My Bratty Wife

Dressed in a soft, cream-colored nightgown and a warm velvet robe, Suzy curled up on the chaise lounge in her spacious chambers. A low fire crackled merrily in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the walls and plush furnishings, illuminating the comfortable armchair where Mrs. Agnes sat opposite her and a small, nearly empty tray with a milk glass and cake crumbs resting on the table beside her.

Mrs. Agnes leaned forward slightly, her hands resting in her lap, her eyes thoughtful as she gathered her memories. "Where to begin... Our Ryan," she started, her voice soft with affection, "was such a bright spark as a boy. Intelligent, yes, but more than that, he was thoughtful. His mother, the late Duchess, was truly a gentle soul. She believed strongly in kindness, in treating everyone with respect, regardless of their station. She taught him that."

A faint smile touched Mrs. Agnes’s lips. "I remember once, he must have been only five , he saw one of the kitchen boys crying because he’d dropped a pail of milk. Ryan didn’t laugh or scold. He left his wooden soldiers right there on the path, went to the boy, patted his shoulder, and then ran off to fetch Cook, insisting she give the boy a sweet bun because ’accidents happen to everyone, Mama says’." She chuckled softly. "He had a good heart, right from the start."

She continued, "He spent hours in his studies, of course, even then. But his favorite times were outdoors. He wasn’t a lonely child then. He had Byron." Her expression softened further. "Young Lord Byron was his half brother. The Duke brought him home one night and said "Ryan, this is your brother." Since then, the two boys were inseparable. Always running through the gardens, climbing trees, playing knights or kings. Their laughter used to echo all the way up to the house. It was a happy sound."

Then, Mrs. Agnes’s smile faded, replaced by a profound sadness that seemed to emanate from deep within her. "And then... his mother fell ill. It was quick, too quick. One season she was arranging flowers in the blue drawing-room, the next... she was gone." Her voice dropped to a whisper.

"Ryan was heartbroken. Utterly devastated. He was only six. It was as if the light inside him just... went out."

She paused, looking down at her hands for a moment before meeting Suzy’s gaze again. "He changed. He pushed everyone away. Locked himself in his room for hours, refused to go near the gardens his mother had loved so much. He even pushed Byron away." Suzy saw a flicker of pain in Mrs. Agnes’s eyes as she remembered. "Not unkindly, you understand. Just... quiet refusal. He couldn’t share that grief. Byron, bless his patient heart, didn’t give up. He wouldn’t try to force Ryan to talk, but he would just... be there. Sometimes he’d just sit outside Ryan’s door for a while, or leave a carved bird on the windowsill where Ryan might see it. He waited. He understood, I think, as much as a boy could."

Suzy listened intently, her heart aching for the lonely, grieving boy Ryan had been. She pictured him, small and silent, shutting out the world, even his closest person.

Mrs. Agnes continued, a new memory surfacing. "It went on like that for almost a year. The silence in the estate was heavy then. Until one day, his father had important visitors. A Viscount, a friend of his, came for discussions. And he brought his daughter with him." Mrs. Agnes frowned slightly, tapping her finger against her chin. "I forget her name now... she was a little younger than Ryan. Was it Elene? Elena? No... Eliza? Or perhaps El..."