Teasing your wicked heart

With a sharp intake of breath, a high-pitched, tight voice stated, "Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday," and went on, "Friday and Saturday."

She placed her thick, tiny fingers on her face, began to count, going through each day again, and discovered that there was one missing.

She sighed in frustration and went through the entire process again, the final word barely escaping her lips but not offering her the comfort of knowing that she had finally remembered the solution.

The governess gave a grin. "Look up," she continued, pointing to a ceiling painted yellow and adorned with a detailed white woodcarving that appeared to resemble a sun. Its beams reached out to the massively lined square frames that encased the hardwood panel.

"Sunday," she said, her eyes expanding and her lips quivering as she finally enjoyed the sense of achievement.

How could Sunday slip her mind? Monday was the nicest day of the week, and Sunday arrived before Monday.

Alright. "What is today?" asked the governess. As the nurse firmly pinned the girl's hair to the top of her head, the girl wriggled in her chair.

"Declaration of the day, Missy," the governess reminded the young child, raising her eyebrow slightly when she didn't respond immediately.

She let out a frustrated sigh and started to recite, her high-pitched voice resonating through the nursery's huge, empty halls. "The week consists of seven days. Monday is here, and I'm glad today," she said, pausing to hum the last few sounds of her phrase.

"Tomorrow is Tuesday, and it will be better because God is good, God is great, and I love Him," she said, her mouth moving effortlessly through the next few sentences. "Yesterday was Sunday, and it was great." With a clearly proud smile, she completed the declaration as instructed by the governess.

Her governess was a mature, well-mannered woman who never raised her voice much when teaching the young child. The only child of the Earl, Lady Sarah Jane, was joyous in every manner. She ate her meals quickly and rushed into the deserted hallways, always eager to get on to the next thing that piqued her interest. But all of them were enchanted by the tiny girl's boundless charms, even as the irritated housekeeper cleared up after her mischievous antics.

In the drafty house, her words blended with gentle hitches and hums, warming their hearts. She seemed to be the only one hearing the music, so she danced along with it. Even if the mansion could have the potential to lower people's spirits, all it took was one sound-her tiny, thumping feet echoing through the rooms-for every last bit of the mild-mannered, mature governess to break into a silly smile.

Everyone in the house had agreed that the previous week had been dismal.

Even if he did end up flat on the ground after his wild Arabian horse proved to be untamable, Lord Rosenberg had taken to bed for more than a few days, and it was not like him to be indisposed for so long.

It was a regular occurrence.

The Earl loved the wild things and fought to tame them with his hands and feet, finding delight in being able to control them and make them conform to his will. He chose to spend more time outside than inside the drafty house since it made him think of his late wife, the mother of the young child, who had managed to bring him to tears throughout their brief marriage. She gave birth with difficulty, which ultimately led to her premature death, and the widower had withdrawn from the world to grieve in order to protect his beautiful daughter from any mistreatment.

Every Monday, the Earl would give his only daughter a few hours to spend showing her about the home and making up elaborate tales. This particular Monday was Monday. However, the Earl was not in the mood for breakfast, and her well-mannered adult governess, Miss Elizabeth, made a great effort to divert the six-year-old girl from her father's bedroom. As long as the earl had not improved, the doctor felt it would be safer to keep people away from him because it was unclear if he was sick with anything else that could spread.

The governess had told Lady Sarah Jane that rain was predicted for that afternoon, which would have prevented their planned tour of the gardens. "Would you like us to continue our tour?" she asked quietly.

"However, it's Monday," she answered.

Even though she was beaming, the child seemed fairly devoid of energy due to the drafty and nearly empty estate, despite her brief remarks.

The governess gave a nod. She understood the child's meaning.

Though it seemed vital to carry on with Lady Sarah Jane's schedule as if nothing strange had happened, Miss Elizabeth never made her do anything that she had not wanted to.

As they went down the hall, they noticed the girl's head nodding inquisitively in the direction of the painting room. The majority of the Earl and his daughter's afternoons were spent there, and the young girl was undoubtedly missing her father because she had missed last Monday's session.

