Page 45 of Duke of Silver
Mrs. Ryton was silent.
CHAPTER 20
“That was the young lady Eleanor Hunton,” Mrs. Ryton said softly.
Elizabeth’s breath caught. She had assumed Alexander and Percy were the only children, but now, before her, was the image of a girl who had been lost to time. The girl in the portrait appeared younger than Percy, her delicate features framed by dark hair, her blue eyes strikingly familiar, almost haunting in their resemblance to Alexander’s.
Elizabeth turned to meet Mrs. Ryton’s gaze. The housekeeper’s expression had grown solemn, her eyes distant, as though she were recalling a memory too painful to bear.
“The poor child never survived her injuries from the carriage accident,” Mrs. Ryton continued, her voice heavy with sorrow.
“I was unaware the Duke had a sister,” Elizabeth murmured, the revelation settling upon her like a shroud.
“You could not have known,” Mrs. Ryton replied, “The accident claimed the old Duke immediately. But Eleanor, like Lord Percy, lingered, suffering her wounds for days before she, too, was taken.”
“How dreadful,” Elizabeth gasped, her hand instinctively rising to her chest as the full weight of the tragedy pressed upon her.
She could scarcely fathom the horror that had befallen the family. Her heart ached for the young Alexander, who had not only lost his father but had been forced to witness his sister’s struggle, only to lose her as well. The thought of a boy, burdened with such grief, seared into her mind, and a profound sadness welled within her.
“The brothers, I fear, still bear the scars of those losses,” Mrs. Ryton said. “Their wounds remain as fresh as though it had all transpired but yesterday.”
Elizabeth’s gaze returned to the portrait of Eleanor, her heart heavy with sorrow and empathy. The pain Alexander carried now seemed clearer, the shadows in Alexander’s eyes were not merely the result of his duties but the lingering ghosts of a past filled with unimaginable sorrow.
As Elizabeth stood before the portrait of young Eleanor, memories of all the moments Alexander had shut out her curiosity, deflected her questions, came rushing back to her. Each of those instances now took on a new, painful clarity. She had unknowingly prodded at a wound that had never fully healed, and the realization struck her with a crushing weight.
“Oh my God,” she choked out, her voice barely a whisper as guilt flooded her. If only she had known…
“I gave what support I could to the young boy,” Mrs. Ryton’s voice broke through her thoughts, soft yet filled with a sorrow that resonated deep within Elizabeth. “But I fear there is only so far I can reach the man he has become now, Your Grace.”
The housekeeper’s gaze met Elizabeth’s, and the look in her eyes was one of desperate imploration, as though she were a mother pleading for the well-being of her child. The concern etched on her face made Elizabeth’s heart ache even more for the man she had married, a man who had suffered more than she had ever imagined.
“He may deny it, but he needs you,” Mrs. Ryton continued, her voice trembling with emotion. “Now more than ever, Your Grace.”
“What could I possibly do?” Elizabeth’s voice was thick with helplessness, the weight of the situation pressing down on her.
“A man needs his wife,” Mrs. Ryton replied, a melancholic smile touching her lips. Her words were simple, yet they carried a profound significance that Elizabeth could not ignore.
Elizabeth felt the gravity of Mrs. Ryton’s plea, and a multitude of thoughts swirled in her mind. What had changed? What had prompted the housekeeper to share such intimate details now, after holding them back before? The timing, the urgency—it all weighed heavily on her.
As they exited the gallery, Elizabeth’s thoughts were interrupted by the sight of Alexander in the front vestibule, deep in discussion with his steward. The men had their backs turned, unaware of their presence.
This was the first time Elizabeth had seen him since their argument the previous night, and a tempest of emotions surged within her at the sight of him. Her heart ached for the pains he carried, the burdens that had shaped him into the man he was.
Yet, even amidst her compassion, there remained a persistent need for answers—answers about Georgianna, about the letter from Percy, and the unresolved tension that hung between them. And despite everything, despite the distance and the hurt, she couldn’t suppress the yearning she still felt for him.
As if he could sense the storm of feelings within her, Alexander suddenly looked up, his gaze locking onto hers. Elizabeth’s heart skipped a beat, and she felt a wave of mortification wash over her. In that moment, she felt like a foolish schoolgirl caught in a vulnerable moment, exposed under the intensity of his scrutinizing gaze.
Panic seized her. Without thinking, she turned on her heels and hurried down the nearest hallway, desperate to escape the overwhelming emotions that threatened to consume her. She needed space, time to collect herself before she could face him again.
“Oh, I must tell you it wasn’t easy getting the recipe from Cook,” Lady Compton said with a conspiratorial smile as she handedElizabeth a folded piece of paper, containing the coveted recipe for the impeccable cheese sandwiches she had enjoyed at the Viscountess’s residence.
Elizabeth returned the smile, feeling a rare warmth in the company of the Viscountess this afternoon, especially after the turmoil of the previous day. Unfolding the sheet, she was grateful for this small, comforting gesture.
“I’m afraid he isn’t very generous with his recipes,” Lady Compton added with a chuckle, taking a delicate bite of her shortbread.
“Utterly understandable. No one wants competition,” Elizabeth responded, her mood lifting as she joined in the light-hearted banter.
“Oh, I think you would get on quite well with my cook for that statement, Your Grace,” Lady Compton laughed again, the sound pleasant and familiar.
