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The Staceys left the day after the wedding, seeing Peg off to her new life as Lady Thistleby. They’d waved as her carriage lumbered down the path toward Elswyth House, the country seat of the barony, before turning their own steps homeward. The voyage back was mercifully uneventful, but at every port came another packet of letters from the lawyers, each one another reminder of Cornelius’s theft and the fight to reclaim what he had stolen.

The news was never simple, and each update carried more weight. The lawyers now believed the key to releasing the funds lay in the hands of Cornelius’s eldest son—recognized as the sole heir. Without his signature and consent, everything would stall. For Imogen and Elias, the timing could not be worse. The vineyard had limped through another poor harvest, profits were uncertain, and the estate’s future was in jeopardy.

They had talked of creating blends, of Elias’s experiments inspired by his travels on the Continent during Peg’s season—a bold plan that could make or break them. But until the funds were freed, it was their only option.

Back at home, in the room that had once been Cornelius’s sanctuary, Imogen and Elias sat over a friendly game of chess. The space no longer carried his shadow; the heavy colors had been swept away, replaced with sunny yellow chinoiserie and soft green drapes. The furniture was the same, but the room had been reborn.

“We need to tell him,” Elias said at last, his tone tight despite his attempt at calm. “If the lawyers are right, we’ll need his signature—and his blessing.”

Imogen’s fingers hovered over a rook before she moved it. “We will. But carefully. He can undo it all if he chooses. I think the truth is the only way—about Cornelius, about everything. We don’t know his true parentage, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that he is loved, that he has always been loved, and that to the world he is Cornelius’s son. It will be ugly, but he needs to know where we stand.”

“I wish I shared your confidence,” Elias replied. “Peg’s marriage seems to have softened him; there’s been a cooling of his disdain for me these last months. But I am wary. He holds all the power now, and Cornelius—whatever else he was—was his idol for many years.”

Imogen said nothing, but her steady gaze held its own argument. Elias saw it and inclined his head, half in admonition, half in resignation. She would believe in their son’s better nature, whether he did or not.

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It seems that my queued posts have come to an end, which means I need to get back to my dear Stacey's. It would be helpful if EA would stop releasing updates that break all the good mods. Anyways, here's a future peak into the story. I don't know if this shot will make it into the story, but I'm playtesting some things and these two just autonomously loved on one another. 😍

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The morning of the wedding dawned with soft blue skies and a sun that played peek-a-boo behind lazy clouds. Ravenwood Church stood stately and still, rooted in the county Peg would now call home.

Inside, the old stone walls did their best to remain cold and austere, but they were no match for the cheerful explosion of red and pink roses that lined the pews and altar. The floral arrangements, much like the bride, refused to be subdued by centuries of solemn tradition.

By day's end, Peg had taken her vows and her title—Baroness Thistleby.

Hector’s appearance caused more than a few heads to turn. At just seven, Peg’s youngest brother would not normally have been included in such formal English festivities, but the family had insisted. The boy sat straight-backed, eyes wide with a mixture of reverence and curiosity. It was a new country, a new title, and a sister who suddenly belonged to both.

The Earl, predictably, had grumbled. First about Hector. Then about the presence of new money (his glare aimed squarely at the Landgraabs). He’d barely finished sighing when Aubrey added his own contribution: a hushed, pointed remark to Nathaniel that “the family coffers are not your personal piggy bank.”

Peg, of course, overheard.

“Oh, you mean the dowry you said was best spent on wallpaper? That dowry?”

A few gasps were muffled behind gloves and fans.

Before Peg could escalate into a full-blown reckoning—right there in front of God and Lady Alaina—Nathaniel silenced her with a grin and a kiss. It was gentle, brief, and just long enough to disarm her. For now.

There would be time for the rest.

