The doorbell of the Moreau mansion rang shortly after lunch. Payne, the elderly butler, opened the heavy oak doors to find a man in mud-splattered work clothes standing on the doorstep. His boots were caked with dried earth, his hands rough and calloused. In one hand, he held a pink floral umbrella.
"Good afternoon," the man said, his voice clear and confident despite his disheveled appearance. "I'm looking for Lyra Moreau."
Payne's eyebrows rose slightly. "Miss Lyra is not currently at home. May I ask who's calling?"
"Declan Hale," the man replied. "She left her umbrella at the construction site yesterday. Just wanted to return it."
Before Payne could respond, Eleanor Moreau appeared in the foyer, elegant in a simple cream dress. "Who is it, Payne?"
"A Mr. Hale for Miss Lyra, madam."
Eleanor stepped forward, a polite smile on her face. "Miss Lyra isn't home at the moment. I'm her—" She hesitated, then continued, "I'm Mrs. Moreau."
