Entering the dining room, Elsbeth found Alfred seated at the head of the table. He rose politely as they approached.
“Elsbeth,” he said. “Lord Bedford.”
“Please, call me Charles,” he corrected. “Family does not make use of titles.”
Alfred seemed pleased by Charles’s remark as he returned to his seat. “I’m afraid Isabella was not feeling well this morning and she requested a tray be sent to her room.”
“That is unfortunate,” Elsbeth said as she sat down.
Breakfast was served swiftly, but Elsbeth barely touched her plate. Her thoughts raced as she decided whether to broach the subject of the clippings. Finally, setting her fork down, she turned to Alfred.
“Did you know my father?” she asked.
Alfred looked momentarily surprised before answering. “I knewofhim but never had the privilege of an introduction. Our paths rarely crossed in Society.”
“His death must have been a shock to you,” she pressed.
“As much as it was to anyone,” Alfred replied.
“Some people have a morbid fascination with death,” Elsbeth said lightly, watching him closely.
Alfred frowned. “I suppose some do, but I’ve never understood it. It seems a waste of one’s time.”
“Have you ever visited the site of a death?” she asked pointedly. “It’s quite the trend in London.”
Alfred’s frown deepened. “I find such things distasteful. If you’ll excuse me, I have work to attend to.”
Pushing back his chair, Alfred left the room, leaving Elsbeth to wonder if his measured answers were as innocent as they seemed or carefully constructed lies.
“Do you want to explain what that was about?” Charles asked, his tone more accusatory than curious.
“Nothing,” Elsbeth said quickly, hoping to dismiss the subject before her cousin asked more questions.
Charles arched a skeptical brow. “Try again, Cousin.”
Elsbeth sighed, lowering her voice. “Did you know that my mother and Alfred grew up in the same village?”
“I did not,” Charles admitted, leaning back slightly, “but why does that matter?”
“Doesn’t it seem… unusual to you?” she pressed, watching his reaction carefully.
Charles chuckled. “Not at all. If anything, it explains why they married so quickly after your mother came out of mourning.”
“Does it?” she asked, her tone laced with doubt. “I found clippings from the newssheets about my father’s death in Alfred’s desk.”
“Why were you searching his desk?”
“That is not the point?—”
He cut her off. “Then what is the point?”
With a glance over her shoulder, she lowered her voice. “My stepfather is keeping secrets and I intend to discover what they are.”
The humor drained from Charles’s face, replaced with a serious expression. “Why can’t you just be happy for your mother?”
The question landed heavily, stirring guilt deep in Elsbeth’s chest. “It’s not that?—”
“Then what is it?” he interrupted.
