Page 15 of His Graceful Duchess (A Lady’s Vow #3)
CHAPTER 15
“ A re you going to say something?” Isadora asked the Duke over breakfast the next morning. He had been waiting for her there when she came downstairs but had not said a word to her.
“Depends on whether you’re interested in what I have to say,” he replied.
“No, that is not it. You keep glancing at me. You look as if you wish to say something, but you are—somehow—exercising restraint. That is rather unlike you.”
Was he guilty still? From last night? She did not know. But his behavior was still suspicious.
“You make it sound as though I am incapable of self-control,” he retorted.
“I shall not comment on that.”
“Trust me, Duchess.” He glanced over at her. “I have plenty of self-control. You’d know if it were otherwise.”
Isadora felt herself blush at the comment, but she quickly composed herself.
“Well? Are you going to tell me whatever it is that has you acting strangely, or must I endure this excruciating display of hesitation all morning?”
“Have you decided to be equally difficult this morning?” Evan exhaled, rubbing his jaw.
“I am waiting.” She gestured toward herself.
“Fine. I have been thinking,” he admitted. “Perhaps the reason you have been so… interested in my affairs is that you lack sufficient activities to keep yourself busy.”
“I beg your pardon?” Isadora scoffed, slightly offended.
That wasn’t true. She had plenty to do.
“You seem restless,” he said, as if that excused his words.
Isadora set down her napkin very carefully, restraining herself from throwing it at him. She wondered how he would react to that.
“So, let me see if I understand,” she said. “Your conclusion, after all your deep reflection, is that I am meddling in your affairs because I am… bored .”
Evan smirked. “I did not say bored .”
“But that was the implication.”
“Restless,” he corrected smoothly. “And before you set fire to the table, I have a solution in mind.”
“Oh, this should be good,” Isadora leaned forward slightly. “Let us hear it then. Your great solution.”
Evan ignored the mocking tone. “I was going to suggest that you visit your family,” he said casually. “Perhaps seeing your sister will… ease your mind.”
Isadora’s lips parted slightly, caught off guard by the offer.
A visit home? To see Penelope?
The thought of seeing her sister again—of making sure she was truly well—sent a wave of unexpected longing through her.
And perhaps, as though Evan had planned this all along, her irritation at Evan simmered down just slightly.
“So, what do you make of it?” Evan asked when she had been quiet for a while.
Isadora could hardly wipe the smile off her face, but she did. “I think it might be one of your better ideas.”
“Oh, you give me too much credit,” Evan said sarcastically. “I wonder how long it will take you to realize that all my ideas are good.”
“Self-flattery does not suit a duke,” she pointed out.
“It suits me,” he winked.
“What will you do while I am away? Carry on with your restless business dealings?” she asked suddenly.
His smirk returned. “Oh, I shall miss you terribly, sweetheart. Unless you wish for me to come with you.”
“Either way is fine,” she conceded. “I just wish to see my sister.”
“You are rather excited.”
“And you find that surprising?” she asked.
“Perhaps. I don’t have any siblings to make comparisons of my own,” he conceded with a shrug.
“It is only natural. Penelope and I are close.”
“Close is one thing. But I suspect it is more than that,” he remarked. “It is not every day that a sister agrees to marry someone due to a favor she owed for her sister.”
“If you are trying to turn this into some grand revelation, Your Grace, I assure you, it is not necessary.”
“I am just following in your footsteps,” he said casually.
She raised an eyebrow, demanding an explanation.
“Trying to understand my wife better,” he replied.
“Is this another teaching moment?” Isadora could hardly resist the urge to seize the opportunity. “I show you what it is like to open up. You follow suit.”
Evan considered her words for a moment. “If that is what you want it to be.”
“Very well.” After a pause, she murmured, “I suppose I have always been more than a sister to Penelope. Our mother died when we were still young. Penelope was barely eight, and I was… well, old enough to understand what it meant.”
