Page 13 of His Graceful Duchess (A Lady’s Vow #3)

CHAPTER 13

“ D id you misplace a dressmaker somewhere, Your Grace?”

Evan glanced up from his chair near the fireplace. Isadora had just stormed in, the emerald gown draped over her arm like a battle flag.

“Good evening to you too, sweetheart.”

Isadora huffed, holding up the dress as evidence. “This was in my room.”

“I am aware.”

She narrowed her eyes. “And I assume you know how it got there?”

“I do.”

She waited, expecting an explanation.

None came.

Finally, she let out an exasperated sigh. “ Evan .”

“Yes, darling?” His smirk widened. “You sound so pretty when you say my name like that.”

“Why do I have a new gown?” She threw the dress onto the chaise, crossing her arms.

“Because I bought it,” he said simply.

“For me?” Isadora’s brow furrowed.

“Who else would I be buying gowns for?” Evan replied as though it should be obvious already. “Your questions are rather silly, sweetheart.”

“Right.” Isadora’s lips parted slightly, clearly thrown. “And do you wish to tell me why you did that?”

Isadora could never let things go without bombarding him with a hoard of questions. However, he had been anticipating her reaction to this.

“I thought you might wear it to the ball,” he said simply.

Isadora blinked, looking between him and the gown as if trying to make sense of it.

“You thought I might wear it,” she repeated slowly. “You went down the shops, spotted a dress, and thought that I might like to wear it?”

“That is how these things usually go, yes,” Evan nodded.

He had expected her to smile at least, but Isadora was having the opposite reaction.

“Pray tell, what made you think of me at all?” she asked with a frown.

“Is it so shocking that I consider my own wife on occasion?” Evan grinned, clearly entertained. “I think a wife should be happy if her husband considers her like this.”

But even as he said it, he knew that Isadora was far from a typical wife.

“It is shocking, yes,” Isadora maintained, glancing back at the dress.

“Now, that is no way to think. You should have more faith in our marriage, sweetheart,” he said simply.

“Our business arrangement , you mean.” She crossed her arms out in front of her. She seemed to be torn between arguing further and liking the dress.

“That too,” Evan shrugged. “However way you wish to put it, I think that the dress would look nice on you.”

Semantics. Yet again they were arguing over words.

“Is it not to your liking?” he questioned when he noticed Isadora looking at the gown again. “Did you prefer a different colour or style?”

“No,” she replied quickly. “It’s quite stunning. But I simply do not understand the need for it. I have plenty of gowns. You did not need to waste your money on this.”

“Who said it was a waste?” he countered. “And who said I had any shortage of money to spend?”

“Yes, I’m sure it is only a drop in the bucket for you.” She let out an exasperated sigh. “But I do not need your gifts.”

Evan stood then, moving toward her in one fluid step. “I do not recall asking if you did,” he murmured when he was close.

He noticed her swallowing hard.

“I will not wear it,” she said—a statement of rebellion though it was a misplaced one.

“I don’t think you have a choice,” he said, leaning in closer. “You will.”

“You cannot make me.” Her resolve seemed shakier when she spoke this time. Evan wondered if the proximity had anything to do with it.

“Make you? Wouldn’t dream of it,” he grinned. “You shall do so with your own free will.”

“That makes me want to not wear it even more,” she protested, but it lacked the same fire that was present when she first came marching in. He had managed to subdue her, even if just a little.

She would come around, he thought to himself. It was only a matter of time. So instead of standing there and continuing their argument, Evan gave her a small nod and made his way towards the door.

“Enjoy your evening, sweetheart,” he said before he left. “I look forward to seeing you in it.”

“You are staring.”

Evan had not realized he had stopped mid step until Isadora’s voice brought him back to his senses.

He blinked. Once. Twice. And then, as if nothing at all had happened, he smirked.

“Have I been? Well, you cannot blame me.” he purred in response. “I was merely taking note of the fact that you listened. What happened to ‘I will not wear the dress’,” he imitated her tone, amused, and then pointed to her dress, the gown which he had gotten for her. Despite her protests, the Duchess had worn it after all.

“I did not wish to waste it,” she argued, but it lacked conviction.

