“No, you aren’t,” Clara replied. “Your mother has requestedyour presence at breakfast. We should get you dressed for the day.”
Pulling the pillow away, Elsbeth sat up in bed. “Do you think I am angry?”
“Right now?” Clara teased, moving to the wardrobe.
“No, in general.”
Clara pulled out a pale blue gown, holding it up appraisingly. “You have seemed rather unhappy since you left Town, but that is to be expected, given the circumstances.”
“I am unhappy,” Elsbeth admitted, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. “I don’t want to be here.”
Walking over to the settee, Clara draped the gown over the back. “And yet, here you are. Unfortunately, you have little choice in the matter.”
“I know, and that is what is so infuriating.”
Clara gestured towards the chair by the dressing table. “If you want any sympathy, you won’t find it here. You are beautiful and rich. Meanwhile, I scrape by to send most of my wages to my mother. Not that I am complaining…”
Elsbeth cut her off with a faint smile. “You are not, and I would never accuse you of such a thing. You know I want you to speak freely around me.”
Clara returned her smile. “Then sit, my lady. Let me work my magic.”
She complied, settling into the chair. As Clara began brushing her hair, Elsbeth said, “I need my stepfather’s key to his desk drawers. Once I have it, I can uncover his secrets and expose him to my mother.”
“And then what?” Clara asked, pausing mid-brush.
“Then I will be proven right.”
Clara resumed her work, her movements steady. “Pardon me for saying so, but your mother seems blissfully happy with Mr. Stockton. Do you truly want to ruin that?”
“What else am I to do?” Elsbeth countered. “I know mystepfather is hiding things. Why else would he lock his desk drawers?”
“To keep you out of them,” Clara replied.
“I am careful,” Elsbeth insisted. “He doesn’t know what I am up to.”
Clara pinned her hair with precision, then stepped around to face her. “What if your mother told him? She is completely devoted to him.”
Elsbeth had to concede that Clara had a point. Her mother was so besotted with Alfred that she might betray Elsbeth’s confidence. “You are right. I will have to be more careful about what I share with her.”
“And more secrets are the answer?” Clara pressed.
“What choice do I have?”
Clara sighed. “You could choose to live your life and give Mr. Stockton the benefit of the doubt.”
“I can’t.”
Clara’s disappointment was palpable. “This highwaywoman scheme could get you in trouble—or worse.”
“My pistol isn’t even loaded.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Clara said. “No one knows your intentions when you point it at them.”
Elsbeth rose from the chair and removed her dressing gown. “I just need that key. Once I have it, all of this will end.”
“I beg of you to reconsider,” Clara said. “You should be in bed at the late hour, not robbing coaches by gunpoint. You were lucky with Lord Westcott. Don’t risk it.”
As Elsbeth dressed, she grew silent, retreating into her thoughts. Clara’s words weighed heavily on her, but how could she stop now? If Alfred was hiding something, she had to know. He was the one in the wrong, not her.
