“Exactly,” Elsbeth said. “It is not the proof I was looking for, but it is something. Isn’t it?” Clara leaned back in her seat. “Perhaps it’s just what it appears to be. Mere curiosity about your father’s passing. It doesn’t mean he’s hiding anything.”
“Then why lock them away?” Elsbeth countered.
“There’s nothing illegal about owning newssheet clippings.”
“It’s still… odd,” Elsbeth insisted, pulling down the sleeve of her pale green gown. Her movements were sharp, betraying her frustration.
Clara gave her a knowing look. “There’s no shame in admitting you’re wrong, my lady.”
“But I’m not wrong,” Elsbeth snapped. “I just need more time.”
“I fear time won’t change anything.”
Rising abruptly, Elsbeth crossed the room to her dressing table, picked up the small key, and handed it to Clara. “Please return this to Alfred’s valet.”
Clara accepted the key with a faint sigh. “I will, but I wish you would let this go.”
“I can’t. Not now,” Elsbeth murmured.
The feeling of disappointment was palpable in the room. She understood why Clara felt the way she did, but Elsbeth knew in her heart that her stepfather was not the man he was pretending to be. Why could no one see it but her?
“Will there be anything else, my lady?”
Elsbeth shook her head. “No, thank you.”
Once her lady’s maid departed from the room, she walked over to the window. Niles was helping her fight this battle… for now. She suspected he would stop when she couldn’t find further proof about her stepfather.
Her stomach grumbled and she decided it would be best togo down for breakfast. She dreaded nearly every interaction with her stepfather. He would smile, act cordial, but she knew it was just an act.
She departed from her bedchamber and the sight of Charles in the corridor brought a smile to her lips. “Good morning, Cousin.”
Charles returned the smile, though it lacked its usual warmth. “Good morning,” he said. “I trust that you slept well?”
“I did,” Elsbeth lied as she noticed the deep-set shadows beneath his eyes. “Although, I suspect you cannot say the same.”
Charles exhaled heavily, raking a hand through his already disheveled hair. “I did not. I couldn’t stop thinking about how I almost shot you. It kept replaying over and over in my mind.” His voice wavered slightly before he steadied it. “I want you to know how terribly sorry I am, Elsbeth.”
She placed a reassuring hand on his arm. “It is all right, Cousin. Consider it forgotten.”
Charles’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You are most gracious,” he murmured, though there was a stiffness to his tone, as if he struggled to believe she could forgive him so easily.
Together, they made their way down the grand staircase, the rich mahogany railing cool beneath her fingertips. Charles glanced at her arm as they reached the last step. “How’s the wound?”
“Sticky,” she said with a wry smile. “Clara applied honey to it this morning.”
Charles nodded approvingly. “An old remedy, but an effective one.” He sneezed abruptly, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket.
“Are you catching cold?” Elsbeth asked.
“Hardly. I slept with my window open,” Charles admitted, dabbing his nose. “The fresh air is worth a sneeze or two.”
“My mother would scold you for such recklessness,” Elsbeth teased.
Charles chuckled and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small tin. “I’ve been taking these lozenges. They work wonders. Care to try one?”
She hesitated before accepting a lozenge and placing it in her mouth. The faint taste of rosewater was surprisingly pleasant. “They’re quite good,” she admitted.
“They are, indeed,” Charles replied with a grin. “My cook prepared a fresh batch for me before I left.”
