"What's going on? Why did _you_ receive an invitation from Lady Sinclair? How?"
The servants passing by looked at Beatrice in surprise at the outburst—which sounded more like an interrogation.
Servants were not slaves. They were people who could change positions at any time after their contracts ended.
After the war, the custom of working in one house for a lifetime had disappeared—and they'd begun changing employment even more frequently.
Therefore, unlike in the past, aristocrats could not speak rudely or raise their hands against servants in their presence. Rumors spread quickly.
So when Eloise had first arrived, Beatrice had warned her to be careful in her behavior before the servants.
And now she herself was shouting so loudly that everyone stopped in surprise.
"Calm down, Beatrice."
Eloise hurried up the stairs and took the letter from Beatrice's hands.
"Lady Sinclair often hosts gatherings. That means she invites many people. You received an invitation too, didn't you?"
"Are you and I the same?"
Beatrice—raising her voice—stopped short, noticing Eloise's surprised face and the stares of those around her.
Having calmed her breathing slightly, she spoke in a softened voice, trying to sound as gracious as possible:
"I received an invitation addressed to the family. And this one has _your_ name on it. You may not know, but Lady Sinclair rarely invites anyone personally. That's why I was concerned—in case something was wrong, or someone was playing a cruel joke."
The excuse was simply absurd.
Eloise bit back the caustic words threatening to burst from her tongue and looked at the letter.
It read: **[Your friend, Maria Sinclair]**.
Seeing this, she remembered Beatrice's invitation—which she'd boasted about all the way to the last reception without even letting Eloise touch it.
_That one definitely said "Lady M. Sinclair."_
The letter had been dry—like an official document—without a hint of particular friendship.
Eloise's gaze slid to the recipient's name. The envelope read: **[Ever dear, Eloise Severton]**.
The handwriting was so tender that anyone would understand this was a letter to a very close friend.
The invitation Beatrice had received wasn't addressed to her personally, but to the Fairfax family—so that anyone in the household could attend.
_That's why Beatrice is so upset._
Eloise suppressed a sigh and looked at Beatrice, who was staring at the letter in her hand.
"Anyway, thank you for delivering it, Beatrice. I'm tired, so I'll go rest—"
"Aren't you going to check it?"
"Check what?"
"I just told you. Why would Lady Sinclair send _you_ a letter? There might have been some mistake—so you'd better open it and check now. If you want, I can verify it for you?"
Beatrice spoke and tried to snatch the envelope from Eloise's hands again. Of course, Eloise quickly dodged, and she was unsuccessful.
"Thank you for your concern, but don't trouble yourself. I'm tired, so I'll retire to my room. Please excuse me."
Eloise turned and hurried into her chamber.
Behind her, Beatrice glared at the door through which Eloise had disappeared.
---
Eloise entered her room and—without even shaking the dust from her clothes—immediately opened Lady Sinclair's letter.
**"Eloise,**
**I'd like to write a long greeting, but between us it's unnecessary. What I want to say now is more important.**
**First, I discovered the whereabouts of Mr. Philip Osborne. One of my acquaintances told me he boarded a ship at the port.**
**I'll give you the details when we meet. Could you come see me tomorrow? If so, please send a reply by messenger.**
**And forgive me, but could you tell me more about Mr. Philip Osborne? Because..."**
The letter went on to explain that her acquaintance hadn't mentioned where exactly the ship Philip had boarded was headed. She'd decided it would be impolite to press further without knowing all the circumstances—so she'd remained silent.
That was why she was asking Eloise to share the story connected with Philip Osborne in detail.
After thinking for a moment, Eloise picked up her pen.
After some time spent composing a reply, she stepped into the corridor and called a maid.
"Please deliver this."
"Of course."
Having handed the letter to the maid, Eloise returned to her room and only then—shaking off her dusty clothes—sighed with relief.
_It's good that at least a trace of Mr. Osborne was found. Now I just need to find Ryan and Richard._
_If I can find even one..._
It would also be possible to learn the whereabouts of the others.
Eloise—hoping to locate at least one of the three as soon as possible—continued changing.
---
_Crunch._
Beatrice, without realizing it, was biting her nail.
If the Baroness had seen this, she would have raised her voice—scolding her for not breaking this habit—but now she was so irritated she didn't even think of her mother's words.
While Beatrice seethed, unable to contain her anger, the maids—quickly sensing something was wrong—hastily withdrew.
Finding no one on whom to vent her fury, Beatrice returned to her room and threw herself onto the sofa. Grabbing an innocent cushion lying nearby, she began tearing at it through gritted teeth.
_When did she manage to become friends with Lady Sinclair?_
She'd been taking good care of Eloise lately—but not with good intentions.
When Eloise had first arrived, the Baroness had said to Beatrice:
_"Poor child. As a girl, she nearly died from an unknown illness—and her parents had to take her to the countryside. Because of that, Grace had to leave too. Just think—a woman who was called the flower of society suddenly became a country bumpkin because of her daughter..."_
At first glance, these had been words of sympathy for a friend who'd had to leave the capital because of her child. But Beatrice had seen the smile on her mother's face in the mirror.
At the same time, she remembered a conversation among other noble ladies who—one day when her mother was away—had been whispering in the drawing room.
They'd grumbled with obvious displeasure that the Baroness was being too presumptuous in high society.
_"If Grace hadn't gone to the countryside, the Baroness wouldn't behave like this."_
_"That's true. They say it was because of her daughter's illness, but... when Grace was here, who paid attention to her?"_
At that moment, Baroness Fairfax had appeared in the doorway. The chattering party had immediately fallen silent—but the cold expression on the Baroness's face hadn't softened for a long while.
Beatrice, who'd been secretly observing, had realized her mother deeply disliked this woman named Grace.
And when Eloise had arrived this time, she'd welcomed her because—in the Baroness's opinion—Eloise looked very plain compared to Beatrice.
The Baroness had said to Beatrice several times:
_"You should take her places. After all, she came from the countryside—people will gossip. But if you take good care of her, it reflects well on you."_
Beatrice had understood the hidden meaning.
Her mother deliberately wanted to send Beatrice and Eloise to the same places—to demonstrate that Grace's daughter was inferior to her own. That was why she'd permitted them to attend Lady Sinclair's reception.
_And it turns out she managed to befriend her without my knowing..._
Beatrice began biting her nail again, remembering the previous gathering.
At Lady Sinclair's last reception, Beatrice had found herself the center of attention for the first time in ages—because Eloise had quietly whispered the answer to a riddle.
And if she attended the next reception, and this time _Eloise_ herself conversed with Lady Sinclair and won favor by solving the riddle prepared...
Beatrice instantly envisioned Eloise attracting the attention of high society.
This wasn't what her mother wanted. And she herself didn't want to see anything like it.
_Crunch._
Biting her nail again, she left the room.
_I should at least have found out when Eloise became friends with Lady Sinclair._
Then she saw a maid walking down the hallway with something in her hands.
Realizing it was an envelope containing a letter, Beatrice stopped her.
"Who is sending this?"
"The guest asked me to deliver it."
"Guest? Eloise?"
"Yes, miss."
"Give it here."
Beatrice nearly snatched the letter from the maid's hands.
"I'll send this along with my own letter—so you may go."
At these words, the maid looked slightly alarmed, but without protest, she departed. She couldn't contradict her master's daughter.
Taking the letter, Beatrice immediately returned to her room and carefully opened the envelope.
Fortunately, it wasn't sealed very tightly—so it wasn't difficult to open.
After some time spent reading Eloise's letter, Beatrice's eyes gleamed.