A s the morning light poured into her bedchamber, Elsbeth sat stiffly on the edge of her bed while Clara secured a fresh bandage around her injured arm. She tried not to let her discomfort show, despite the ache that pulsed with every movement.

“That should do,” Clara said, leaning back to assess her work. “But do try to be careful when you go pheasant shooting today.”

“You needn’t worry,” Elsbeth replied with a small smile. “I have no intention of firing a rifle.”

“Then why bother going?”

Elsbeth rose from the bed and walked towards the dressing table. “Because I’ll be partnering with Lord Westcott. It will give us the perfect opportunity to discuss how to uncover the truth about my stepfather’s lies.”

Clara let out a sigh of exasperation. “Not this again. Why do you insist on seeing only the worst in Mr. Stockton?”

Elsbeth met Clara’s gaze in the mirror. “Because he is hiding something.”

“Aren’t we all, my lady? ”

“Not like him,” Elsbeth retorted, sitting down and removing her cap.

Clara retrieved a brush and began working through her mistress’s hair. “I think this entire endeavor is reckless. You should be focusing on recovering, not on scheming against your stepfather.”

Elsbeth’s lips tightened as she stared at her reflection. “Once I get that key to his desk, I’ll know what he’s hiding.”

“And if you find nothing?”

“I’ll find something,” she said firmly, though doubt briefly flickered in her voice.

Clara twisted Elsbeth’s hair into a neat chignon before reaching for a pale green gown. “Let’s dress you,” she said, holding it up.

Elsbeth sighed as she stood, slipping out of her dressing gown and into the fresh attire. As Clara fastened the buttons down the back of the gown, she spoke softly. “I just worry about you.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Elsbeth attempted.

“Do you?”

Elsbeth turned to face her. “I’m not wrong.”

Clara’s expression remained skeptical. “If you insist. But…” She hesitated. “I might have a way to help you secure that key.”

Elsbeth’s eyes widened. “You do? How?” she asked in an eager tone.

Clara nodded. “I’m on friendly terms with Mr. Stockton’s valet. I could ask for his assistance. He’s a discreet man.”

A spark of hope lit in Elsbeth’s chest. “Yes, please. Ask him.”

Clara held up a finger. “But if I do this, and you find nothing in the desk, will you agree to drop this madness?”

“I promise.”

“Very well,” Clara said, straightening. “Now, hurry. You're already late for breakfast. ”

Elsbeth exited her bedchamber but abruptly stopped when she found Charles leaning casually against the wall just outside her room.

“What are you doing loitering by my door?” she asked, arching a brow.

Charles straightened, offering his arm. “I came to escort you to the dining room.”

Elsbeth forced a polite smile as she accepted his arm. “How thoughtful.”

“You’re lying,” Charles said, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I know you too well.”

“Exactly,” Elsbeth replied. “Which is why a union between us would never work. No matter how distantly related we are, I consider you family.”

Charles sighed heavily. “It would be the perfect solution for both of us. I would have the funds to restore the estate, and you’d be welcomed back into Society as my countess.”

“It’s not as simple as that.”

“Perhaps not,” Charles admitted, his tone softening. “But I’m worried about you.”

Elsbeth stopped and turned to face him. “Worried? About me? Why?”

“Your mother wrote to me. She said you’ve been terribly unhappy here.”

The realization dawned on Elsbeth. “You offered for me out of pity,” she whispered.

“No!” Charles protested. “I don’t pity you. I only?—”

“Do you even want to marry me?” Elsbeth pressed, her voice rising.

Charles winced. “I do… because it’s my responsibility. I take that role seriously.”

Elsbeth shook her head, resuming her walk down the hall. “You don’t want to marry me, Charles. You’re just trying to do the honorable thing. ”

“Is that so wrong?” he asked, catching up to her. “You could return to your home. Your friends. Your old life. Isn’t that what you want?”

“My old life is gone,” Elsbeth said, pausing at the top of the staircase. “And it is time I accept that.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“It does,” she insisted. “My friends abandoned me at the first hint of a scandal, and the only home I knew now belongs to you.”

Charles stepped closer. “Marry me, and I will ensure you are happy.”

Elsbeth heard the sincerity in his voice, but she knew why he was doing this. He was doing the honorable thing and she wouldn’t let him throw his life away for her. “My answer is no.”

“But you aren’t happy in this life.”

“True,” she admitted. “But I won’t trap you in a marriage you don’t want.”

Charles opened his mouth to argue, but she raised a hand, silencing him. “Thank you, Cousin, for your kindness. But my decision is final.”

