E lsbeth stared out of the coach window, the passing scenery blurring as her thoughts raced.

Her heart felt heavy with doubt and fear.

Could her mother truly be involved in Alfred’s secrets?

Worse yet, could she have had something to do with her father’s death?

The idea was unfathomable, but the questions gnawed at her.

No.

It couldn’t be. Her mother loved Elsbeth’s father. Didn’t she?

Charles broke the silence beside her with a disgruntled sigh. “This is foolishness, Elsbeth. We should turn the coach around right now.”

Elsbeth tore her gaze from the window and met his gaze. “I need to know what my mother is doing with Alfred in the village. I can’t ignore this.”

Charles frowned. “Why? For heaven’s sake, this is your mother we’re talking about. She doesn’t have a single nefarious bone in her body.”

Niles shifted in his seat, his calm voice cutting through the tension. “If that’s true, then there’s no harm in following them, is there? ”

Elsbeth gave a small nod of agreement. “Exactly. If she has nothing to hide, then all we’ve wasted is a little time.”

Charles threw up his hands in exasperation. “Fine! I see I’m outnumbered. But for the record, I think this is a terrible idea.”

“Duly noted,” Elsbeth said.

The coach came to a halt, and a footman stepped forward to open the door, offering his hand to assist Elsbeth. She descended gracefully onto the cobbled street and immediately spotted Alfred’s coach parked farther ahead in front of the coaching inn.

“There,” she said, pointing. “It seems Alfred has another meeting at the coaching inn.”

“Or maybe they’re just getting a drink,” Charles muttered.

Elsbeth arched an eyebrow. “Do you really think my mother is sharing a pint with my stepfather?”

Charles shrugged, his frown deepening. “Perhaps not.”

“Come on,” she said, gesturing for them to follow her.

She led the way to a narrow alley beside the inn, stopping at a grime-covered window.

Peering inside, her eyes scanned the room until they landed on three figures: her mother, Alfred, and someone she instantly recognized as the blond-haired man who had met with her stepfather on two separate occasions.

Niles came to stand beside her. “What do you suppose they’re discussing?”

Elsbeth’s voice was tight as she answered, “I don’t know, but it’s clear my mother is aware of Alfred’s secrets.”

Charles, who had hung back, stepped closer, his tone grim. “I know that man.”

Elsbeth turned to him. “How?”

“I saw him leaving the coroner’s office when I went to speak about your father’s death,” Charles revealed. “I remember him because he had a pistol tucked into his waistband. It struck me as odd. ”

Niles’s brow furrowed. “Do you think he’s the one who threatened the coroner?”

“It seems likely,” Charles replied. “But the real question is, why would Alfred go to such lengths to silence the coroner?”

Elsbeth felt her frustration mounting. “None of this makes sense. If my father’s death was truly an accident, why investigate it? Why all these secrets?”

Niles’s voice lowered, his words measured. “What if Alfred killed your father and is now covering it up? We overheard him telling that man that if Charles kept asking questions, it could get him killed. What if he’s willing to silence anyone who gets too close to the truth?”

Elsbeth shook her head. “Alfred may have his faults, but I don’t think he’s a murderer. What would he gain from killing my father?”

Niles hesitated. “He could marry your mother.”

“But if that’s the case, then my mother is complicit in this. What could she possibly have to gain?” Elsbeth asked.

Charles spoke up, his tone tinged with sorrow. “Freedom, perhaps. Your father wasn’t the man you thought he was, Elsbeth. He hurt your mother. Often.”

Elsbeth’s breath caught in her throat. “No. That’s impossible. My father would never lay a hand on her.”

Charles’s expression was somber. “I wish it weren’t true, but she confided in me. He made sure the bruises were hidden, but the pain was there. She even told me, at his funeral, that a part of her felt relieved that he was gone.”

Tears stung Elsbeth’s eyes. “Why didn’t she tell me? I would have believed her.”

“She wanted to shield you,” Charles revealed. “She thought she was doing the honorable thing by preserving his memory.”

Elsbeth’s voice wavered. “Everything I thought I knew about my father… it was all a lie. ”

Niles placed a steadying hand on her arm. “Are you all right?”

“No,” she whispered, her gaze locking with his. “I’ve been such a fool.”

“You didn’t know,” Niles said softly. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“But I should have known,” Elsbeth insisted. “I was so caught up in the comforts of London, the balls, the gowns, the endless distractions... I failed to see what was right in front of me. I failed to see my own mother’s pain.”

