Niles hesitated, carefully weighing his next words. “Have you tried being kind to him in return?”
Her head snapped towards him, her eyes narrowing slightly. “I don’t throw rocks at him, if that’s what you’re asking.”
A grin tugged at his lips. “That’s a start. But what I mean is, have you tried treating him as someone who might genuinely care for you, instead of assuming his motives are purely self-serving?”
Elsbeth fidgeted with her hands in her lap. “Your suggestion implies that I’ve been the one making things difficult.”
“I’m not saying Alfred doesn’t have his secrets,” Niles clarified. “He very well might. But what if his kindness isn’t a calculated move? What if it is genuine? Would it hurt to show him the same courtesy?”
Elsbeth’s expression grew guarded, but her eyes revealed a flicker of something. Was it regret? Annoyance? Uncertainty? He couldn’t quite place it.
“You’re asking me to do something I’m not sure I’m capable of,” she said at last.
“I’m asking you to consider the possibility,” Niles replied. “That’s all.”
For a moment, neither spoke. The only sound was the rhythmic clatter of the carriage wheels against the road. Elsbeth finally let out a soft sigh, her shoulders relaxing just slightly.
“I’ll think about it,” she murmured.
It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
12
Elsbeth sat at the dining table, absently pushing her food around on her plate with her fork. The clinking of cutlery and low murmur of conversation surrounded her, but she felt detached from it all.
Her thoughts lingered on her earlier conversation with Niles. His words had struck deeper than she cared to admit. He wasn’t the first to suggest she should be kinder to Alfred, but somehow, coming from him, it carried more weight. It gnawed at her. Could she truly soften towards the man who had so thoroughly disrupted her life?
She sighed quietly, longing for a simpler time when her father was alive, her family unbroken, and her world unmarred by scandal and suspicion. But the past was an unreachable dream, and the present demanded her attention.
Her mother’s voice broke through her reverie. “Dear, are you not hungry?”
Elsbeth set down her fork and knife, carefully masking her inner turmoil. “I do apologize. I was woolgathering.”
Charles, seated across the table, raised an eyebrow. “Were you thinking of Lord Westcott?”
“Heavens, no,” she replied a little too quickly. “I try not to think of him at all.”
Charles grew solemn. “Good, because I’m not entirely sure I trust him.”
Elsbeth had to fight the urge to laugh. If Charles only knew what Niles thought of him. Instead, she maintained her composure. “Lord Westcott is a good, honorable man. I trust him.”
“You’re far too trusting, Cousin,” Charles responded.
This time, she nearly did laugh. If only Charles knew how deeply she questioned nearly everyone in her life.
Alfred, seated at the head of the table, interjected. “Did you have an enjoyable time on your picnic with Lord Westcott?”
“Yes, I did,” Elsbeth replied.
Alfred nodded in approval. “It was a fine day for a picnic.”
The old Elsbeth would have retorted with a sharp comment, but she was trying to heed Niles’s advice and be kinder. It was an uphill battle.
Charles leaned forward slightly and asked, “What do you actually know about Lord Westcott?”
“I know that he has been kind to me,” she responded. She kept her expression guarded, unwilling to betray that she and Niles were working together to uncover Alfred’s secrets.
The footmen moved in to clear their plates, providing a temporary reprieve. But Charles wasn’t ready to let it go.
