Page 2 of Corrupting his Duchess

“Well, naturally. Though I imagine you’d enjoy a good marriage as well, wouldn’t you? No more worrying over coins or creditors or, heaven help us, your mother’s nerves. You know what must happen before Heather comes of age.”

A familiar ache crept under her ribs. Her jaw tightened.

She was here because her family expected her to marry well. Her father was dead. Her mother fragile. Her sister’s debut loomed closer with every season. She’d managed the household before—why not manage her own future now?

But the thought of selling herself to the highest bidder made her stomach churn.

“And if the Duke of Yeats doesn’t take notice,” Isaac added, “then there’s always Lord Vaun.”

That drew her head around.

“He’s always been fond of you,” Isaac said, misreading her stare. “And I’d take that match in a heartbeat. The man’s ambitious, and he actually listens when I speak.”

Anna gave a brittle laugh. “Fond of me? He tried to proposition me behind the hedgerow at Lady Kenmere’s wedding.”

Isaac waved a hand. “So he’s direct. You could do worse.”

Anna inhaled sharply through her nose, her eyes narrowing just slightly. She didn’t speak. Instead, her fingers tightened around her reticule, knuckles pale against the embroidered fabric.

Isaac sighed heavily, adjusting his cravat again as though the entire carriage ride had been one long inconvenience. He stared out the window, fingers drumming against his knee.

“This isn’t about just one man, Anna—it’s about positioning.”

She tilted her head. “Positioning. How strategic.”

He ignored the sarcasm. “If not the Duke or Vaun then someone else. Someone useful. Use your wiles to find something that suits the family. A title, an estate, trade ties—whatever secures our footing.”

Her mouth twitched. “Charming.”

“I’m being practical,” he said, as though that excused everything. “Secure something worth the trouble, and I’ll handle the rest.”

The carriage slowed before the front steps. Anna turned back to the window.

She returned her gaze to the house just as the carriage began to slow before the front steps. The great wooden doors stood dark and unyielding, flanked by limestone columns carved with creeping vines. The family crest, a lion beside a tower, loomed above the lintel, weathered but still proud, though some of the carving had begun to crumble at the edges. The estate’s grandeur remained unmistakable, but there was a quiet sense of neglect along its edges, as if time and solitude had begun to wear away at its finery.

The carriage jolted as it turned onto the long gravel drive, and Anna shifted on the velvet seat, tugging her pelisse tighter. She could feel Isaac’s gaze flick toward her for the fifth time since the last milestone.

“Try not to look so sullen,” he said, adjusting his gloves. “You’re not entering a prison.”

“A house party filled with strangers in borrowed finery?” She gave a tight smile. “Forgive me if I fail to radiate joy.”

Her gown was serviceable—deep green muslin trimmed in black lace, one of the few she’d had let out and re-hemmed after her father’s death. It complemented her skin, she supposed, though there was little to be done about the rest. Brown hair that curled when it rained. Brown eyes, neither striking nor soft. A face that only grew pretty when she was laughing—and she hadn’t laughed much lately.

Ridley, perched nervously beside her, piped up. “If I may, miss…it suits you. the color becomes you. Brings out the warmth in your eyes. Like polished chestnut.”

Anna blinked. “That’s generous of you, Ridley.”

“Not generous,” the girl said, then ducked her head. “Just true.”

Isaac gave the maid a sharp look. “She doesn’t need compliments from the help.”

Anna’s spine straightened. “What she offered was honesty. You might try it sometime.”

The carriage jolted to a halt, and the door swung open. Two footmen in navy livery waited below the portico, and a butler emerged from the shadowed entrance. Behind him stood a tall older woman in dove-grey satin and a young lady at her side, lighter and fairer with warm chestnut curls, though both bore the same elegant beauty in their features.

Anna stepped down with care, smoothing her gloves as she took in the house’s grandeur. Beside her, Isaac adjusted his cravat with habitual precision.

The older woman stepped forward, posture regal, expression composed.