The skies were clearer, and the clouds were puffy in the morning. As she did every morning, Lady Sarah Jane got out of bed and looked for her governess to deliver the proclamation of the day.

She was very happy today because of the weather. She had anticipated that her father would get out of bed and greet her at breakfast when the sun decided to come out of its hiding place, even though she had no idea what had made her father sick.

And the sun shone bright and promise-fulfilling today.

She didn't care that it wasn't Monday; they would be having their lesson, and it would be a great Tuesday. When they would go on that protracted, heightened walk in the painting room, she would name all seven Earls Rosenberg to her father. She would tell her mother all the governess had taught her when they went to see the enormous painting of her mother, which, she was certain, could fit 10 children. They would be content as she added amounts and sang songs.

However, Miss Elizabeth's bedroom door was already open, and no one was visible when Sarah Jane arrived.

"Hello?" She ran along the corridor.

"Elizabeth, miss! She stopped short of saying, "It's Tuesday," before climbing the stairs.

"Miss Elizabeth?"

Her Nurse Harpers raced up to her, scooped her up in her arms, and ran back down to the entry hall just before they reached the platform in the centre of the stairs.

Tuesday came around, bright and brilliant, the day after Monday.

However, the Earl left that day, leaving Sarah Jane to detest Tuesdays more than rainy days-more than anything.

--------–-

With a nasty curse, "Bloody piece of shoe," she walked slowly and pulled one leg at a time towards the moist hearth.

With a mixture of remorse and nasty intent, Lady Sarah Jane knew she should bite her tongue to avoid being shunned by society for uttering such remarks.

However, it had rained-for the blasted third time today, she thought, frowning. It couldn't have been too much to expect to be able to stroll through Thurstason's strawberry fields, work and garden in peace, gather some berries, and return home bone dry-all without ruining another pair of perfectly nice boots.

She had only realized when the skies deepened on her journey home that the odds were against her. In only one month, she had destroyed five perfectly good pairs of footwear throughout her travels. Yes, five.

Shouting more filthy things beneath her breath, she stepped onto Regalia House's front step.

She took off her boots, which were saturated in filth, dirt, and rain, and shook them violently. She tried, with a dejected expression, to pat dry her similarly damp daily dress with her wet palm, but it was not working.

Her damp fingers slid along the metal polish as she grabbed for the door frame.

Nobody could possibly be upset with her for being able to sputter one single innocent swear that

A woman's cry could be heard through the adjacent window, and she knew at once that she would have to face the reprimand.

With increasing ferocity, her fingers gripped the door frame and forcefully wrenched the door open, causing the wood to bang into the wall behind it and rattling the hinges.

"Oh, dear child!" As Lady Sarah Jane emerged from the main door, an elderly, rotund woman pushed her way between the hall's end tables and came up to her.

The elderly, matronly woman said, "What in heaven's name compelled you to venture outside in this weather?" as she removed the woman's awful shoes from her icy hands.

They were irreparably harmed. All it would take for her to visit a completely reputable and decent shoemaker would be to ride in a rickety carriage into town for thirty minutes.

The elderly woman screamed once again, "I am worried about you, dear girl," as she furiously wiped mud and filth off her cheek, turning her skin pink from the friction.

"Wherever could you have gone in such weather?"

She let out a sigh; the sensation was all too familiar. After her father died, Nurse Harpers had been her friend, lady's maid, and mother figure. No more than she could call herself a green girl of six, she can't very well call her Nurse Harpers.

With a haughty tilt of her chin to demonstrate that she did not in the slightest enjoy being spoken to like a kid, she remarked, "It wasn't this weather this morning, Mathilda," with evident displeasure.

"It had been bright, crisp, and-"

A low gasp cut her off, and a "My lady!" reprimanded her.

The sight of her drenched with raindrops on the precious floor runner from India made a tall, gangly man frown. The empty buckets that were provided for the leaky rooms have been dropped by his hands. It was unfortunate that the mansion, which was said to be as magnificent as any royal relative's home, had collapsed completely.

"My lady, you can't stay drenched in wetness. This house already has one sick individual, which is too much. We have to resist tempting fate by not making it two!"

