Chapter 4 Unraveling Threads

The next few days were a blur of activity as preparations for the northern delegation's arrival unfolded around her. Servants rushed through the estate, nobles whispered about impending negotiations, and the Duke seemed to be everywhere at once, overseeing every detail.

For her part, she spent most of her time playing the role of Lady Eleanor as best she could. Every conversation felt like walking a tightrope-one wrong word, one slip of the tongue, and everything could unravel. But as she moved through the intricacies of this world, one thing became increasingly clear: Lady Eleanor had been more than just a noblewoman.

She wasn't simply a passive observer in court politics; she had been a force to be reckoned with. Every interaction she had in the last few days confirmed it. Servants deferred to her with more respect than they showed even the Duke, and members of the court sought her out for advice, treating her like a queen in all but title. Whoever Eleanor had been, she had wielded enormous power.

Yet, for all her attempts to blend in, one question gnawed at her constantly: Why had this happened to her? Why had she, a modern woman with no connection to this world, been thrust into this life? And why now?

She had no answers. All she could do was keep searching, hoping that somewhere amidst the opulence and danger of the court, she would find a clue-something that would explain how she had come to be here and, more importantly, how she could go back.

It was late afternoon, and she had just retired to Eleanor's private quarters to gather her thoughts when a knock at the door pulled her from her reverie. The door creaked open, and the familiar figure of the maid, Alice, stepped inside, carrying a tray of tea.

"Is everything to your liking, my lady?" Alice asked, her tone respectful but cautious. It was the same look Alice had been giving her since the accident-curiosity mixed with concern, as if she, too, sensed something was different about Lady Eleanor.

She nodded absently, watching Alice as the maid set the tray down. "Tell me, Alice," she began slowly, "what was I like before the fall?"

Alice froze, her eyes widening slightly as she straightened up. "My lady?"

"I mean," she continued, choosing her words carefully, "I've been feeling... different lately. And I'm wondering how much of it is because of the accident."

The maid hesitated, clearly unsure of how much she should say. "Well... you've always been sharp, my lady. Sharper than most. You command the household with grace, but also with a firmness that even the Duke respects. Some of the nobles... they fear you."

"Fear me?"

Alice nodded, looking down at her hands. "You've always had a way with words, my lady. You could cut a person down without ever raising your voice. You know everyone's secrets, and you use them to protect your own. Some say that's why the Duke married you. Not for love, but for power."

The words hit her like a slap. She had suspected as much-suspected that Lady Eleanor was more calculating than kind, more feared than loved-but hearing it spoken aloud made it real. The version of herself she was now playing wasn't just involved in the court's politics; she had been the court's politics. She controlled it, manipulated it, and wielded it like a weapon.

No wonder people had been watching her so closely since the accident. They were waiting for Lady Eleanor to return to her old self. But the truth was, she could never be that woman, no matter how hard she tried. She wasn't a manipulator, a schemer, or a power-hungry noblewoman.

And yet, she had to pretend to be.

"Thank you, Alice," she said softly, her mind racing. "You've been very helpful."

Alice curtsied and left the room, closing the door quietly behind her. She sat in silence for a long moment, absorbing the weight of her newfound understanding. Lady Eleanor had been feared, yes, but that fear had given her power-power that now lay in her hands.

But with power came enemies. And if Eleanor had used secrets to protect herself, then it was likely others were using them against her. She couldn't afford to stay in the dark much longer. If she was going to survive this world-and find a way home-she needed to uncover whatever secrets had kept Lady Eleanor alive.

With renewed determination, she rose from her seat and began pacing the room. There had to be something here, something that could help her understand the life she had been thrust into. She scanned the room, her eyes landing on a small writing desk tucked in the corner.

She approached it cautiously, opening the drawers one by one. At first, they contained nothing but ordinary items-a quill, parchment, sealing wax-but then she found it: a leather-bound journal, worn from years of use. It was small, easily concealed, and had no markings on the cover.

Her heart pounded as she opened it.

The pages were filled with careful, precise handwriting-Lady Eleanor's handwriting. Skimming through the entries, she quickly realized this wasn't just a personal journal. It was a record of court dealings, alliances, and betrayals. Secrets. It was all here, meticulously documented. Names, dates, conversations. Everything Eleanor had used to keep herself in power.

One entry, in particular, caught her eye, dated just a week before the accident:

"The northern delegation will arrive soon. The Duke trusts them too easily, but I know better. Something is brewing. If I am to survive what's coming, I must be prepared. There are forces at work that even I cannot control. I must tread carefully."

She read the words again, a chill running down her spine. Something had been coming for Lady Eleanor. A danger she had sensed but hadn't fully understood. Was the accident that had thrown her into this body truly an accident? Or had it been part of a larger plot-one that Eleanor hadn't lived long enough to stop?

Suddenly, it felt like the walls of the room were closing in on her. The marriage alliance, the northern delegation, the Duke-it was all connected, and Lady Eleanor had been at the center of it. Now, she was at the center of it, and the stakes were even higher than she'd realized.

With trembling hands, she closed the journal and hid it back in the drawer.

Someone wanted Eleanor gone. And if she wasn't careful, they would come for her next.