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“Wait, Anne. I know that it is not my place to offer advice, but should you ever need someone to confide in⁠—”

But he had miscalculated. Her eyes hardened and all emotion faded.

“I met you this morn, Sir John,” she said impassively. “The fact that you are interested in so personal a matter as Lady Elizabeth⁠—”

“Does she not want aid?”

“And how is she supposed to know whom she can trust?” Anne demanded. “After all, the cousin of the king himself felt free to abuse his privileges as a guest. Are you trying to do the same?”

He knew he could not earn her trust in only a span of hours, but there was something about her that made him feel as if he knew her already. She was too proud to show him her fear, had learned too well the lesson that men could not be trusted. He would have to start all over again.

“Forgive me, Anne,” he said. “It has always been my nature to try to help.”

“That is not something I find trustworthy,” she answered, lifting her chin. “Already Master Milburn says he might find a place for you here. Think you that that should inspire my trust? Perhaps you are only another dependent of the viscount’s.”

“Anne, that’s not true.”

But she’d already turned about and was striding to the door, impressive in her cool anger and contempt. When the door shut, it opened again almost immediately, but John knew better than to be hopeful.

Philip closed the door behind him. “By the expression on her face, that did not go well.”

“I am farther away from earning her trust than I was this morn as a complete stranger.” He flopped back on his cushion in disgust, feeling the pain in his leg flare to life.

“Why do you push so hard?”

“Because we don’t know how much time we have before Bannaster returns, perhaps with an agreement from the king. And because—” John found himself staring at the door uneasily. “There is something about her that makes me want to befriend her.”

Philip snorted. “‘Befriend’? So that’s what you call it?”

John frowned.

* * *

Elizabeth was so angry, she had to force herself to slow down and walk tentatively into the great hall as a servant might. She had lost her temper; she had lost control of her masquerade as Anne. She had argued with a man she knew nothing about, risking discovery.

What did it matter that Sir John knew of her imprisonment in the tower? With an estate this size, it would only be natural that people would hear of it.

But then wouldn’t someone come to help? she thought, her stomach tightening, her eyes tearing. Had she no neighbors willing to confront Lord Bannaster?

It was still early, she told herself. Less than two days had gone by, and just because the news had traveled among a few men at a tavern, did not mean it would reach her nearest wealthy neighbor, Lord Selby, who was a half day’s journey away. If Parliament was in session, he might even be in London with the rest of the county’s noblemen.

Elizabeth lowered her gaze to hide her watery eyes. Luckily, only a young groom tended the fire, and a maidservant laid out tablecloths on the trestle tables that had been set up for the coming meal. After one brief glance, both of them studiously ignored her, and she was grateful. She wondered where Milburn was, if he was inspecting her property and cataloguing its worth.

Elizabeth sat down before the hearth and hugged herself, feeling like she could never be warm again. Nay, Lord Selby would not be quick to help her. His son had been one of her recent foolish suitors. For all she knew, Lord Selby had stolen her sheep to try to force her to accept his son’s protection.

Maybe her neighbors thought she was too sure of herself, that perhaps a man’s guardianship was the best thing to happen to her.

This self-pity had to end, she told herself, wiping her eyes furiously. She was down here among her people to take stock of her situation, not whine over how she wished things were different. She would go for a walk through the ward, see how her people were being treated by Bannaster’s soldiers.

She would not think of the sympathy in Sir John’s eyes. He was a simple bailiff, with nothing of his own. He could not help her; she sensed he might only be trying because he wanted to be closer to her.

And she wasn’t in the mood to be courted as the future wife of a bailiff. She was the future wife of a baron, a man destined to be earl. She barely remembered John Russell except for his awkward body, and the way she’d occasionally caught him staring at her.

Was he as dead as his brothers? Could she really be a woman any man with an army could take for his own?

The death of her dreams ached within her heart. She had always thought she’d have a life like her parents, who were friends since childhood, then had a marriage of love and understanding. But her father hadn’t been granted the earldom during those years; there was no great fortune to protect.

With William, she had thought she could have the same happiness. But she would now have to settle for security—if she was lucky enough to have that.