Elsewhere in the churchyard, Elias stood chatting with his new son-in-law. Nathaniel had taken an instant liking to him—not just out of politeness, but genuine interest. He’d asked detailed questions about the botanicals Elias had discovered in his travels and the wines he’d been experimenting with in the foothills of the Continent. Their quiet conversation buzzed with possibility, two minds drawn together by roots, vines, and the potential of what might be coaxed from the earth with time and patience.

It was, Imogen thought, the best match the day had produced.

And if Peg still occasionally muttered wallpaper under her breath every time Aubrey entered the room—well, who could blame her?

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“Darling! I’m so glad you’re home.” Elias swept Imogen into a long-overdue embrace, drinking her in like a man parched. He took his time, hands memorizing the familiar shape of her, the scent of her hair anchoring him back in place.

Imogen, for all her longing, pulled away first. “Sweetheart, come sit with me. We have things to discuss—and they won’t wait.”

They moved to the small annex off their bedroom, morning sun bleeding pale gold across the rooftops. She passed him the letter from the solicitor.

He read in silence. Then again.

Elias's voice cracked low in his throat. “He moved it. The entire trust—gone.”

Imogen’s nod was small but sharp. “He rolled it into one of his corporations months before his death. Buried it in the fine print. It’s technically legal.”

“But he set conditions,” Elias growled. “He said if I had a legitimate heir, the inheritance would pass to me. Hector exists. He's every inch legitimate.”

“He knew that,” she said, tone edged with fury. “He never cared. He just wanted control. You could’ve given him ten sons and it wouldn’t have made a difference—unless he could still twist the knife while doing it.”

Elias closed his eyes. “It was never about fairness. He blackmailed me into doing what he wanted, then stole the outcome for himself.”

Imogen folded her hands tightly in her lap. “The only affection he ever showed was to Julius—and even that was conditional. You know Julius asked after you in his last letter?”

Elias blinked. “He did?”

She nodded. “Just a few lines. Tentative. Like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed. Like he’s finally starting to see his father for what he was.”

Elias looked away, jaw working.

“There’s worse,” Imogen said quietly. “Peg’s pregnant.”

His head snapped back to her. “What?”

“She’s only just missed her monthly. The wedding’s still on, and Nathaniel doesn’t know yet. But if the dowry falls through…”

Elias rubbed a hand over his face. “Damn Cornelius. Even dead, he’s poisoning everything he touched.”

“I have money from my mother’s family,” Imogen continued. “It’ll nearly clean it out, but it’s enough to cover the dowry. Peg will be safe. The rest we can sort out with the lawyers. Though it may bankrupt us fighting it.”

“I played his game,” Elias muttered. “I gave him what he demanded. He still stole from us.”

“Because it was never about the money,” Imogen said. “It was about hurting the people he couldn’t control. Peg, you, me. Anyone who didn’t kneel.”

Elias let out a slow breath. “He didn’t win.”

“No,” she said. “But Julius will need time. He has to come to the truth on his own. You were never the villain his father made you out to be. But he’ll have to unlearn that.”

Elias nodded. “He will.”

They sat in silence for a moment, watching the light grow stronger through the window. The weight of what Cornelius had done lingered—but so did the determination not to let it stand.

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Peg knew she ought to rise and begin preparing for her portrait. Wedding portraits, no less. She should have been elated. Instead, she lay cursing her own foolishness—and the quiet betrayal of her own body.

So deep was she in her thoughts, she didn’t hear the knock at the door.

“Peg, dear, what’s the matter?” Imogen entered without fanfare, as silent as the night giving way to dawn. She moved to the edge of her daughter’s bed and needed no words to understand.

Peg turned, already reaching for the comfort she knew her mother would offer. She shifted aside so Imogen could sit beside her, then rested her head on her shoulder.

Her mother didn’t scold or pry. She simply sat, holding her in the way only mothers can—without judgment, only warmth.

“At least the wedding date is already set,” Peg murmured against her mother’s shoulder.

“That’s true. We’ve only put the cart a little ahead of the horse.” Imogen’s tone was light, but not dismissive. “You’ve months yet before there’s anything to notice. Most will assume it’s a honeymoon babe.”