Yes, this was something she had heard a lot about before. Exaggeration was one of Old Robinson's strong points.

Since the house lord has been ill for two days, there isn't much cause for concern. He has recovered from illness in the past without incident. She also thought that she was the epitome of health-aside from being drenched and chilly, that is.

She let out an irritated sigh and said, "I..."

A forceful thrust to her shoulders occurred.

"Hurry now, child." She was pulled up the large staircase by Mathilda, her hair pouring and her clothes totally wet.

With a fierce turn of her head and pursed lips, Mathilda hitched up her skirts, giving away the unmistakable indication, "You!" She shot a rounded arm and gestured with her finger to a young maid who was stationed in the hallway's corner.

"And you!" Mathilda gestured to the other, who was just inches away from the terrified tiny creature. "Bathwater now," she insisted, and the women hurried to get to work while Mathilda continued pushing the wet material. Step up to Lady Sarah Jane's room.

It took a few minutes for the bath to be prepared with plenty of bubbling soap and aromatic oil. She'd grown up in Thurstason country, where it was customary to get up early and visit the strawberry fields to check on the fresh produce. Having spent six months here, she had grown accustomed to Regalia House, and only on days like this did she find herself reeling.

the ones in which nothing was going as planned.

Rain and an excessive amount of the damn thing kept her from accomplishing her tasks, which was enough to make her quite grumpy.

The house's ruler was a gentle man, but he was becoming older and couldn't stay awake for longer than three hours at a time. The house was falling apart, and because no one else was living there, the lady of the house took care of minor issues like bad plumbing and damaged woodwork.

It's true that she was inexperienced and perhaps too young to take on such responsibilities, but she couldn't just sit around and weep over the house's decay. She had to take action, and from her perspective, the old lord had been really grateful for what she had done.

She blinked off the slumber that threatened. She had set aside this day to indulge her fantasy side. She'd chosen to take a vacation from talking to footmen about the home plumbing, which, to be honest, she knew absolutely nothing about, and from discussing crop concerns with the renters. She had smiled most of these times and nodded when necessary. Even though she was unable to provide the answers, the footmen and renters appeared appreciative of her care. In any case, it had only been a question of time until they found out for themselves.

She wriggled in the water, cutting through the bubbles, to find the most comfortable spot for her hurting body. She claimed fatigue and dozed in the pool of water after immersing herself as much as possible in the suds and oil from her hair wash.

There was silence after that.

After that, nothing remained.

The sound of heavy footsteps reverberated in the hall next to her chamber, just moments after her thoughts had slipped into a state of weak sleep. Her ears perked up, and she sensed that footsteps were approaching her.

Someone was approaching, and quickly at that.

Yes, she knew they were getting closer to her room when she heard the slow, constant sound of feet hitting the ground. The thuds grew more and more intense.

Then, as if to round a corner, it stopped.

She gulped. She followed the sound through the wall with her gaze.

"Stupid, stupid Sarah Jane," she said to herself. As usual, she had left the door to her bedroom open.

If the heavy sound of the boot indicated that those footsteps belonged to a man, which she was pretty sure they did, and if that man wasn't her uncle, which she was also pretty sure he wasn't because he would be too old and tired to walk, then Sarah Jane was going to be in trouble-a lot and lots of trouble.

There were more footsteps, and it appeared as though a woman with lighter breasts had joined the individual. Was that a piece of scraped slipper? She felt unsure about it all.

Leaning against the wall, she tried to make out what the man was murmuring.

It didn't require much work because the dilapidated Regalia House was deteriorating due to inadequate upkeep. To her dismay, the walls were getting thinner.

"A fortnight ago, I sent the documents to Viscount Killsworth after fixing them. I need to talk to your lord right away since he is a lousy correspondent," the man stated. He seemed agitated, and he was approaching her bedroom quite closely.

Her bedroom is located too close to Lord Rosenberg's.

"But-But..." A woman's voice flowed toward the hallways, her tone reminiscent of Mathilda. It sounded eerily like she was strolling alongside the man. However, isn't it possible to wait till the Earl is well awake? Due to his illness, he had thus: "

A big, low, very manly sigh expressed frustration at her ever-capable Mathilda.

