Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

E lizabeth stared at the empty chair across from her, the silence of the room broken only by the faint clink of her spoon against her plate. Her second morning as a married woman, and once again, she dined alone. It seemed her husband was determined to remain elusive.

Part of her had braced for this, especially after their confrontation the night before. She had stood her ground, spoken her mind, and still... he had left her to face yet another solitary meal. The empty chair taunted her, a reminder of the distance between them, both physical and emotional.

And yet, despite her best efforts to prepare herself for his absence, a small part of her had held onto hope. Hope that perhaps this morning, he might surprise her, join her at the table, offer some gesture that they were more than just strangers bound by duty. But as she sat there, the hope faded, leaving behind a familiar ache of disappointment.

She straightened in her chair, forcing herself to maintain the composure expected of her new title. She was a Duchess now, and if nothing else, she would carry herself with the pride and dignity of one. Her emotions—whatever they might be—had no place in this moment. She took a steadying breath and resumed her breakfast.

At least there was cheese, she noted with a small, bittersweet smile. A familiar comfort in an unfamiliar world. She savored the rich flavor, using it to distract her from the hollow feeling growing inside her. If nothing else, she could count on the small pleasures of the morning meal.

The day would be a busy one, she reminded herself. Mrs. Ryton was due to give her a full tour of the house after breakfast, acquaint her with the daily workings of her new home. There would be no time to dwell on her husband's absence. She had duties now, responsibilities that required her attention.

But before she could finish her meal and move on with her day, the butler appeared in the doorway, his expression composed as always. "Your Grace," he began with a bow, "a caller has arrived."

Elizabeth blinked, surprised. "A caller?"

"The Viscountess Compton," the butler announced, his voice measured and polite.

Elizabeth set her fork down and stood, smoothing the front of her dress as she mentally prepared herself for an unexpected visit. She had heard of the Viscountess—a woman with a reputation for gossip and an insatiable curiosity. What could she possibly want so early in the day?

When Elizabeth entered the drawing room, the Viscountess was already standing, her round face flushed with excitement. She was a short, plump woman, her mass of red curls bouncing as she curtsied deeply, though her expression remained gleeful rather than respectful.

"Oh, pardon my manners and unannounced visit, Your Grace," she exclaimed, her voice practically dripping with enthusiasm. "But once I heard the news of the new Duchess of Sterlin, I simply couldn't stay still until I came to see for myself!"

Elizabeth offered a polite smile, though she could feel her patience already thinning. The Viscountess seemed to devour every detail of her appearance with eager eyes, her gaze lingering in a way that made Elizabeth feel like she was being inspected rather than greeted.

"And my, you are as beautiful as they say," the Viscountess gushed before Elizabeth had a chance to respond.

The Viscountess was, Elizabeth was quickly coming to realize, a woman impatient with her words. There was a certain charm in her lack of restraint, and Elizabeth found herself amused by the unguarded nature of her guest.

"Oh, how flattering of them to say. And of you to agree," Elizabeth remarked, offering a light chuckle as she motioned for the Viscountess to take a seat. With a graceful gesture, she rang for tea, maintaining the poise expected of her new title.

"Oh, no flattery on my part whatsoever!" the Viscountess blurted, her stubby fingers shooting up to cover her mouth as her eyes widened in a comical display of belated self-awareness. "Oh, excuse my tongue again, Your Grace," she added hastily.

Elizabeth felt a soft chuckle escape her before she could stop it, the candidness of the Viscountess catching her off guard in the most pleasant way. It was rare to encounter such openness, especially in a world where politeness often masked true thoughts. There was something refreshingly honest about Lady Compton's unpolished nature, and Elizabeth found herself warming to her company despite the abruptness of her visit.

"I think there should be no shame in honesty," Elizabeth said, her tone gentle yet thoughtful. "If anything, it ought to be appreciated."

The Viscountess, if possible, turned an even deeper shade of red, her round cheeks nearly glowing against the vibrant hue of her hair. Elizabeth wondered if the woman's complexion was naturally flushed or if her own words had caused such a reaction.

"Oh, finally, someone who agrees!" Lady Compton exclaimed with a sigh of relief. "When I talk, people just think I have too many words to spare."

Elizabeth couldn't help but smile more broadly. It was clear why people might feel that way—the Viscountess seemed to be positively overflowing with conversation. But there was no malice in her words, only an enthusiasm that bordered on endearing.

"I felt it was only proper to call personally and give you a formal welcome, of course," the Viscountess continued, her hands fluttering as she spoke, as though the force of her words needed physical accompaniment.

"And I do appreciate it," Elizabeth replied, offering a gracious nod. There was a genuine warmth in her voice, even though the visit had been unexpected. It was a small reprieve from the silence of the morning, a silence she had not quite grown accustomed to yet.

"I was going to bring you some delightful biscuits my cook bakes," the Viscountess added, her voice rising with excitement. "He makes the best in the village, you see. But my curiosity overthrew my generosity, I'm afraid, and I simply couldn't wait for the batch to bake before I saw the new Duchess."