Peg didn’t laugh. “Do you think I love him?”

Imogen paused. “Do you think you love him?”

“I… don’t know. What is love? I enjoy being with him. He makes me laugh. I’m happy in his company. But am I in love with him the way you are with Father? I don’t know. How could I tell?”

Imogen held her closer and pressed a kiss to her brow. “You’ll know it when you’re in it. But from what you’ve said, it sounds to me like you’ve got the makings of something good.”

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My dearest Imogen,

By the time this letter reaches you, I pray I shall be once more at your side. This journey to the Continent has been nothing short of enlightening, and I have cherished every moment spent learning the old traditions of winemaking. Yet, for all my love of the craft, it pales beside my love for you. I miss the scent of your hair, the warmth of your hand in mine—small things, perhaps, but they weigh heavily in your absence.

I am relieved that our business in England is drawing to a close. All that remains now is to see our daughter wed. From your letters, Nathaniel seems a worthy young man, and I trust your judgment implicitly. As for the rest of his family, time will tell—but my greatest hope is that our daughter finds in her marriage the joy and steadfast love that I have found in you.

Yours always and ever, Elias

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As Imogen travelled to Catterly House, the dower house of the Earl of Catterly, she regarded the countryside with a cool eye. It was perfectly picturesque—and perfectly dull. As the carriage turned up the drive, Imogen arched a brow at the sight of the home: modest in size, but with a certain stately bearing. The lawns were neatly trimmed, though time had clearly left its mark on the stone.

Inside, the true age of the house could not be disguised. Cracks traced along the plaster, and the fixtures bore the weight of generations. Voices drifted from the parlour ahead, and she was surprised to find the Viscount in attendance as well. Polite introductions were exchanged before Imogen took her seat opposite the two men.

"I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Stacey," the Earl began, settling behind the safety of his desk. "Aubrey here has spoken highly of you and your daughter. Though I must admit, it is rather unusual to find you in my parlour and not your husband."

Algernon Peregrine Whippleton, 8th Earl of Catterly, was as English as they came—and Imogen was thoroughly unimpressed. She had managed her family affairs since Cornelius’s death and had no intention of being cowed by a crusty aristocrat. Whatever Aubrey, Viscount Gorsewell, had said of her and Peg, she doubted it had been entirely flattering. The Viscount's opinion of them differed vastly from that of his wife. Opposites do attract.

Imogen composed her expression into something demure, a smile trained to perfection. "I’m so pleased the Viscount holds us in such esteem. I confess I was uncertain, though I have always found his wife to be a lady of great charm. I am fortunate indeed to enjoy her acquaintance."

The syrupy delivery was not lost on the Earl, whose expression sharpened. Her hand rested lightly on her breast—an affectation, calculated and precise. She could almost make him believe she was the very image of a provincial matron, but his instincts remained sharp.

"I see why your husband entrusted you with such matters," he said. "A quick tongue, and a countenance that hides rather more than it reveals. But this is not a market transaction for cattle and corn. This concerns the future of your daughter—with one of the oldest names in the realm."

He rose, leaning on the desk.

"This family has held the earldom for eight generations. The estate requires steady, discerning leadership. And now, you propose to introduce American blood into this line? While I am aware that America is a land of diverse origins, I find myself curious, Mrs. Stacey—what lineage do you claim? We place great importance on pedigree here. I confess, my son's choice was… unexpected. But then, he has always been something of an eccentric."

Imogen tilted her chin. “A noble name is all well and good, but it does little to settle accounts. If your legacy requires a dowry to stay afloat, then I’d say bloodlines matter less than balance sheets.”

She smiled again, and this time, there was steel behind it.

With a graceful lift of her hand, Imogen halted him. Her expression cooled, eyes flashing with practiced irritation. "I do enjoy an education in the peculiar habits of the peerage, my lord, but I do have engagements this evening and cannot linger over your sermonizing."

