E lsbeth entered the dining room and paused just inside the doorway, her eyes falling on her stepfather seated at the head of the long, rectangular table.

Her blonde-haired mother sat to his right, daintily slicing into a boiled egg.

Her mother always ate the same thing every morning: one boiled egg and two pieces of buttered toast. The sight should have been comforting.

Familiar. But today it only stirred frustration in Elsbeth.

Her dark-haired stepfather looked up from the newssheets, offering a smile. “Good morning, Elsbeth,” he greeted, his tone warm. Too warm.

“Good morning,” she replied.

Her mother glanced up. “I trust that you slept well last night?”

“I did,” Elsbeth lied. She wouldn’t admit she had barely closed her eyes, haunted by the memory of her encounter with Lord Westcott the night before. The replay of their interaction had consumed her, and she felt sure she had appeared utterly absurd to him .

Her mother smiled. “That is good. Come, join us,” she said, gesturing towards the chair to her left.

Elsbeth's feet felt like lead as she approached the table. She did not want to eat breakfast with her stepfather. The man was a charlatan in her eyes, though she couldn’t yet prove it.

As she settled into her chair, Alfred folded his newssheets and set them neatly aside, his attention now fully on her.

“Your mother and I are planning to visit the village today,” he said.

“I thought perhaps you might like to join us. There are a few shops worth browsing, and I believe you could use a new hat.”

The words hit their mark. Alfred was reminding her, subtly but effectively, that without his money, she could not afford the simplest of luxuries. But two could play at this game.

She met his gaze, her expression carefully composed. “How thoughtful of you. I would love a new hat. You are most considerate.”

Alfred’s smile broadened, clearly pleased with her response. “I know how much women enjoy pretty things,” he said with a loving glance at his wife.

“Men seem to enjoy them just as much,” Elsbeth remarked, her tone edged with a challenge.

Her mother stiffened, sending her a warning look, but Alfred only laughed. “Guilty as charged, Elsbeth. I find your mother extraordinarily beautiful, and I count myself lucky to have her.”

“That is kind of you to say,” her mother said, leaning in for a brief kiss.

Elsbeth turned her attention to her cup of chocolate, taking a slow sip to avoid rolling her eyes.

She couldn’t fathom her mother’s infatuation with this man.

Her mother had adored Elsbeth’s father and had been devastated by his death.

How had she moved on so quickly? And with a man so vastly beneath her station?

Her mother broke the silence, her tone brisk. “We mustn’t linger in the village too long. Lady Margaret will be calling on us later.”

Elsbeth’s mood lifted slightly at the mention of Lady Margaret. “Perhaps we should forgo shopping altogether.”

“Nonsense,” her mother replied, smoothing a hand over the linen napkin in her lap. “We will have time for both, provided we are efficient.”

“I do not truly need another hat,” Elsbeth said.

Her stepfather chuckled. “I have never known a lady to think she has too many hats.”

“It is rare, but it happens,” she said. “Besides, my father ensured my mother and I had an abundance of hats. There is no need to buy us any more.”

Her mother frowned. “That is enough, Elsbeth.”

Alfred, however, seemed unruffled, offering her an apologetic look. “I did not mean to offend.”

Of course, he hadn’t. The man was a master of manipulation. Playing the victim now, as if her comments had been unwarranted. But she knew better.

Pushing back his chair, Alfred rose. “If you will excuse me, I have a few matters to attend to before we leave.” He gave his wife a private smile before departing the room.

As soon as the door closed behind him, her mother turned a stern gaze on her. “Whatever has come over you, Child?”

“Alfred is not who he claims to be.”

Her mother exhaled sharply, exasperation etched onto her features. “Not this again. Why are you so determined to malign him?”

“Why does Alfred want to buy us a hat so badly?” Elsbeth pressed. “I daresay that he is trying to buy our love.”

“Or perhaps he is simply being kind. Did you consider that?” her mother retorted.

“No, he is playing a game,” Elsbeth insisted.

Her mother shoved back her chair, rising to her feet. “I have had enough of this nonsense. Alfred is a good, honorable man and you should be grateful to have him in your life.”

“How can you be so blind?” Elsbeth demanded, her voice rising. “He is manipulating us… manipulating you .”

Her mother’s tone hardened. “I think it might be best if you don’t accompany us to the village, after all.”

“Mother…”

She raised a hand, stilling Elsbeth’s words. “Not another word. Alfred is my husband, and I love him.”

