There was a flurry of activity in the house the next morning.

Earl Rosenberg had died after two days of remaining in bed. He had only eaten a bad slice of meat pie a mere two days ago, and since then, he had the worst of stomach pains and opted to rest in bed.

Sarah Jane stood in front of the closed-door wondering if she wanted to see her granduncle that way. He had been a good old chap.

Not once did he attempt to kiss her—he was a man of moral values and warmth. His daughters had married off nicely and though his house was coming to shreds, he had a distinct ability to remain happy—as was her disposition even in her fluctuating situations.

Cheshire was a nice location with its sprawling meadows, hidden forests, and springs. Sarah Jane had enjoyed living there for a few months. This Lord Rosenberg had even treated her with an occasional pat on the head, which reminded her of the 9th Earl whom she also liked.

This granduncle was balding and old, but he took regular baths and told her of his service to the nation's fleet. He had been interesting, and that was more than what she could say for her previous guardians.

"My lady." Robinson teetered at the edge of the railing and had approached her with caution.

"Where will we go this time, Robinson," she asked, as they had already made quite a habit of changing houses these past few years.

Her father started it. When the master passed on, she would be too. If she hadn't been the one being passed on to a series of households, the situation might have been ludicrous enough to elicit a laugh.

How many more? is what she really wanted to ask, but even the ever-knowing Robinson would not know the answer to that.

"The solicitor, Mr. Collins, is waiting for you in the Morning Room," he said with a quick bow and walked away.

Distractedly, she wandered the halls of Regalia House and thought that this may be the seventh... no, maybe the eighth time, that she will be passed on to someone who would inherit the title.

Earl Rosenberg had been her father, at least the 7th Earl of Rosenberg was. But when she turned 6, her father's passing had become a great problem because Earl Rosenberg had been an only child, and so was the earlier Earl Rosenberg, her grandfather, the 6th Earl of Rosenberg. This only meant that she would be passed on to the cousins of her grandfather and their male defendants, if there were any.

And there had been only a few.

All of these granduncles were hanging on to life by a wispy little thread. They had been old and she had always been there to kiss them goodbye.

She entered the room, and immediately the solicitor, a handsome man in his early thirties stood up respectfully.

He had a wide frame, shoulders that could intimidate any lanky dandy. Sarah Jane was surprised, she had expected an old Mr. Collins of about sixty or seventy years. She had corresponded with the elder Mr. Collins when she was eighteen. He had been a forgetful old man, constantly referring to her as Miss Jane, Lady Jane or Lady R, sometimes even a mere Rose, and oftentimes he had been thoroughly confused with whom he was talking to.

As Sarah Jane moved from house to house quite often than any normal English noblewoman would, the aging Mr. Collins had never been able to catch up with them in person, and correspondences were their only means of communication.

This must be the new Mr. Collins, the son of her father's solicitor—the old and forgetful Mr. Collins, who for once had made it on time. He was even a touch too early, Lord Rosenberg's body was still warm.

She shook her head in a confusion of these entrustments. "Good Afternoon," she greeted meekly and invited him to sit with a gentle wave of a hand.

Indelicately, she sat with a loud flop on the front couch, not giving a whit of care what he thought of her or her manners.

"My lady, we have much to discuss since the 14th Earl of Rosenberg has passed," he said and fanned out the papers on the tea table.

With an audible sigh, she stood and rang for tea and biscuits.

"This will be a long afternoon," she muttered as she went back to her seat dejectedly, yet again with a loud flop, to face Mr. Collins.

She glanced him over. Mr. Collins had a nice angular jaw, a chin that shadowed a week's worth of beard, and kind eyes—a very welcome sight given the rather irksome circumstance.

The solicitor eyed her closely, observing the way she moved and the expression on her face. Gently, he began speaking, "since your move from the 13th Earl Rosenberg, I had been looking for your father's original copy of his last wishes."

"The 8th Earl was very disorganized and had lost it in his home while you were there." He took one of the forlorn papers and gave it a light patting. "Luckily there was another copy, an original, in my father's study."

He offered her a small smile, "I presume that this is the original document, although only parts of it were discovered. My lady, and I fear that the copies that were made after the 8th Earl were lacking in its contents."

With a small frown, he spoke hesitantly "I would have to read it to you because there will be some changes."

All the while Sarah Jane was very quiet. She was accustomed to how it usually worked. The old Earl would die and the next one will inherit both the entailed lands and any possessions including her. Unmarried female wards come with the inheritance as it usually is in British aristocratic families with no heir.

No one cares if she felt like a horse being given to a new owner. That was just the way it was.

