Chapter 35

CHAPTER 35

A lexander returned home from the House of Lords in a foul mood, his head pounding with the weight of the decisions made that day. But the moment he entered the estate, something felt off, as though the house itself were holding its breath. He was greeted by the butler, who, strangely, looked more anxious than usual.

"Where is the Duchess?" Alexander asked, shrugging off his coat and handing it to the waiting footman. The question seemed innocent enough, but a knot of unease twisted in his gut as he awaited the answer.

The butler hesitated, his gaze flickering nervously before meeting Alexander's. "Her Grace has... left the estate, Your Grace."

Alexander blinked, the words taking a moment to sink in. "Left? What do you mean, ‘left'? Where has she gone?"

"I am afraid... we do not know, Your Grace. She did not inform anyone of her destination. In fact, none of the staff even saw her depart."

The knot in Alexander's stomach tightened into a painful twist. He felt his pulse quicken, a sense of dread creeping up his spine. "What do you mean, no one saw her? She couldn't have simply disappeared!"

The butler remained silent, his head bowed slightly, clearly uncomfortable under the weight of Alexander's growing frustration.

A storm of panic and anger began to swirl inside him. Where had she gone? Why hadn't she told anyone? His mind raced with the possibilities, none of them easing the fear clawing at his chest. He turned, ready to tear through the house in search of her, when he was met by Percy standing at the entrance to the hallway.

"She's gone to her family," Percy said quietly, his expression unreadable.

Alexander's heart stuttered at the revelation. "To her family?" he repeated, his voice tight with disbelief. "Why?"

"She left this morning," Percy explained. "After last night... she needed space."

Without another word, Alexander made for the door, ready to bring her back. He wouldn't allow this. He couldn't. But Percy stepped in front of him, blocking his exit.

"What do you think you're doing?" Percy barked, his tone sharper than Alexander had ever heard from his younger brother.

"I'm going to get her," Alexander growled, his patience snapping like a taut string.

"No, you're not," Percy said firmly, his hand braced against the doorframe. "You'll only hurt her more if you go after her now."

Alexander glared at him, his temper flaring. "And what business of yours is it?" he shot back.

"This has nothing to do with me," Percy replied evenly, though his gaze was unwavering. "It has everything to do with your obstinacy and cowardice."

The words hit Alexander like a slap, igniting a fire of anger within him. "Cowardice?" he spat, stepping closer to his brother. "You dare?—"

"You love her," Percy interrupted, his voice calm but forceful. "Yet you hurt her. Because you refuse to let go of your own pain."

"Get out of my way," Alexander demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

But Percy didn't budge. Instead, he continued, his voice steady as he spoke the truth that Alexander had been unwilling to face. "You've been clinging to your guilt, to the past, and it's stopping you from seeing what's right in front of you."

Each word Percy spoke only fueled Alexander's frustration. He felt as if every accusation, every truth his brother pointed out, was another blade twisting in his chest. He shoved Percy aside, his temper boiling over. "Enough!" he barked. "I'm bringing her back."

As Alexander reached for the door, Percy's voice followed him, quiet but piercing. "She's unhappy, Alexander."

He froze, his hand still on the door handle.

"Last night, after dinner," Percy continued, "she told me about her decision to return to her family. She needs time to sort through her emotions. Don't force her back into the storm. Not now."

Alexander's breath left him in a slow, painful exhale. His entire body felt as though it had gone limp, the fire inside him extinguished by Percy's words. He turned slowly to face his brother, the weight of everything finally crashing down on him. "I've failed her, haven't I?" he whispered, his voice strained with guilt.

Percy's expression softened slightly. "It's not too late to seek her forgiveness," he said quietly. "But you need to give her space. She needs time, Alexander. And so do you."

Alexander stood there, feeling utterly lost, hating himself for every ounce of pain he had caused Elizabeth. His heart ached in a way he hadn't known was possible, and he hated that he was the reason for her suffering.

The next two days without Elizabeth were perdition for Alexander. The house felt empty, hollow, and every moment was a reminder of her absence. He spent most of his time in his study, drowning his sorrow in brandy, the glass never far from his hand.

It was late in the afternoon when the butler announced a caller. Colin stepped into the study, taking one look at Alexander and immediately frowning. "You look a damned wreck," he said bluntly.

Alexander barely had the strength to respond. "I've ruined everything," he muttered, running a hand over his face. "I love her, Colin. And I might have destroyed our marriage. I've broken her trust completely."

Colin sat down across from him, his expression sober. "You're right. You've screwed up. But what matters now is what you do next."

"I don't know what to do," Alexander admitted, the weight of his guilt suffocating him. "She's gone. She's left me."

Colin leaned forward, his gaze serious. "Percy's right. If she needs time, give it to her. You owe her that, Alex. After everything, it's the least you can do."

Alexander stared into his glass, feeling as though he were being ripped apart. "But what if I lose her?" he whispered, the fear gnawing at him. "What if I never get her back?"

Colin's voice softened. "If you love her, you'll give her the space she needs. And maybe, during that time, you'll realize just how much you've jeopardized. How much you almost lost."

Alexander's chest tightened, the thought of losing Elizabeth unbearable. "I don't need time away from her to know that," he muttered bitterly.

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder, or so they say," Colin offered with a small shrug.

But fondness wasn't what Alexander felt right now. It was a deep, wrenching pain. A hollowness that consumed him entirely. Would she ever forgive him? Would he ever have the chance to make things right?

"I can't lose her," Alexander said, his voice barely audible.