"Illogical! As his solicitor, I have been in written correspondence with him. He said I could look for him in his bedroom if I really needed to." At that moment, he stopped breathing loudly enough for her to hear, his boot stopping its onslaught through the hallways. "Woman, you will show me to him at once."

There was a loud swishing sound, and judging from the sound, there appeared to be a good number of papers.

His footsteps had come back, quickening as they approached her room.

Lady Sarah Jane's fingers closed on the tub, so tight that the strain turned her knuckles white.

The water was already turning a pale grey, but perhaps if she hid beneath it, the waves could protect her from any more humiliation.

"Well, but you have to refrain! The Earl is extremely elderly, and"

"Exactly," he exclaimed before storming into Sarah Jane's chamber.

Lady Sarah Jane became still, her face devoid of blood and her body feeling chilled. Before that man saw her in all her awful nudity, there was only one more door to close.

"I ask you, where is he?" He said this, frustrated by the wait and surprised to see the empty bedroom.

A few goosebumps appeared behind Lady Sarah Jane's neck, and her flesh jumped beneath her skin.

With a loud and heavy sigh, Mathilda gave permission to show the guest the Earl's bedrooms.

"Lord Rosenberg is this way."

Sarah Jane could practically picture Mathilda's words. Her eyes narrowed into slits, her head pushing forward, and her brave hands on her hips.

She eased back into the soapy water as the footsteps began to wander further away from her chamber. After this episode, she would surely remember to lock her bedroom door, if not to close it, before plopping down for a nap in the tub.

She flexed her toes and let out a pleased, contented sigh, remembering all the fruit she had chosen from the field, including blackberries, mulberries, and strawberries. Well, they would be great in a fruit pudding or jam! She licked her lips in amusement as she grinned at herself.

Then there came a terrible noise.

A terrible sound, one she was all too familiar with.

From the end of the hall came a high, piercing female cry.

Sarah Jane went cold. Well, even Mathilda, who was always a bundle of nerves, would only let out a cry like that in the event of receiving unfavorable news. And the dreadful news could only mean one thing, given Earl's age and current condition.

It denoted the death of someone.

That someone was significant, and the solicitor's paperwork most likely had his name on it, designating him as her guardian and her as his ward.

She sat up in the tub and focused harder as her thoughts started racing.

Instead of thinking about how depressing it must be to lose an uncle or how she would have to care for herself in another man's house, all she could think of was "Not Again."

–--–

The following morning, there was a flurry of activity in the house.

Earl Rosenberg had been in bed for two days before passing away. Two days had passed since that awful piece of pork pie, and ever since, he'd had the worst stomach aches, so he'd stayed in bed.

Sarah Jane contemplated if she wanted to see her grandfather in that manner as she stood in front of the closed door. He'd been a kind old man.

He was a nice, morally-driven man who never made an attempt to kiss her. Even though his house was falling apart and his daughters had married off handsomely, he was able to maintain a cheerful attitude despite her changing circumstances.

With its vast fields, shady woods, and springs, Cheshire was a pleasant place. For several months, Sarah Jane had delighted in her residence. She had even received an occasional pat on the head from this Lord Rosenberg, which made her think of the 9th Earl, whom she also admired.

Despite his advanced age and baldness, this granduncle informed her about his service to the country's navy and had regular baths. She might say that about her former guardians; at least he had been fascinating.

Robinson approached her warily, teetering at the edge of the railing and saying, "My lady."

They've been switching houses for the past five years, so she wondered, "Where will we go this time, Robinson?"

Her dad initiated it. She would be gone when the master went on. It would have been funny enough to make people laugh if she hadn't been the one being passed on to a number of houses.

How much longer? is what she truly wanted to ask, but even Robinson, who knew everything, couldn't answer that.

With a swift bow, he remarked, "The solicitor, Mr. Collins, is waiting for you in the morning room," and turned to leave.