Charles stepped forward. “That’s exactly what your mother wanted, Elsbeth. She wanted to shield you from his cruelty.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she hastily wiped it away. “I could have protected her,” she said, her voice trembling with regret. “I should have been there for her.”

“There was nothing you could have done,” Charles interjected, his tone resolute. “Your mother bore her pain alone because she didn’t want you to carry that burden.”

The walls of the narrow alley seemed to close in around her, the air thick and suffocating. Her chest tightened, and she struggled to draw a proper breath. Without saying another word, Elsbeth pushed past them, stepping out into the open street.

The crisp air hit her face as she stopped on the pavement, drawing in deep breaths to steady herself.

She closed her eyes, ignoring the curious stares of passersby, and willed the tears to stop.

But they came anyway, a reminder of her helplessness.

When her mother had needed her most, she had been blind to her suffering.

Blissfully unaware of the horrors her mother endured behind closed doors.

How could her father—her own father—have been so cruel? She had known he was distant, inattentive, even stern at times, but never had she imagined the monster lurking beneath his carefully curated facade.

And she had fallen for it .

The sound of footsteps behind her broke through her thoughts. She didn’t need to look to know it was Niles. “We should get you home,” he said, his hand brushing her arm with a tenderness that made her ache all the more.

“I think that’s a good idea,” she murmured, her voice barely audible as she fought to steady herself. The last thing she needed was to fall apart completely, especially not here in the open street where prying eyes could witness her vulnerability.

Niles stayed close as he guided her towards the waiting coach, his hand hovering near her arm in case she faltered.

His presence was steady and reassuring, but his silence was what she appreciated most. She could feel his gaze, filled with a concern he wasn’t voicing, and for that, she was grateful.

Pity was the last thing she wanted—or needed—right now.

As she reached the coach and placed a hand on the door, a familiar voice cut through the air. “Elsbeth.”

Her heart sank. She turned to see her mother descending the steps of the coaching inn, her hand resting lightly on Alfred’s arm. Her expression was curious, but there was a glimmer of concern in her eyes.

“Whatever are you doing here?” her mother asked.

Panic surged through Elsbeth. She opened her mouth, scrambling for a believable lie, but her thoughts were a tangled mess.

Before she could stammer out a response, Niles stepped forward, his voice calm and composed.

“We were just doing a bit of shopping,” he said smoothly, gesturing towards the general direction of the shops.

Her mother’s expression softened, and a smile touched her lips. “How lovely,” she said, clearly pleased by the explanation. “I shall see you at home, then.”

“Yes, home,” Elsbeth echoed.

Her mother’s smile faltered, and her brow knitted with concern. “Are you feeling all right, my dear? ”

Elsbeth forced herself to nod, her throat tight. “I am,” she said quickly. Too quickly.

Her mother’s frown deepened. “Perhaps we should send for the doctor. You look pale.”

“There is no need,” Elsbeth replied, her voice firmer this time, though her hands trembled slightly. She clasped them tightly to keep them still.

Alfred interrupted. “Leave poor Elsbeth be, my love. I’m sure she would tell you if something were amiss. Wouldn’t you, Elsbeth?”

His gaze locked on hers. Elsbeth felt a chill run down her spine, but she forced herself to meet his stare, refusing to let him see her unease. “Yes, of course I would,” she lied, her voice steady despite the turmoil churning inside her.

Her mother looked between them. “Very well,” she said with a nod. “But do take care, Elsbeth. I shall see you at dinner.”

Elsbeth watched as her mother and Alfred walked away, their heads close as they murmured to one another. She felt Niles’s hand lightly brush her elbow, guiding her into the coach. Once inside, the door closed behind her, and the sound of the bustling street was muffled.

Niles’s steady voice broke through her turmoil. “I don’t believe for a moment that our explanation fooled Alfred.”

She turned to meet his gaze. “I agree.”

From across the coach, Charles groaned, rubbing his temples. “This entire ordeal is madness. We should forget the soiree and leave for my country estate at first light tomorrow.”

“That’s absurd—” Elsbeth began, but Niles interrupted her.

“I agree with your cousin,” he said firmly.

Her brows shot up in surprise. “You do?”

Niles shifted slightly in his seat, his eyes holding compassion. “I don’t believe it’s safe for you here, Elsbeth. Whatever is happening, whatever Alfred is involved in, it’s dangerous. Bedford’s estate is the safer option. For now.”

Charles folded his arms, smirking faintly. “Well, there’s a first—Westcott agreeing with me.”