Chapter 27

CHAPTER 27

" W hy, how magnanimous of you, Lady Winston," Elizabeth replied, keeping her tone as serene as possible. "I shall pass on the pleasant news to my husband when he returns home."

Georgianna's eyes narrowed slightly, as if searching for a crack in Elizabeth's composure. "Is he never home? You seem to always be by yourself," she observed, her tone laced with feigned innocence.

"My husband is a Duke, Lady Winston. Naturally, he has matters of business to attend to during the day," Elizabeth responded, her voice steady and unruffled.

"You must find it awfully boring then," the widow pressed, her words clearly meant to needle.

"About as leisurely as you find your own days at home alone," Elizabeth returned sweetly, her smile never wavering.

For a brief moment, the Countess looked taken aback by Elizabeth's retort, but she quickly recovered, though there was a hint of sheepishness in her tone as she replied, "Well, we women must devise ways to make the most of our days."

Elizabeth could sense the shift in Georgianna's demeanor, but she was not inclined to offer any further courtesies. "Now, I am sure you must have quite a lot to do with your afternoon," she said dismissively, her words a clear invitation for Georgianna to take her leave.

"Quite a lot indeed," Georgianna agreed, though her tone now conveyed her annoyance. "A party for a Duke must live up to expectations, after all. Don't you think, Lady Elizabeth?" she added, her voice carrying that familiar edge.

"Your Grace," Elizabeth corrected her calmly, her eyes meeting Georgianna's with an unwavering gaze.

"I beg your pardon?" Georgianna sputtered, her composure slipping for the first time.

"You seem to have forgotten your manners once again, Lady Winston. It's ‘Your Grace,' not ‘Lady Elizabeth' anymore," Elizabeth repeated, her tone patient but firm.

A deep shade of pink spread across Georgianna's cheeks, and she pinned a rather forced smile to her lips, clearly embarrassed. She rose to her feet, clearly eager to end the conversation.

"Oh, and Countess Winston," Elizabeth called out as Georgianna reached the door. The widow turned, her expression strained. "I am the Duchess of Sterlin. You will do well not to forget that next time," Elizabeth added, her voice carrying the quiet authority of her title.

Without another word, and looking thoroughly mortified, Georgianna turned and hurried out the door. As soon as the Countess was gone, Elizabeth felt a rush of questions flood her mind, questions she had been trying to suppress about the true nature of Georgianna's relationship with Alexander. Throwing a party in his honor was a bold move, indeed. What was the woman after? And more importantly, what sort of backing did she believe she had from Alexander to be so audacious?

As Elizabeth pondered these troubling thoughts, she was interrupted by the housekeeper in the hallway. "Oh, I was just on my way to your chambers now, Your Grace," the woman said, approaching with a rather large box in her hands.

"This just arrived for you," the housekeeper declared, setting the box down with a respectful nod.

Perplexed and curious, Elizabeth followed the housekeeper to her chambers, where the box was placed on the bed. With a mix of anticipation and excitement, she opened the box to reveal yet another dress, this one a stunning olive green and gold ensemble. Her eyes widened at the sight, and the disappointment from her earlier encounter with Georgianna seemed to melt away, replaced by a renewed sense of joy.

Was her husband trying to make up for his actions once again? Whatever his motives, Elizabeth found herself increasingly drawn to these little surprises. They filled her with a sense of anticipation, a spark of excitement that she had not felt in quite some time.

"Oh, I find myself looking forward to your new dresses now, Your Grace," her lady's maid remarked, pausing in her task of folding laundry to admire the new gown. It was as though she had read Elizabeth's thoughts.

Elizabeth picked up the accompanying note, her heart fluttering as she unfolded it. ‘Gold is a color fit for the Royal Opera House, don't you think, Liz?' her husband's elegant penmanship read.

A thrill of excitement coursed through her. Alexander was taking her to the theater!

"I am beginning to think that you would make even a burlap sack look beautiful," Alexander said, helping Elizabeth into their waiting carriage the following evening, his voice rich with warmth and affection.

"Is that a hint about my next dress?" Elizabeth quipped, feeling a pleasant warmth spread through her at his compliment.

