Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

F or a man so determined to remain elusive, Alexander was surprisingly predictable. Elizabeth thought as much when she knocked on his study door after dinner, knowing she would find him there. It had become his sanctuary, his escape, just as much as her solitude had become hers.

The door creaked open, and Alexander stood there, looking as surprised to see her now as he had been the night before. His expression, though calm, betrayed a flicker of uncertainty.

"Elizabeth," he greeted her, his voice touched with surprise. "It's late."

"And I should be in bed?" she quirked a brow, half-amused by the suggestion.

He paused, eyeing her with the same measured gaze he always wore when he wasn't sure of her intentions. "I heard you had a long and busy day, so naturally, yes," he replied, his tone practical, as though she were one of the servants under his care.

"I'm not a child, Alexander," she said, her voice soft but firm. The words struck her harder than she had intended. Was that truly how he saw her? As something to be managed, kept out of sight when not needed?

But then his earlier words registered fully, and her curiosity piqued. "Did you just say you heard about my day?" she asked, her brow furrowing.

He raised a brow, his face a study in nonchalance. "Did I?" he responded flatly, though a hint of amusement played at the corner of his mouth. "I suppose I did."

"Are you stalking me now?" she teased, though she could not help but wonder how closely he had been paying attention.

"With a house full of servants and the arrival of a new Duchess," he began, leaning casually against the doorframe, "do you really think news of you would remain quiet?"

Elizabeth opened her mouth to respond, but faltered. "I… suppose you are right," she admitted, her voice trailing off.

"I am hardly ever wrong, Elizabeth," he said smoothly, his gaze steady upon her.

"And hardly ever humble, too, I see," she quipped, her lips curling into a small smile. There was something different about him tonight, a subtle shift in his demeanor. His guard, though still present, seemed to have lowered just enough to allow a glimpse of the man beneath.

"Hardly ever does not imply totality, Liz dear," he responded, and the familiar shortening of her name made her stiffen, though not entirely with displeasure.

Liz. She had not given him leave to call her such, yet there it was, rolling off his tongue as though it were perfectly natural. Before she could object to the familiarity, he continued, his tone as smooth as ever.

"Which means that I can be wrong sometimes," he added. "And humble too. When I so wish."

Elizabeth's eyes narrowed, her amusement bubbling just beneath the surface. "You realize that a humble man would not call himself such?" she challenged, her gaze locking with his.

"Do you only ever issue challenges from those lips of yours whenever they move?" Alexander chuckled, the sound low and deep, rolling through the air between them. His amusement was palpable, and yet, inexplicably, it sent warmth rushing to her cheeks.

Elizabeth lifted her chin, refusing to be flustered by him. "No. They move when I eat too," she replied with a shrug, her tone insolent, daring him to continue the game.

"Right. I forgot her grace needs sustenance too," he said slyly, the glint in his eyes unmistakable.

She narrowed her gaze, unsure if his remark carried hidden barbs or another layer of jest. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Merely that you carry yourself with such an otherworldly air, one might assume basic human needs beneath you," he replied smoothly, his expression unreadable, yet there was an edge of admiration in his words.

Elizabeth blinked, caught between indignation and uncertainty. Was he insulting her? Or offering some form of compliment masked in clever words?

"It's a compliment, Elizabeth," he said, his voice softer now, as though he had plucked the thought straight from her mind. "I could practically hear the gears in your head turning," he teased, and once again, heat crept up her neck, staining her cheeks.

She hadn't meant to react, but there it was—the undeniable flush of embarrassment. And yet, there was something different about the atmosphere between them now. The sharpness of their earlier exchanges had softened, and for the first time, she saw him truly amused, relaxed even. The tension that usually hung between them had lessened, and she felt an unfamiliar urge to press her advantage while the moment lasted.

"Alexander," she began, her voice carefully measured, though her heart was racing. She tried to sound composed, though inwardly she felt anything but.

"Elizabeth," he returned, the humor still in his eyes, though now tinged with curiosity. His brow quirked, waiting for whatever she was about to say.

She hesitated for the briefest moment, but then decided to forge ahead. "The family tragedy, what happened?"

The shift in him was immediate.

Where a moment ago he had been like the most clement of weather, now he darkened, his entire demeanor transforming as though a storm had descended upon him. The amusement vanished from his eyes, replaced by something far more guarded—something that sent a chill down her spine.

Elizabeth swallowed, her earlier confidence rapidly fading in the face of the sudden change. She had known the question was delicate, but she hadn't expected the force of his reaction. It was as though the very mention of the past had summoned the ghosts that lingered around him, shrouding him in shadows once more.

Had she indulged her curiosity too quickly? Had she crossed an unseen line?

"That is something you need not concern yourself with." Alexander's words were like a whip.

Elizabeth blinked, momentarily stunned by his brusqueness. But to her own surprise, her obstinacy flared, rising to the surface despite the nerves tightening in her chest. "You do not think I should know?" she asked, her voice firmer than she expected.

"Perhaps I haven't made myself clear enough," he replied, his tone measured, but no less cold. "You and I have an arrangement. We lead our independent lives, out of each other's hairs. And that includes minding our own businesses and not digging around the past."

The chill in his voice sent a fresh wave of hurt through her. It was as though every word was meant to push her away, to remind her that she did not belong in the parts of him that truly mattered. Her heart ached, but she pressed on, determined to stand her ground.

"You make it sound as though I am being nosy in a matter that ought to be of my concern now that I am Duchess," she said, forcing herself to remain steady, even as the weight of his indifference threatened to crush her resolve.

He exhaled, his gaze hardening. "I'll give you a piece of advice, Your Grace ," he said, his voice lowering to something almost dangerous. "The sooner you know your place as Duchess, the better you will find your new role and life here."

Elizabeth felt the sting of his words as though he had slapped her. For a moment, she could not find her voice, her shock rendering her mute. His dismissal, his refusal to even consider her role as part of this family—it was more than she had been prepared to face.

She rose slowly, every movement deliberate, her manners holding her together even as her heart fractured under the weight of his coldness. "Goodnight," she said curtly, refusing to let him see the full depth of her hurt, before turning and leaving the room.

Her footsteps echoed faintly as she made her way through the dim hallways, her mind reeling with the conversation, every word replaying in her head. How had it all gone so wrong? How had they become such strangers?

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.