E lsbeth woke with a sharp jolt of pain radiating from her left arm. Sunlight streamed in through the tall windows, brightening the room but doing little to lift her mood. Her memories of the night before flooded in. The gunshot. The searing pain. And the betrayal she hadn’t seen coming.

Lord Westcott.

How could she have been so foolish? She had almost trusted him. Almost believed he cared. But no. He had kept her distracted, giving someone the perfect opportunity to ambush her. The infuriating lord had tricked her, and she wouldn’t make that mistake again.

A soft knock interrupted her musings before Clara entered the room, balancing a bowl of water and bandages. Her usual cheerful demeanor was replaced by quiet efficiency as she set the bowl down on the table beside the bed.

“Good morning, my lady,” Clara said. “It is time we clean that wound before it gets infected.”

Elsbeth groaned, reluctantly pushing herself up against the wall. “Do you have to sound so happy about it? ”

Clara arched an eyebrow as she reached for the clean linen.

“It is hard to be cheerful when I am tending to a lady who insists on behaving like a highwayman.” She dipped a cloth into the water, wringing it out with practiced hands.

“Do I need to remind you that this would not have happened if you had stayed in bed where you belong?”

“Do you truly have to lecture me now?”

Clara smiled as she moved to sit in the chair beside Elsbeth. “Would you prefer I schedule a lecture for a more convenient time? Perhaps before supper?”

“How can you make jokes at a time like this?”

“It is rather easy, considering I wasn’t the one who was shot,” Clara quipped.

“I should dismiss you.”

Clara grinned. “You could, but you would be lost without me.”

Despite herself, Elsbeth laughed. “I would,” she admitted. “Very well. I won’t dismiss you, but can you stop making jokes?”

“I will stop, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be thinking them.”

“You are insufferable,” Elsbeth retorted.

Clara held the damp cloth up. “Brace yourself, my lady. This will sting,” she warned before pressing the cloth to the wound.

Elsbeth let out a soft cry as the cool water touched her wound. The pain was sharp and relentless. She turned her face away, breathing through it. “Do you have to scrub so vigorously?”

Clara paused for only a moment. “Would you rather it fester and take your arm?” she asked. “That is what happens to unattended wounds.”

“You are far too morbid,” Elsbeth muttered.

Clara finished cleaning the wound and secured a fresh bandage around her arm. Sitting back with a sigh of relief, she studied her handiwork. “It looks better than I feared, my lady. You will heal. Though you will have a scar.”

“A scar is the least of my worries,” Elsbeth murmured, her mind drifting back to her stepfather. Alfred was hiding something, but was that something worth risking her life to discover? She wasn’t quite sure how she should proceed.

As Clara began gathering up the used cloths, she glanced over at Elsbeth. “I still cannot believe that Lord Westcott tricked you.”

“Can we not talk about him?” Elsbeth asked. “I have had quite enough of Lord Westcott and I do not want to think of him a moment longer than I have to.”

Clara straightened. “I will change the subject, then. Your cousin, Lord Bedford, and Mr. Strother are waiting for you in the drawing room.”

Elsbeth’s stomach dropped. “Why are they here? Today, of all days?”

“I did not ask,” Clara said with a shrug. “But you might want to hurry before they come searching for you.”

Gesturing towards her bandaged arm, Elsbeth asked, “How am I to explain this?”

“I thought of that,” Clara replied, crossing the room to the wardrobe. She pulled out a pink gown with oversized puffed sleeves and held it up. “These sleeves will hide the bandages.”

Elsbeth frowned. “That gown is hopelessly out of fashion.”

“Perhaps, but it is very practical right now,” Clara remarked.

“You make an excellent point,” Elsbeth said, resigned as she allowed Clara to help her dress.

A short time later, she emerged from her room and descended the grand staircase. The pain in her arm pulsated with every step, but she kept her expression composed. At least the pain reminded her that she was alive.

Elsbeth entered the room and saw her tall, dark-haired cousin, Charles, rising from his seat beside her mother, his arms outstretched in greeting. “Cousin! You look as lovely as ever,” he said in an overly cheerful voice.

She accepted his brief embrace before stepping back, fixing him with a wary gaze. “What brings you to our quiet village?”

“Why, I came to see you, of course,” Charles replied.

Her mother interjected, her lips pursed in disapproval. “Dear, why are you wearing that gown? It is an interesting choice to meet callers.”

She smoothed down the gown. “I was rushing to see Charles and it was the first gown that I came across in the wardrobe.”