Her father had added conditions on the letter, thinking that as young as six, her daughter will need someone familiar for comfort. Nurse Harpers, now fondly called Mathilda, and her ever-reliable butler and secretary Mr. Robinson, also Mathilda's husband, were asked to be employed by the new Earl Rosenberg as the ward's additional guardians from service. This was the general rule of her father's wishes, and that she be transported to the home of the new Earl posthaste.

"Changes?"

Mr. Collins nodded. He did say that there were changes but his face seemed unsure.

The unearthing of her father's original document was certainly a surprise, and she wasn't at all sure if it is a welcome one.

"May I view it," she said as she reached out to the paper containing her father's signature on the bottom seal. The sight was enough to make her eyes water.

She didn't remember much of his features, how he looked like, how he smelled, or even how he sounded, but she remembered the way he made her feel—soaring and free.

The maid entered with a fresh brew of tea, and she quickly fixed herself a cup, then brought it to her lips to avoid any untoward tears. Wordlessly, she motioned the solicitor to help himself.

"Er..." The solicitor shifted in his seat and shuffled the papers in front of him.

"It has been brought to my attention that all the poor relations has had some tragedy causing their demise. You will be transported to Trowbridge in 3 days, in the home of a Viscount Killsworth. He has not yet confirmed nor responded to my missives but it is in your best interest that you be transported post haste. It is a long journey to Wiltshire."

"What," she spluttered, some blots of tea falling to her hands and on the saucer, as her other hand shielded the paper away from the mess.

If she heard him right, the Viscount had not agreed to this transport. This certainly was a first. No one in his right mind would refuse the wealth from monies and entailed land that she had brought with her.

Not to mention, refusing was surely not allowed in polite society.

Although she had not experienced a Season in town, that didn't mean that she was not from impeccable birth and high connections in the aristocracy. Perhaps she lacked a bit of refinement and a sponsor, but that was really of a small matter.

Well, that may be a wee bit of an exaggeration.

The Rosenberg title might have had high connections, but she didn't know a single soul aside from the people in the house. And heaven knows she could use a bit more than just a little more refinement.

Mr. Collins's brows furrowed together as he tried to think of ways to approach the problem. "I had tried to inform him, and instructed a footman to deliver the urgent message to him. You will be departing tomorrow. The Earl's daughters and other relatives will be taking care of the funeral."

Mr. Collins brought a handkerchief to his brow and patted the beading sweat. "As you can see, your former guardians have neglected a few important details and this original document would be of great aid to all our understanding. When I find all of it."

"Won't I be going into mourning?" As the minute trickled by, Sarah Jane was becoming more and more irritated with this man. "Unlike the other Earls, I had adored the 13th Earl of Rosenberg!"

"14th," the solicitor muttered.

"What?"

"This Earl is the 14th Earl of Rosenberg," he said gravely.

"It is of no importance," she said under her breath just so she could have the last word. She was tired of being transported from house to house as if she were a horse for sale.

"This Earl, I adored him, and I mustn't leave him without thought. It is highly improper." She paused, searching for the right word, "Quite certain it is most appalling behavior to be quite unthinking."

The solicitor eyed her warily. "We follow legal documents, my lady."

Legal documents that were long lost since she was still playing with dolls. They have only unearthed them now, only even part of it, why the hurry?

Her eyes narrowed to slits just as she stood up, "Then bring me to the magistrate. I dare you." She stormed from the room for a dramatic flair that Mr. Collins did not the least bit appreciate.

Sarah Jane was already out of the drawing room when she realized that she hadn't even gotten around asking what "changes" Mr. Collins was keen about.

Much to Sarah Jane's dismay, her bags were already packed in less than a day's worth of hours. The footmen were already loading them into a closed carriage while she was still trying to dissuade Mathilda from leaving so soon. But Mathilda had none of it; she clucked her tongue and unceremoniously shoved the girl into the coach.

Sarah Jane folded her arms over her chest and glared at Mathilda, her mouth pouting petulantly like the child of 6 she had been.

"Oh do stop." Mathilda rolled her eyes and conversed with Robinson once again. His face was taut with concern as Mathilda whispered information to him—something Sarah Jane itched to know.

"Are you going to be whispering there day and night long, without even asking me if I want to be transported," She said indignantly.

Robinson gave her a sideways glance. He was a man of very few words while Mathilda was a woman with very many, many, words.

The matronly woman heaved a sigh and rubbed Sarah Jane's knee. "We know you have loved this Lord Rosenberg."

"I didn't love him, I adored him." She just couldn't resist.

