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 didnotmarry.”
“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.
