Page 10 of His Graceful Duchess (A Lady’s Vow #3)

CHAPTER 10

“ T he man is infuriating ,” Isadora huffed, nudging a stray pebble with the toe of her shoe.

She had gotten the opportunity to slip away from the estate and meet her sister at the nearby park.

It was a welcome opportunity—for she felt as though she was going to lose her mind trying to figure out Evan alone in that large estate which they both inhabited.

“He acts as though he is entirely incapable of following simple etiquette. He only listens when it amuses him, and even then, he does so with that smirk, as if he is merely indulging me rather than actually learning anything. And the way he moves —” Isadora continued. She was rambling, of course, but she couldn’t help herself. Her patience had finally run thin, and it felt good to let out all of her pent-up emotions.

Penelope hummed beside her, her expression a mixture of amusement and curiosity. “The way he moves?”

“Yes. He—” She frowned, suddenly aware that she had, in fact, noticed a great deal about Evan’s mannerisms.

The way he carried himself or how his brows lifted just the faintest bit whenever she said something that piqued his interest. And that smirk of his. That damned smirk.

She huffed in frustration.

“The point is that I am saddled with an impossible man.”

“You seem to have spent quite a bit of time… observing him,” Penelope remarked as though she had read her mind.

Isadora felt the heat rise to her cheeks. “Only because I must. How else am I to instruct him properly?”

“Why would the Duke be in need of instruction?” Penelope asked.

Oh. It occurred to Isadora then that her little rant would sound quite strange without context—which was that she was to give the Duke lessons on proper behavior.

“Well, I cannot explain everything to you now,” she replied, “but trust me when I say that he is impossible to instruct.

Penelope smirked, as though she wanted to say something but restrained herself. “No worries, sister dear. I do not doubt that your interest in him is merely for… instructional purposes.”

Isadora cleared her throat, feeling herself growing flustered at the implication.

“I apologize. I have been rambling on, haven’t I?” she said in a bid to change the topic. “You tell me something. How are things at home?”

At once, Penelope’s expression dimmed, her shoulders stiffening ever so slightly.

“Penelope?” Isadora caught on immediately.

See? she thought to herself. Evan was not the only person whose mannerisms she caught. She was just observant; that was all.

“I do not know what to tell you,” Penelope sighed, kicking absently at a tuft of grass. “Father is determined to find me a husband.”

Isadora frowned deeply. She had anticipated that would happen. “Already? I thought he would at least wait some time, given that it hasn’t been too long since my marriage.”

Penelope let out a humorless chuckle. “You give him more credit than you ought. I suspect he never truly stopped looking.”

Isadora’s fingers curled into a fist at her side. It should not have surprised her. Their father had always been more concerned with securing alliances than with their actual happiness.

Always the opportunist.

“I will speak to him,” she said firmly.

“You cannot, Isadora,” Penelope replied immediately, alarmed. “You are already in enough trouble with him as it is.”

Isadora hesitated before softly asking the question she had avoided since their last meeting.

“And you? Do you wish to marry?”

Penelope hesitated then shook her head. “Not like this. Not under Father’s will alone.”

Isadora nodded in understanding.

Her own marriage had been a result of desperation, but she would not allow the same fate for Penelope.

She turned to her sister with determination in her eyes.

“I will protect you from this, Penelope. Whatever it takes.”

Penelope let out a shaky laugh. “That is what worries me.”

Isadora glanced at her in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Penelope bit her lip, choosing her words carefully. “You have always taken care of me, Isadora. Always put my needs before your own. And now… I cannot help but feel as though you have done it again.”

“You are my responsibility,” Isadora reminded her gently.

“Yes but,” Penelope frowned, “perhaps you take the responsibility a tad too seriously.”

“There is no such thing,” Isadora said swiftly.

“Yes, there is,” Penelope emphasized. “You married him for my sake as a trade for a favor. That is entirely too much, and I cannot possibly ask you for more. You have already done more than your fair share.”

