Page 28 of Duke of Silver
Before she reached her chambers, the butler, Mr. Ryton, stopped her in the hallway. His presence broke through her storm of thoughts, though she barely managed to focus on him.
“The Viscountess Compton had this delivered for Your Graces earlier,” he said, extending two folded papers toward her.
Elizabeth took the invitations with a nod of thanks, though her mind remained elsewhere. The Viscountess’s assembly—an opportunity to appear publicly with Alexander. But now, after tonight’s exchange, what hope did she have of convincing him to attend?
She sighed softly, folding the invitations in her hand as she continued to her chambers. Perhaps it was best to wait, to approach him when the tension between them wasn’t so raw. She would ask him some other time. She wouldn’t give up—not yet.
Elizabeth heaved a sigh as her gaze fell once more on the Compton assembly invitations lying neatly on her desk. The event was in the coming week, and here she was, two days after receiving the invitations, no closer to convincing her husband to attend than she was to marrying off her spinster cousin by the season’s end.
Hopeless. That was how she felt.
The days had grown repetitive, empty in their isolation. She was now accustomed to dining alone, the quietness of her meals becoming a bitter companion. Since the night she had dared question Alexander about the family tragedy, she had seen him but once. A fleeting glimpse through the drawing room window, where he strode across the grounds with his steward in tow, his expression as distant as ever.
It seemed, if anything, he was more determined to keep her at arm’s length now, locking her in the very box he had warned her to stay in.
But the question lingered in her mind—would she stay there? Could she, even if she wished to? The restlessness in her heart refused to be so easily quelled.
Before she could dwell further on her tangled emotions, the sound of muffled voices in the hallway drew her attention. She paused, listening intently, then rose from her seat, curiosity pricking at her.
“Oh, I think we should just tell her,” came a voice, low and hesitant, from just beyond the study door.
Elizabeth moved closer, her brow furrowing. She reached for the handle and opened the door to find Mr. Ryton, the butler, and Mrs. Ryton, the housekeeper, standing in the hall. Both wore identical expressions of sheepishness, caught mid-conversation.
“Oh, Your Grace,” Mrs. Ryton cleared her throat, recovering quickly. “Pardon the disturbance.”
Elizabeth glanced between them, her curiosity deepening. “What is it?”
“It’s just that there’s been a caller for His Grace,” Mr. Ryton explained, his voice careful. “But he’s out on estate rounds and isn’t expected back until late afternoon.”
“A caller?” Elizabeth echoed.
Who could possibly be calling during their honeymoon? And more importantly, what could be the reason for such an abrupt visit? Elizabeth’s thoughts spun as she stared at the butler and housekeeper.
“She’s waiting in the drawing room, Your Grace,” Mrs. Ryton added, her expression carefully neutral.
“She?” Elizabeth echoed, her surprise deepening. A woman? What business could a lady have with her husband, especially now?
Forcing herself to regain composure, she straightened her posture. “I shall receive her in his stead, then.”
With a nod from Mrs. Ryton, Elizabeth made her way toward the drawing room, her mind racing with speculation. She hadn’t expected any more surprises today, but as she stepped inside, she was confronted with yet another.
“Lady Winston?” Elizabeth blurted, her surprise impossible to conceal as she stared at the widow she had met at the modiste’s just days before.
CHAPTER 13
“My, I didn’t realize I’d be seeing the Duchess instead.” Lady Winston swiveled in her chair upon Elizabeth’s entrance, a pleasant smile on her lips. The lightness of her tone, however, gave Elizabeth pause.
For a brief moment, Elizabeth’s brows furrowed, though she quickly schooled her expression, choosing not to dwell on the Countess’s remark. What business could this woman have with her husband? And why was it so urgent that she couldn’t wait until their honeymoon had ended?
“Then again, I should have sent word of my visit beforehand,” Lady Winston chuckled lightly, as though the lack of courtesy was nothing more than an amusing oversight.
Elizabeth moved to the bell and rang for tea, all the while trying to gather her thoughts. “I didn’t realize you were acquainted with the Duke,” she said, her voice carefully measured.
“Oh, Alexander and I have been good friends for years,” Lady Winston replied smoothly, her use of his given name as casual as if they were in the midst of a private conversation. The ease with which the widow addressed her husband sent a small ripple of discomfort through Elizabeth. She swallowed, willing herself not to dwell on the implications. But still, the question lingered—what manner of friendship existed between a widowed Countess and a Duke?
“I’m afraid the Duke is not home at present,” Elizabeth said, her tone polite but firm.
“So I was told,” the Countess replied, her air of nonchalance unwavering, as if Alexander’s absence meant little to her. “I suppose I should offer my felicitations on your marriage then, Lady Elizabeth,” she added, a smile curving her lips.
