Chapter Twenty Nine

Exhaustion gnawed at Ryan as the carriage rolled into the castle courtyard late that evening. The investigation at Lord Collin's manor had been demanding, both physically and mentally. He climbed out of the carriage, his cloak billowing in the cool evening breeze.

"See to the horses, Davis," he instructed, his voice weary. "And send word ahead that I require a hot bath and a light meal in my study."

Davis inclined his head in silent acknowledgment. Ryan, with a heavy sigh, turned and made his way towards the castle entrance. A sliver of concern, almost guilt, flickered within him as he remembered his earlier confrontation with Suzy.

"Doris," he called out, his voice raspy from disuse.

The ever-attentive maid appeared at his side in a flurry of activity. "Your Grace," she greeted, her brow furrowing with concern at his weary appearance. "You look exhausted. Have you eaten?"

Ryan shook his head, his mind focused on a different concern. "Has the Duchess… has she started reading the books?" he inquired, his voice gruff.

Doris nodded. "Yes, Your Grace. When I brought the books to her room earlier, she seemed determined to get started. She started reading right away."

A flicker of curiosity sparked in Ryan's eyes. Had she truly begun reading so soon, or was this just another one of her rebellious acts? He hadn't expected such immediate compliance. Perhaps his harsh words had stung more than he intended. He decided to see for himself.

"Thank you, Doris," he said with a curt nod. "I'll check on her myself."

He strode towards the stairs, his footsteps echoing in the otherwise silent hall. Reaching Suzy's room, he hesitated for a moment before knocking and gently pushing open the door.

The scene that greeted him was unexpected. Suzy, curled up in a plush armchair by the window, was fast asleep. A half-eaten pastry and a mostly untouched cup of tea sat on a nearby table, seems she lacked appetite. But what truly surprised Ryan was the sight of two large books lying open on the floor, filled with scribbled notes and highlighted passages.

Next to him, on a small table, lay a stack of parchment, neatly organized and filled with Suzy's elegant handwriting. He picked one up, his brow furrowing in surprise.

"An account of the castle's management?" he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. Suzy, in her determination to understand her new role, had not only delved into the history of the Carleton Ball, but had also begun to analyze the day-to-day running of the castle itself.

He continued scanning the documents, his surprise growing with each page. Suzy had created detailed charts outlining staff schedules, food inventories, and even potential areas for cost reduction. She had clearly taken the time to not only understand the preparations for the ball, but also the overall management of the castle.

A soft moan escaped Suzy's lips, pulling him out of his reverie. She mumbled something incoherent, her brow furrowed in a slight frown.

"Roasted chicken…" she murmured, her voice thick with sleep.

He gently placed the parchment back on the table, his gaze lingering on her peaceful sleeping form.

He stood there for a moment, watching her sleep. The defiance that had been burning in her eyes earlier had been replaced by a peaceful serenity. The rise and fall of her chest created a gentle rhythm.

A wave of… something… washed over him, an emotion he couldn't quite place. Was it grudging respect for her dedication? Or perhaps a flicker of concern for the workload he had burdened her with? Whatever it was, it softened the coldness that had taken root in his heart.

He let out a soft sigh, the sound barely audible. He couldn't deny that seeing her diligently working on the preparations for the ball, even in his absence, had sparked a flicker of… approval.

Gently, he picked up the fallen blanket and draped it over Suzy's sleeping form. As he did, a soft whimper escaped her lips, a barely audible murmur that sent a jolt through him.

"Roasted chicken…" she mumbled again, her brow furrowing in her sleep. "Must have roasted chicken…"

Ryan's lips twitched in a reluctant smile. So much for her lack of appetite.

Carefully, ever so carefully, he scooped Suzy up in his arms. She stirred slightly, her brow relaxing as she nestled into his embrace. Without a word, he carried her to the large four-poster bed that dominated the room.

Gently, he laid her down on the soft sheets, tucking the covers around her. Her sleep remained undisturbed, a faint smile playing on her lips as she drifted back into dreamland.

Ryan lingered by the bed for a moment longer, his gaze fixed on her peaceful face. He couldn't deny that seeing her devoted to the task with such focus had… impressed him. With a final, lingering glance, Ryan turned and walked towards the door.

Exhaustion slammed into Ryan as he exited Suzy's room. His muscles screamed in protest with each step, his eyelids fighting a losing battle against sleep. He stumbled out into the hallway, the flickering candlelight offering little comfort.

Suddenly, a familiar figure emerged from the shadows. "Your Grace?" Mr Bradford inquired softly, his voice laced with concern.

Ryan stopped, his body swaying slightly. "Bradford," he rasped, his voice rough with fatigue. "Just the person I needed to see."

Mr Bradford's brow furrowed. "You look… unwell, Your Grace," he observed cautiously. "Is everything alright?"

"Everything's… overwhelming," Ryan admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. He leaned against the wall, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

Mr Bradford, ever perceptive, understood the unspoken plea. "Perhaps some rest would be beneficial, Your Grace," he suggested gently. "Whatever you are doing can wait until the morning."

Ryan let out a groan that was half a sigh. "You're right, Bradford," he mumbled. "Have them bring my meal to my room."

Bradford's lips curved into a sympathetic smile. "Of course, Your Grace. Leave it to me."

With a curt nod, Ryan pushed himself away from the wall and continued his sluggish journey towards his room. Each step felt like wading through mud, his body begging for respite.

Reaching his chamber, he practically stumbled through the door and collapsed onto the plush armchair. His gaze fell on his reflection in the fireplace mirror – a haggard figure with dark circles under his eyes and a deep crease of worry etched between his brows. He looked like a man on the brink.

He rose shakily from the chair, his limbs protesting with a dull ache. With a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world, he began to undress, each movement deliberate and slow.

The warm embrace of the bathtub offered a temporary haven. He sank into the steaming water, letting the heat seep into his tired muscles. He closed his eyes, the tension slowly draining from his body.

But even in the soothing water, his mind refused to rest. The image of Lord Collin's lifeless form flashed before his eyes, followed by the chilling stain on the doorframe. Viscount Conrad's name echoed in his thoughts, a question mark hanging heavy in the air.

"When will this end?" he murmured, his voice barely audible even to his own ears. The investigation, the string of deaths, the burden of his position – it all seemed to be pressing down on him, threatening to suffocate him.