The first pale rays of dawn filtered through the heavy drapes, the chill of early morning air mingling with the lingering warmth of my bed.
I was still adrift between sleep and stark wakefulness when Abelard's low, measured voice roused me from my fragile slumber.
The Saxon Family—inevitably loyal yet unavoidably vexing—had arrived at my manor. Their approach was marked not by the clamor of a late-night scandal, but by an almost ghostly quiet that unsettled me just as powerfully.
I sat at my desk, the soft clink of porcelain and the earthy aroma of steeped tea anchoring me in the moment. I broke the silence.
"May I ask why the Marquis and Marchioness have pressed upon my door at this early hour?" I inquired, voice measured despite the rapid thump of my heart.
The couple exchanged a long, silent glance, as if weighing revelations against secrets, before the Marquis cleared his throat—a sound that trembled with the echoes of suppressed grief and fury.
