Page 29
Story: An Improbable Scheme (Courting the Unconventional #1)
E lsbeth sat quietly, her arm resting on the edge of her chair, as Clara deftly removed the stitches from her wound.
Her thoughts, however, were far from the present moment.
Someone had deliberately tried to kill her that morning.
There was no denying it now. The planter had not simply fallen by accident.
It had been purposefully dropped, with the clear intent to harm her.
She struggled to process the realization.
Could Charles truly be behind such a heinous act?
She wanted to trust him, wanted to believe he wasn’t capable of such treachery.
His reaction after the incident had seemed genuine enough, but was it all an act?
The cold, hard truth lingered in her mind: if she died, her substantial dowry would revert to the estate, providing Charles with the funds he desperately needed.
The weight of suspicion pressed down on her chest. The only person she could trust completely was Niles, but even that trust brought its own complications. How could he possibly keep her safe when he wasn’t residing in the manor?
Clara’s voice pulled her from her spiraling thoughts. “That should do it,” the lady’s maid said with a satisfied nod as she finished. “Now, do try to avoid getting shot again, if you please.”
Elsbeth let out a soft, humorless laugh. “I will do my best.”
Clara immediately looked contrite. “I shouldn’t joke about such things. Not with everything that’s happened.”
“There’s no need to apologize,” Elsbeth assured her. “If anything, I welcome the distraction from my thoughts.”
Clara studied her with concern. “How are you faring? Truly?”
Elsbeth hesitated before replying, “I am… managing. To be honest, I don’t know what to feel or who to trust in this household.”
“Well,” Clara said with a small smile, “you can trust me.”
“And for that, I am eternally grateful,” Elsbeth replied sincerely.
Clara’s gaze swept over her. “Now, we need to fix your hair. Your mother would be rather upset if you came down to dinner looking less than perfect.”
Recognizing the truth in her maid’s words, Elsbeth moved to sit before the dressing table. Clara began removing the pins from her hair, brushing it through before gathering it up into an elegant style. She left two soft curls to frame Elsbeth’s face, giving her a look of composed grace.
Just as Clara was finishing, a knock came at the door. Clara crossed the room to open it, revealing Charles standing in the corridor.
“Cousin,” Elsbeth greeted, forcing a polite smile as she rose from her seat.
Charles stepped into the doorway but did not enter the room. “I came to escort you down to dinner.”
“How thoughtful,” Elsbeth murmured, her voice tight.
As they walked down the corridor together, Elsbeth clasped her hands in front of her to steady herself.
She hated the unease she felt around her cousin, hated how suspicion had crept into her mind and taken root.
But how could she ignore her fears? He had taken a shot at her—accidental, he claimed—and possibly poisoned her. Or was she overthinking everything?
Charles broke the silence. “I know you don’t entirely trust me, but I promise you, Elsbeth, I would never hurt you.”
She kept her gaze forward, saying nothing. She didn’t know what to believe anymore.
He continued. “While you were resting, I spoke with the constable. He’s been made aware of the circumstances.”
“You didn’t think to wake me?” she asked, irritation creeping into her voice.
“There was no need,” Charles replied evenly. “I was there, and I provided him with all the necessary information. Besides, I didn’t want to alarm the household, especially your mother.”
She bit back her retort, knowing he had a point.
There was no sense in upsetting her mother unnecessarily, not without more concrete information.
Still, the fact that Charles had made the decision without consulting her bothered her greatly.
“I would have preferred to speak with the constable myself,” she said.
“I didn’t mean to offend you,” Charles responded. “Of course you’re more than capable of speaking on your own behalf.”
“Indeed, I am,” she replied, tilting her chin slightly.
They continued down the corridor in silence. Elsbeth saw no reason to fill the space with meaningless words. Her thoughts were already too loud, and the questions swirling in her mind refused to be silenced.
As they reached the entry hall, Charles paused and turned, his expression solemn. “Let’s forget about the soiree. We can leave tomorrow morning for my estate.”
She took a deliberate step back, creating space between them. “No. My mother would be furious if I left so abruptly. ”
“I know,” Charles admitted. “But I’d feel much better if you were far away from this place, this village… from Alfred.”
Her brows furrowed as she studied his face, searching for the meaning behind his words. “Why Alfred?”