“Right. That was the only reason,” he chuckled softly. “And not because it was the only choice.”

“It was not the only choice.” Isadora folded her arms out in front of her. “I will have to know that I had plenty of options to choose from.”

Evan shook his head, laughing. “You know, the way that you love to argue makes me think that you were a barrister in another life. Always so ready to spar at any given moment of time—even when you’re in the wrong.”

His gaze flitted down to her dress again, and he knew that he had made the correct choice in buying it for her. And despite her absurd protests, it did not matter to him just how many dresses she had already. She could have hundreds of the finest dresses, but none of them would hold a candle to the one that she had one tonight. The dress looked magnificent on her.

The emerald silk clung to her in all the right places, the off-the-shoulder design accentuating her graceful collarbones. She looked even better than he had imagined she would.

He was not a poet nor a romantic, but looking at her now, he found himself feeling inspired to pen something down for her.

“Evan.”

He blinked again, realizing she was frowning at him now.

“If you do not stop looking at me like that,” she warned, “I will turn around and change into another gown.”

“You will do no such thing,” he chuckled and then realizing that she sounded serious, added, “Do not even think about it, Isadora.”

“That is too bad, because I already am,” she challenged him.

“Isadora,” he warned in a low voice, but she smirked back at him, toying the fabric and swishing it in front of him.

“It really is too bad because we are going to late because of this,” she said, “but I really must?—”

He had enough. In a single step, he closed the distance between the both of them and leaned down to whisper in her ear, his hands catching the back of her waist.

“You look stunning, Isadora. Don’t you dare change out of that dress.”

She froze, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face. Evan hoped that she would drop the topic there, but no, Isadora narrowed her eyes at him—in both disbelief and frustration.

“That is the first compliment you have ever given me,” she muttered.

“Then cherish it,” Evan grinned, offering his arm, “because they mean something coming from me.”

She rolled her eyes, but she took his arm, nonetheless.

“Fine then,” she huffed as she did. “I shall let you have your way this time.”

His eyes darkened at the words, but he composed himself. “Good. We need to take that stubbornness out of you. It does not suit a delicate lady like yourself.”

She pinched his arm slightly. “I think it suits me just fine.”

Evan was still chuckling as they stepped out into the carriage waiting to take them to the ball. On the entire way there, she did not look at him and instead opted to glance out the window. He did not mind much, though. It gave him the opportunity to stare at her without her irritating questions.

A mutually beneficial outcome for the both of them.

When they arrived, the venue was already filled with guests. They made their way out of the carriage, and Evan was just about to guide Isadora forward when a familiar voice cut through the air.

“You will regret this!”

Evan turned, his expression darkening as he caught sight of Lord Hartenshire standing just beyond the entrance. He looked rather drunk.

Several footmen stood barring the doors, their expressions neutral as they ignored his desperate demands to be let in.

Evan had known this was coming.

Hartenshire had been blacklisted from nearly every reputable event since the truth of his debts had come to light. The man had nothing left—neither his connections nor his fortune. And from the looks of it, no dignity either.

“Filthy bastards,” Harry spat, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “All of you, turning your backs the moment I fall. Cowards!”

The murmurs grew. Some guests turned away in discomfort while others watched with mild amusement.

Evan could have walked past—he was not interested in dealing with a ruined man’s tantrum—but that would have made his night too easy. Just as Evan guided Isadora further towards the entrance, Harry took notice of Evan.

“Is that Marwood?” he snarled, his eyes wild with rage.

“Ignore him,” Evan whispered to Isadora, who flinched beside him.

“I do not think he wishes to be ignored,” she frowned, holding onto his arm tighter. “Heavens, he is creating a scene.”

“Are you hiding from me, Marwood?” the Lord continued to taunt, his speech coming out slurred. “I know you are behind all of this.”

“I will handle it,” he assured Isadora and turned to face the disgraced lord slowly.

“Behind what, Hartenshire?” he asked, his voice amused. “Barring your entry from the ball? I’m afraid I had nothing to do with that. It was your own mistakes that put you in this situation.”

“You think yourself better than me, don’t you?” Harry flushed even darker, his fists clenching.