The Earl blinked. The Viscount's mouth parted in surprise. Imogen smiled sweetly and continued before either man could gather himself.

"Your title is ancient, yes, and your family long established. But if the state of this house is any indication, your holdings are in some distress. You require funds, and my family possesses them—thanks, as I believe you put it, to our paltry farm."

The Earl coloured. Imogen pressed on.

"I knew from the first that Peg's dowry would need to be significant. If my late husband taught me anything, it is that money has a way of conjuring miracles. Your son has asked for my daughter’s hand, and she has accepted. They may remain here, continue your lineage and history, or they may return to California. She is well-regarded there, known and respected. She could do much good in our community with our resources and connections. But she wished to travel, and so we are here."

"My son would never leave England."

“Would he not?” she asked gently. “Well, loyalty does tend to waver when offered a more comfortable inheritance.”

The Earl started to reply, but Imogen's pause was enough to silence him. She continued:

"I understand there is a barony yet unbestowed within your line. It shall be Nathaniel’s. Spare me the protestations — you shall see it done. My daughter brings a dowry that could restore every mortgage upon your lands, but it is not without conditions. The barony, a suitable home for the couple, and a separate household income—a yearly stipend, reviewed every three years to reflect economic changes. You may divide the rest of the money as you wish. My concern is for their comfort and dignity. Do we have an understanding?"

She leaned back against the faded cushions of the couch, hands folded. The Earl and Viscount stared at her, momentarily speechless. At length, the Earl rose and extended his hand.

"I believe this is how deals are struck in America?"

Imogen shook it, the agreement sealed.

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The end of the week couldn’t come soon enough.

After regaining his wits, Nathaniel had wandered into the dining room, where Mrs. Stacey was helping herself to coffee and pastries. She smiled warmly when she noticed him lingering in the doorway.

“I can make sure Peg is available, and without distraction, Friday morning.”

Nathaniel had been left gaping, but managed to stammer a grateful thank you to his future mother-in-law. Should he have brought up his father as well? Probably. Then again, he figured Mrs. Stacey could arrange matters between their families better than he ever could.

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Friday morning arrived, and Nathaniel was shown directly to the upstairs parlor, the more informal sitting room where the family often gathered. He didn’t even bother removing his hat. He was far too excited. Bounding up to the third floor, he found Peg curled up on the settee with a book.

She started in surprise as he appeared and immediately dropped to one knee. There was no preamble. No careful lead-up. Just Peg blinking at the interruption—and him, already on the floor, blurting, “Peg, marry me.”

It wasn’t a question. It was supposed to be, but before he could correct himself, Peg was already on her feet, laughing as she said yes.

Hat now abandoned, Nathaniel collapsed onto the settee, finally breathing again. Peg, completely unbothered by decorum, climbed right into his lap and leaned into the warmth of his arms.

“That was a terribly wonderful proposal,” she teased. “But don’t they usually involve a question?”

He held her tighter, still slightly dazed. “You said yes. That’s the part that matters.”

It wasn’t proper. Not at all. But he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Peg had a way of quieting the noise in his mind without ever silencing it. She didn’t complain when his thoughts leapt from subject to subject. In fact, she kept up; sometimes she even outpaced him. Both of them ruled by logic, but different kinds. Fitted together, they made a beautiful sort of puzzle.

“It was a terrible proposal,” he admitted, brushing his nose against her neck as she giggled again. “But I’m still the luckiest man alive.”

“It was lovely of my mother to arrange this time for us,” Peg said, leaning back slightly. “Is she here?”

“She isn’t. She’s meeting with your father today. And she sent Hector off as well. Only the servants remain.”

The look in her eyes, mischievous and utterly self-assured, made Nathaniel forget how to form coherent thought. The tea on the side table was still steaming, but no one touched it. Not for a long while.

