Page 59 of Duke of Silver
Before Elizabeth could muster a reply, the Marchioness of Delle spoke up, her tone cool and measured. “A protracted honeymoon hardly makes a marriage, Lady Winston. I thought you of all people would know that, given that you have been both married and widowed.” There was an unmistakable edge to the Marchioness’s words, and Elizabeth couldn’t help but feel a surge of gratitude toward the woman who had so deftly stepped in on her behalf.
Elizabeth glanced at Lady Delle, surprised by the intervention, and was met with a look that was both inscrutable and reassuring. The Marchioness offered her a small, knowing smile, one that seemed to say,I see what is happening here, and I stand with you.
Georgianna sputtered momentarily, clearly caught off guard by the Marchioness’s pointed remark. But she quickly regained hercomposure, opening her mouth to deliver a retort—only to be interrupted by Lady Compton.
“If I had married a Duke, I wouldn’t have allowed him to take me to the country at all. Forget a honeymoon. I would have wanted to parade myself through the Season with my new title. So I completely agree with the Duchess. In fact, if you ask me, she rusticated in the country for far too long,” Lady Compton declared with her usual bluntness, her candor eliciting a ripple of laughter from both Lady Delle and Elizabeth.
Georgianna was left momentarily speechless, her mouth opening and closing as she searched for a suitable response. Elizabeth suppressed a smile, feeling a small victory in the exchange.
“Why, do not let Viscount Compton hear those words, Lady Compton,” Elizabeth teased, allowing herself to relax into the banter.
“That man forgives my crimes even before I commit them,” Lady Compton replied with a wink, her voice brimming with amusement.
“Don’t they all,” Lady Delle added with a laugh, the tension between them dissipating into lighthearted camaraderie.
As the evening wore on, Elizabeth excused herself to the ladies’ retiring room, her spirits high from the successes of the evening. However, as she passed a nearby balcony, she overheard a conversation that made her pause.
“Sterlin looked hardly able to tear his gaze away from his wife,” one matron remarked.
“I am beginning to question the rumored affair with his brother,” the other replied, her tone contemplative.
Elizabeth’s heart swelled with a sense of satisfaction. The evening had been more than just a social success—it had begun to shift the tides in their favor. She had seen the looks, heard the whispers, and now, as she returned to Alexander’s side, she felt a quiet confidence take root within her.
They had accomplished what they had set out to do, but she knew that there was still much work to be done.
The following morning, Elizabeth awoke with a lightness in her heart that she hadn’t felt since her marriage. The events of the previous evening had left her with a sense of hope, a belief that perhaps things were beginning to change between her and Alexander. She dressed quickly, eager to begin the day, and made her way down to the breakfast room, anticipation buzzing in her chest.
But when she entered the room and found it empty, the sense of joy that had carried her through the night began to falter. The table was set for one, the room quiet save for the soft clinking of China as the footman arranged her place. The realization that she would be eating alone once again weighed heavily on her, pulling her spirits down. After the way Alexander had treated her last night, the warmth in his gaze, the tenderness of his words, she had allowed herself to believe that things mightfinally be falling into place. But now, in the cold light of morning, it seemed clear that it had been nothing more than an act, a performance for society’s eyes.
Her heart sank, the hollow feeling in her chest making it difficult to even consider eating. She forced herself to take a few bites, though the food tasted like ash in her mouth. Eventually, she pushed her plate away, unable to stomach any more, and found herself wandering aimlessly through the halls, the grand rooms of the townhouse feeling emptier than ever.
Almost without thinking, she found herself back at the door of Eleanor’s bedchamber. She hesitated for a moment before reaching for the handle, a part of her hoping to find some comfort or connection in the room. But when she tried the door, she was met with resistance. It was locked.
The disappointment was like a physical blow. Her husband was determined to keep her out—not just of this room, but of his past, and perhaps out of his life entirely. The thought settled in her stomach like a lead weight, and she stood there, staring at the locked door, feeling more isolated than ever.
As she stood there, lost in her thoughts, a throat was suddenly cleared behind her, causing her to jump.
“I beg your pardon, Your Grace,” the butler said, his voice measured and calm. “But there’s a caller for you in the drawing room.”
Elizabeth composed herself quickly, pushing down the swirl of emotions as best she could. “Who is it?” she asked, though she already had a sinking suspicion.
“Lady Winston,” the butler replied, confirming her fears.
Elizabeth’s heart sank further as she made her way to the drawing room. The sight of the widowed Countess did nothing to improve her mood. “Lady Winston,” she greeted, trying to keep her voice steady and not let her displeasure show too clearly.
“Lady Elizabeth,” Georgianna replied, her tone as smooth and insincere as ever.
“To what do I owe such a surprise?” Elizabeth asked, masking her true feelings behind a veneer of polite curiosity.
“I am sure you will excuse my unannounced call,” Georgianna said with that familiar, snarky chuckle that grated on Elizabeth’s nerves.
“Of course. This wouldn’t be the first time you’ve forgotten your manners, Lady Winston,” Elizabeth replied, her tone cool but civil.
A fleeting scowl crossed Georgianna’s features, but she quickly masked it with another chuckle. “Oh, such a sense of humor you have, Lady Elizabeth,” she said lightly, though her eyes were sharp. “I came to deliver some invitations.”
“You’re hosting a ball?” Elizabeth asked, though she already knew the answer.
“A garden party,” Georgianna corrected, her tone dripping with false sweetness.
