The next morning brought sunshine streaming through the windows, a stark contrast to the dark thoughts swirling in my mind about the missing women. I had just finished dressing when a commotion downstairs caught my attention.
"Your Grace! Please, I must see Her Grace immediately!" The voice was familiar, laced with desperation.
Curious, I hurried to the top of the grand staircase. Below, Jasper—my family's longtime butler—stood in our entrance hall, his normally composed demeanor shattered. His clothes were travel-worn, his face haggard.
Alaric blocked his path, tall and imposing. "Whatever message you bring can be delivered to me first."
I descended quickly. "Jasper? What's happened?"
The elderly butler's eyes found mine, relief washing over his features. "Lady Isabella! Thank heavens." He attempted a bow, though exhaustion made him unsteady. "I've ridden through the night. It's your sister, my lady. Lady Clara is missing."
