Mrs. Gloria Hughes has been part of Rowanmere Hall for so long that the estate seems to settle around her footsteps. She moves through the rooms with the quiet assurance of someone who has tended generations, smoothing the edges of their days with food, warmth, and the kind of care that never asks for thanks. The Hall feels steadier when she is in it, as if the old stones lean toward her voice.
Gloria grew up in Devonshire, and her roots show in her practicality, in the strength of her hands, and in the gentle humor that softens her eyes. She understands people quickly and without judgment. She knows when someone has slept poorly, when a worry is being carried too tightly, when a room needs fresh air or when a pot of tea needs to appear before anyone thinks to ask.
Though she has no magic, Gloria feels the pulse of Rowanmere with rare intuition. She notices when the energy of a room shifts, when the air grows tense, when the land seems to hold its breath. She calls it ordinary instinct, but it is built from years of tending the house as though it were family.
Lucy trusts her almost immediately. Gloria keeps her fed when she forgets to eat, rested when she tries to do too much, and grounded when the world begins to tilt. She offers comfort in small, practical ways: warm meals, folded linens, steady hands, and the quiet reminder that Lucy does not have to carry everything alone.
Her relationships ripple outward with the same warmth. She shares easy understanding with Evan, a mutual respect with Jason, and gentle kindness toward Timothy. She has the rare gift of making even the weary feel welcome, and Rowanmere seems to breathe easier when she is nearby.
Mrs. Gloria Hughes is not a witch or a Guardian. She is something more human and just as essential: the hearth of Rowanmere Hall, the keeper of its daily rhythms, and the steady presence that makes even the heaviest days gentler to bear.