Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

E lizabeth'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 the cool 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.

"But you know…" the first maid suddenly lowered her voice to a near whisper, her words barely carrying to Elizabeth's ears.

Elizabeth took a cautious step closer to the door, her heart pounding as she strained to catch the rest of the conversation. What more could they possibly say?

"They say the Duchess and Lord Percy are together despite her marriage to his brother," one of the maids whispered, her tone dripping with scandal. "It all started in London, I heard. And a scandal was why the Duke married her in the first place."

Elizabeth's hand flew to her mouth, muffling the gasp that escaped her. Her heart pounded, each beat echoing in her ears like a drum. Lady Compton had been right—these rumors were spreading like wildfire, reaching even the remote corners of the countryside. It seemed no matter where she went, these lies followed, tainting her reputation and threatening to unravel everything she had tried so hard to hold together.

"But I thought Lord Percy had left England?" the second maid asked, her voice full of doubt.

"What I heard is that he's still around," the first maid replied confidently. "Hiding and meeting her in private."

The words struck Elizabeth like a blow, the weight of them almost too much to bear. The audacity of it—the sheer baselessness of these accusations—left her breathless with anger and fear. This was no mere idle gossip; it was a poison, seeping into the very fabric of her life, threatening to destroy her marriage and her standing in society.

She had to find Alexander at once. They needed to act swiftly, to return to London and root out these vile rumors before they took deeper hold. The decision was made in an instant, clarity cutting through her panic like a blade. She would not allow these lies to fester. They had to confront this head-on.

Her resolve firm, Elizabeth turned on her heel, determined to speak with her husband the moment he returned. But as she made her way toward her bedchamber, her thoughts racing, she was met with an unexpected sight.

"Oh, Your Grace. I was just about to go find you," her new lady's maid chirped the moment Elizabeth entered the room.

The girl was bent over something on the bed, her eyes alight with a strange excitement that seemed to radiate from her. Elizabeth's steps faltered, curiosity piqued despite the turmoil in her heart.

"What is it, Lydia?" Elizabeth asked, moving closer.

The maid straightened, revealing a sight that made Elizabeth's breath catch once more, but this time for an entirely different reason. There, spread across the covers, was a dress of the deepest red velvet, its richness almost overwhelming in the soft light of the room.

"Where did you get this from?" Elizabeth asked, surprised.

"The Duke had it made for you, Your Grace," Lydia replied, her smile broadening. "It was delivered not long ago."

"Made for me?" Elizabeth echoed, her surprise evident. "But how? When?" The questions tumbled from her lips, her mind struggling to grasp the unexpected gesture.

To her further astonishment, Mary chuckled, a sound filled with youthful mischief. "I was instructed by Mrs. Ryton to get your measurements in secret," the girl admitted, her eyes twinkling with delight. "I didn't understand why at first, but it seems like the Duke wanted it to be a surprise."

"Oh my," Elizabeth murmured, her fingers grazing the luxurious fabric with reverence. The dress was a masterpiece—soft as a whisper, yet vibrant and bold in its hue. It was, without a doubt, the most beautiful dress she had ever beheld.

"Shall we try it on, Your Grace?" Mary asked, her excitement infectious.

Elizabeth nodded, her own anticipation building. As the dress settled around her, the depth and richness of the red velvet seemed to come alive against her pale complexion. She turned to the mirror, breath catching at the sight.

"Oh, it looks wonderful!" Elizabeth exclaimed, giving a small twirl before the standing mirror, the skirt flaring out with a graceful sweep.

"You make it look so, Your Grace," Mary said with an admiring smile.

Elizabeth couldn't help but smile back, though a small frown tugged at the corner of her lips as she studied her reflection once more. The gift was so unexpected, so out of character for Alexander, that she couldn't help but wonder at its purpose. Could it be... a peace offering? Was this his way of bridging the gap that had grown between them?

The thought lingered in her mind as she carefully removed the dress and returned to her usual attire. Whatever his intentions, she would soon find out. Alexander returned home just before dinner, and Elizabeth wasted no time in seeking him out, her heart racing with both anxiety and hope.

She found him in the library, his back turned to her as he leafed through a book. The sight of him—so familiar, yet still so distant—filled her with an odd sense of longing.

"There you are," she sighed, relief washing over her at the sight of him.

Alexander turned, his expression one of mild surprise. "You're looking for me?" he asked, clearly taken aback.

"Is it so implausible that I would be?" Elizabeth countered, her voice steady though her heart beat uncomfortably fast.

His brow furrowed slightly, as if pondering over her words. "Well, considering you looked as though you could barely tolerate my presence in that hall..."

Elizabeth stilled. Could it be that he had misinterpreted her reaction as well?

But perhaps she had imagined it because his expression was inscrutable now, his features carefully composed. Yet, the sting of guilt lingered in her chest, nagging at her. She had felt a glimmer of something—vulnerability, perhaps—but it was gone, replaced by his usual calm reserve.

"I'd been in a hurry," Elizabeth excused, her voice softer than she intended.

He nodded, the motion almost perfunctory. Silence fell between them, thick and heavy with unspoken words. Elizabeth shifted, feeling the awkward tension in the air pressing down on her, making her acutely aware of how strained their relationship had become. She cleared her throat, desperate to break the silence.