“I do not think, Hartenshire,” Evan said smoothly. “I know.”

Harry let out a furious growl, stepping forward as if he meant to do something—though what exactly, Evan could not say.

Throw a punch? Cause a scene?

It did not matter.

The footmen stepped in before Harry could take another step, blocking his path entirely.

“You should go,” one of them said in an even tone.

Harry let out a bitter laugh, his gaze flickering toward Isadora before he spat.

“And you—spoiled little creature—look at you now. I wonder, do you regret it yet?”

Isadora stiffened beside Evan.

Without thinking, Evan’s arm slid around her shoulders, pulling her firmly against him, letting her feel the solid weight of him at her side.

Isadora did not move at first, but then, slowly, her shoulders relaxed.

“He is all bark,” Evan muttered to her as he led her away from the scene. “Like a wounded dog, he will only make noise. It is best if we ignore him.”

Isadora shook her head as Harry’s voice faded into the background. “I cannot imagine that this was the man that my father had opted to marry my sister off to.”

“Good thing you put a stop to it,” Evan winked at her. “Now please. Forget him. Let us go inside.”

Isadora nodded. “Yes, let’s.”

And as they stepped inside, Evan had the strangest feeling that, for the first time since they had met… she might actually have been glad to have him by her side.

“You are late.”

Isadora barely had time to take a breath before Daphne appeared at her side, linking their arms.

Violet, standing beside her, arched a brow. “I believe it is considered unfashionable to arrive on time, Daphne.”

“Yes, well, I have been waiting to see her, so I do not care for fashion.” She turned to Isadora, her blue eyes alight with curiosity. “I have been aching to speak to her.”

Isadora pursed her lips. “I suppose you already have a long list of questions prepared for me.”

Daphne was nothing if not curious.

“Of course, if I do,” Daphne chuckled delightedly. “How is married life?”

“Do you mean to interrogate me before I have even had a drink?” Isadora tried to dodge the question.

Daphne’s lips curved mischievously. “That depends. Will you tell me the truth before or after?”

“Oh, Daphne, do not bother the poor girl,” Violet smirked. “She will not tell you. She will say it is ‘fine’ and offer no further details.”

“You know me too well,” Isadora laughed.

“Great.” Daphne flicked her wrist as if to wave off any criticisms. “Now, tell me—has Evan been treating you well? What is it like with him?”

“I don’t know the words to describe it. He is…” Isadora pursed her lips. “Dreadful, insufferable, and occasionally tolerable.”

“Tolerable?” Violet laughed. “That is higher praise than I expected.”

“Oh please, I can tell when she is bluffing,” Daphne cut in. “Violet, she is keeping the truth from us. Can you believe it?”

Before Isadora could retort, a familiar low chuckle came from behind them.

“Talking about me already, Duchess?”

Isadora whipped around, her cheeks heating at the sight of Evan.

Ah. He had overheard their conversation. Isadora wished for the ground to open up then and swallow her whole.

But Evan, on the other hand, seemed rather unfazed with the whole thing. Not offended. Amused, more than anything.

He had, of course, abandoned his conversation with Ambrose and Nicholas to come directly to her the moment he sensed he was being discussed.

“Naturally.” Daphne smirked, entirely unrepentant. “What else is a newly wedded wife expected to do, Your Grace?”

“I cannot argue with that.” Evan flashed a bright smile. “And what flattering remarks has my wife made about me… if you do not mind me probing?”

Isadora narrowed her eyes at Daphne, warning her not to reveal anything. “Nothing of consequence.”

“Oh? A shame.” Isadora couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic, or he was genuinely disappointed.

Nicholas chuckled as he joined them. “It is rare to see a marriage as new as yours without at least a little intrigue.”

“Oh, there is intrigue,” Daphne said lightly. “I am sure of it.”

“If there is, Marwood is keeping it to himself,” Ambrose spoke next.

“Evan never tells anyone anything. It is a rather frustrating habit,” Isadora admitted, wondering if his friends could clue her into something about him.

“Yes, that sounds rather like Evan,” Nicholas agreed. “A man of mystery, as they say.”

“Oh please. I have always found the word mysterious too dramatic,” Evan’s gaze flickered toward her, his smirk deepening. “I am full of surprises, that is all.”

