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“Lady Bembridge,” Gilbert greeted. “I trust you are well.”

“Your Grace, I must compliment you on that gown. The fit is exquisite, and the embroidery quite the finest I have seen this Season,” She directed a warm smile at Diana. “I daresay you have become a bit of an icon for fashion.”

“Thank you, Lady Bembridge,” Diana dipped her head modestly. “I cannot take credit; I owe it to Madame Beaulieu’s superior needle and His Grace’s generosity.”

“I am pleased it suits you, Your Grace” he murmured to her, trying not to sound too pleased with her delight.

“And it does,” Lady Bembridge assured. “I hear you have a delightful schedule in town, so many engagements, though I presume you have been quite busy with the estate as well, duke?”

“Indeed, there is ever more to see to. But we manage,” Gilbert offered a polite half-smile, an old habit when discussing his responsibilities.

“Oh, you do more than manage, I am sure,” Lady Bembridge’s eyes twinkled. “It is good to see you both out and about. Society thrives on the presence of such a well-matched couple.”

Gilbert inclined his head in thanks, bidding his farewells as Lady Bembridge drifted off to greet another friend. He glanced at Diana, noticing the faint flush of warmth on her cheeks. Before he could speak, a gentle swirl of conversation brushed past them, and they found themselves stepping aside to let a trio of guests pass.

“I hope you are not overly taxed by all this,” he said, leaning toward her while gesturing discreetly to the bustle of Josephine’s guests. “We may depart any time you wish.”

“I am quite well,” she replied softly. Her eyes searched his expression. “Truly. I see no reason to hurry away.”

Her response reminded him of how far they had come since those uncertain early weeks. That she felt at ease here—on Josephine’s very lawns—spoke volumes.

His gaze traveled across the party, landing briefly on Josephine herself, draped in a regal gown of deep amethyst. He caught a flare of surprise in her eyes, perhaps at seeing Diana so poised, but she looked away, affecting boredom instead.

They were about to move on when Lord Wickley returned, beckoning Gilbert aside for a question about property boundaries. Gilbert cast Diana an apologetic glance.

“I shall rejoin you in a moment,” he promised in a quiet voice. “You will be quite all right?”

“Of course,” She smiled, calm assurance lighting her face. With that, she turned and made her way toward a small knot of acquaintances, greeting them with serene composure.

As he followed Wickley to a quieter corner of the garden, Gilbert could not help a rush of pride. She was every inch the duchess—collected, gracious, and wholly unconcerned by Josephine’s petty posturing. It dawned on him that he had feared this gathering might strain her nerves, given the widow’s past remarks. But clearly, those fears were unfounded. The Diana of this moment was no timid creature.

“…the boundary marker is entirely on my land,” Wickley was saying, but Gilbert’s mind strayed. He answered as best he could, referencing surveys and records he had reviewed. All the while, a small portion of his focus lingered on Diana: how she drifted between conversations with a subtle confidence, how her thoughtful nod made others lean closer in conversation.

Eventually, Lord Wickley concluded his inquiries. Gilbert excused himself politely, and as soon as it was proper, he crossed the lawn again, finding Diana by the fountain. She offered him a quick, private smile, and he drew a steadying breath.

“You look radiant,” he murmured, mindful of passing ears. “This new style suits you.”

She tilted her head. “Thank you. It appears that your estate business has now concluded?”

“For now. I do not think Wickley can press the matter further.” He paused, glancing at the gathering. “Perhaps we should enjoy a walk in the garden, if you wish. Or have you had your fill of social duties today?”

“I think a walk would be pleasant,” Her eyes glimmered with soft amusement. “I daresay you are more uncomfortable than I am.”

They turned, strolling side by side across the sunny stretch of lawn that led to Josephine’s garden. Onlookers might see only a picture-perfect couple, elegantly clad, exchanging polite conversation. But Gilbert felt something deeper; the sense that they were, at last, moving in step.

Josephine’s party, or any other meddler, no longer held power over them. And for once, he found satisfaction in attending a function he had never truly cared for, simply because Diana stood beside him, without doubt or anxiety.

A breeze passed over them, carrying the fresh scents of clipped boxwood and newly mown grass. Gilbert inclined his head toward the path.

“Shall we, my lady?”

“Lead on, Your Grace,” she answered, her own voice warm with shared amusement, the corners of her mouth curving into a smile.

The couple ventured onward, hand in hand, letting Josephine’s garden party unfold behind them. The murmurs, the gossip, the petty intrigues; none of it mattered now that they had faced it together, united in a way that only strengthened with each passing day.

Gilbert watched as Diana’s expression became animated upon spotting her father and sister at the far end of the garden. Her face broke into a bright smile—one that, despite his innate reserve, he found himself quietly admiring.

With a small, apologetic tilt of her head, she excused herself from his side and crossed the lawn to greet them. Only after Diana had stepped away did Gilbert wonder why Josephine had invited them. As far as he was aware they were not acquainted. Gilbert wondered if it was some scheme of Josephine’s, yet to unfold.