"Very well then, adored him." With a frown, she unclutched a worn piece of paper and shoved it in her reticule. "You must know that with all the legalities surrounding this transfer, you are left at the mercy of the Earl Rosenberg, whoever he might be."

The old matron's throat clenched tightly, threatening to come to sobs as something close to pity surfaced in her chest for the girl she came to love so deeply. "We will find out soon enough what we are to do with ourselves. In the meantime, you must rest for we must be in high spirits when we meet the new Earl."

Just that afternoon, with not so many words, Mr. Collins had demonstrated how utterly powerless she was. He mentioned a few details of this and that, but really—he was merely informing her of her situation, they were not having a discussion about it. Lady Sarah Jane fervently wished to wield her own power and became less at the mercy of men.

Sighing, resigned to her fate, she stared at the window of the moving carriage, reflecting on what had become of her life after the passing of her dear father. That fretful Tuesday had not only altered her world but had altered Nurse Harpers' and Mr. Robinson's as well.

As deaths surrounded them, one could only relish the fact that at least one good thing had come of it. Blessedly, Robinson formed an undeniable kinship with Nurse Harpers and had convinced her to become Mrs. Robinson. They had not been blessed with a child, her nerves were always the suspicion, but it did not seem to dampen the tender feelings they had for each other.

From what could be deduced from the whispers of Mathilda and Robinson about their fates, their current transfer had become even more uncommon, if it were possible, as all of her father's relatives had perished one by one. The title would have to be given back to court for a reassessment, and the King shall determine if it shall be entailed to another worthy gentleman.

All this was to be done if it was ascertained that all relatives had indeed perished, and Mr. Collins, the younger, was the unlucky man to undergo such a task.

But why was she being pushed to Viscount Killsworth if he wasn't a distant relative of hers?

So many questions boggled her mind, and as she desperately tried to make sense of the faint whispers, her mind fell to a deep slumber succumbing to the gentle rocking of the carriage.

Hours later, she was awoken by the carriage door being swung open as Robinson and Mathilda prepared to disembark and spend the night at the inn. Her stomach growled and Mathilda asked if she wanted some supper to be sent to her room. She gently shook her head and asked if she could accompany them for supper instead. Both obliged and they took a private room at the inn.

"As you may well know, I am thoroughly irked by the fact that you would not share pertinent details of this transfer with me, Mathilda." She took a small mound of bread and applied butter and salt generously.

Robinson eyed them curiously as he took some of the steaming potato soup. He watched his wife's lips tightening into a thin line, pausing to think about how much she should reveal for the moment. He had every intention of allowing the two women to carry on the conversation for the rest of the night.

"There are many details which are not yet of any certainty, which therefore brings me to believe that discussing the matter with you shall not produce any good," the portly woman said and cut through the deeply blackened fowl on her plate.

"Why shall it not bring any good if I can bring some insight to it? My own opinion?" She turned to Robinson, "Will you be a bit more helpful than her?"

His eyes betrayed a look of surprise, startled by bringing his involvement in their bickering.

Sarah Jane sighed, she couldn't have made Robinson speak even if his life depended on it. "Did my father give the Earldom away?" she asked, unsure, as her thoughts imagined what could possibly bring her to a Viscount Killsworth who was no relation to her.

"No," Came Mathilda's quick reply. "But they had an understanding of sorts. The understanding was drafted clearer in a series of correspondences after their meeting but no one is certain where those original letters are."

"And this understanding is?" She prodded, grabbing whatever she can from the meager information being provided to her.

"From what I understand, your father and Viscount Killsworth were friends from Eton, and as peers, they came into society together and made merry throwing such statements that are neither here nor there..."

Impatient, Sarah Jane stabbed the small round portion of meat on her plate. "And? What does this mean?"

"We are not entirely sure. But if your father gave away an Earldom in the heavy influence of drink, then we will just have to wait and see what will become of it since no one can give away an Earldom aside from the King."

They were spurned, Sarah Jane was certain. Her father and this Killsworth lord had been appallingly drunk, intoxicated, and thoroughly inebriated to be able to think of such a thing.

Who in his right mind would give away an Earldom to a friend, a schoolmate?

Maybe they hadn't thought it possible that these surviving male relatives would ultimately perish. Every single one of the heir presumptive had become the heir apparent, had inherited, and then perished. Surely, someone in the heavens is making fun of her. Because to all those who hear of her bizarre predicament, they could even be safe to assume that Sarah Jane had been poisoning every one of her guardians.

Every single one.

Sarah Jane sat in silence for the rest of the meal, furiously slicing through the meat and eating it with precise chewing, throwing it to the left molars and then crushing it with the right. She washed them down with some sweet drink, while her mind worked at the situation that trapped the three of them.