Elizabeth's smile deepened as she listened. Every word that fell from Lady Compton's lips was spoken with such earnestness that Elizabeth couldn't help but be charmed by it.

Perhaps life at Sterlin House wouldn't be quite as miserable as she had initially feared. Not when there were entertaining visitors like the Viscountess of Compton, who seemed more than willing to fill her days with gossip—and even biscuits, once she finally brought them.

As if summoned by her thoughts, the butler entered just then, wheeling in a silver tray laden with tea and a variety of delicate pastries. Elizabeth offered a small smile as the teapot was set down, the warm, familiar scent of shortbread wafting through the room.

"Ah, perfect timing," Lady Compton exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as she reached for a piece of the crumbly confectionery. "My, these shortbreads rival cook's!" she added with a delighted sigh after taking her first bite.

"I shall be sure to pass your compliment along to the cook," Elizabeth replied, pouring the Viscountess a cup of tea with a smile. It was a small gesture, but she found herself grateful for the company, however unexpected.

The Viscountess took the tea eagerly, her words flowing as easily as the tea into her cup. "Oh, thank goodness for you, Your Grace. God knows this family deserves some light after that awful tragedy."

Elizabeth's hand paused for the briefest moment, the teapot poised in midair. Tragedy? She blinked, confusion flickering across her features. The Viscountess's tone had shifted, the air growing heavier with the weight of something unsaid.

"Tragedy?" Elizabeth echoed, setting the pot down carefully. Her heartbeat quickened, but she maintained her composure, unwilling to let her curiosity show too plainly.

Lady Compton, however, seemed oblivious to Elizabeth's restraint, her words tumbling out in a flood. "Oh, my dear, you don't know? The tragic accident which took the late Duke and—" She stopped abruptly, her eyes widening as if realizing her mistake too late. Her hand flew to her mouth, muffling the remainder of the sentence.

"If you did not know, I am not sure it is my place to suddenly spring such news upon you," she added hastily.

Elizabeth's chest tightened, a sharp spike of frustration rising beneath her calm exterior. You brought it up, didn't you? she wanted to cry out, the unspoken words burning on her tongue. But instead, she forced a polite smile and nodded, reaching for her cup to conceal the disappointment that threatened to show on her face.

She took a measured sip of tea, the warmth doing little to soothe the cold weight settling in her stomach. So, there was indeed a shadow hanging over the Sterlin family—a tragedy that Alexander seemed determined to bury, leaving her to stumble blindly through the darkness of it.

A part of her had hoped that Lady Compton might have offered more, cracked the window open a little wider and shed light on the reasons behind her husband's brooding demeanor. But no, it seemed fate had other plans for her curiosity. Delayed plans, perhaps. Or plans that would never come to pass.

"Well, I still think you are a cause for celebration in the Sterlin household, Your Grace," Lady Compton whispered, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone, as though they were suddenly surrounded by eavesdroppers.

Elizabeth raised her brow, feeling a flicker of irritation at the woman's dramatic shift in demeanor. It was as if the Viscountess was deliberately dangling some piece of knowledge just out of reach, teasing her with half-revealed truths.

"And I do not blame them at all for not mentioning it," Lady Compton continued, her voice taking on a more serious note. "Every family would want to keep their tragedies buried and hopefully forgotten."

Elizabeth felt a tightness in her chest, her fingers stiffening slightly as she held her teacup. The woman was taunting her now, wasn't she? Teasing her with vague hints of a mysterious sorrow that Alexander had gone to such lengths to hide from her. It felt like the Viscountess was holding a carrot before her, only to snatch it away whenever Elizabeth dared to reach for it.

But before she could formulate a response, Lady Compton abruptly shifted gears, her tone brightening with renewed energy as she reached for another shortbread. "Oh, did I tell you about my country assemblies, Your Grace?"

Elizabeth blinked, taken aback by the sudden change of subject. "I believe you were getting round to it," she muttered, barely able to mask her exasperation.

The Viscountess chuckled, clearly missing the edge in Elizabeth's voice. "Oh, you know me so well already!" she laughed, her cheeks glowing as though the prospect of another assembly brought her genuine joy.

"Well, Your Grace," Lady Compton continued, her voice swelling with pride, "I host the finest country dances and assemblies in the village. And I should very much like your grace and the Duke's radiant company at the next one."

Elizabeth tilted her head, a flicker of interest sparking in her mind. "Is that so?" she asked, her brow arching slightly as an idea began to form.

Perhaps this woman's invitation was more than just idle chatter. If she and Alexander were expected to attend a public event together, it would be impossible for him to continue avoiding her company. He would have no choice but to appear by her side, and for once, he would be forced into her presence for more than a fleeting moment.

Something within her stirred at the thought, a small, almost triumphant smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Perhaps the Viscountess had given her the very thing she needed.

"I think the Duke would welcome the idea," Elizabeth said smoothly, sipping her tea with newfound satisfaction. "We would love to attend, Lady Compton."

