Page 26 of Duke of Silver
A ghost of a smile touched Mrs. Ryton’s otherwise stern face, and for a moment, the room felt lighter. But then, the shadow of what Lady Compton had said earlier crept back into Elizabeth’s mind. She shifted slightly in her seat, weighing her next words, uncertain how to proceed without crossing any unseen lines.
“Mrs. Ryton...” Elizabeth began, her voice hesitant. The housekeeper looked up, waiting with a calm but expectant expression.
“The family tragedy...” Elizabeth ventured cautiously.
“Must not be spoken about,” Mrs. Ryton interjected swiftly, her expression darkening as though the very mention of it summoned something long buried and best forgotten.
Elizabeth felt herself deflate under the weight of those words. She hadn’t realized how much she had been holding on to the hope that someone—anyone—might shed light on the secrets her husband kept so fiercely locked away. The abruptness of the housekeeper’s response stung, as though she had been reprimanded for daring to pry.
“Oh,” was all she could manage, her voice small, betraying the disappointment tightening in her chest.
“My apologies, Your Grace,” Mrs. Ryton added quickly, her voice softening, though her expression remained solemn. “It is just that I do not think it my place to discuss such matters in detail.”
Elizabeth nodded in acknowledgment, though it did little to ease the frustration building within her. It made sense, she supposed. If there was anyone who ought to tell her the truth, it should be her husband. But Alexander had made it clear through his actions—or lack thereof—that he didn’t see her as part of the family, not truly. Perhaps that was why he avoided her, why he treated her presence in his life as little more than an obligation.
She wanted to understand him, to know the man she had married. Yet, he remained a stranger, locked away in his grief, or his pride—or perhaps both.
The room had fallen into an uncomfortable silence, one that Elizabeth felt keenly. She stared at the accounts laid before her, the columns of numbers blurring together as her mind wandered.
“It was a carriage accident,” Mrs. Ryton’s voice broke through the quiet, catching Elizabeth by surprise.
Her eyes snapped to the housekeeper’s face, startled by the unexpected admission. The older woman’s expression had grown grave, the lines on her face deepening with the weight of what she was about to say.
“The accident nearly wiped out the entire Hunton line,” Mrs. Ryton continued, her voice low and measured. “And I’m afraid the Duke remains shaken about it to this day.”
Elizabeth’s heart constricted at the words. She had known there was something—something dark and sorrowful that lingered over her husband like a storm cloud. But hearing it spoken aloud, even in such sparse detail, made it feel all the more real. Her mind raced with questions, with the desire to know more, to understand how such a tragedy had shaped the man who seemed determined to keep her at a distance.
But that was all Mrs. Ryton offered, and Elizabeth could sense that no further details would be forthcoming. The housekeeper’s face remained solemn, but closed off now, as if the door to the past had been opened just a crack, only to be shut once more.
For the rest of the afternoon, Elizabeth found it impossible to focus on the household accounts. Her mind kept drifting back to the housekeeper’s words, to the notion of an accident that had nearly erased the Hunton family. What had happened? How many lives had been lost? And why did it still weigh so heavily on Alexander?
She had never been more curious about anything in her life.
And she would not find the answers here, in this room, pouring over ledgers and inventories. She must find her husband, she decided.
CHAPTER 12
For a man so determined to remain elusive, Alexander was surprisingly predictable. Elizabeth thought as much when she knocked on his study door after dinner, knowing she would find him there. It had become his sanctuary, his escape, just as much as her solitude had become hers.
The door creaked open, and Alexander stood there, looking as surprised to see her now as he had been the night before. His expression, though calm, betrayed a flicker of uncertainty.
“Elizabeth,” he greeted her, his voice touched with surprise. “It’s late.”
“And I should be in bed?” she quirked a brow, half-amused by the suggestion.
He paused, eyeing her with the same measured gaze he always wore when he wasn’t sure of her intentions. “I heard you hada long and busy day, so naturally, yes,” he replied, his tone practical, as though she were one of the servants under his care.
“I’m not a child, Alexander,” she said, her voice soft but firm. The words struck her harder than she had intended. Was that truly how he saw her? As something to be managed, kept out of sight when not needed?
But then his earlier words registered fully, and her curiosity piqued. “Did you just say you heard about my day?” she asked, her brow furrowing.
He raised a brow, his face a study in nonchalance. “Did I?” he responded flatly, though a hint of amusement played at the corner of his mouth. “I suppose I did.”
“Are you stalking me now?” she teased, though she could not help but wonder how closely he had been paying attention.
“With a house full of servants and the arrival of a new Duchess,” he began, leaning casually against the doorframe, “do you really think news of you would remain quiet?”
Elizabeth opened her mouth to respond, but faltered. “I… suppose you are right,” she admitted, her voice trailing off.
