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“And your brother,” Victor went on, pausing to glance around and ensure no servant lingered within earshot, “has been labeled dishonorable and cowardly. There are whispers that he hides away to avoid the embarrassment of your marriage. Some even claim he is nursing wounds to his pride, though how exactly he was wounded seems to be a matter of speculation.”

Gilbert released a slow breath, carefully reining in his temper. The mention of Leopold stung, for the duke knew his brother’s ways were complicated, and whatever Leopold’s faults, cowardice had never been among them.

“And what do they say of me?”

Victor hesitated, the empathy apparent in his eyes. The wind tugged at the hem of his coat, causing him to steady himself against the trunk of the oak.

“They say that you are pitiful—either so spellbound by your new bride that you cannot see her conniving nature, or so plagued by family improprieties that you are desperate to present a veneer of respectability at any cost.”

For a moment, the only sound was the breeze stirring the leaves overhead. The estate seemed hushed in that instant, as though waiting for Gilbert’s reaction. Then, with a derisive snort, he broke the silence.

“Pitiful, am I? Well, that is news indeed.” His voice carried a tight, sardonic edge.

Victor looked him over with genuine concern, all levity gone. “You asked for honesty, old friend.”

“And you have given it,” Gilbert replied, raking a hand through his hair. He felt the gentle tug of leather gloves against his wrist, the action doing little to ease the knot in his chest. “I would sooner face a charging bull than the blasted rumor mills of London. They seem intent on tarnishing the duchess’s name and questioning my judgment in equal measure.”

He could not help but remember how Josephine’s scathing remarks had fanned the flames of his anxieties. Though once a woman of some familiarity to him, she now seemed bent on exploiting every crack in his new marriage, whatever her ultimate goal might be. In that moment he felt the weight of his title, the inheritance of responsibilities he had never chosen. Protecting Diana’s reputation felt more urgent than any estate dispute or social obligation.

“Shall you allow it to pass?” Victor asked gently.

Gilbert pressed his lips together, recalling Diana’s earnest plea for them to return to town and face the gossips head-on. His conscience pricked him with the memory of her words and the fleeting, heated moment they had shared before he had slipped away yet again. Despite the tension that lingered in their marriage, he could not deny her courage or sense of duty.

“I can no longer abide standing idle,” he said at last, his voice firm. “We must put an end to this slander for Diana’s sake, for Leopold’s, and for my own. She wishes us to return to town,attend the Season’s events together, and ensure that the ton sees us in one another’s company so often that no one can question our marriage. Despite everything, she refuses to shrink from society’s judgments.”

“Bold indeed. I must say, your duchess displays a rather impressive knack for strategy,” Victor’s brows rose and he smiled with genuine admiration. “Perhaps the whispers about her cunning are not so unfounded, though I daresay society has misjudged her intent.”

“She is clever,” Gilbert conceded, a trace of pride relaxing his features. “And if we are to quell these rumors, I would be a fool not to stand with her.”

Victor offered a small, encouraging nod. “Then I shall lend what support I can. Heaven knows we cannot rely upon Josephine for any charity.”

Gilbert raked a hand through his hair in renewed frustration. The repeated motion did little to soothe him, but he found himself grasping for calm. “They seem intent on sullying Diana’s name as well as my own judgment.”

Victor examined Gilbert’s tense posture and the rigid set of his shoulders. “You have two choices, old friend: stand your ground or flee again. But from what I gather, you do not wish to surrender the field.”

“No, that I do not.” Gilbert agreed, exhaling sharply. “Diana has convinced me we must return for the Season. Although itis somewhat sooner than I intended, she believes presenting a united front without delay will quell the gossip, and I am inclined to concur.”

Victor’s brows rose a fraction. “Your wife’s notion? How refreshingly bold. I am impressed she would volunteer to face the ton so quickly.”

“And do you truly believe the ton will be so easily swayed by appearances?” Gilbert asked, his tone heavy with skepticism. “They seem to delight in tearing down even the most unassailable reputations. I feel more adept at navigating the echelons of parliament than the parlor room gossips.”

“Ah, but therein lies the challenge, old friend,” Victor tilted his head, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “You are no ordinary gentleman, and Diana is no ordinary wife. She has shown her mettle, has she not? Few women would volunteer to face such scrutiny with their heads held high. It would be foolish not to capitalize on her strength.”

“She is… remarkable in her own way,” Gilbert frowned, recalling the unwavering determination in her eyes. “And yet, my concern is that by thrusting her into the spotlight, I risk exposing her to further ridicule.”

“Perhaps,” Victor conceded. “But shielding her from it entirely would be an even greater insult, would it not? A woman like your duchess deserves a partner who stands beside her, not one who hides her away.”

“You make a good point,” Gilbert admitted. A trace of admiration crept into his voice, bringing an unexpected warmth to his expression. “She is not one to cower behind closed doors. We shall show them our alliance is solid, regardless of whatever nonsense they choose to spout.”

They turned away from the great oak, ambling toward their tethered horses. The early sunlight, now stronger, caught the edges of Gilbert’s dark hair, illuminating the faint lines of worry on his brow. A stable lad hovered nearby but kept a discreet distance. The dew-kissed grass muffled their footfalls as they crossed the lawn, the estate’s elegant facade behind them standing as a testament to generations of Rivenhall dukes who had faced their own trials.

Pausing beside the horses, Victor rested a hand lightly on the pommel of his saddle. “I assume you intend to appear at certain notable events? Balls, soirées, perhaps a private reception or two at your townhouse in Grosvenor Square?”

“That is the plan,” Gilbert said, a faint wryness in his tone. “Or at least, Diana’s vision of it.” He tried to picture how she might navigate those glittering gatherings, shoulders squared, chin lifted high, determined to face down the whispers. Even in his mind’s eye, the image filled him with a peculiar blend of pride and protectiveness.

Victor nodded thoughtfully, smoothing the reins. “If you desire to make an impression, you might consider one additional matter before you both reenter society.”

Gilbert eyed him curiously. “What do you mean?” A breeze rattled the nearby hedgerow, sending a swirl of leaves across the turf.