She explored Regalia House's halls distractedly, thinking that this might be the seventh... No, perhaps for the eighth time, she will be transferred to the heir apparent.

Her father had been Earl Rosenberg, or at least the 7th Earl of Rosenberg. However, by the time she was six, the death of her father had become a major issue because both Earl Rosenberg and his earlier son, the 6th Earl of Rosenberg, had been only children. This simply meant that, if any male defendants existed, she would be given on to her grandfather's cousins.

And those that had been had been few.

These granduncles were all clinging to life with a thin thread. She had been there to bid them farewell every time, even though they had grown older.

As soon as she walked into the room, the solicitor-a dapper man in his early thirties-rose to his feet with dignity.

His broad shoulders could have intimidated even the most lanky dandy. Sarah Jane was taken aback because she had anticipated an elderly Mr. Collins, perhaps sixty or seventy years old. When she was eighteen, she communicated with the older Mr. Collins. Frequently, he had been utterly perplexed about who he was conversing with and had called her Miss Jane, Lady Jane, Lady R, or even just a simple Rose. He had been a senile old man.

The aged Mr. Collins had never been able to see them in person because Sarah Jane moved from house to house more frequently than a typical English noblewoman would, so their only form of communication was correspondence.

The ancient and forgetful Mr. Collins, who had arrived on time for once, must be the new Mr. Collins, the son of her father's solicitor. Lord Rosenberg was even a little early since his body was still warm.

She gave a confused shake of her head at these entrustments. She welcomed him politely, "Good afternoon," and waved gently for him to sit down.

Carelessly, she flopped loudly on the front couch, not even considering his opinion of her or her manners.

"My lady, with the passing of the 14th Earl of Rosenberg, we have a lot to talk about," he began, spreading out the documents on the tea table.

She let out a loud sigh, got up, and went to get tea and biscuits.

She murmured, "This will be a long afternoon," and returned with a loud flop to her seat to confront Mr. Collins.

She gave him a quick look. Mr. Collins was a very welcome sight in this somewhat annoying situation. He had a great angular jaw, a chin that hid a week's worth of beard, and kind eyes.

The solicitor studied her intently, taking in her every motion and facial expression. He started off by saying, "Since your move from the 13th Earl Rosenberg, I have been looking for your father's original copy of his last wishes."

He picked up one of the abandoned documents and gave it a gentle pat, saying, "The 8th Earl was very disorganized and had lost it in his home while you were there." "Luckily, there was another copy, an original, in my father's study."

He smiled at her and said, "I presume that this is the original document, although only parts of it were discovered. My lady and I fear that the copies that were made after the 8th Earl were lacking in their contents."

His expression was slightly scowled as he said, "I would have to read it to you because there will be some changes."

Sarah Jane remained reticent the entire time. It typically worked this way; she was used to it. After the old earl passes away, the surviving earl will inherit her as well as the associated estates. The inheritance passes to unmarried female wards, as is customary in British aristocratic families without an heir.

If she felt like a horse being handed to a new owner, that's a matter for no one. That was the nature of things.

Given that her daughter would need a familiar person to console her at the age of six, her father had placed restrictions on the letter. The new Earl Rosenberg requested that Nurse Harpers, who was now lovingly referred to as Mathilda, and her dependable butler and secretary, Mr. Robinson-who was now Mathilda's husband-be hired as extra guardians from service for the ward. Her father's wishes were generally for her to be taken to the new Earl's residence after his passing.

"Changes?"

Mr. Collins gave a nod. Although he acknowledged the changes, his expression was uncertain.

She wasn't at all sure whether the discovery of her father's original document was a good thing or not.

She reached for the paper with her father's signature on the bottom seal and said, "May I view it?" Her eyes began to water at the sight.

His features, appearance, scent, and even voice were all faded from her memory, but she did recall how he made her feel-free and soaring.

A fresh cup of tea was brought in by the maid, who hastily prepared herself a cup and held it to her lips to contain any unwanted tears. She gestured silently for the solicitor to assist himself.

"Er..." the attorney said as he moved in his chair and rearranged the documents in front of him.