Isadora smiled, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “I married him because it was the only way to ensure you would not end up in a miserable match. I would make the same choice again.”

Penelope shook her head quickly, her eyes filled with guilt. “But, Isadora, I never wanted?—”

Isadora squeezed her hand again. “I know, dearest. We did not choose the hand that we were dealt. There is no need for you to explain.”

Penelope’s lower lip trembled. “I do not want you to be unhappy,” she said earnestly.

Isadora hesitated a moment. The word had caught her off guard.

Unhappy.

Am I unhappy? It was such a loaded implication.

No. It wasn’t true. Evan frustrated her, irritated her, challenged her—but did he make her unhappy?

She had expected misery but had come to find something else entirely. It was not happiness per se—at least not yet, but it wasn’t anything bad either.

Just…unexpected.

She thought of the way he had fed her that bite of food just last night, the flicker of heat in his gaze, the way his voice wrapped around her like velvet when he called her sweetheart .

“I am not unhappy, Penelope,” she admitted at last. “It is not the life I imagined, but it is not so terrible.”

Penelope searched her face, looking for any sign of a lie.

“You are not unhappy,” Penelope repeated slowly, as if testing the words on her tongue, searching for deception.

Isadora huffed. “Must you sound so incredulous?”

Penelope gave her a pointed look. “Forgive me if I find it difficult to believe that the same man you described as infuriating just moments ago is suddenly not making your life miserable.”

Isadora glanced away, focusing instead on the path ahead of them, lined with wildflowers and twisting vines.

“He still is,” she muttered. “But… that does not mean I am unhappy.”

Penelope narrowed her eyes. “That makes no sense. Surely you see the contradiction in your own words.”

“Contradictory is one way to phrase it.” Isadora let out a long breath, adjusting the lace at her sleeve. “I never said I understood it myself.”

“So, you do like him,” Penelope said.

Isadora stumbled over her own feet.

“What? No.”

Penelope giggled, catching her balance with a hand on Isadora’s arm. “Oh, but you do. Surely there is some measure of fondness between the two of you.”

Isadora shot her a glare though the heat rising to her cheeks betrayed her.

“You are being ridiculous,” she said stiffly. “Just because I am not entirely miserable does not mean I—” She waved a hand. “— like him.”

“Is that really such a bad thing?” Penelope questioned. “To like your own husband?”

“Well, no,” Isadora shook her head. “But I am merely saying that it is not the point that I am trying to make here.”

Penelope smirked. “You just spent a full ten minutes ranting about him. And before that, you were talking about how much you have observed him. His mannerisms, his expressions?—”

“Because I must!” Isadora cut in quickly.

“Must you?”

Isadora pressed her lips together, feeling as though she had walked straight into a trap.

Penelope sighed, her expression turning more thoughtful. “I suppose it is not so terrible, then.”

Isadora arched a brow. “What is not so terrible?”

Penelope linked their arms. “That you are not unhappy. That your marriage is not a complete disaster.”

Isadora hesitated. There was something deeper in her voice, a lingering guilt that had only just made its way to the surface. “You thought it would be?”

Penelope’s eyes softened. “I was terrified, Isadora. When I realized what you had done for me—I… I felt awful. The last thing I ever wanted was for you to sacrifice yourself.”

“I did not sacrifice myself,” Isadora said firmly.

Penelope gave her a look. “Are we really going to bend the truth now? Be earnest, Isadora.”

“Fine. It was a bargain, I admit. But do not think for a moment that you are the reason I did this.”

Penelope frowned. “But I am?—”

“No,” Isadora cut in, squeezing her arm. “You are the reason I acted , yes. But I chose to do this, Penelope. No one forced my hand.”

“But if not for me?—”

“If not for you, then perhaps it would have been another reason,” Isadora said. “Our father would have found some way to push me into a match eventually. At least this way, I had some say in the matter.”

Penelope let out a slow breath. “And you are truly content with that?”

She had married Evan thinking it would be one thing—an arrangement, a simple business transaction.