“You took on the role of her mother,” Evan noted without judgement. There was no sympathy in his voice which she would have hated. Instead, there was only a practical acknowledgment. It is what it is.
It encouraged her to continue.
“I did not think much of it at first,” she said. “It started with small things. Making sure Penelope was dressed properly. Ensuring she ate, that she did not wander too far when we went to town. I suppose you’re right. In some ways, I became her mother.”
When Evan spoke again, his tone was lacking its usual teasing edge.
“That is a great deal of responsibility to take on,” he murmured. “Especially for someone so young.”
She lifted a shoulder in a small shrug. “It was not a choice. It was simply what had to be done.”
“And did anyone ever take care of you, sweetheart?”
Ah. The question that she dreaded the most. Because the answer, truthfully, had always been no.
“I did not require looking after,” she said at last though the words did not sound quite as certain as she wished them to.
“No,” he murmured in response. “I suppose you didn’t.”
Isadora exhaled, shaking off the strange weight of the conversation.
“I am glad you understand,” she said, reaching for her tea again. “Now, if you are finished analyzing my relationship with my sister, I should like to enjoy my morning.”
Evan chuckled, standing from his chair. “By all means, sweetheart.”
“You’ve decided to accompany me?”
Isadora peered her head out the carriage at Evan, who had appeared at the last moment right before she was about to depart.
“Very attentive of you to notice,” Evan replied, simply climbing inside and taking his seat directly across from her. He had to admit, there was something satisfying about seeing the surprise on her face.
“Well, I was unsure of your intentions.” She folded her arms in her lap. “You did not indicate to me this morning if you were going to be joining. I would have waited inside for you.”
“My presence here now is indication enough,” he replied. “And besides, I am not sure why that matters.”
“It does to me,” Isadora insisted. “There is a proper way to do?—”
“Isadora,” Evan cut her off, “I’m wondering if these rules of proper behavior are entirely of your creation. In what world does carriage etiquette exist?”
“You belittle it,” she groaned, rubbing the side of her face. “And besides, it’s not about carriage etiquette, as you so delightfully put it. It’s about?—”
He cut her off again, “Predictability?”
“Yes, precisely that,” she nodded fervently, as though he had taken the words right out of her mouth. “Predictability, in any relationship, is important.”
He merely shrugged in response, opting instead to look out of the window.
“You don’t agree?” Evan could hear the slightest strain of annoyance in her voice. It only made him want to double-down on his stance.
“No, I don’t think I do,” he smirked. “I don’t quite see the fun in that.”
“The fun?” she knitted her eyebrows together as she assessed him. “I assure you, there are other ways to have fun . Your methods just seem mildly infuriating.”
“I would advise you to not form an opinion before you have tested them,” he winked at her. “Besides, I am not sure what you’re even upset about here. I thought you might be happy that I have decided to accompany you on your first visit to see your family.”
“I am happy,” she defended, “but?—”
“That happiness would have been greater if you had been told in advance?” he said, looking at her with intrigue now. “Is that what you are trying to imply?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Yes, you could say that.”
“What a strange thing to premise your happiness on, then,” he chuckled, shaking his head.
As much as he didn’t wish to admit it, her strange idiosyncrasies amused him endlessly. It was like she had specific criteria set out for everything—the ‘proper’ way.
“We can agree to disagree.” She folded her arms in front of her chest.
“Can we?” he mused, “Because I rather enjoy disagreeing with you.”
“Why does that not surprise me in the slightest?” she said, her tone clipped. “You do seem to enjoy being contrary.”
Evan chuckled. “Oh, it is not the disagreeing that I enjoy, sweetheart. It is watching you try to prove me wrong. It’s rather fun, actually. Your notions of how things ought to be and then the reality of them.”
“The reality of them?” she said, flaring up once more. “Do you mean to imply that I live in some form of fantasy world of my own?”
“Yes. One where everything is structured according to these rules you’ve set up,” he said. “A proper way to dine, a proper way to dress, a proper way to react to things. Even a proper way to be happy.”
