Chapter 29: Echoes of the Past

The storm raged outside, its howling winds battering against the tall windows of my chambers at Cavendish Manor. Rain pelted the glass in furious sheets, the sound a relentless drumbeat against my already restless mind. The candle on my bedside table flickered weakly, its flame struggling against the drafts that crept through the ancient stone walls. I tightened my shawl around my shoulders, but the chill that gripped me had little to do with the cold.

The diary lay open on my lap, its yellowed pages fragile beneath my trembling fingers. The ink had faded in places, yet each word still carried the weight of sorrow. Isabella Thorne's words, written with delicate precision, painted a picture of a woman whose spirit had been gradually crushed beneath the weight of duty, obligation, and a marriage that had been nothing more than a cage.