"It has been brought to my attention that all the poor relations have had some tragedy causing their demise. You will be transported to Trowbridge in 3 days, in the home of a Viscount Killsworth. He has not yet confirmed nor responded to my messages, but it is in your best interest that you be transported post haste. It is a long journey to Wiltshire."

"What?" she stammered, one hand protecting the paper from the mess while a few blots of tea fell to her hands and onto the saucer.

The Viscount had not consented to this journey, if she understood him correctly. This was undoubtedly the first. Nobody in his right mind could turn down the wealth she had brought with her, including money and land.

Not to add, in polite society, denying was definitely not acceptable.

She was of excellent birth and had high contacts in the nobility, even though she had not spent a season in town. It's possible that she lacked some refining and a sponsor, but those were minor issues.

That might be a little bit of an exaggeration, though.

Though the Rosenberg title may have been well connected, she didn't know anyone outside of the household. And she could need, God knows, a little more than a little polish.

Mr. Collins's brows knitted together as he attempted to come up with a solution. "I had tried to inform him and instructed a footman to deliver the urgent message to him. You will be departing tomorrow. The Earl's daughters and other relatives will be taking care of the funeral."

Mr. Collins patted the beads of sweat on his brow with a handkerchief. "As you can see, your former guardians have neglected a few important details, and this original document would be of great aid to all our understanding. When I find all of it."

"Won't I be going into mourning?" Sarah Jane asked herself, growing increasingly agitated with this man as the minute passed. "Unlike the other Earls, I had adored the 13th Earl of Rosenberg!"

"14th," the attorney whispered.

"What?"

He declared solemnly, "This Earl is the 14th Earl of Rosenberg."

She said under her breath, "It is of no importance," just to get the last say. She was sick of being taken from one home to another like a horse up for sale.

She stopped, looking for the correct phrase, "Quite certain it is most appalling behaviour to be quite unthinking." "This Earl, I adored him, and I mustn't leave him without thought. It is highly improper."

The attorney regarded her cautiously. "We follow legal documents, my lady."

paperwork that had been lost for a long time since she was still playing with dolls. Why are they hurrying when they have only discovered a portion of them thus far?

She rose up, her eyes narrowing to slits as she said, "Then bring me to the magistrate. I dare you." With a dramatic flourish that Mr. Collins did not find at all endearing, she stormed out of the room.

When Sarah Jane realized she hadn't even gotten around to asking what "changes" Mr. Collins was keen about, she was already out of the drawing room.

Sarah Jane was disappointed to find that, in less than a day's time, her suitcases had already been packed. She could barely talk Mathilda out of departing so early; the footmen were already loading them into a closed carriage. However, Mathilda would have none of it; she merely clicked her tongue and pushed the girl onto the carriage without any fanfare.

With her arms crossed over her chest, Sarah Jane stared at Mathilda, her mouth hanging open like a spoiled six-year-old.

Mathilda rolled her eyes and spoke with Robinson once more, saying, "Oh, do stop." Sarah Jane was dying to know what Mathilda had said to him, and her expression was tense with worry.

"Are you going to be whispering there day and night long, without even asking me if I want to be transported?" she screamed with rage.

Robinson glanced at her slantwise. Compared to Mathilda, who had an abundance of words, he was a man of few words.

With a sigh, the matronly woman touched Sarah Jane's leg. "We know you have loved this, Lord Rosenberg."

She couldn't help herself and said, "I didn't love him; I adored him."

"Very well then, I adored him." She scowled as she pushed a torn piece of paper into her reticule from inside. "You must know that with all the legalities surrounding this transfer, you are left at the mercy of Earl Rosenberg, whoever he might be."

Something akin to sympathy for the girl she had grown to love so profoundly rose in the old matron's bosom, causing her throat to tighten and maybe burst into tears. "We will find out soon enough what we are to do with ourselves. In the meantime, you must rest, for we must be in high spirits when we meet the new Earl."

In a few brief sentences, Mr. Collins showed her how completely helpless she was just that afternoon. He gave her a brief rundown of some things, but in reality, he was just telling her what was going on; they weren't having a conversation about it. Lady Sarah Jane grew less dependent on men and yearned to exercise her own authority.