"Oh, do not tempt me, Liz," he laughed heartily as he joined her inside the carriage, the sound of his laughter reverberating pleasantly through the enclosed space.

As their carriage rolled through the lamplit streets of London, heading toward the theater, Elizabeth took the opportunity to share something that had been on her mind. It was the first real chance for a proper conversation since the ball, and she wanted to let him know how their efforts were being perceived by society.

"I overheard a conversation between two matrons at the last ball," she began, glancing at him to gauge his reaction. "They were questioning the rumors about you and your brother, given how you seemed unable to take your eyes off me."

Alexander's lips curved into a satisfied smile. "Something that is finally going as it should," he said, a note of relief in his voice.

"Indeed," Elizabeth agreed, her spirits lifting even further at the realization that they were beginning to turn the tide in their favor.

When they arrived at the theater, the grandeur of the event was on full display. The English aristocracy had turned out in force, pairs and groups of peers indulging in an evening of entertainment and glamour. The theater was a center of wealth and status, and Elizabeth took a deep breath to tamp down her excitement and nervousness as they took their seats.

The performance began, and Elizabeth found herself utterly absorbed in the story. The emotions conveyed on stage were powerful, pulling at her heartstrings in a way she hadn't expected. By the time the curtains fell for the intermission, she realized she had been moved to tears.

"Is that a tear I see, Liz?" Alexander's teasing voice broke through her thoughts.

Elizabeth dabbed at her eyes with her matching olive green and gold satin handkerchief, a soft chuckle escaping her. "Oh, tell me you weren't moved by that," she challenged, meeting his gaze with a playful smile.

"The Duchess of Sterlin so moved? Unbelievable," he teased, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Oh, with those words, one would think me heartless, Alexander," Elizabeth said, still smiling.

"Only too stubborn for tears," he chortled, and Elizabeth gave him a mock stern look.

"I cannot be that bad," she said, feigning indignation.

"Only worse, perhaps," he laughed, and she couldn't help but join him, the sound of their shared laughter filling the space between them.

As the laughter faded, Alexander's expression softened, taking on a more reflective quality. "This is a bit of a family tradition, you see," he said, his tone tinged with nostalgia.

Elizabeth tilted her head, intrigued. "A tradition?"

"This particular performance was my mother's favorite," he revealed, surprising Elizabeth with this glimpse into his past. "Father always brought her here whenever they were in town. She loved it so much that she even watched the French version in Paris when they traveled."

Elizabeth listened intently as he continued, "After her death, when we were older, he would bring Percy and me sometimes. I've watched it twice with him."

"It's a brilliant piece. I'm not surprised she loved it that much. Thank you for sharing it with me," Elizabeth said, her heart warmed by this rare moment of openness from him. It was the first time he had spoken to her about his family in such a personal way.

"Like I said, it's a family tradition, Liz," he replied, a small, almost wistful smile tugging at his lips.

Elizabeth felt a flutter in her chest at the way he spoke, as if he were acknowledging, perhaps for the first time, that she was part of that tradition now—part of his family. "When did she pass on?" she asked gently, hoping to learn more.

"She died giving birth to my sister, Eleanor," he answered, his voice quiet, the pain of the memory still evident despite the years that had passed. "I was eight years old then. Percy was six."

"I'm so sorry," Elizabeth said, her heart aching for the little boys they had been, for the losses they had endured. She understood that kind of pain all too well.

"Eleanor must have been very young when the accident happened," she ventured, hoping to learn more about the sister whose room remained untouched.

"Nine years old was too young," he replied, his voice suddenly tight with bitterness. There was a curtness to his tone that made it clear he did not wish to continue down this path.

Elizabeth opened her mouth to ask more, but before she could, he abruptly changed the subject. "Did you know that in France, one must make a reservation to watch this performance at least a month in advance? That's how beloved the piece is."

She recognized the diversion for what it was and felt a pang of disappointment. He had shared something with her, but just as quickly, he had shut her out again, retreating behind the walls he kept so carefully constructed.

For the rest of the performance, Alexander remained unusually quiet, his earlier warmth and humor replaced by a distant demeanor. Elizabeth couldn't help but admonish herself for pushing too hard, for indulging her curiosity and perhaps ruining the atmosphere that had been so promising.

Would I ever truly know the family I married into?