Chapter 10 - Ten
The moon had climbed high into the night sky, a silver coin in the vast, dark expanse. The gentle clip-clop of horses’ hooves and the crunch of gravel under wheels were the only sounds as Delia’s carriage pulled into the courtyard. The long day had bled into an even longer evening, and a deep weariness had settled into her bones. The driver helped her down from the carriage. The gesture was kind, but it did little to ease the tension knotted in her shoulders.
Delia rubbed the back of her neck, trying to work out the stiff ache that had formed there. "I never knew it would be so difficult," she murmured to herself as she saw the hired carriage leaving, annoyance lacing her tired voice. "To find something, anything, on someone so prominent. I thought it would be easier to find information on someone popular."
She had spent the entire day in the bustling town center. After selling her father’s brooch—an act that left a bitter taste in her mouth—she had felt a surge of hope. The money felt like power in her pocket, a key that could unlock any door.
But the doors to Duke Eric Carson’s world
were heavier and more tightly sealed than she had ever imagined. She had tried talking to merchants who dealt in dyes, hoping for a business connection. She had discreetly questioned servants from other noble houses in taverns, hoping for gossip. But the Duke was like a ghost. His business was managed through intermediaries, his social life was exclusive, and his movements were a closely guarded secret. The few whispers she did catch were vague and unhelpful, costing her precious coins for nothing more than speculation.
With a heavy sigh, she climbed the stone stairs leading to the grand front door. Before opening it, she paused under the soft glow of the porch lamp. She reached into the small purse tied to her waist and poured the remaining coins into her palm. Her heart sank as she looked at the meager collection of copper and silver.
"Ugh!" she grunted in frustration, clenching her fist around the coins. The substantial sum she had received for her father’s brooch had dwindled to almost nothing. She had paid for information that led nowhere, for whispers that turned out to be lies, and for the day-long hire of the carriage.
"This won’t be enough. This is nowhere near enough." Her first independent attempt at scheming had been a failure, a costly and fruitless endeavor.