Luke and I settled into a comfortable routine, with chaperoned walks in the park, quiet afternoons in the garden under my mother's watchful eye, and evenings spent in conversation with my family. Slowly but surely, I could see my father warming to Luke, their discussions about literature and politics growing more animated with each visit.
It was on a crisp autumn morning that everything changed. I was in the kitchen with my mother, helping her prepare breakfast, when we heard a commotion at the front door. The maid rushed in, her face pale and her eyes wide with fear.
"Miss Bella," she gasped, "there's a messenger at the door. He says it's urgent - about Mr. Montgomery."
My heart dropped into my stomach. I exchanged a worried glance with my mother before hurrying to the door, my hands s
