Page 23 of Duke of Silver
“Not overly grievous,” she began, though the hesitation in her voice lingered. “Mr. Ryton mentioned that the Duchess seemed... disappointed by her solitary dinner last night.”
The words hung between them, heavy with implication. Alexander felt a sudden tightening in his chest. He recalled the look on Elizabeth’s face last night—the quiet hurt, masked beneath her calm words. She had every right to be disappointed. He had left her to dine alone on her first night as his wife, knowing full well how isolated she must feel.
Alexander knew he was subjecting Elizabeth to more than just solitary meals. His choices—limited though they were—were meant to protect her, to shield her from the future he feared. He had no intention of siring a child only to fail them as he had failed others. It wasn’t just failure he feared—it was breaking her. And he would be damned before he broke another soul, especially one he had sworn before God to protect. In sickness and in health, no matter the circumstances.
“But I told Mr. Ryton to excuse your first day,” Mrs. Ryton continued, interrupting his thoughts. “After all, estate matters needed tending. I trust the Duchess won’t be dining alone for breakfast?”
Her words hovered somewhere between suggestion and question, a quiet challenge wrapped in propriety.
“We shall see,” Alexander replied, his tone measured. It was the best answer he could offer, though it felt hollow. The truth was a burden too heavy to speak aloud.
Mrs. Ryton’s scrutinizing gaze lingered, her lips pressed into a thin line, as if she weighed her next words carefully. She seemed to have more on her mind than she let on.
“I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but that hardly sounds reassuring,” she finally said, the concern in her voice unmistakable.
“Did I give ‘no’ as an answer?” Alexander raised a brow, a warning embedded in the arch of it.
The housekeeper fell silent, her expression thoughtful. For a moment, he thought she would leave it at that. But then she spoke again, her tone softer, almost maternal. “It isn’t your fault, Your Grace. It never was. But do not let the past cast shadows over your marriage. Don’t limit yourself.”
His jaw tightened at her words. “Do not start, Mrs. Ryton,” he ground out, irritation prickling his skin.
“I do not speak as your housekeeper,” she pressed on, undeterred by his warning. “I speak as one soul to another.”
Alexander felt the tension coil in his chest. He had outgrown the need for her reassurances long ago. He appreciated her loyalty, her service, but this—this was stepping over a line.
“And this soul wishes that you would take a moment to open your eyes to the truth,” she added quietly, her voice steady.
“Is there any other truth besides their deaths, Mrs. Ryton?” Alexander’s voice was sharp, cutting through the morning air with a finality that even he recognized as harsh.
Mrs. Ryton’s face tightened at his tone, but she didn’t flinch. He regretted it almost instantly, feeling the weight of his own frustration pressing down on him.
“They wouldn’t have wanted this for you,” she said quietly, her eyes softening with the familiarity of years gone by. “Your father?—”
“Is dead,” Alexander interrupted, his voice firm. “And I made him promises, promises I intend to keep. At least the ones Icankeep now.”
After my past failures,he thought, though the words remained unspoken, locked away in the deepest corners of his mind.
“If I may be presumptuous again,” Mrs. Ryton ventured, her tone careful, though they both knew she never let propriety stand in her way.
“Since when has propriety ever concerned you?” Alex rolled his eyes, a half-smile tugging at his lips despite the heaviness of the conversation.
She returned the smile, a brief flash of warmth between them. It was a comfort, that familiarity, one he hadn’t realized he needed in the moment.
“But I think,” she continued, “you shouldn’t see your wife as just another promise you must keep.”
Alex’s smile faded. “Sheisa promise I made to God, Mrs. Ryton. How can you expect me to simply disregard what is, perhaps, the most important aspect of her?”
Mrs. Ryton met his gaze, unflinching. “She is a person first, Your Grace. Not just a promise. She is yourwife.Give yourself a chance to see that. And perhaps, in time, you may even come to feel it.”
Her words lingered long after she left the room. Alexander sat at his desk, staring at the papers before him, though his thoughts were far from the estate matters at hand.
He felt uneasy. It wasn’t the irritation he often felt when confronted with memories of his past—it was something deeper, something unsettling.
CHAPTER 11
Elizabeth stared at the empty chair across from her, the silence of the room broken only by the faint clink of her spoon against her plate. Her second morning as a married woman, and once again, she dined alone. It seemed her husband was determined to remain elusive.
Part of her had braced for this, especially after their confrontation the night before. She had stood her ground, spoken her mind, and still... he had left her to face yet another solitary meal. The empty chair taunted her, a reminder of the distance between them, both physical and emotional.