“It is truly spectacular to see how fate unfolds its plan,” Daphne leaned in, eyes alight with mischief. “Here I thought you made a vow never to fall for surprises, Isadora.”

Isadora stiffened, and the words caught Evan’s attention immediately.

Oh no, no. Daphne had said a bit too much. She had not told Evan about the vow—and nor did she particularly intend to do so.

“Is that the case?” Evan turned to her now. “A vow?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Isadora dismissed quickly. “Daphne just likes to tease me, as you know.”

Evan did not seem convinced, but he let the subject drop for the time being.

Her friends all exchanged knowing glances. Nicholas came to their rescue then as he changed the subject, steering them into safer territory.

The conversation continued for some time, the group falling into comfortable banter.

It was a new dynamic for Isadora. Before, she had only interacted with her friends’ husbands, but now, she joined the conversation as a married woman herself.

She thought that Evan had been occupied in conversation with the other men. At least that was how it seemed on the surface. But all it took was the music to shift for him to direct his attention back to Isadora again.

It was the first waltz of the evening.

“Shall we dance, Duchess?” he asked her without pause.

Isadora hesitated for only a moment—just long enough to be annoyed at herself for doing so. She could feel her friends watching, waiting for her response, and somehow that made it worse.

“I… yes.” She forced herself to ignore the way her stomach twisted and placed her hand in his.

His fingers curled around hers, warm. And as he led her onto the floor, Isadora realized one very unfortunate truth.

She was blushing.

It should have felt ordinary, just another dance on another evening.

But it didn’t.

Isadora forced herself to focus on the steps, to ignore the warmth of his hand on her back, the way he held her just close enough to remind her that he was there—that he was guiding her—yet still far enough away to give the illusion of propriety.

“Good thing we had some practice,” he teased as they danced together.

“Ah, yes,” Isadora replied, flustered. “We would not want anyone to be stepping over anyone’s feet.”

“Speak for yourself, Duchess,” he mused. “My skills at dancing are perfectly adept. Yours…”

She shot him a look.

“Yours are fine too,” he conceded with a chuckle. “Your friends are watching us.”

He pointed to the sidelines—where, sure enough, Daphne and Violet were watching their every move.

“They have nothing better to do,” Isadora dismissed. “Better not to pay attention to them.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare when I am waltzing with the Duchess herself.” He said the words so casually that it almost unnerved her.

“You’re being very nice to me,” she commented.

“Blame the dress,” he grinned.

“In that case, I should have you shop for my clothes more often,” she conceded.

Something in Evan’s gaze darkened as she said the words.

“Oh,” he replied after a moment, clearing his throat. “I suppose that can be arranged.”

It was a small moment, but it shifted something between them. Almost as though there was an increased awareness of one another—a new intimacy.

Isadora found herself wanting to lean into it, but Evan shook his head, as if he was willing himself to snap out of it.

She should have known he wouldn’t let the moment pass without conversation.

“I must admit,” he murmured, his voice smooth, “I was rather intrigued by your little vow.”

“Oh, are you still thinking of that,” she said, wanting to murder Daphne for bringing it up. “It was just an offhand comment and nothing else.”

“You are a bad liar,” Evan noted. She was. “Besides you cannot blame me for being curious. I am always intrigued when someone swears off something before even trying it.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I never swore off anything. It was simply something I…” She knew that she had to choose her words quite carefully. Finally, she settled on “preferred”.

“Tell me then, clearly,” he emphasized, “what was it that you preferred?”

Oh heavens. She was already too deep into a conversation that she didn’t really wish to have. But Evan waited for an answer, and he wouldn’t let it slip by easily.

“I always wanted a marriage that was… safe,” she admitted finally.

“Hmm.”

“Yes,” she said, meeting his gaze directly. “A comfortable match. Someone I could rely on without fear. A man who would be steady and predictable. Someone I could… trust.”

Evan studied her, his expression unreadable.

“Predictable,” he echoed.

She nodded once. “Yes.”

His lips curved slightly, but there was something almost… thoughtful in the way he looked at her now.

“Rest assured, predictability is not one my traits,” he noted.