Elsbeth leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed. “How could you move on so quickly after Father’s death?”

Her mother’s eyes widened with indignation. “How dare you say such a thing? I mourned your father properly, as was expected of me.”

“And then you married Alfred at the first opportunity.”

“Yes, and I do not regret it,” her mother declared. “Marrying Alfred got us out of that miserable dower house and into a far better situation.”

Elsbeth tossed her hands up. “We are worse off. You married beneath you, and you lost your place in Society, despite being the daughter of an earl. We were shunned for it.”

“No,” her mother said sharply. “We were shunned because of your father’s gambling debts and rakish reputation.”

“And what of me?” Elsbeth asked. “Did you even consider my opinion or my future when you married Alfred?”

Her mother crossed her arms over her chest. “I did this for us.”

“Well, I never asked you to,” Elsbeth snapped.

“Would you have preferred to stay in the dower house, scraping by and watching our servants leave one by one because we couldn’t afford to pay them?”

Elsbeth pressed her lips together. “Cousin Charles would have helped us.”

“Charles was busy managing a bankrupt estate,” her mother insisted. “He cared very little about what we did, much less about what we needed.”

“I disagree,” Elsbeth said. “Regardless, why does Alfred lock his desk drawers if he has nothing to hide?”

Her mother lifted her brow. “Perhaps because his stepdaughter has been rummaging through his things.”

“He doesn’t know that.”

With a shake of her head, her mother replied, “Alfred is much smarter than you give him credit for.”

Elsbeth reached for a piece of bread from the center of the table. “I do not want to live here. It is cold and miserable. This estate feels like a cage.”

“This is our home now,” her mother said firmly. “It has been six months since I married Alfred. You’d best get used to it.” Without another word, she left the dining room, leaving Elsbeth to stew in her frustration.

Reaching for a knife, Elsbeth began to butter her bread.

She knew she might appear ungrateful, but she couldn’t bring herself to pretend that all was well.

Something about her stepfather and their current circumstances felt off, and she was determined to uncover the truth, no matter how long it took.

As she chewed her bread, the butler stepped into the room. He gave a small bow before announcing, “Lady Margaret has arrived with her niece, Lady Eugenie, and her nephew, Lord Westcott.”

Elsbeth’s hand froze, her slice of bread hovering above her plate. “Did you say ‘Lord Westcott’?” she asked as she attempted to keep the dread out of her voice.

“I did, my lady,” the butler confirmed.

Drat.

What was she to do now? She couldn’t turn Lady Margaret away, not when the woman was one of the few members of Society still willing to call on their household. But the thought of meeting Lord Westcott again made her stomach churn. What if he recognized her?

No.

That was impossible. She had worn a mask and tried to conceal her voice. He had no way of knowing it had been her as the highwaywoman.

Placing the bread down onto her plate, Elsbeth said, “Please inform my mother that we have guests to attend to.”

Rising from her seat, Elsbeth smoothed her pale blue gown, hoping it would mask the unease threatening to overwhelm her.

Lord Westcott was just another guest. Nothing more.

So why was her heart racing at the thought of seeing him?

Surely it had nothing to do with his piercing eyes, chiseled jaw, or how impossibly handsome he had appeared even under the moonlight.

Pushing her thoughts aside, she headed towards the drawing room. She stepped inside and was immediately greeted by Lady Margaret’s warm, familiar smile.

Elsbeth rushed forward and embraced her. “Lady Margaret,” she said brightly. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Isn’t it, though?” Lady Margaret responded as she took a step back. “We were on our way to the village for some shopping but I thought it best to call upon you first.”

“I am so glad that you did,” Elsbeth said. Despite her apprehension, Lady Margaret’s presence was always a comfort.

Turning towards a blonde-haired young woman, Lady Margaret provided the introductions. “Allow me to introduce you to my niece, Lady Eugenie. She has just completed her first Season.”

Elsbeth offered a polite smile, though her heart gave a slight pang. “How fortunate you are,” she said. At twenty years old, she had missed her chance to enjoy a Season, the opportunity snatched away by her father’s death and their subsequent fall from Society .

Lady Eugenie’s eyes held a twinkle of merriment. “Yes, though according to my brother, I failed miserably since I did not secure a husband.”

Gesturing towards Lord Westcott, his disinterest evident in his posture, Lady Margaret said, “And this is my nephew, Lord Westcott.”

He bowed. “My lady.”

Elsbeth knew what was expected of her and dropped into a curtsy. “My lord,” she murmured.