With a sigh of resignation to her destiny, she gazed out of the moving carriage's window, considering her life following the death of her beloved father. Not only had that anxious Tuesday changed her world, but it had also changed Nurse Harper's and Mr. Robinson's.

One could only rejoice in the knowledge that at least one positive outcome had resulted from the deaths around them. Fortunately, Robinson and Nurse Harpers developed a strong bond, and he persuaded her to become Mrs. Robinson. Their inability to have a child was a source of constant suspicion, yet it didn't appear to lessen their loving sentiments for one another.

As far as could be inferred from Mathilda's and Robinson's murmurs regarding their respective ends, their present move had become even rarer, if that were possible, because her father's side of the family had all but died out. The King will decide whether to award the title to another deserving gentleman when it has been returned to the court for a reevaluation.

If it turned out that all of the relatives had really died, then all of this was to be done, and Mr. Collins, the younger, was the unfortunate one to have to go through this.

But if Viscount Killsworth wasn't some distant relative of hers, then why was she being driven toward him?

Her mind was racing with so many questions, and she was trying so hard to interpret the faint murmurs that it slipped into a deep sleep, swaying gently along with the carriage.

A few hours later, as Robinson and Mathilda were getting ready to get off the train and spend the night at the inn, she heard the carriage door open. Mathilda asked if she wanted some dinner served to her room as her stomach rumbled. She gave them a gentle shake of her head and asked if she might come along for dinner instead. They both complied and went to the inn's private room.

Taking a tiny mound of bread, she generously spread butter and salt on it. "As you may well know, I am thoroughly irked by the fact that you would not share pertinent details of this transfer with me, Mathilda."

Robinson took a mouthful of the boiling potato soup and studied it with curiosity. He observed his spouse's lips becoming taut, deciding how much information she should divulge at that particular time. He fully intended to let the two women continue their talk into the evening.

The rotund woman chopped through the deeply burnt bird on her plate and remarked, "There are many details which are not yet of any certainty, which brings me to believe that discussing the matter with you shall not produce any good."

"Why shall it not bring any good if I can bring some insight to it? My own opinion?" Robinson looked at her. "Will you be a bit more helpful than her?"

His eyes revealed a shocked expression as he got himself involved in their argument.

With a sigh, Sarah Jane realized that she was unable to force Robinson to talk, even if it meant his life. "Did my father give the Earldom away?" she questioned, uncertain, wondering how in the world she could have come to know a Viscount Killsworth who had no connection to her.

"No" was Mathilda's prompt response. "But they had an understanding of sorts. The understanding was drafted clearer in a series of correspondences after their meeting, but no one is certain where those original letters are."

"And this understanding is?" she asked, trying to make sense of the scant details being given to her.

"From what I understand, your father and Viscount Killsworth were friends from Eton, and as peers, they came into society together and made merry throwing such statements that are neither here nor there."

Sarah Jane jabbed at the little circular piece of meat on her plate, impatient. "And? What does this mean?"

"We are not entirely sure. But if your father gave away an Earldom under the heavy influence of drink, then we will just have to wait and see what will become of it since no one can give away an Earldom aside from the King."

Sarah Jane was certain that they had been rejected. It had taken both her father and this Killsworth lord horribly long to become so wasted and intoxicated that they could even entertain the idea of doing so.

Would anyone in his right mind award an honour to a buddy or classmate?

Perhaps they had not considered the possibility that these male relatives would not make it out of this alive. Each and every presumed heir had matured into the heir apparent, had passed away, and ultimately died. There must be someone in heaven laughing at her. Because it would be reasonable for anyone to believe that Sarah Jane had been poisoning each of her guardians upon learning of her peculiar situation.

Each and every one.

Throughout the remainder of the meal, Sarah Jane sat silently as she ripped through the meat with ferocity, chewing it precisely and tossing it to her left teeth before smashing it with her right. While she worked on the scenario that had the three of them locked, she sipped on some sweet drink to wash them down.

She was a witch who poisoned guards who didn't fit her needs, but no one would ever believe it. I mean, who would?