“Yes. A cruel trick of fate.”

Evan chuckled. “Fate does have a sense of humor, I suppose. But what about trust?”

He was gazing deep into her eyes now.

Do I trust him?”

“What about it?” she stammered.

“Am I someone you can trust?” His question felt like a test.

“I suppose I do,” Isadora replied. “You have kept your promises thus far.”

It was a small confession, but she could feel Evan softening towards her.

Their feet moved in perfect rhythm, but the conversation felt dangerously unbalanced—as if she had already revealed too much.

She needed to regain control.

His turn.

“And what of you? Did you ever imagine yourself married?”

“Oh, I always assumed I would marry eventually.”

She lifted a brow. “For love?”

“Certainly not.”

Something about his easy confidence made her pause.

“You say that as though it is obvious,” she said carefully.

“Why,” he shrugged, “because it is.”

“So, you do not believe in love?”

“Oh, I believe in it,” he said smoothly. “I just have no use for it.”

“Because it is not practical?” She picked at his brain yet again.

Evan hesitated for only a second before he said, “Because I have seen what love does to people.”

Once again, he had managed to catch her off guard. Revealing something so personal with such ease. He seemed to have a real knack for doing that.

“Love is a weapon,” he murmured. “It turns the strongest men into fools, makes them reckless and blind to reason. It gives others power over you, a power they may or may not wield with care.”

Here I was thinking I was the one who was pessimistic about love. Isadora swallowed.

“That is a rather bleak way to look at it.”

“Perhaps. But it is the truth.”

She hesitated. Then—before she could talk herself out of it—she asked, “Have you ever been in love?”

It was not the first time she had wondered that. Of course, she wanted to know if there had been any other women in his life before. Though—the jealous feeling she got when she considered the possibility was alarming.

She pushed it away and focused on the conversation at hand.

“No,” he said at last. “But I have seen enough to know I never will be.”

Never will be.

The words should not have unsettled her, but they did. Perhaps because she understood them. Perhaps because she felt the same.

Evan must have seen the flicker of something in her eyes because his grip shifted slightly, his fingers pressing into her back.

“You said you never wanted to fall in love yourself,” he murmured.

“I did say that,” she admitted.

“And you do not intend to?”

She shook her head firmly. “No.”

He arched a brow. “Why?”

Her chest tightened.

It was one thing to say she did not believe in love.

It was another to explain why.

But, for some reason—perhaps because he had told her his reasons—she found herself answering honestly.

“Because I have always carried too much,” she admitted softly. “My father, my sister, our household. I have spent my life ensuring that everyone else is looked after.”

Evan said nothing, watching her intently.

She exhaled. “Love is yet another responsibility,” she said simply. “One I cannot afford.”

A moment of silence passed then, to her utter surprise, Evan huffed a quiet laugh.

She frowned. “What?”

“You are wrong,” he murmured.

She scowled. “I am not wrong.”

Evan leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough that only she could hear.

“Love is not responsibility,” he said. “It is not a burden. Not if it is real.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but he continued before she could.

“It is not something you must hold together with sheer will,” he murmured. “It is something that holds you together when everything else crumbles.”

Isadora stared at him, thrown off balance by the certainty in his voice.

He was speaking as if he had felt it before. As if he knew what love was.

A slow, creeping feeling curled in her chest—a realization she did not like at all.

Because she had felt one or two of the things he had just described.

Not love. Of course not.

But…

The way Evan’s presence steadied her when she was shaken.

The way his words grounded her when she doubted herself.

The way, just now, his voice alone had made the world feel a little less heavy.

She pushed the thought away, violently, firmly, before it could take root.

She had not felt anything.

She would never feel anything.

This was not real.

And it never would be.

With a steadying breath, she lifted her chin, forcing her expression back into cool indifference.

“That,” she said as evenly as she could manage, “is a rather romantic notion coming from you, Your Grace.”

Evan smirked, but something in his gaze had shifted.

“You should know by now that I am unpredictable.”

She exhaled. “Let us not speak of such things again.”

“As you wish, sweetheart.”

And as the music swelled around them, Isadora pretended she did not feel something unraveling inside her.