“Perhaps next time, you might take a little more time to make yourself presentable,” her mother remarked.

Charles gestured towards a short, balding man standing next to a chair. “You remember Mr. Strother, do you not?”

Elsbeth tipped her head. “Of course, he was my father’s solicitor,” she said. “Good morning, Mr. Strother.”

“Good morning, Lady Elsbeth,” Mr. Strother replied with a stiff bow. He cleared his throat before adding, “I wish to speak with you about your dowry.”

Her brow furrowed. “My dowry? Has something happened?”

“Not at all,” Mr. Strother said quickly. “It remains untouched at fifteen thousand pounds. However, Lord Bedford has a proposal that he believes will be mutually beneficial.”

Charles motioned for her to sit. “Allow me to explain.”

She claimed the seat next to her mother, who looked far too calm for her liking. “I am listening.”

Charles returned to his seat. “As you know, the estate your father left behind is struggling. I have retained the entailed properties, but I require funds to bring the estate back to profitability.”

“And what does that have to do with me?” Elsbeth asked, suspicion prickling at her .

Charles paused. “I need a wife. And you need a husband. It seems practical for us to marry.”

Elsbeth stared at him, certain she had misheard. “Marry? You ? But we are cousins.”

“Second cousins, once removed,” Charles corrected, as though that small detail absolved the madness of the suggestion. “It is perfectly legal, I assure you.”

“But we call each other ‘Cousin,’” Elsbeth stated.

Charles nodded. “We would have to change that if we were to wed.”

Elsbeth turned to her mother, stunned. “And what do you say about this?”

Her mother reached for a teapot, avoiding her daughter’s gaze. “Perhaps we should all have a cup of tea and discuss this rationally.”

“Forget the tea, Mother,” Elsbeth said. “Charles just asked me to marry him.”

Her mother leaned back in her seat, finally looking at her. “It might not be such a terrible idea, Elsbeth. Given the… circumstances.”

Elsbeth rose abruptly, and Charles stood with her. “This is madness,” she declared. “I cannot marry my cousin. No matter how far removed.”

Charles regarded her with a solemn expression. “It is not ideal, but the estate needs you. I need you. And you need someone who can offer you stability.”

Turning to Mr. Strother, Elsbeth asked, “What happens if I refuse this outrageous suggestion?”

Mr. Strother adjusted his spectacles as he glanced between Charles and Elsbeth.

“Your dowry is to remain untouched until such time as you marry. There is no provision for you to inherit it at a certain age, should you remain unwed.” He hesitated for a moment before adding, “Without marriage, I am afraid those funds will remain inaccessible indefinitely. ”

Elsbeth stiffened. Her father, for all his faults, had still managed to leave her trapped by this one condition.

Charles, however, seized the moment to step closer. “Elsbeth,” he began softly, “I would be a good husband to you. You would be treated fairly and with respect as my countess.”

The words made her stomach churn. Charles was her cousin. Her childhood companion. They had climbed trees and raced horses together. Now, as he stood before her speaking of marriage, the very idea felt so unnatural that she had to fight the urge to shudder.

“And what of the scandal? You cannot possibly believe there wouldn’t be whispers about such a union,” Elsbeth countered.

Charles’s lips pressed into a thin line, though his gaze remained steady. “I do not think our name could be dragged any further into the mud than where it already resides,” he replied. “Do you?”

The words hit her harder than she cared to admit.

Despite their weight, she couldn’t argue with the truth of them.

The scandal following her father’s death—the debts, the mistresses, the illegitimate children—had already cast a permanent shadow over their family.

Society had all but turned its back on them. She sank back down to the settee.

Even so… marry Charles? The very notion seemed ludicrous. She couldn’t imagine calling him her husband , much less sharing the intimacies of marriage. The thought alone sent a shiver of revulsion through her.

Before she could reply, her mother stood, smoothing her skirts with forced calm. “This is a great deal for Elsbeth to consider,” she said. “Perhaps we should allow her some time to process everything.”

Charles turned to her mother and gave a deferential nod.

“I wholeheartedly agree. I do not want to force Elsbeth into anything she is not ready to accept. But,” he added with a pointed glance at Elsbeth, “Mr. Strother will be returning to Town at his first opportunity. It would be best to come to a decision sooner rather than later.”

Elsbeth shot to her feet, the sudden movement startling the men into silence. “There is nothing to think about,” she declared, her voice resolute. “My answer is no.”