Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

" T hat was the young lady Eleanor Hunton," Mrs. Ryton said softly.

Elizabeth's breath caught. She had assumed Alexander and Percy were the only children, but now, before her, was the image of a girl who had been lost to time. The girl in the portrait appeared younger than Percy, her delicate features framed by dark hair, her blue eyes strikingly familiar, almost haunting in their resemblance to Alexander's.

Elizabeth turned to meet Mrs. Ryton's gaze. The housekeeper's expression had grown solemn, her eyes distant, as though she were recalling a memory too painful to bear.

"The poor child never survived her injuries from the carriage accident," Mrs. Ryton continued, her voice heavy with sorrow.

"I was unaware the Duke had a sister," Elizabeth murmured, the revelation settling upon her like a shroud.

"You could not have known," Mrs. Ryton replied, "The accident claimed the old Duke immediately. But Eleanor, like Lord Percy, lingered, suffering her wounds for days before she, too, was taken."

"How dreadful," Elizabeth gasped, her hand instinctively rising to her chest as the full weight of the tragedy pressed upon her.

She could scarcely fathom the horror that had befallen the family. Her heart ached for the young Alexander, who had not only lost his father but had been forced to witness his sister's struggle, only to lose her as well. The thought of a boy, burdened with such grief, seared into her mind, and a profound sadness welled within her.

"The brothers, I fear, still bear the scars of those losses," Mrs. Ryton said. "Their wounds remain as fresh as though it had all transpired but yesterday."

Elizabeth's gaze returned to the portrait of Eleanor, her heart heavy with sorrow and empathy. The pain Alexander carried now seemed clearer, the shadows in Alexander's eyes were not merely the result of his duties but the lingering ghosts of a past filled with unimaginable sorrow.

As Elizabeth stood before the portrait of young Eleanor, memories of all the moments Alexander had shut out her curiosity, deflected her questions, came rushing back to her. Each of those instances now took on a new, painful clarity. She had unknowingly prodded at a wound that had never fully healed, and the realization struck her with a crushing weight.

"Oh my God," she choked out, her voice barely a whisper as guilt flooded her. If only she had known…

"I gave what support I could to the young boy," Mrs. Ryton's voice broke through her thoughts, soft yet filled with a sorrow that resonated deep within Elizabeth. "But I fear there is only so far I can reach the man he has become now, Your Grace."

The housekeeper's gaze met Elizabeth's, and the look in her eyes was one of desperate imploration, as though she were a mother pleading for the well-being of her child. The concern etched on her face made Elizabeth's heart ache even more for the man she had married, a man who had suffered more than she had ever imagined.

"He may deny it, but he needs you," Mrs. Ryton continued, her voice trembling with emotion. "Now more than ever, Your Grace."

"What could I possibly do?" Elizabeth's voice was thick with helplessness, the weight of the situation pressing down on her.

"A man needs his wife," Mrs. Ryton replied, a melancholic smile touching her lips. Her words were simple, yet they carried a profound significance that Elizabeth could not ignore.

Elizabeth felt the gravity of Mrs. Ryton's plea, and a multitude of thoughts swirled in her mind. What had changed? What had prompted the housekeeper to share such intimate details now, after holding them back before? The timing, the urgency—it all weighed heavily on her.

As they exited the gallery, Elizabeth's thoughts were interrupted by the sight of Alexander in the front vestibule, deep in discussion with his steward. The men had their backs turned, unaware of their presence.

This was the first time Elizabeth had seen him since their argument the previous night, and a tempest of emotions surged within her at the sight of him. Her heart ached for the pains he carried, the burdens that had shaped him into the man he was.

Yet, even amidst her compassion, there remained a persistent need for answers—answers about Georgianna, about the letter from Percy, and the unresolved tension that hung between them. And despite everything, despite the distance and the hurt, she couldn't suppress the yearning she still felt for him.

As if he could sense the storm of feelings within her, Alexander suddenly looked up, his gaze locking onto hers. Elizabeth's heart skipped a beat, and she felt a wave of mortification wash over her. In that moment, she felt like a foolish schoolgirl caught in a vulnerable moment, exposed under the intensity of his scrutinizing gaze.

Panic seized her. Without thinking, she turned on her heels and hurried down the nearest hallway, desperate to escape the overwhelming emotions that threatened to consume her. She needed space, time to collect herself before she could face him again.

