Dearest Josephine

didn’t seem to belong anywhere.
“You’ll be Lord Welby soon enough,” Anne said with a wink. She snapped and strung beans, working faster as her lapel watch ticked toward five o’clock. If she failed to complete her tasks, Lady Welby would make her sleep in the coal cellar.
“Not for a good while.” Elias raised a teacup to his mouth, its golden rim warm against his lips. He drank to loosen the knot in his throat.
Lord Welby had named Elias the sole heir to Windermere Hall and its assets, a yearly sum of ten thousand pounds. However, the inheritance was contingent on Elias’s behaviour. He must become worthy of such a fortune. One misstep could render him penniless.
“Go freshen up for dinner,” Mrs. Capers said. “You look a mess.”
Elias tousled his dark hair and rose from the stool. He gestured to his attire, a cravat and navy tailcoat, his only non-uniform apparel. “Whatever do you mean? I’m fresh as a daisy.”
Anne snorted.
“That hair of yours needs brushing. And look at your boots. Muddier than pigs’ hooves.” Mrs. Capers sighed, her smile widening. “I’m glad you’ve returned to us, Mr. Welby.”
“Until I eat all your snacks. Then you may change your mind.” Elias bowed and moved toward the doorway. He winced, the pang in his chest now throbbing. Why couldn’t he welcome sentiments from others? He was now a man, not a child weeping in the schoolyard, not a boy snivelling about his dead mother and unaffectionate father.
“Mrs. Capers . . .” Elias paused in the kitchen’s threshold. He glanced over his shoulder and gave a nod. “I do know my place, and I daresay it’s with you.”
The statement was false, but it added a sparkle to Mrs. Capers’s eyes. Of course, Elias wouldn’t dare believe his own lie, but he wanted the statement to be true. His life would seem easier if he knew where and with whom he belonged. People took such certainty for granted.
Elias had accepted the nature of his birth. He’d embraced his responsibilities and Lord Welby’s expectations. But accepting did not put an end to the wanting. It only made wanting all the triter.
He ventured upstairs, where chandeliers rather than oil lamps glowed. He shivered. The main floors seemed too empty for his preference. Their high-ceilinged rooms contained artwork and other valuables, most of them unused and unappreciated.
Such was the Welby way.
Elias wandered past the dining room. Already servants were preparing the table with glassware and silver. Three place settings. Two at one end of the table. A single at the other.
Lady Welby’s voice drifted from the drawing room. “Must I look upon his face every day? Send him to London. Men his age enjoy the city. Perhaps he may return with a wife.”
“The boy has no interest in London,” Lord Welby said.
“Fine. Ship him off to France. I don’t care where he goes as long as he’s not here.”
“He is my son.”
“Your son. Not mine.” Lady Welby moved toward the door, her silhouette casting a shadow into the hall. “We had an agreement.”
“Elias just finished school. He’s not been with us a month.”
“An education does not reverse what he is,” Lady Welby said. “Do us all a favour. Send him to live with your sister. If he’s to inherit our fortune, he must find his place in society.”
Lady Welby’s tone caused Elias to stop dead in his tracks. She despised him, not for what he’d done, but for who he was—the aftermath of her husband’s affair. Perhaps his face was partially to blame, for he bore a striking resemblance to Lord Welby.
Whenever the lady beheld him, she no doubt saw the man who betrayed her confidence.
Elias stepped toward the drawing room. He peered into the chamber, his breaths rasping as he watched Lady Welby pace. No other person—not even the headmaster of Eton—planted fear within him as this woman did. She seemed to tower over everything.
Her footsteps seemed to rattle the house.
“Very well. Elias will visit my sister,” Lord Welby said while lounging in his favourite armchair. He waved to dismiss his wife, then opened a newspaper to its second page.
The harsh words blew through Elias, a gust that stripped him of the downstairs warmth and hopes of ever finding home. His father would force him to leave Windermere Hall, and for what—to appease Lady Welby’s tantrum? It didn’t make sense. Elias was destined to inherit the estate. He’d spent weeks with his father learning about the property and family assets. Lord Welby had even taken him on a business trip to Leeds.
Elias withdrew. He clenched his jaw, a new pain blooming within his chest. He wanted to shout. But he’d learned to keep quiet. He wanted to beg his father to let him stay.
But a gentleman never begged.
“I’ll write to your sister tomorrow.” Lady Welby breezed into the corridor, her muslin gown dusting the tile. She looked at Elias as though he were a fixture. Her expression was blank, her eyes dull.
He found her indifference worse than resentment.
“Lady Welby exhausts me,” Lord Welby said once Elias mustered enough grit to enter the drawing room. He flipped the page of his newspaper. “You would do best not to marry a woman for convenience, for a convenient lady replaces all ease with constant chatter.”
“Father.” Elias paused when Lord Welby glanced up from the print. His relation to the man was undeniable. They shared thin lips and diamond-shaped faces.
Their resemblance had dulled Elias’s memory of his mother. He couldn’t recall her appearance, only her eyes. He saw them whenever he looked in a mirror. Hazel. Haunted.
His eyes belonged to his mother, but he was his father’s in every other way.
“Yes, it’s true,” Lord Welby said. He folded his newspaper and placed it on a side table. “You will visit your cousins. They live near Alnwick, at Cadwallader Park.”
“In Northumberland?” Elias huffed. “What will I do there?”
“Take part in the social season. Make connections.” Lord Welby rose from his chair and gave Elias’s shoulder a hard pat. “I hope for impressive