Colin watched him for a long moment, his face thoughtful. "I'm hosting a soiree before the season ends. Perhaps that'll give you the opportunity to see her."

A thought struck Alexander, cutting through the fog of his despair. The soiree—it was a chance. A chance to see Elizabeth again, even if it was just one more time. He clung to the idea like a lifeline.

"Will you come?" Colin asked, concern in his voice as he glanced at Alexander's disheveled state.

Alexander lifted his head, a glimmer of determination breaking through the haze of his misery. "Oh, I shan't miss it for the world," he said, setting his glass down with finality. "And I have every intention of showing up with my wife."

The days without Alexander had been torturous for Elizabeth, each hour stretching longer than the last. At first, she thought that time away from him would allow her to collect herself, to think clearly. But as the days slipped by, the reality of her situation settled like a lead weight in her chest—she had truly lost him. Her resolve to keep her distance, to protect herself from further heartache, began to crumble with each passing day.

She moved through her family's home as though in a haze, barely able to keep herself together. It had become impossible to ignore the aching void left by his absence. Every morning she awoke with the hope that maybe today, something would change—that he would send word, come after her, anything. But nothing came.

Her aunt, Petunia, noticed the cracks forming in her composure. Elizabeth had tried to hide it, but there was no concealing the pain that weighed on her heart.

One afternoon, as they sat together in the drawing room, Petunia finally broached the subject.

"Elizabeth," her aunt began gently, setting aside her embroidery. "You've seemed troubled ever since you arrived. I know it isn't my place, but... what is truly going on, darling?"

Elizabeth felt the weight of her aunt's kind gaze upon her, and for a moment, she hesitated. But the knot of emotions that had been building inside her for days was too much to bear any longer. Tears welled in her eyes as she set down her tea, her hands trembling slightly.

"I've fallen in love with him, Aunt Petunia," she confessed, her voice breaking. "I've fallen in love with Alexander, and now I fear I've lost him completely."

Her aunt's eyes softened with understanding, and she reached for Elizabeth's hand, holding it between her own. "Oh, my dear child," Petunia said quietly, "why do you think you've lost him?"

Elizabeth shook her head, the tears she had been holding back spilling over. "He doesn't care, Aunt. Not in the way I want him to. And I can't bear it. I thought I could handle this arrangement. But now... now it's too late. I love him, and he—" her voice faltered. "He will never love me back."

Petunia pulled her into a tight embrace, her hand smoothing over Elizabeth's hair as she whispered soothing words. "There, there, my love. All will be well, you'll see. Men are often more foolish about their feelings than we give them credit for."

Elizabeth let out a shaky breath, trying to draw comfort from her aunt's words, but the pain remained lodged in her chest. Just as Petunia was about to speak again, the butler entered the room, carrying a small tray with missives and invitations.

"Missives and invitations, Your Grace," the butler announced, placing the tray on the side table.

Elizabeth dried her eyes quickly, composing herself as best as she could. She picked up the pile of correspondence, her fingers fumbling slightly as she sorted through them. One in particular caught her eye.

"Colin is hosting a soirée?" she said aloud, her voice tinged with surprise.

Her aunt smiled. "He always did enjoy entertaining."

But before Elizabeth could respond, the butler handed her another envelope—an invitation addressed specifically to the Duke and Duchess of Sterlin. A note was attached. Elizabeth's brow furrowed as she carefully opened the missive, and her breath caught when she saw the familiar script. It was from Alexander.

Her heart raced as she unfolded the letter, her eyes scanning the words quickly. It was brief, formal—almost curt.

Elizabeth,

I enclose your copy of the invitation to Lord Broughton's soirée. I will come to fetch you tomorrow evening. It is only proper that we attend together, as he is a good friend to us both.

—Alexander

The words felt like a blow. Not a single mention of their argument. Not a word of apology or acknowledgment. It was as if nothing had happened between them, as though she hadn't left, as though her absence had meant nothing to him. Elizabeth's heart clenched painfully. He hadn't reached out in days, and now, when he finally did, it was to inform her of a social obligation. Cold. Distant. Detached.

She didn't know what she had expected—perhaps an apology, perhaps a sign that he missed her. But this? This was worse than silence. It was as if her leaving had made no difference to him at all.

Her hands trembled slightly as she folded the letter back into the envelope. Yet, despite the pain, she couldn't deny that Colin's invitation deserved to be honored. She had grown fond of the Marquess, and their friendship should not suffer because of her marital troubles.

"Will you go?" Petunia asked gently, her voice filled with concern as she saw the tension in Elizabeth's features. "You don't have to if you're not ready, darling. We can simply make your excuses to the Marquess and to your husband."

Elizabeth shook her head, her resolve hardening. "No, Aunty. I shall go," she said firmly. "Colin deserves that much. I will not let my personal feelings get in the way of my duties as a wife. I owe him that. And..." she hesitated, "I owe Alexander that much too."

Her voice wavered slightly on the last sentence, but she forced a weak smile. "It is my duty, after all."

Petunia looked at her with sorrowful eyes, seeing the battle Elizabeth was waging within herself. She pulled her niece into another warm embrace. "I love you, darling. And you must know, all will be well in the end."

"I love you too, Aunty," Elizabeth whispered, though her heart felt heavy, and the tears threatened to spill once more.

As Petunia held her close, Elizabeth tried to steel herself for the coming evening. She would play the role of the Duchess, as she had always done. She would stand beside her husband and maintain their facade. But deep down, she knew—this might be the last time she could pretend. The last time she could hold herself together before everything truly fell apart.