Page 25 of Duke of Silver
“Tragedy?” Elizabeth echoed, setting the pot down carefully. Her heartbeat quickened, but she maintained her composure, unwilling to let her curiosity show too plainly.
Lady Compton, however, seemed oblivious to Elizabeth’s restraint, her words tumbling out in a flood. “Oh, my dear, you don’t know? The tragic accident which took the late Duke and—” She stopped abruptly, her eyes widening as if realizing her mistake too late. Her hand flew to her mouth, muffling the remainder of the sentence.
“If you did not know, I am not sure it is my place to suddenly spring such news upon you,” she added hastily.
Elizabeth’s chest tightened, a sharp spike of frustration rising beneath her calm exterior. You brought it up, didn’t you? she wanted to cry out, the unspoken words burning on her tongue. But instead, she forced a polite smile and nodded, reaching for her cup to conceal the disappointment that threatened to show on her face.
She took a measured sip of tea, the warmth doing little to soothe the cold weight settling in her stomach. So, there was indeed a shadow hanging over the Sterlin family—a tragedy that Alexander seemed determined to bury, leaving her to stumble blindly through the darkness of it.
A part of her had hoped that Lady Compton might have offered more, cracked the window open a little wider and shed light on the reasons behind her husband’s brooding demeanor. But no, it seemed fate had other plans for her curiosity. Delayed plans, perhaps. Or plans that would never come to pass.
“Well, I still think you are a cause for celebration in the Sterlin household, Your Grace,” Lady Compton whispered, her voicedropping to a conspiratorial tone, as though they were suddenly surrounded by eavesdroppers.
Elizabeth raised her brow, feeling a flicker of irritation at the woman’s dramatic shift in demeanor. It was as if the Viscountess was deliberately dangling some piece of knowledge just out of reach, teasing her with half-revealed truths.
“And I do not blame them at all for not mentioning it,” Lady Compton continued, her voice taking on a more serious note. “Every family would want to keep their tragedies buried and hopefully forgotten.”
Elizabeth felt a tightness in her chest, her fingers stiffening slightly as she held her teacup. The woman was taunting her now, wasn’t she? Teasing her with vague hints of a mysterious sorrow that Alexander had gone to such lengths to hide from her. It felt like the Viscountess was holding a carrot before her, only to snatch it away whenever Elizabeth dared to reach for it.
But before she could formulate a response, Lady Compton abruptly shifted gears, her tone brightening with renewed energy as she reached for another shortbread. “Oh, did I tell you about my country assemblies, Your Grace?”
Elizabeth blinked, taken aback by the sudden change of subject. “I believe you were getting round to it,” she muttered, barely able to mask her exasperation.
The Viscountess chuckled, clearly missing the edge in Elizabeth’s voice. “Oh, you know me so well already!” shelaughed, her cheeks glowing as though the prospect of another assembly brought her genuine joy.
“Well, Your Grace,” Lady Compton continued, her voice swelling with pride, “I host the finest country dances and assemblies in the village. And I should very much like your grace and the Duke’s radiant company at the next one.”
Elizabeth tilted her head, a flicker of interest sparking in her mind. “Is that so?” she asked, her brow arching slightly as an idea began to form.
Perhaps this woman’s invitation was more than just idle chatter. If she and Alexander were expected to attend a public event together, it would be impossible for him to continue avoiding her company. He would have no choice but to appear by her side, and for once, he would be forced into her presence for more than a fleeting moment.
Something within her stirred at the thought, a small, almost triumphant smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Perhaps the Viscountess had given her the very thing she needed.
“I think the Duke would welcome the idea,” Elizabeth said smoothly, sipping her tea with newfound satisfaction. “We would love to attend, Lady Compton.”
“Excellent!” the Viscountess exclaimed, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “I shall send the official written invitations as soon as I return home. Oh, how the village will be thrilled to see you both!”
Tea had certainly become much more pleasant, and for the first time since her marriage, Elizabeth found herself laughing freely. Lady Compton’s stories of village life were filled with colorful characters and more than a few instances of thinly veiled gossip, but it was harmless enough, and Elizabeth could not help but be entertained.
“...and Lady Ashton, well, she had the statue of herself from the country fair on display in her conservatory for ages!” Lady Compton giggled. “We never hear the end of her achievements to this day.”
When it was finally time for the Viscountess to take her leave, she stood with a dramatic flourish, her cheeks flushed from both conversation and the warmth of the room. With one last glance at the shortbread crumbs on her plate, she sighed with exaggerated wistfulness.
“Why, after trying these delectable shortbread, I feel as though I should hide my cook’s pastries from Your Grace,” she declared, her tone as blunt as ever but softened by the playful glint in her eyes.
Elizabeth couldn’t help but laugh again. There was something entirely disarming about Lady Compton’s unfiltered honesty, a quality that was both refreshing and rare in her new world of polished manners and veiled intentions.
“Oh, please do not,” Elizabeth replied, her smile lingering. “I should love to give your cook’s biscuits a try.”
The Viscountess beamed, clearly delighted by the encouragement. “Very well then, Your Grace. I shall have them sent over without delay!”
“I trust Your Grace had a pleasant time with her caller earlier,” Mrs. Ryton inquired as she spread the household accounts before them on the wide oak desk.
“Oh, I have never met a more spirited woman,” Elizabeth responded with a light chuckle, still recalling the Viscountess’s unabashed exuberance.
“The Viscountess is as pleasant as she is exhausting, I agree,” Mrs. Ryton nodded, her tone matter-of-fact.
Elizabeth’s lips twitched into a smile. “Why, I never called her exhausting,” she replied, amused, letting out a small laugh.