She daydreamed about the entire three-day trip. She was thinking about the events as though they were a terrible tragedy.

She argued in court that not all of them passed away from gastrointestinal illnesses. First of all, her father died on a Tuesday after being thrown from a horse and suffering from a fever for two weeks.

Less than a month had elapsed since the 8th Earl, the first cousin of Sarah Jane's grandpa, could hardly even raise his legs. After their grief subsided, they discovered that they had to leave their cherished house and relocate to his son's land.

The 9th Earl, who was the son of the 8th Earl, had been in better health and had been smoking and drinking nonstop until he had the grace to leave behind an heir.

He'd supplied her with a good education, having two governesses: one for language and math and another for history and the arts. The Earl's sole way of showing the little girl that he cared was to give her gentle pats on the head when he came home from the club, smelling heavily of alcohol.

Then, a day before her eleventh birthday, Mathilda was enjoying tea time with her dolls when the Earl, in all his drunken stupor, staggered down the spiral staircase belonging to the servants. Mathilda's legendary loud cry then reverberated through the hallways.

Sarah Jane's education was transferred to a castle close to Scotland when she turned eleven. It was assumed that young Sarah Jane's early bleeding was caused by the stress of moving and the Earl's passing. Concerned as ever, Mathilda looked after the young girl and gave her the information she needed as she got closer to becoming a lady.

The gentlemanly woman of Scottish origin was the spouse of the 10th Earl. The countess had been a delight to be around, showing Sarah how to dress stylishly, dance, flirt, and eat whatever pleased her. However, the 10th Earl succumbed to a disease.

The eleventh Earl was a childless, elderly granduncle. With four daughters and that godforsaken pork pie, the 14th Earl descended from the 12th and 13th Earls, who were both granduncles with respiratory issues and no male heirs.

Despite having read about seasons in numerous books, she had always desired one and was never given the chance to request one.

The Earls were too elderly to go with her, much less provide social support for her to do such a thing. Perhaps this was her opportunity.

She sat back in the carriage, giving the window's greenery some attention, and shook her head, not too gently. Yes, Sarah Jane was certain that this would be a demanding week. After travelling for three days, she has had plenty of time to reflect on her life's events.

She had been in a stupor for the past few days, simply nodding her head slightly in response to Robinson's or Mathilda's words.

The ride in the carriage jolted her so much that her eyes started to close.

"I prepared a fruit jam using the berries you brought home the other day." Mathilda cheerfully attempted to strike up a discussion. She had really had enough of this introspection. They were getting close to Wiltshire, and Sarah Jane was supposed to make the viscount very happy when they saw him.

After learning about the berries, Sarah Jane's mouth curled upward at the corners, indicating a smile. "Is it how I make it?" she asked, unable to contain her smile.

Yes, she decided the 14th Earl was a nice one. Despite his limited mobility due to his stocky frame, he has been the finest of guardians. However, she had spent her days enjoying picnics, scenic trips, and leisurely horseback riding. Regalia's home was obviously falling apart, but Sarah Jane was more interested in meddling in tenant and home repair matters than in practicing her music, needlework, or painting like a pretentious noblewoman with a case of boredom. No, Regalia House offered plenty of activities, and she never experienced the envy of society for her lack of boredom.

With a knowing smile, Mathilda said, "Just how you make it, with plenty of sugar and a little cinnamon."

She grinned contentedly as she considered it food. "How many jars?" The 14th Earl's generosity and the fruit jam put her right back in the best of moods.

"Two," Mathilda said, pulling out her needlework. "I wrapped a ribbon on one so we may give it as a gift to the new Earl. Mr. Collins said that he was not expecting us."

She gave a sour laugh. He'd made it clear he didn't want to see her, so surely a jar of luscious jam wouldn't make a grown man burst into ecstasies upon her arrival?

He should be grateful that she came. She was not only gifting her an earldom, but she had brought some excellent jam!

Sarah Jane had wrestled enough cows to know she wouldn't back down in a fight he was willing to put up.

Okay, so maybe the last part about the cows was exaggerated.

–-–