Beatrice had barely settled into her thoughts when a movement outside caught her attention. She rose from the sofa and moved to the window.
A carriage was pulling away from the estate. She wasn't told that they had guests inside. Looking more closing, she saw an unfamiliar crest on the carriage- but it wasn't entirely unrecognisable.
Burdois Family's Crest.
The new Viscount...? Herrace...how does he know him?
Her heart dropped in her stomach. What were the chances...?
Beatrice took a few steps back from the window. She tried to take in deep breaths to make sense of what was happening. What?
Her ears started ringing. Why was it so loud? No — it wasn't loud at all. The room was silent. It was her. Her own pulse hammering so hard she could hear it. Think. Think. Why would Herrace know the Viscount? There was no reason. There was no way—
Her body froze.
It didn't matter how he knew him. What mattered was that the Viscount had been inside this estate, had sat across from her brother, had shared tea with him — all without her knowledge. To everyone watching, the message was already clear. Regardless of birth order, regardless of law, the question of succession had already been answered in their minds. And even if she had known about the visit, what could she have done? Walked in and reminded them of her existence? Herrace would have smiled that smile of his and let her standing position speak for itself — thin connections, weaker backing, and a title she was fighting for alone.
It was as if she had been slapped hard across the face. No — it was worse than that.
Her pride had been struck.
She dragged herself back to the sofa and sat down, her head in her hands. What had she actually done? Nothing. She had been attending tea parties, picked up a street child, written a letter and waited. That was it. That was the sum of everything she had done while her brother had been building something far stronger in plain sight; he even prepared her a candidate list of suitable marriage partners. It was her own arrogance, thinking that her plan would work out one way or another, deluding herself that she will it make it so.
The weight of reality was crushing her.
If she was right, Herrace could use the Marquess of Juste — the current acting Lord of the Cornwell County — as a bridge to strike a deal with the new Viscount for trade and business that involved mana stones. The Marquess and the Viscount both ran in the same circles and it was most probably the Marquess himself who introduced him to Herrace. Wasn't this outright a display of favor when there was a dispute for succession?
Beatrice wanted to rip her own hair out because of her incompetence. In contrast to her racing mind, she sat quietly on the sofa, watching the embers glowing inside the fireplace- so still that she didn't hear the knock on her study door. Nor the second one. It was only when Lisa cracked the door open and let herself in that Beatrice registered another presence in the room.
Lisa hovered near the entrance with a letter in her hands, unsure whether to speak or simply leave it on the desk and go. Beatrice sat motionless, her eyes fixed on nothing, unblinking.
"Miss Beatrice."
Nothing.
"Miss Beatrice." She tried again, slightly louder this time.
Beatrice blinked. Once. Slowly, her gaze shifted from the fireplace to Lisa standing at the door. She looked at her for a moment as though she had forgotten Lisa existed.
"What is it."
Not a question. Just words, flat and tired.
Lisa, slightly taken aback, spoke in a level voice, "Miss, a letter has arrived from Earl Everleigh."
That seemed to wake Beatrice from the stupor she was in.
"Bring it here." Beatrice said in a cold voice.
Lisa crossed the room quickly and handed over the letter. She excused herself without being asked, slipping out quietly and pulling the door shut behind her. On her way out, she found herself wondering what could have happened to displease the Young Miss so much after what had seemed like such a pleasant outing.
Beatrice carefully opened the letter and began to read the contents.
Miss Cornwell,
It was with great pleasure that I received your letter. Your parents were dear to me, and I regret deeply that circumstances prevented my attendance at their funeral. I trust you have been managing the affairs of the household with the composure that has always distinguished the Cornwell name.
I will indeed be attending the Marchioness Hodgson's banquet. Should the occasion permit, I would welcome the opportunity to speak with you.
With regards,
Earl Verdante Everleigh
The letter was formal. Warm enough to be mistaken for something more, if one wasn't paying attention. Beatrice, whose spirit was already at its lowest, felt the careful distance in every line.
A scoff escaped her. The Gods had a sense of humour, it seemed.
She had asked for a private audience — the letter didn't mention it once. A denial, plain and simple, just dressed up nicely. And to make it worse, she couldn't even push back. She had to wait for the banquet, hope he found the time, hope he decided she was worth talking to.
His terms. Entirely on his terms.
He was testing her.
She folded the letter back and put it aside, her movements steady.
Resting her head back, she exhaled slowly. A wave of calm washed over her, the panic from before had burned itself out, leaving something colder in its place. There was only one thought that remained-
Do I really have to play it nice?
She had everything to lose. But was any of it worth it — the careful steps, the measured words, the patience she had been forcing on herself? Had any of it moved her even an inch forward?
No.
Her eyes darkened.
She was doing none of that. Not anymore.