Her mother seemed unconcerned. “He had a meeting in the village.”
“At this hour?” Elsbeth pressed, her eyes darting to the darkened windows. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silvery glow over the gardens. It was late for business, even for a merchant.
Eugenie interjected. “Did you know this village is notorious for smuggling?” She paused, catching the startled looks her comment garnered. “Not that I am accusing Mr. Stockton of any such thing,” she added hastily. “It’s just an interesting fact.”
Her mother’s lips pursed as she straightened in her seat. “My husband is not a smuggler, Eugenie,” she said firmly, though her voice remained polite. “Sometimes his ships dock later than expected, and he is obliged to meet with associates at odd hours. It’s the nature of his business.”
Elsbeth tightened her grip on her teacup, the warmth seeping into her palms as her thoughts churned. Her mother’s words were plausible enough, yet they settled uneasily in her mind.
Leaning back in her seat, Elsbeth tried to appear composed, though her resolve was hardening. She would see for herself what her stepfather was up to during these mysterious meetings. Answers didn’t come from sitting idly by.
The moon was high in the sky as Niles approached the stables on Elsbeth’s property. He had seen the determined look on her face earlier and he had a feeling that she was going to do something intolerably stupid.
The faint flicker of a lantern spilled from the stables. Hepushed open the heavy wooden door, its hinges creaking softly in protest.
Inside, the scent of hay and leather was heavy in the air. A white-haired groom sat on a worn chair, his fingers curling around the handle of a pitchfork resting nearby. The man’s eyes narrowed as he straightened his posture.
“What do you want?” the groom demanded, his voice sharp and wary.
Niles raised his hands, palms out in a gesture of peace. “I mean no harm.”
The groom’s grip on the pitchfork tightened. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
Niles took a measured step forward, the crunch of hay beneath his boots filling the silence. “I’m here to ensure Lady Elsbeth doesn’t do something she’ll regret.”
The man’s expression softened slightly, though his grip on the pitchfork didn’t waver. “Who are you?”
“I am Lord Westcott,” Niles introduced himself with a disarming smile.
The groom’s eyes darkened, and he rose from his chair with surprising speed for his age. “You’re the reason Lady Elsbeth was shot.”
Niles flinched but held his ground. “That was a misunderstanding,” he rushed to explain.
“A misunderstanding that nearly cost her life,” the groom snapped, his voice laced with accusation.
“I had no knowledge of the constable’s presence,” Niles said. “I was only there to speak with her.”
The groom scrutinized him for a long moment, the weight of his judgment palpable. “Well, as you can see, Lady Elsbeth isn’t here?—”
The door swung open before he could finish, and Elsbeth slipped inside. She froze the moment her gaze landed on Niles.
“Lord Westcott?” she asked, her voice a mix of surprise and suspicion. “What are you doing here?”
Niles crossed his arms, his expression as stern as he could muster. “I might ask you the same question.”
Elsbeth shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. “I came to visit my horse,” she offered weakly.
His brow arched in disbelief. “The truth, if you please.”
She hesitated, then sighed. “I’m going to the village to see who my stepfather is meeting with.”
“And you thought it wise to go alone?” Niles pressed, his voice rising slightly. “Do you truly think it is safe for a young woman to wander the village in the dark?”
“I am perfectly capable,” she retorted, though her tone lacked conviction.
“I don’t doubt that,” he countered. “But I thought we agreed we would work together.”
Elsbeth winced, guilt flickering across her features. “We did. I’m sorry.”
