Page 48 of Duke of Silver
“I thought you should know,” she said, setting the cup on the desk before him. “The Duchess seems to have found her steps around now. And I must say, Lady Compton makes her excellent company. They had tea just earlier this afternoon, in fact.”
“I am glad to hear it,” Alexander said, lifting the cup to his lips.
“You made the right choice for a Duchess,” Mrs. Ryton continued, her voice carrying a note of approval that made Alexander pause. He found himself wondering where this conversation was headed.
“But of course, no marriage is without its ups and downs. Mr. Ryton and I have been at it for decades now, but sometimes, we bicker like children,” she added with a soft chuckle, the warmth of her tone contrasting with the gravity of his thoughts.
Alexander’s mind wandered back to the scene in the hall when Elizabeth had turned away from him, ignoring his presence. Was Mrs. Ryton hinting at that? Had she noticed the tension?
“I suppose such misunderstandings are a part of life,” he replied, not entirely sure what else to say but feeling the need to agree.
“I am glad you know that, Your Grace,” Mrs. Ryton smiled, a hint of approval in her eyes. “And I expect you also know that there is no misunderstanding a little communication and an apology cannot overcome?” she added, her tone gently probing.
Alexander nodded, feeling a bit like the boy he once was under her watchful care. It was clear now that this was about Elizabeth. Mrs. Ryton, he realized with a newfound appreciation, was fiercely protective of his wife.
After serving him the tea and her well-meaning advice, the housekeeper made to leave. Alexander hesitated, grappling with the awkwardness of his next request.
“Mrs. Ryton,” he called out, stopping her just before she reached the door.
She turned back to him, her expression patient and curious.
“Can you get me the Duchess’s measurements?” he asked, the words coming out more hesitant than he intended.
Mrs. Ryton’s brow quirked slightly in surprise, but she quickly masked it with her usual composure. “Would you like me to send for the modiste then, Your Grace?” she inquired. “I hear one of the prominent ones in London now has another shop in the village.”
“No, no,” Alexander quickly interjected. “It would be best if the Duchess doesn’t know about it.”
He wanted to surprise her.
Mrs. Ryton appeared thoughtful for a moment, her keen eyes considering his request. “In that case, I shall ask her lady’s maid to get the measurements. I am sure she can manage it surreptitiously enough,” she said, her tone assured.
“Excellent,” Alexander replied, feeling a sudden surge of excitement at the prospect of surprising Elizabeth. This would be a small step toward mending the rift between them.
“When you have the measurements, I will need you to take them to the modiste,” he continued, his mind already racing with ideas. “I should like to view some samples too.”
A small smile played on Mrs. Ryton’s lips as she nodded, her approval evident. She gave a curtsey and left the room, leaving Alexander alone with his thoughts. He leaned back in his chair, a sigh escaping him as he stared at the closed door.
Would this be enough? he wondered, a flicker of doubt creeping in.
CHAPTER 22
Elizabeth’s slippers made no sound on the polished floor as she walked down the hall, her thoughts as dull as the household accounts she had just set aside. It seemed her husband was determined to remain an enigma, making himself scarce at every possible opportunity. The distance between them felt as vast as the echoing halls of their home, and she filled her days with whatever distractions she could find—no matter how uninspiring.
As she passed by an open drawing room, the murmur of voices caught her attention, halting her steps. The tone of the conversation was low and conspiratorial, the kind that demanded secrecy yet begged to be overheard.
“I told you. John the footman said he was in the hall when the Duchess ran away from the Duke,” a maid whispered urgently to another.
Elizabeth’s heart skipped a beat. What on earth were they talking about? She took a step back, pressing herself against thecool wood of the wall as dread began to knot in her stomach. The exchange they were referring to—she knew it well. A brief, tense moment with Alexander, no more than a few words shared in the hallway. How had that small incident twisted into something so absurd?
“Do you think they’re fighting?” the second maid asked, her voice full of curiosity.
“Well, considering the Duke has been avoiding his Duchess since he brought her here, I think things have never been smooth with them,” the first maid replied with a hint of smugness.
Elizabeth closed her eyes for a moment, a wave of anxiety washing over her. The servants had noticed. She had been so careful, or at least she thought she had, to mask the tension that simmered beneath the surface of her marriage. But it seemed her small lapse—succumbing to her emotions that fateful afternoon—had only made matters worse.
“Poor woman,” the other maid sighed, her tone dripping with pity. “Such a pitiful creature cannot even get her husband’s proper attentions.”
Elizabeth’s grip tightened on the folds of her dress. Was that how they saw her? A pitiful creature, abandoned by her husband? The thought was almost unbearable, and yet she knew there was a kernel of truth to it. Her husband’s aloofness was not something she could easily dismiss, nor was the growing chasm between them.