No one would believe her to be a witch who poisoned guardians who did not suit her needs. Surely, no one would?            

The three day travel was spent in her rumination. Her thoughts were spent on going through the events like a horrible tragedy.

In her legal defense, not all of them died of a stomach ailment. Firstly, her father was thrown off a horse, succumbed to a fever for a fortnight, and died on a Tuesday.

The 8th Earl, Sarah Jane's grandfather's first cousin, could barely even lift his legs and had passed on barely a month after. Coming out of mourning, they found themselves moving to his son's estate, abandoning their beloved home.

The 8th Earl's son, the 9th Earl had been healthier, and in all his health had been actively drinking and smoking his life away even before he had the decency to sire an heir.

He had provided for her handsomely, a governess for history and the arts, and another governess for language and sums. The Earl would give her soft pats on the head when he, smelling strongly of liquor, arrived from the club as this was his only way of showing his attention to the little girl.

Then a day before her 11th birthday, while she was playing tea-time with her dolls, Mathilda's infamous loud screech echoed through the halls when the Earl, in all his drunken stupor, had stumbled down the servants' spiral staircase.

When Sarah Jane had turned 11, her lessons were moved and served in a castle nearing Scotland. The stress of moving and the Earl's death was presumed to be the cause for young Sarah Jane's early bleeding. Mathilda, worried as she always was, took care of the little girl and told her of what she needed to know as she approached the cusp of womanhood.

The 10th Earl had married a genteel lady of Scottish descent. The countess had been lovely to her, teaching Sarah how to choose fabrics appropriate to fashion, dance, flirt, and eat to her pleasure. But the 10th Earl caught a bug and died

The 11th Earl was another another aging granduncle, and childless. The 12th and 13th Earls were both granduncles with breathing problems and without male heirs, which now led up to the 14th Earl with 4 daughters and that god forsaken meat pie.

She had wanted a Season, she has read about it in many books, and yet there was never an opportunity to ask for one.

The Earls had been to old to accompany her, let alone socially sponsor her for such a thing. Maybe, this was her chance.

With a non-too-gentle shake of her head, she sat back in the carriage and began to focus herself on the greeneries from the window. Indeed, Sarah Jane had no doubt in her mind that this will be a long week. They have spent three days on the road, leaving her with ample time to mull about what has come of her life.

In the past days, she was in a daze, only responding with slight movements of her head when being talked to by either Robinson or Mathilda.

Her eyes began to close from being rocked by the carriage ride.

"I have made the berries you brought home the other day into a fruit jam," Mathilda said trying to make some conversation in high spirits. Really, she had had enough of this brooding. They were approaching Wiltshire, and Sarah Jane was expected to be perfectly charming company when they meet the viscount.

Sarah Jane's mouth turned up at the corners, hinting a smile from hearing about the berries. "Is it as how I make it?" She couldn't stop herself from smiling now.

She concluded, yes, the 14th Earl was a pleasant one. He had been the best of guardians even with his stocky build that made him unable to move a whole lot. But her days had been filled with sceneries, picnics, and gentle horse rides. Regalia House was undoubtedly crumbling, but Sarah Jane preferred to meddle with Tenant and house repair affairs than practice music or embroider or paint like a dainty noblewoman suffering a case of ennui. No, there were too many things to do in Regalia House, and never did she had to suffer an enviable (society's opinion, not hers) case of ennui.

"Just how you make it, with ample amounts of sugar and a bit of cinnamon." Mathilda smiled knowingly.

She smiled blissfully thinking of a snack. "How many jars?" The 14th Earl's kind nature and fruit jam instantly restored her in the most cheerful of spirits.

"Two," Mathilda answered as she brought out her embroidery. "I wrapped a ribbon on one so we may give it as a gift to the new Earl. Mr. Collins said that he is not expecting us."

She laughed bitterly. Surely, a jar of sweet jam wouldn't make a grown man suddenly jump for joy at her arrival when he had made it perfectly clear that he hadn't wanted anything to do with her.

He ought to be thankful for her arrival. Not only did she bring delicious jam with her, but she was offering her an Earldom!

If it's a fight he'll put up, Sarah Jane had wrestled enough cows to know that she won't be backing down.

Very well, the last bit about cows might be an exaggeration.

——-
A/N: This was quite a long chapter! I will be editing this to make the information more relevant to the situation being presented as not to overwhelm the readers. Thanks for the feedback!

If you're enjoying this, please consider giving the chapter a vote :) thank you so so much!