Lord Wilkinson had set off in his carriage one day and simply never returned. His carriage had been found on the side of the road, empty.
The Fainan rebels had sent no ransom letter, however, and they had received no list of demands.
A shudder ran down her spine at the idea of the rebels sneaking into their lands and murdering one of their most important officials, not even trying for diplomacy whatsoever.
She bent to read Charlotte’s last letter.
Dear Lizzy,
I feel the queen has more up her sleeve where the unrest in Faina is concerned than she is letting on. I told Mother and Father that I am not worried, and so I don’t see how anyone else should be.
They are saying the murder of Lord Wilkinson was not random and might have been a calculated move by this Fainan prince fellow.
I heard that when the war was won, as I’m sure you recall, Faina agreed to bend the knee and pay taxes to Rhodea in exchange for peace. But apparently, Lord Wilkinson’s disappearance was right after he publicly visited Faina and boasted of convincing the queen to raise taxes even higher. It’s a tricky situation, though, as no one has admitted fault or claimed credit for his murder, so while we know it was them, the queen cannot accuse them openly.
All is quiet at court, and I suspect we won’t hear much else about it.
Also! I cannot believe that this has slipped my mind until now!
Lady Lorine has received a proposal from Sophie’s brother. The second eldest one, Lord Laurence Bronston—can you imagine? I cannot believe how a man with such a polite disposition went for Lady Lorine. She is pretty, to be sure, but my goodness, she would sell her own sister if it helped her. Do you think if they had a child, it would be conniving like Lady Lorine, or gentle-hearted like Lord Laurence, or if both would cancel each other out, and the child would be born with a normal disposition?
I look forward to hearing your thoughts on the matter, and you must tell me when I can come and visit next so that we can discuss at length if there is another more suitable match for Lord Laurence, as a life tethered to Lady Lorine is not one that I would wish upon my greatest enemy.
-Charlotte
The last part of Charlotte’s letter made her grin, and she set it aside.
With a sigh, she changed into her sleep clothes and climbed into bed.
Elizabeth had just nodded off to sleep when she was suddenly woken up by someone rapping incessantly at her door.
Her heart flew into her throat. She wasn’t expecting anyone.
Warily, she put a cloak over her nightgown and approached the door. Hiding a knife behind her back, she opened the door. A manservant she did not recognize stood in the doorway. He was older, kind-looking, and was wearing the colours of House Harrison—a footman. Fear knotted in her chest.
On his jacket, there was a yellow standard with a hare on it.
Charlotte.
“Is Charlotte alright?” Elizabeth asked quickly, fearing the worst.
The manservant bowed. “Lady Charlotte is fine … it’s your parents.”
Chapter 48
Ashcroft Manor
The world stopped. Elizabeth couldn't think straight past the ringing in her ears.
“I’m sorry,” the footman said, twisting his hat. “Lady Charlotte sent me—”
“Are you certain…?”
“I’m here to take you home if you would like to say a prayer over their graves.”
Their graves.
“Please tell me this is some foul joke,” she whispered.