His gaze locked on to hers, the urgency in his eyes unmistakable. “I used to think highly of Alfred. I truly did. But recent events have made me question if I ever knew him at all.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “He’s been looking into the death of your father.”
“I suspected as much from the newssheet clippings that I found in Alfred’s desk.”
Charles frowned. “That was reckless, Elsbeth. Foolish, even. What if you had been caught?”
Her back went rigid. “Are you truly lecturing me right now?”
Charles glanced over his shoulder, ensuring the corridor was still empty, then turned back to her. “I’m not lecturing you. I’m worried about you.”
His words sounded so sincere, so genuine, but the shadow of fear kept her from fully trusting him. Before she could respond, Alfred’s voice echoed from down the corridor, his words light.
“Why the long faces?” he asked with a polite smile as he approached.
Charles quickly stepped closer to Elsbeth, as though shielding her. “Good evening, Alfred.”
The butler appeared and handed Alfred his top hat and cane. Alfred placed the hat on his head with practiced ease. “You’ll have to excuse me,” he said. “There’s some business I must attend to in the village.”
“Mother will not be pleased that you’re missing dinner,” Elsbeth remarked.
Alfred chuckled lightly. “That she won’t. But business is business. ”
The moment the door closed, Elsbeth turned to Charles, her voice a low murmur. “We should follow him. See who he’s meeting with this time.”
“No,” Charles responded. “It would raise too much suspicion if we were caught.”
“Then we won’t get caught,” Elsbeth countered.
Charles crossed his arms, his expression resolute. “I have a better idea. While he’s gone, I’ll search his study.”
She shook her head. “That’s a waste of time. I’ve searched his study more times than I care to admit, and the only thing I found were those newssheet clippings.”
“Then why do you think Alfred is looking into your father’s death?” Charles pressed.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But if he’s hiding something, it must be important.”
Charles’s eyes grew distant, as though he were replaying old memories. “I’ve always thought the circumstances surrounding your father’s death were rather suspicious.”
“But the coroner ruled it an accident,” Elsbeth pointed out, though the doubt in her voice was evident.
Charles’s jaw tightened. “It just seemed too convenient,” he said slowly. “That your father would meet his end by being run down by a coach. It never sat right with me.”
A heavy silence followed his words. Elsbeth’s mind raced, her suspicions growing sharper. She finally broke the silence. “Do you think Alfred had something to do with my father’s death?”
Charles sighed deeply, his expression heavy with reluctance. “I don’t know for certain, but I do know he paid the coroner to keep quiet. Why would he go to such lengths if he had nothing to hide?”
The weight of his words pressed down on her, but before she could respond, the ringing of the dinner bell echoed through the manor .
As they turned towards the source of the sound, Elsbeth’s mother appeared at the top of the grand staircase.
Her elegant figure was poised as always, but Elsbeth noticed something different.
Her mother’s eyes seemed tired, their usual sparkle dimmed, and her steps, though graceful, lacked their usual energy.
Descending the stairs, her mother spoke. “I’ve just been informed that Alfred will not be joining us for dinner. Shall we adjourn to the dining room?”
Charles stepped forward immediately, offering his arm with a respectful bow. “Allow me to escort you, Aunt Isabella.”
“Thank you, Charles,” her mother said with a faint smile, accepting his arm.
Together, they walked towards the dining room in a silence that felt heavier than usual. Elsbeth followed behind, her thoughts still swirling with doubt and unease.
When they reached the dining room, the footmen stood ready to serve. Everyone took their seats as the footmen placed bowls of rich soup in front of them.
Elsbeth picked up her spoon and took a sip. The warmth of the soup did little to ease the chill settling in her chest.
Her mother broke the silence, her voice bright but carrying an edge of forced cheer. “The soiree is just two days away,” she said, looking across the table at Elsbeth. “I was hoping you might play a piece on the pianoforte for our guests.”
Elsbeth glanced up from her bowl. “Of course, Mother. I’d be happy to.”
Her mother looked pleased by her response. “Thank you, Dear. I know everyone will enjoy it.”
Charles remained silent, his expression unreadable as he spooned his soup. Elsbeth tried to focus on the simple act of eating, but her mind drifted back to her father, to Alfred, to the questions that seemed to grow louder with every passing moment .
Across the table, Charles placed his spoon down and wiped his mouth with a white linen napkin. “Would you care to go riding tomorrow, Elsbeth?”
Table of Contents
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- Page 29 (Reading here)
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