"Excellent!" the Viscountess exclaimed, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "I shall send the official written invitations as soon as I return home. Oh, how the village will be thrilled to see you both!"

Tea had certainly become much more pleasant, and for the first time since her marriage, Elizabeth found herself laughing freely. Lady Compton's stories of village life were filled with colorful characters and more than a few instances of thinly veiled gossip, but it was harmless enough, and Elizabeth could not help but be entertained.

"...and Lady Ashton, well, she had the statue of herself from the country fair on display in her conservatory for ages!" Lady Compton giggled. "We never hear the end of her achievements to this day."

When it was finally time for the Viscountess to take her leave, she stood with a dramatic flourish, her cheeks flushed from both conversation and the warmth of the room. With one last glance at the shortbread crumbs on her plate, she sighed with exaggerated wistfulness.

"Why, after trying these delectable shortbread, I feel as though I should hide my cook's pastries from Your Grace," she declared, her tone as blunt as ever but softened by the playful glint in her eyes.

Elizabeth couldn't help but laugh again. There was something entirely disarming about Lady Compton's unfiltered honesty, a quality that was both refreshing and rare in her new world of polished manners and veiled intentions.

"Oh, please do not," Elizabeth replied, her smile lingering. "I should love to give your cook's biscuits a try."

The Viscountess beamed, clearly delighted by the encouragement. "Very well then, Your Grace. I shall have them sent over without delay!"

"I trust Your Grace had a pleasant time with her caller earlier," Mrs. Ryton inquired as she spread the household accounts before them on the wide oak desk.

"Oh, I have never met a more spirited woman," Elizabeth responded with a light chuckle, still recalling the Viscountess's unabashed exuberance.

"The Viscountess is as pleasant as she is exhausting, I agree," Mrs. Ryton nodded, her tone matter-of-fact.

Elizabeth's lips twitched into a smile. "Why, I never called her exhausting," she replied, amused, letting out a small laugh.

A ghost of a smile touched Mrs. Ryton's otherwise stern face, and for a moment, the room felt lighter. But then, the shadow of what Lady Compton had said earlier crept back into Elizabeth's mind. She shifted slightly in her seat, weighing her next words, uncertain how to proceed without crossing any unseen lines.

"Mrs. Ryton..." Elizabeth began, her voice hesitant. The housekeeper looked up, waiting with a calm but expectant expression.

"The family tragedy..." Elizabeth ventured cautiously.

"Must not be spoken about," Mrs. Ryton interjected swiftly, her expression darkening as though the very mention of it summoned something long buried and best forgotten.

Elizabeth felt herself deflate under the weight of those words. She hadn't realized how much she had been holding on to the hope that someone—anyone—might shed light on the secrets her husband kept so fiercely locked away. The abruptness of the housekeeper's response stung, as though she had been reprimanded for daring to pry.

"Oh," was all she could manage, her voice small, betraying the disappointment tightening in her chest.

"My apologies, Your Grace," Mrs. Ryton added quickly, her voice softening, though her expression remained solemn. "It is just that I do not think it my place to discuss such matters in detail."

Elizabeth nodded in acknowledgment, though it did little to ease the frustration building within her. It made sense, she supposed. If there was anyone who ought to tell her the truth, it should be her husband. But Alexander had made it clear through his actions—or lack thereof—that he didn't see her as part of the family, not truly. Perhaps that was why he avoided her, why he treated her presence in his life as little more than an obligation.

She wanted to understand him, to know the man she had married. Yet, he remained a stranger, locked away in his grief, or his pride—or perhaps both.

The room had fallen into an uncomfortable silence, one that Elizabeth felt keenly. She stared at the accounts laid before her, the columns of numbers blurring together as her mind wandered.

"It was a carriage accident," Mrs. Ryton's voice broke through the quiet, catching Elizabeth by surprise.

Her eyes snapped to the housekeeper's face, startled by the unexpected admission. The older woman's expression had grown grave, the lines on her face deepening with the weight of what she was about to say.

"The accident nearly wiped out the entire Hunton line," Mrs. Ryton continued, her voice low and measured. "And I'm afraid the Duke remains shaken about it to this day."

Elizabeth's heart constricted at the words. She had known there was something—something dark and sorrowful that lingered over her husband like a storm cloud. But hearing it spoken aloud, even in such sparse detail, made it feel all the more real. Her mind raced with questions, with the desire to know more, to understand how such a tragedy had shaped the man who seemed determined to keep her at a distance.

But that was all Mrs. Ryton offered, and Elizabeth could sense that no further details would be forthcoming. The housekeeper's face remained solemn, but closed off now, as if the door to the past had been opened just a crack, only to be shut once more.

For the rest of the afternoon, Elizabeth found it impossible to focus on the household accounts. Her mind kept drifting back to the housekeeper's words, to the notion of an accident that had nearly erased the Hunton family. What had happened? How many lives had been lost? And why did it still weigh so heavily on Alexander?

She had never been more curious about anything in her life.

And she would not find the answers here, in this room, pouring over ledgers and inventories. She must find her husband, she decided.