"The dress is beautiful," she said, hoping to steer the conversation to safer ground. "I didn't realize you had quite the taste, Your Grace," she added, attempting a teasing tone.

His lips quirked in a small, almost imperceptible smile. "I am glad it is up to your standards then, Your Grace," he replied, his voice carrying a hint of playfulness.

Elizabeth felt some of the tension ease from her shoulders, a small measure of relief washing over her. At least they could still exchange pleasantries, even if the words felt somewhat hollow. "Pray tell, what is the occasion?" she asked, tilting her head in curiosity.

"Do I need an occasion to give gifts to my Duchess?" he returned, his tone light, yet his gaze held something deeper, something she couldn't quite decipher.

Elizabeth felt a warmth spread across her cheeks, a blush she couldn't control. The compliment, though simple, touched her in a way she hadn't expected. "I am glad you like it," he added, his voice gentler now.

"Thank you," Elizabeth beamed, her smile genuine, the awkwardness momentarily forgotten.

"My pleasure," he replied, with a small bow, making a show of gallantry that drew a soft chuckle from her.

But the ease of the moment faded as quickly as it had come. Elizabeth's thoughts returned to the troubling news she had been burdened with all day. "There is something I wanted to talk to you about," she began again, this time more tentatively.

He looked at her, his expression shifting to one of expectation, the air between them suddenly charged with anticipation.

"I had tea with Lady Compton," Elizabeth started, choosing her words carefully. "And I'm afraid she came bearing similar news to what Georgianna shared."

Alexander's jaw tightened, and he let out a low, frustrated curse under his breath, his eyes darkening with displeasure.

"What is more," Elizabeth continued, her voice steady despite the anxiety curling in her stomach, "I overheard the servants discussing these rumors as well. They seem to be spreading faster than we anticipated."

"Good lord. Is this never-ending?" he muttered, running a hand over his face in clear frustration.

Elizabeth hesitated, then took a breath, gathering her courage. "I was thinking that perhaps it is time we return to Town," she suggested, her voice careful, almost cautious.

When he quirked a questioning brow, Elizabeth felt a pang of trepidation settle in her chest, her confidence wavering under the weight of his scrutiny.

"If we return to the Season and show society just how content we are in our marriage, perhaps we can nip these rumors in the bud. After all, it all began in London," she elaborated, her voice steady despite the nerves that tugged at her resolve.

"Quench the flames from their source," he murmured, his expression thoughtful as he considered her suggestion.

"Precisely," she agreed, a flicker of hope igniting within her at the possibility that he might see reason, that he might consider her proposal with the seriousness it deserved.

He seemed to deliberate for a moment longer, his gaze distant as if weighing the merits of her plan. Then, finally, he nodded, though the set of his mouth hinted at some condition yet to be revealed. "We return to London on one condition," he said at last, his tone carrying a gravity that made Elizabeth's heart skip a beat.

"And what is that condition?" she asked, her voice betraying the slight nervousness that had crept back in.

"You wear your new dress to dinner tonight," he replied, a touch of amusement coloring his words.

Elizabeth blinked, taken aback. For a moment, she could only stare at him in surprise, her mind racing to comprehend his request. Not only had he agreed to her proposal with unexpected ease, but he was also suggesting they dine together—a rare occurrence that left her momentarily speechless.

"You're joining me for dinner?" she managed to ask, the question slipping out before she could temper the surprise in her voice.

"Since we're leaving for Town soon, I might as well grace the dining room this once," he quipped, his lips curving into a smile that was both teasing and unexpectedly warm.

Elizabeth gave him a look, a mix of skepticism and amusement, though she couldn't quite keep the corners of her own mouth from turning up in response.

And then he chuckled—a deep, rich sound that sent a pleasant warmth rushing to her cheeks. It was a sound she had heard so rarely, yet it had an immediate effect on her, easing some of the tension that had built up between them.

"I think it's overdue. I have business back in London waiting for me anyway," he declared, his tone shifting back to the practical, though the smile still lingered in his eyes.

When Elizabeth returned to her bedchamber, her mind still buzzing from her conversation with Alexander, she wasted no time in informing her lady's maid of their impending departure.

"We shall be leaving for Town in the next few days," she announced, her tone brisk as she crossed the room.

The maid, who had been carefully folding a garment, paused mid-motion. "Why, so soon?" she asked, her voice laced with what Elizabeth could only describe as mild surprise.

Elizabeth raised a brow at the question, slightly taken aback by the girl's forwardness. "We've been rusticating here a while now. I hardly think it's that soon. Besides, you only just started here, remember?" she replied, trying to keep her tone light.

But as she spoke, she noticed something shift in the maid's expression—something fleeting, inscrutable, that passed over the girl's features before she quickly averted her gaze.

"I beg your pardon, Your Grace," the maid said, her tone suddenly more formal, almost guarded. "It is not my place to question your decisions."

The abrupt change in her demeanor was subtle, yet unmistakable. The familiarity the girl had displayed moments before seemed to vanish, replaced by a carefully controlled politeness that left Elizabeth feeling some unease.