Chapter 6
ELIZA
Ifound my father in the sitting room with the curtains thrown wide, the late afternoon sunshine pouring in. Winnie was sprawled across the sofa like a casualty of war, with one arm flung over her eyes. At least she’d finally washed her makeup off and changed into pajamas.
Someone, probably housekeeping, had left a tray of tea and toast on the table, but it was untouched except one miserable bite taken out of the dry toast. Father stood by the window overlooking the lake, his hands clasped behind his back in a stiff, formal posture.
Now that he was back from his precious golf game, I didn’t bother easing into it. “I’m not going to pretend this is acceptable.”
He turned slowly, but there was no surprise on his features. Clearly, he’d expected this. “It doesn’t matter whether or not you find it acceptable. It’s still going to save us.”
“Save us?” I echoed. “In what possible way is selling Winnie to some strangers going to save us, Father?”
“It’s going to save the estate,” he said sternly. “It needs repairs, Eliza. Serious ones. The west wing alone—”
“I know what the estate needs,” I cut in. “I’m the one who manages it, after all.”
His jaw tightened slightly but he pressed on. “It cannot continue on forever unless we have a donor like the Westwood family.”
“They aren’t donating anything,” I said sharply. “They’re using Winnie as a means to get a future Earl with Westwood blood.”
He waved the accusation away like it was no more than a minor technicality. “Oh, I’m not worried about that.”
“What?”
“I need an heir, Eliza. A male heir and money for the estate. This is a way to get both.”
Behind me, Winnie groaned softly, mumbling into the cushions as if she couldn’t care less about the subject matter presently under discussion. “Can you two not? My head is literally splitting open.”
I turned on her. “This concerns you, Winifred.”
“It concerns Future Me,” she muttered. “Current Me is hungover.”
“We’re talking about your marriage, Winnie.” I stressed the word in the hopes that it would alert her of the seriousness of this situation.
She uncovered her eyes just enough to squint at me. “Yes, I know.”
“Do you even care?” I demanded when her head lowered gently back to the cushions. “Is that honestly all you’ve got to say about it?”
“Obviously, I care.”
Relief flickered in my chest, but it died instantly when she gestured around the room. “I care that this lighting is awful. It’s so bright. If I’d known we were doing emotional trauma today, I would’ve set up my ring light and drawn some of the curtains.”
I closed my eyes briefly. When I opened them again, she’d rolled onto her side and was scrolling through her phone.
“Winnie,” I said tightly, following it up with her full name when she didn’t respond. “Winifred.”
Once again, she ignored me. Suddenly, I’d had enough, so I crossed the room, grabbed a handful of her hair, and dragged her upright. She shrieked. “Eliza!”
“Explain,” I said. “Now.”
“I hate you,” she informed me, swatting at my hands.
“I don’t care. Just explain to me how it’s possible that you’re so utterly blasé about all this,” I said fiercely. “We’re talking about the rest of your life. That’s much more important than your damn headache and the lighting in here.”
She flopped back dramatically but stayed sitting up this time, her expression settling into annoyance as she scowled up at me. “I’ll be rich, Elizabeth. It won’t matter what I say, so I’d rather just focus on that.”
I stared back at her, seriously wondering whether she’d left her brain at that club last night. “That’s your plan, to just focus on the fact that you’ll be rich?”
“Yes,” she said simply. “I think that’s a great plan, actually.”
My father nodded like it was a perfectly reasonable life strategy for his youngest daughter to have. Meanwhile, Winnie finally became animated, positively heart-eyed, but not because of her intended husband.
“Imagine the content, Eliza. I’ll have hundreds of thousands of new followers.”
Something inside me deflated. She was genuinely excited about this, but not because of her future husband or the actual marriage. It was all about the money, the followers, and the content.
“I’ve already reached out to my media manager about having the wedding filmed,” she said, all perky now as she pushed her hair back.
“Having the wedding…” I trailed off, a faint ringing starting up in my ears. “Are you serious?”
I didn’t even know why I’d asked. Of course, she was serious.
She nodded enthusiastically. “They’re interested, Eliza. Genuinely interested in the concept of a reality TV show about me.”
I stared at her, then at my father, trying to make sense of this entire surreal situation. For the umpteenth time, I wondered if I truly was the only sane person left in my family.
“You might be imagining the content,” I said slowly, glancing between them as I spoke. “I, however, am imagining the scandal. The humiliation. The absolute circus this will become when it inevitably explodes.”
Winnie blinked at me like I was speaking another language. My father let out a long, weary sigh like I was the difficult one right now.
“You’re being dramatic, darling,” he said patiently. “There won’t be any scandal.”
I laughed, but once again, it was only because of the shock. This had never happened to me before today, but so far, it had happened twice in only a few hours. The sound didn’t even feel like it belonged to me.
