Elsbeth’s lips tightened. “Everyone is hiding something.”
Niles came to a stop, turning to face her. “Is it so hard to believe that your stepfather might not be hiding anything? That this suspicion might be misplaced?”
Her eyes burned with defiance. “Then why would he have all those clippings about my father’s death?”
“I can’t answer that,” Niles replied. “But there might be a simple explanation. Perhaps one you haven’t considered yet.”
Elsbeth’s expression was a mix of frustration and doubt. “No, I am right about my stepfather. I have to be.”
Her voice held an edge of desperation, and Niles studied her for a moment, noticing the tension in her shoulders and the fire in her eyes. She wasn’t just trying to convince him, but rather she was trying to convince herself.
“Elsbeth…” he began, choosing his words carefully, “I understand why you feel this way. But sometimes, our emotions can cloud our judgment.”
Her eyes snapped to his. “This isn’t just a feeling. He’s hiding something, I know it.”
Niles sighed. “And if you’re wrong?”
She flinched at his words, her gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before rising again. “I can’t afford to be wrong,” she whispered. “If I am, then everything I’ve done… everything I’ve risked… would have been for nothing.”
Her vulnerability struck a chord within him. Niles couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy, but alongside it was a growing unease. Was this pursuit of the truth truly worth the potential cost?
“You’re certain about this, then?” he asked.
She lifted her chin with stubborn resolve. “I am.”
Niles hesitated, glancing down the corridor towards the dining room where the rest of the party waited. He had promised to help her, and he was a man of his word. But doubt gnawed at the edges of his conviction.
Was this truly the right course of action? Or were they barreling towards a truth that might shatter more than it would heal?
“Very well,” he finally said. “I gave you my word, and I intend to keep it. But promise me one thing, Elsbeth.”
Her brow furrowed. “What is that?”
“If it turns out you’re wrong—if your stepfather’s secrets aren’t what you think they are—promise me you’ll let this go. Promise me you’ll allow yourself to move on.”
Her lips parted as if to argue, but she stopped herself. After a long, tense moment, she nodded. “Fine,” she said. “But I won’t be wrong.”
Niles didn’t reply, but as they resumed walking, a shadow of doubt lingered in his mind. Was he helping her uncover the truth or merely enabling a dangerous obsession?
10
The early sunlight spilled gently into her bedchamber as Elsbeth sat beside Clara, who was carefully dabbing honey onto her wound. The faint stickiness of the salve was the least of her concerns. Her thoughts were tangled with fragments of the conversation she’d had with Niles the night before.
What if I’m wrong about Alfred?
What if I’ve been the problem all along?
She quickly dismissed the idea as absurd, but the doubt lingered. Alfred’s collection of newssheet clippings about her father’s death had rattled her. Why keep them locked away? Why not discard them altogether? It was suspicious, wasn’t it?
Clara’s voice broke through her spiraling thoughts. “The honey should prevent infection,” she said, securing the bandage. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” Elsbeth replied absently, her gaze fixed on the corner of the room.
“You seem rather distracted, my lady,” Clara observed.
“I am,” she admitted. “I used the key you gave me to unlockmy stepfather’s desk and all I found was newssheet clippings about my father’s death.”
“That is strange.”