But now—it was shaping up to be more intimate than she could have thought. She swallowed hard, pushing the thought away.

“I am content,” she said at last, her voice quieter now.

Penelope remained stubborn in her resolve and began to shake her head. “You know, Isadora… you are allowed to want more. It is really not a crime to do so. You make everything about responsibility or some other moral reasoning, bBut it does not have to be so.”

“What other reason would you rather I have?”

Penelope shrugged. “Happiness. Love. A marriage that is more than just an arrangement.”

Isadora forced a chuckle though it sounded a bit too forced. She had gone through conversations like this numerous times with her friends before.

“Penelope, not all of us are hopeless romantics,” she reminded pointedly.

“Not all of us, no. But I think you might be a little more sentimental than you pretend to be,” Penelope maintained.

Isadora sighed dramatically. “And I think I should have left you at home. You are asking far too many questions.” Ones that even she did not have the answer to.

Penelope giggled, squeezing her arm. “All right, fine. I shall stop. My intention was not to irk you. It was just that… well, it is hard not to be curious.”

They walked on, the air lighter than before, but Isadora’s thoughts felt unsettled.

Because for the first time, she wondered if Penelope was right.

And that thought was far more dangerous than anything else.

The estate was quiet when Isadora returned.

Isadora had assumed that she would return home to a lonesome estate. She had expected Evan to be absent, off tending to whatever business dealings kept him occupied at odd hours.

But as she passed the study, she paused.

Somebody was inside.

The door was slightly ajar, and from within, the soft sound of rustling of papers drifted through the space.

Curiosity tugged at her.

She hesitated for only a moment before pushing the door open further.

Evan was sitting at his desk, deep in his ledgers, his brows furrowed in concentration.

His waistcoat was unbuttoned, and a few strands of dark hair had fallen out of place—a rare sight, given how meticulously he always seemed to carry himself.

It was strange, she thought. She had seen him composed, calculating, teasing—but never quite like this.

Focused. Unaware of everything else.

Or so she had thought.

“You have been standing there for a full minute, sweetheart,” Evan said without looking up, his voice laced with amusement.

Isadora blinked, her cheeks warming.

He had noticed her watching him.

“I—” She cleared her throat, straightening. “I was simply passing by.”

He finally glanced up, that ever-present smirk curving at his lips. “Ah. Passing by. So, you were not staring at me?”

Isadora’s spine snapped straight at having been caught out so easily. “Certainly not.”

Evan chuckled, setting his quill aside and leaning back in his chair.

“Pity,” he murmured. “I quite enjoyed the attention.”

Isadora huffed, crossing her arms. “Must you always be so smug about everything.”

“Yes.”

She made to turn away, fully intending to leave him to his work, but his next words stopped her.

“Stay.”

She glanced back at him. “Stay?” Had she heard him incorrectly?

Evan gestured to the empty chair across from him. “Sit. Unless, of course, you have somewhere more important to be—which would be a strange thing, considering the hour.”

She pursed her lips. He really had left no room for her to argue with him.

And, much as she loathed to admit it, she was curious.

With a sigh, she stepped inside and lowered herself into the chair opposite him, smoothing her skirts.

Evan watched her for a moment before speaking again.

“See. Isn’t it that much nicer when you decide to listen to me?”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at him. “What is it that you want from me?”

“We have unfinished business, you and me.”

Isadora frowned, and her brain scrambled to understand what he might mean by that. “Do we?”

Evan smirked. “Indeed. I believe we have yet to begin your next lesson.”

She blinked. “You mean our lesson on greetings?”

He set his elbows on the desk, his dark eyes gleaming with something unreadable.

“No. That is far too drab. Dancing, sweetheart,” he said lazily. “We have a ball to attend, do we not?”

Isadora’s breath hitched.

Oh. Evan Marwood. In a waltz.

She was not prepared for this.

And yet, as his gaze held hers, something inside her thrilled at the challenge.

Slowly, she lifted her chin.

“Very well,” she said. “Let us begin.”