children should marry the one who truly made them happy. I'm sure Joseph chose you because he saw something special in you—something that made him certain you were the one."
Joseph nodded in agreement. "Exactly. You have nothing to worry about." He squeezed Rebecca's hand reassuringly.
Encouraged, Rebecca's tone grew a bit more confident as she addressed Miranda again. "Thank you, Lady Miranda."
Miranda and Alice exchanged indulgent smiles, warmed by the obvious love between Joseph and Rebecca. This cozy atmosphere led Alice to voice a question she had been holding in her heart. She turned to Miranda without hesitation. "Dear, what about you? Is there anyone in your life right now?"
Caught off guard, the Major General hesitated momentarily. "I… no, not at the moment."
Alice sighed softly. "I understand you want to marry someone of your own choosing, but you're not getting any younger. Don't wait too long, or you might find yourself without someone to share your life with."
Miranda forced a polite smile, though she had no such person in mind. Before the awkward pause could lengthen, she shifted the topic by recounting the past—her reasons for joining the army in the first place.
"Mother, do you remember when I first announced my decision to enlist? Everyone opposed it. You tried to talk me out of it, but I wouldn't listen."
Alice met her daughter's gaze and nodded slowly. "I remember well. We didn't want you to go—it seemed far too dangerous."
Joseph, curious, leaned forward slightly. "I never understood what made you so sure you wanted to join. Why did you do it?"
Miranda paused to gather her thoughts before replying. "I was young… headstrong. I wanted to prove myself. I didn't want to be just some noble's daughter, waiting to be married off to another family. I wanted more." Her voice carried a resolute tone.
Glancing briefly at Rebecca, who was listening quietly, Miranda went on. "But it wasn't easy. Certain powerful figures kept trying to send me to safe postings, just because I was a Cavendish. They wouldn't let me see real action in the battlefield."
Joseph tilted his head. "That must have made you angry?"
"It did," Miranda admitted. "Then one day I was assigned to guard a remote village, something nobody expected to be dangerous. But out of nowhere, a mysterious armed force attacked. My only option was to flee and warn the army. And at that moment... Hugh and Jeffrey, my two loyal guards, sacrificed themselves so I could escape."
Rebecca spoke softly. "You're still hurting over losing them, aren't you?"
Miranda nodded, sorrow evident in her eyes. "I'll owe them for the rest of my life. That's one reason I left my unit early—to see their families and apologize. If I don't, I'll never find peace."
Her voice began to tremble, but she pressed on. "At the time, I was brimming with confidence and ambition, convinced anything could be accomplished through sheer effort. But reality wasn't so simple. The cost of that lesson was the lives of two people who had always protected me."
Alice gently took Miranda's hand. "We know you've been through so much, my dear. But we're so proud of you."
"Thank you, Mother," Miranda murmured.
They fell quiet for a moment until the sound of measured footsteps echoed in the hall. Richard, father to Miranda and Joseph, entered with his usual poised bearing. He paused at the sight of a high-ranking officer sitting among his family, uncertainty playing across his features.
"And you are…?" he began, brow furrowed as if struggling to place that familiar yet changed face.
Miranda rose to stand at attention, performing a formal military salute. "Good evening, Father."
The voice he knew so well brought Richard up short. He studied her face again. "Miranda?" he whispered, approaching slowly. "Is it really you?"
"Yes, Father," she answered, tears threatening to form.
Richard lifted a hand to her cheek, the gentlest of touches on a countenance he both recognized and found changed. The steel in her light-blue eyes had softened with emotion. "My little girl… back at last."
He pulled Miranda into an embrace, feeling how much stronger she had become. Gone was the delicate figure he remembered, yet that underlying presence was unmistakably hers. "Six years… I've missed you more than I can say, Miranda."
She gazed up at him, relief mingled with joy. "I've missed you too, Father."
"You've grown so much, so strong," he remarked, loosening his embrace just enough to look at her, still unwilling to let go completely.
When the initial flood of emotion settled, Richard got to the matter that had weighed on his mind since seeing her uniform. "Miranda… why are you here ahead of your unit? Weren't you supposed to arrive with the army for the celebration?" Richard asked with concern in his voice. "It might cause trouble if you've come ahead of schedule like this."
Before Miranda could reply, Rebecca spoke gently. "Father, Lady Miranda has made arrangements. She plans to rejoin the soldiers before they officially enter the capital, so everything should still proceed as planned."
Richard studied Miranda, concern still etched on his face. "That's good to hear, though I remain worried. I hope everything proceeds smoothly."
Miranda offered a calm smile. "I promise, Father. All will be well."
Conversation lightened after that, with the family drifting into more relaxed chatter. Once they had eased one another's worries about Miranda's early return and reminisced over past days, Richard extended an invitation to dinner. After the warm conversation between father and daughter concluded, Richard turned to his daughter with an affectionate smile. "Join us for supper, Miranda. Your mother and I will have something special prepared."
Miranda's own smile brightened. "I'd love to, Father."
Gathered around the table, the family settled into a warm, cheerful meal. The clink of dishes and utensils rang softly amid shared conversation. Delicious food and the joy of being together once more made the evening feel almost perfect.
Almost.
While everyone savored the moment, Richard's gaze involuntarily shifted to a single empty chair at the dining table. It was always set, yet always unoccupied—left in silent expectancy of his younger brother, Edward, and Edward's daughter, Isabel. Though Edward had never formally reconciled with the family, he still used the Cavendish name. To Richard, that was a sign his brother had not completely severed ties. Perhaps he simply needed more time.
Every meal, Richard insisted that the servants prepare an extra place: one chair that remained empty, symbolizing the ever-present hope that the family would one day be whole again. In that empty seat, he saw a reminder of the Cavendish clan's unfinished story, of the tenuous fractures in an otherwise warm and loving household.
He stared at the chair, memory and longing mingling in his mind. Though he said nothing aloud, his heart silently harbored the wish that, someday, Edward and Isabel would return—would sit in that seat, erasing the divide once and for all.
Alice, noticing her husband's wistful look, rested her hand softly over his, offering quiet comfort and understanding. The room remained filled with the glow of family closeness—voices mingling in pleasant conversation, soft laughter echoing off the walls. Yet for Richard, the picture was still incomplete. In his silence, he prayed that one day, those missing from this table would come home.
'Someday,' he thought, 'our family will truly be whole.'
Even as lively chatter and good humor continued around the table, Richard's private hopes remained unspoken, lingering in the hush of his heart. That unoccupied chair cast a delicate shadow upon the evening, a silent promise that the best days—the days when every member of the Cavendish family would gather once more—still lay ahead.