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“Mrs. Stacey, I hope you don’t mind my intruding on what appears to be a peaceful morning.” Mr. Whippleton, Nathaniel, had been shown into the modest yet stately parlor of the house Peg’s family had rented for the season. The home sat in a fashionable part of town but was sensibly sized for their needs.

“Before you ask, I know that Peg... erm, Miss Margaret, is not currently here. My sister-by-marriage informed me they’re attending a musicale at the Fishers’ home.” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’d rather keep my hearing intact. I only hope they return with theirs.”

Imogen chuckled at his frivolity. She knew exactly what this visit was about. She and Peg had discussed it—how Peg had all but sunk her chances with any other suitors by singling out Mr. Whippleton with her attentions. Peg had worried her mother might be disappointed. Imogen hadn’t been. She wanted her daughter to be happy, and if happiness came in the form of the first eligible bachelor she’d met, then so be it. The Whippletons appeared respectable and well-off. True, Nathaniel had neither title nor income, but Imogen was confident something could be arranged. She wondered briefly if he’d enjoy life in California. Somehow, she doubted it.

“You needn’t be so formal on my account. I know Peg’s given you leave to use her name. And no, you didn’t interrupt anything I wasn’t looking to escape. My youngest, Hector, has decided this is the week he’ll rebel against all things English, including his governess.” She pressed her fingers to her forehead, attempting to stave off the headache she could feel brewing. “So. What brings you to my parlor this morning?”

Nathaniel offered a sheepish smile at her directness. She had given the requisite pleasantries, but not a breath more. Peg would’ve skipped them entirely.

He grasped for a brief delay. “Young Master Hector sounds like quite the handful. Was he like this in California?”

Imogen smiled knowingly. “Always. But at home, the children attend a schoolhouse a bit of a walk from the vineyard. That bit of exercise tires them out just enough to keep order once they’re inside. Crucial for Hector; he’s a very active child. Now, shall we keep discussing him, or would you like to get on with it?”

Nathaniel flushed, stammering. “I—I don’t know how to ask the mother of the woman I want to marry for permission to marry her. I rehearsed how I might talk to her father, but her father’s not here. Why isn’t he here? I’d much rather ask him.”

It took exactly .001 seconds for Nathaniel to realize he had said every last word of that out loud. The heat in his face surged, and he half expected to faint dead away from the embarrassment. Wouldn’t that be something—to suffer a case of the vapors while asking permission to propose.

Imogen reached for his hands, steadying his fidgeting fingers. He hadn’t even realized they’d been moving. “Mr. Stacey and I would be very glad to welcome you into our family. There will, of course, be details to discuss with your father, the Earl, but you have our permission to ask Peg for her hand.”

Nathaniel managed to offer his thanks—at least, he thought he had. In truth, he wasn’t quite sure, because the next thing he knew, he was alone in the parlor, still smiling like a damned fool on the couch.

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Im incredibly early for an appointment so I’ve been mulling over the new challenge I began this weekend.

I found the Wanderlust Challenge by @cowplant-pizza and I loved the premise of it but I wanted something that also filled my need to build and decorate so it added some of my own rules. I’d love to hear if you all have any ideas on how I can build upon this further.

The house you move into during any gen is a fixer-upper. It depends on your game-play style as to how much of a challenge it is.

The house, because it’s in such poor shape, is free (using cheats) but you only have 10k to begin with. Items in the house that are trash cannot earn you any money. You will either have to have the delete object mod or adjust your funds as you “clean up” your new digs.

Obvs sims time is different than real time, so renovations should have a time limit. I started off with the first week being a clean-up week. Nothing major can happen other than cleaning and making sure the house is livable. You can purchase appliances but the cost of these will come out of your 10k. Same goes with any bathroom repairs. The 10k can be used to furnish your home as well. Be sure to allow for bills/rent.

The next set of renovations cannot begin until you have at least 5k saved up over and above your monthly bills/rent. Renovations cannot be started if they can’t be completed, e.g. you can’t floor just half the room—the whole room needs to be refloored at once.

What would y’all add?