He studied her for a moment, then conceded. “Your mother won’t be pleased.”

“I’m used to disappointing her,” Elsbeth said with a faint smile.

Charles gave her a bemused look. “Your mother loves you. You know that, right?”

“I do, but she’s so enamored with my stepfather. It is maddening.”

“Perhaps the problem isn’t her, Elsbeth,” Charles said pointedly. “Perhaps it’s you.”

Elsbeth blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

Charles folded his arms. “Just because you were born a lady doesn’t make you better than anyone else, including a merchant. ”

Her cheeks flushed. “I never said I was.”

“No,” Charles said, his tone calm but firm. “But you think it. Judge a man by his actions, not his station.”

“That is easy for you to say. You are an earl,” she shot back. “Besides, you do not know what you speak of.”

“Then enlighten me.”

Elsbeth was done with this ridiculous conversation.

How dare her cousin accuse her of thinking herself better than her stepfather.

Her issues with Alfred stemmed from his secrets.

Didn’t they? But the more she thought about it, the more she had to concede that Charles might have a point.

Had she treated Alfred differently because he was only a merchant?

No.

She treated him differently because he was hiding something and not because of his profession. Or at least that is what she wanted to believe.

Charles placed a hand on her shoulder. “Alfred is a good man. You should give him a chance.”

“You don’t understand—” she began, but her words were cut short by her mother’s voice.

“Are you two going to join us for breakfast?” Her mother stood at the bottom of the staircase, her expression one of polite impatience.

Charles withdrew his hand and turned to face her. “Yes, Aunt Isabella. We will be down in a moment.”

As they descended the stairs, Charles glanced at her. “You were saying?”

“Not now,” she muttered.

Charles tipped his head in understanding. “Very well.”

Once they arrived in the dining room, Elsbeth saw Alfred was sitting at the head of the table with newssheets in his hand. He began to rise when she entered, but she waved him back down and took her seat .

“Good morning, Elsbeth,” her stepfather greeted. “I trust you slept well?”

“As well as I could with my injury,” she replied.

Alfred set the newssheets aside, his gaze briefly resting on her arm. “I do hope you will be careful today.”

“I will be,” she assured him. But why did he care? Was it genuine concern or something else entirely?

Her mother’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Did you two come to an understanding yet?” she asked, her gaze shifting between Elsbeth and Charles.

Elsbeth placed a napkin onto her lap before saying, “We have decided it would be best if we did not marry.”

“I do not think that is wise,” her mother said.

“I know, but I refuse to let Charles throw away his life for me,” Elsbeth remarked. “He deserves to find love.”

Charles nearly choked on his tea, setting the cup down with an awkward cough. “Love?” he repeated. “I’m afraid love isn’t a luxury I can afford. I must marry an heiress to restore my estate.”

“Surely you can achieve both,” Elsbeth pressed.

“I doubt it,” Charles said. “My estate and my responsibilities come first. I know my duty and I’ll do what is expected of me.”

Elsbeth felt a pang of sadness at her cousin’s words. She wanted him to be happy, but she knew all too well the duty and expectations of being born into this life. She had always dreamed of a love match, but was it just as unattainable for her as it was for Charles?

A footman placed a plate of food in front of her and she reached for her fork. As she took her first bite, her mother said, “I think we should host a soiree.”

“A soiree?” Elsbeth repeated, her tone tinged with skepticism.

“Yes,” her mother said with a smile. “It’s been far too long since we’ve entertained. It would be a kind gesture for the villagers.”

Elsbeth wiped her mouth with her napkin. “That’s a terrible idea.”

Her mother’s smile didn’t falter. “Well, I’m sorry you feel that way since I’ve already sent out the invitations.”

“What?” Elsbeth’s brows shot up. “Who did you invite?”

“Just a few of Alfred’s friends and some of our neighbors,” her mother replied.

Elsbeth resisted the urge to groan. The last thing she wanted was to host a soiree filled with strangers, forced politeness, and shallow conversations. The thought alone was exhausting.

Her mother turned towards Charles. “Please say that you will stay until our soiree. It would mean so much to us.”

“I would be delighted,” he replied.

Elsbeth felt her stomach twist. She returned her gaze to her plate and poked at her food with her fork, her appetite gone.

Surely today could not get any worse.

Niles sat in the coach as it jostled along the winding road to Lady Elsbeth’s estate.

His gaze drifted to his sister Eugenie, who stared out the window with a contemplative expression.

This was the perfect opportunity to address the matter that had been gnawing at him since last night.

How exactly was she acquainted with Lord Bedford?