Page 61 of Duke of Silver
“I overheard a conversation between two matrons at the last ball,” she began, glancing at him to gauge his reaction. “They were questioning the rumors about you and your brother, given how you seemed unable to take your eyes off me.”
Alexander’s lips curved into a satisfied smile. “Something that is finally going as it should,” he said, a note of relief in his voice.
“Indeed,” Elizabeth agreed, her spirits lifting even further at the realization that they were beginning to turn the tide in their favor.
When they arrived at the theater, the grandeur of the event was on full display. The English aristocracy had turned out in force, pairs and groups of peers indulging in an evening of entertainment and glamour. The theater was a center of wealth and status, and Elizabeth took a deep breath to tamp down her excitement and nervousness as they took their seats.
The performance began, and Elizabeth found herself utterly absorbed in the story. The emotions conveyed on stage were powerful, pulling at her heartstrings in a way she hadn’t expected. By the time the curtains fell for the intermission, she realized she had been moved to tears.
“Is that a tear I see, Liz?” Alexander’s teasing voice broke through her thoughts.
Elizabeth dabbed at her eyes with her matching olive green and gold satin handkerchief, a soft chuckle escaping her. “Oh, tell me you weren’t moved by that,” she challenged, meeting his gaze with a playful smile.
“The Duchess of Sterlin so moved? Unbelievable,” he teased, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
“Oh, with those words, one would think me heartless, Alexander,” Elizabeth said, still smiling.
“Only too stubborn for tears,” he chortled, and Elizabeth gave him a mock stern look.
“I cannot bethatbad,” she said, feigning indignation.
“Only worse, perhaps,” he laughed, and she couldn’t help but join him, the sound of their shared laughter filling the space between them.
As the laughter faded, Alexander’s expression softened, taking on a more reflective quality. “This is a bit of a family tradition, you see,” he said, his tone tinged with nostalgia.
Elizabeth tilted her head, intrigued. “A tradition?”
“This particular performance was my mother’s favorite,” he revealed, surprising Elizabeth with this glimpse into his past. “Father always brought her here whenever they were in town. She loved it so much that she even watched the French version in Paris when they traveled.”
Elizabeth listened intently as he continued, “After her death, when we were older, he would bring Percy and me sometimes. I’ve watched it twice with him.”
“It’s a brilliant piece. I’m not surprised she loved it that much. Thank you for sharing it with me,” Elizabeth said, her heart warmed by this rare moment of openness from him. It was the first time he had spoken to her about his family in such a personal way.
“Like I said, it’s a family tradition, Liz,” he replied, a small, almost wistful smile tugging at his lips.
Elizabeth felt a flutter in her chest at the way he spoke, as if he were acknowledging, perhaps for the first time, that she was part of that tradition now—part of his family. “When did she pass on?” she asked gently, hoping to learn more.
“She died giving birth to my sister, Eleanor,” he answered, his voice quiet, the pain of the memory still evident despite the years that had passed. “I was eight years old then. Percy was six.”
“I’m so sorry,” Elizabeth said, her heart aching for the little boys they had been, for the losses they had endured. She understood that kind of pain all too well.
“Eleanor must have been very young when the accident happened,” she ventured, hoping to learn more about the sister whose room remained untouched.
“Nine years old was too young,” he replied, his voice suddenly tight with bitterness. There was a curtness to his tone that made it clear he did not wish to continue down this path.
Elizabeth opened her mouth to ask more, but before she could, he abruptly changed the subject. “Did you know that in France, one must make a reservation to watch this performance at least a month in advance? That’s how beloved the piece is.”
She recognized the diversion for what it was and felt a pang of disappointment. He had shared something with her, but just as quickly, he had shut her out again, retreating behind the walls he kept so carefully constructed.
For the rest of the performance, Alexander remained unusually quiet, his earlier warmth and humor replaced by a distant demeanor. Elizabeth couldn’t help but admonish herself for pushing too hard, for indulging her curiosity and perhaps ruining the atmosphere that had been so promising.
Would I ever truly know the family I married into?
CHAPTER 28
Alexander found himself increasingly drawn to any excuse that allowed him to spend time with Elizabeth. Whenever they were together, it felt as though he had found a missing piece of himself, one he had unconsciously searched for his entire life. As he stood across the garden, watching her engage in animated conversation with her friends, a small, contented smile tugged at the corners of his lips. She was the picture of elegance and vitality, the perfect Duchess—hisperfect Duchess, he thought with a warmth that spread through his chest.
He had reluctantly agreed to attend Georgianna’s garden party. When Elizabeth mentioned the invitation, he had braced himself for a disagreement, half-expecting her to question his relationship with the Countess. But she had surprised him by suggesting they attend, reasoning, “The party is in your honor, after all. We wouldn’t want the Countess to waste her efforts, now would we?”