"Oh, I must tell you it wasn't easy getting the recipe from Cook," Lady Compton said with a conspiratorial smile as she handed Elizabeth a folded piece of paper, containing the coveted recipe for the impeccable cheese sandwiches she had enjoyed at the Viscountess's residence.

Elizabeth returned the smile, feeling a rare warmth in the company of the Viscountess this afternoon, especially after the turmoil of the previous day. Unfolding the sheet, she was grateful for this small, comforting gesture.

"I'm afraid he isn't very generous with his recipes," Lady Compton added with a chuckle, taking a delicate bite of her shortbread.

"Utterly understandable. No one wants competition," Elizabeth responded, her mood lifting as she joined in the light-hearted banter.

"Oh, I think you would get on quite well with my cook for that statement, Your Grace," Lady Compton laughed again, the sound pleasant and familiar.

As Elizabeth refilled her teacup, she noticed a sudden shift in the Viscountess's demeanor. The lightness of their conversation seemed to evaporate, replaced by a somber air that was entirely uncharacteristic of Lady Compton. Elizabeth's brow furrowed in concern.

"You mustn't have heard, have you, Your Grace?" Lady Compton asked, her tone hushed.

"Heard what?" Elizabeth replied, a mix of confusion, concern, and curiosity threading through her voice.

The Viscountess set down her teacup, her eyes darting around the room as though to ensure they were alone. The weight of her next words seemed to hang in the air before she finally spoke.

"I'm afraid some unsavory news has been circulating about your marriage," she said softly.

Elizabeth felt her heart drop, an unpleasant weight settling in the pit of her stomach. The rumors that had plagued them in town seemed to have found their way to the country, relentless in their pursuit. It was as if there was no escape, no end to the whispers that threatened to unravel the fragile peace she was trying to maintain.

She thought of Georgianna's ominous warnings, and the shadow they had cast over her already troubled thoughts. The world seemed determined to remind her of the precariousness of her situation, and the isolation that accompanied it.

"Last night, I hosted a few relatives who were taking a respite from the festivities in Town," Lady Compton began, her tone uncharacteristically serious. "As we spoke of the assembly and how lovely you appeared alongside the Duke, they shared some rather troubling news."

Elizabeth felt her heart quicken, the air between them growing heavy with unspoken words. She had never seen the Viscountess so grave, and the weight of her concern only deepened Elizabeth's anxiety.

"What news do you speak of, Lady Compton?" Elizabeth asked.

The Viscountess hesitated for a moment, then continued with a sigh. "It is being said that the Duke is the victim of an affair—a supposed affair between you and his brother."

"Oh God," Elizabeth gasped, the words striking her like a blow. The very fear that had grasped her since their marriage was now confirmed in the ugliest of forms.

"Of course, I find the notion utterly ridiculous," Lady Compton said, her spirits rallying as she spoke. "Such lies, such baseless attempts to tarnish the Sterlin name, are truly abhorrent. I felt it my duty to warn you as soon as I learned of it."

"I appreciate your efforts, Lady Compton," Elizabeth managed to say, though her mind was reeling.

"Oh, do not thank me. What are friends for, if not to look out for one another?" the Viscountess replied, waving off the gratitude with a kind smile.

Elizabeth attempted to return the smile, but the bitterness of the rumors settled like a stone in her chest. How could such vile gossip spread so quickly, so effortlessly? She thought of Alexander, of the tension that already existed between them, and wondered how this latest slander would affect them. Would he believe such lies? Would he blame her?

Long after the Viscountess had taken her leave, Elizabeth found herself pacing the drawing room, her thoughts tangled in the web of their conversation. The weight of the rumors pressed heavily upon her, each whisper a dagger aimed at her marriage, at the fragile bond she and Alexander had yet to fully form. The situation was far graver than she had initially believed; the scandal seemed to be spreading like wildfire, consuming all in its path.

Returning to London—yes, that must be the solution. It was the only way she could see to stem the tide of this vile gossip. If they presented themselves as a united, contented couple before society, perhaps they could quash the rumors before they took deeper root. The thought gave her a glimmer of hope, but it was quickly overshadowed by the daunting task ahead.

She would have to convince Alexander to return to Town with her, to join her in this pretense. The very idea of approaching him filled her with dread. After the previous night's revelations, she felt the sting of her own insensitivity, of having probed too deeply into wounds that were still raw. The guilt knotted her insides, making the prospect of another conversation with him even more unbearable.

Elizabeth felt torn, caught between her desire to protect her marriage and the overwhelming fear of facing her husband again.