“You think I’m being dramatic?” I gaped at my father. “You’re arranging a marriage between Winnie and Jesse Westwood.”
“Yes.”
“Jesse Westwood,” I repeated.
A flicker of annoyance passed across his features. “Yes, Eliza. I heard you the first time.”
“Daddy, that’s a horrible idea.”
“It’s not horrible. I know your stance on the matter now and—”
“No, actually. You’re right. It’s not a horrible idea. It is a catastrophic one. Jesse is Eugenie’s ex, for one. Did you know that?”
He lifted one shoulder just a fraction, which was his version of a shrug. “It hasn’t cropped up in the negotiations thus far.”
I let out another bark of dry laughter. “Oh, great. It hasn’t cropped up, huh? Well, does she know yet? Has anyone told her? Because Eugenie has proven to be a major problem in the past for the family name, and the drama surrounding this could further tarnish it.”
My father’s lips flattened into a hard line. “Eugenie is in Dubai. She’s in a new relationship and it’s been years since her entanglement with the Westwood boy. Their history is not a concern.”
That, more than anything else, made something twist painfully in my chest. Eugenie might have run off to Dubai with Mother and her latest terrible decision, but she was still part of this family. She still carried our name—a name I was apparently the only one trying to protect.
“You can’t seriously think this will go smoothly,” I finally said. “Eugenie will not just smile politely while her ex-boyfriend marries her sister. It is absolutely going to be a scandal and she will make sure of it.”
Winnie perked up again. “Oh my God, that would be amazing content. Drama bomb!”
I nearly fell over out of the shockwave that slammed into me this time, laughter no longer even an appropriate response. “You’re insane, Win.”
“And you’re rude. So there.”
“No, actually, this is insane,” I clarified, my voice reduced to a near whisper as I gestured between the two of them. “This entire situation is categorically insane.”
My father’s expression hardened, his patience at an end apparently. “That’s quite enough. This is happening whether you approve of it or not. Now, I’ve indulged you. Winifred has heard you out. Perhaps it’s time for us all to take a moment.”
“Of course.” I pressed my lips together, feeling a familiar, bitter realization settle in my chest that I was the only one who truly cared.
About our family name, our reputation, and the estate.
I was the one who kept it running. I balanced the accounts, made sure the staff was paid and that the roofs didn’t cave in.
I kept the tourists coming and the film crews booking.
I was the one who sweated and bled for that house—and Winnie, who barely remembered which wing was which, might be the one to give my father the heir.
The one thing he’d always wanted and that would, ultimately, save the family name.
A hot, ugly wave of bitter resentment rose in my chest, catching me off guard with its intensity. I didn’t like feeling or thinking this way, but it was there all the same.
“Perhaps you’re right,” I said tightly. “I could use a moment to get some air.”
Neither of them stopped me when I grabbed my laptop and walked out of the suite without looking back.
The hallway was blissfully quiet and the elevator ride was even better.
By the time I reached the bar downstairs, my hands had finally stopped shaking and my father’s voice was no longer so loud in my head.
I slid into a booth near the back, setting my laptop on the table and opening it to find booking schedules and projected maintenance costs staring back at me.
Usually, this was comforting. It meant I had control over something that was important to me, a purpose to every day, but right now, even just looking at it felt heavy.
Immediately minimizing the tab, I clicked into my internet browser and typed out a simple search, opening the first website that seemed appropriate. Even as I stared at the sign-up page though, I knew I probably wouldn’t actually do it.
My thoughts were running in useless circles with me, all of them centering around marriage, Winnie, Jesse Westwood, Eugenie, the estate, and the heir. That was what it always came back to, the heir.
Having three daughters had been the single greatest failure of my father’s life. He was the sixth Earl of Roderick. Every male member of his family before him had passed the title down to the next in line, but he didn’t have anyone to pass it to.
Not unless one of us produced a son. Glancing back at the website, I rubbed my temples and sighed. Maybe he was right about this. Maybe it would save the estate if Winnie produced a boy. Maybe this didn’t also have to fall on me.
Because of the Westwoods, the repairs would also finally get done, and the accounts might no longer balance on only a knife’s edge.
Movement caught my eye and it snapped me right out of my flight of fancy when I looked up and saw him.
Jesse Westwood sat at the bar, slightly hunched with a glass in front of him, not looking at all like that boisterous boy I remembered from that summer at the estate. Before I managed to avert my gaze, he turned slightly, like he’d felt me looking at him, and our eyes met. Locked. Held.
As if this day hasn’t been dreadful enough already.
I straightened slightly, ready to tear into him too, if I could just… get… the courage… to yell… in public.
He stared back at me for another moment, his expression shifting into something I couldn’t quite read before he picked up his drink, stood, and walked over.
Oh no. Oh, absolutely not.
I watched in helpless horror as he approached, my indignant rage dissolving into absolute nothingness when he stopped at the booth and slid into the seat across from me.