Isadora stiffened, her mouth pressing into a thin line.
“That is not —” She cut herself off, letting out an exhale before continuing, “There is nothing wrong with having standards.”
“Of course not. But tell me, Duchess—how does one determine the proper way to be happy?”
She opened her mouth but then shut it again.Her brows furrowed slightly, and Evan saw the exact moment she realized she did not have an answer.
Victory.
His smirk deepened, and he leaned back again, entirely too pleased with himself.
“That,” he murmured, “is what I thought.”
Isadora was silent for a moment, as though she was coming to terms with how she had lost the argument.
Better get used to it, Duchess. Evan thought to himself though the fun of it was in the argument.
“I do appreciate it, you know,” she said finally. “You coming along, that is. It means a lot.”
Her compliment was sincere and left a sweet moment in its wake. Evan stared at her for a second, thinking of something clever to answer with, but he could think of nothing.And that was a good thing. Strange perhaps, but good.
When they finally reached Isadora’s home, Penelope was already waiting to receive them in the driveway.
“Oh, welcome, welcome,” she ushered them over, energetically. “Your Grace. Sister.”
Isadora’s face lit up immediately in the presence of her sister. “My apologies for the short notice. We only decided to visit last night, and so the earliest we could inform you was this morning. I hope that did not cause any inconvenience.”
Penelope shot her a look, as if to imply that she had lost her mind, and then shook her head. “Are you being serious, Isadora? You need not worry about informing soon enough at your own home.”
She looked over to Evan then, sharing a look of understanding.
“The Duchess has a proper way to do everything,” Evan joined in on the conversation, smirking.
“Oh, you do not need to tell me that twice. I have grown up around her,” Penelope grinned. “I know exactly what she is like and her high regard for the proper way to do everything.”
“So, you have been a victim to it as well,” Evan joked, but Isadora shot him a glare.
“Victim? Rather you should say that the both of you have been fortunate to be on the receiving end of my lessons,” Isadora defended herself.
Penelope and Evan shared a look again, laughing. It occurred to him then that she could be an excellent resource for understanding his own wife better.Which, of course, was not the case. He reprimanded himself quickly.
He needed to cull his interest in Isadora, which seemed to be growing with each passing day. Even this morning, he had not anticipated he would join her in her visit to her family, but then, something in him motivated him to do so.
He wanted to be by her side.
“Where is Father?” Isadora asked her sister as the trio began to make their way inside.
George. A peculiar man, Evan thought. One who seemed so different from the daughters he had raised but with a personality that he had seen quite often in life. After all, there was no shortage of social climbers in London.
“Oh, he is…” Penelope’s tone wavered for a moment, but she quickly covered it up with a smile, “he is at home. He shall see you both soon.”
Suddenly, Evan found himself feeling doubly grateful that he had not let Isadora visit alone. He realized he did not quite trust the Lord.
Penelope guided them over to the drawing room where she decided to sit next to her sister. Seeing them together like this, Evan could see just how close they were.
A sibling bond— endearing, albeit not familiar to Evan in the slightest.
“I trust that your journey here was pleasant, Your Grace,” Penelope said to him.
“It was well,” he agreed.
But before they could continue further, the loud clack of boots descending down the stairs distracted them. Moments later, George appeared.
“Oh, look who has visited,” he started loudly as he entered the drawing room. “It’s not every day we have nobility gracing our humble home. Duke, Duchess. Welcome.”
His words carried an exaggerated warmth, but anyone could tell that they were the furthest thing from genuine. Evan remained impassive but noticed that Isadora stiffened at his arrival—the carefree ease that had occupied her before fading.
“It is good to see you again, Father.” Isadora stood up to greet him, but he merely waved her off.
“I have to say, I was quite surprised when Penelope told me that the both of you would be visiting this afternoon,” George said as he lowered himself into the armchair beside the Duke, crossing one leg over the other. “But then I reminded myself , Isadora is married to him now. I seem to forget that the wedding ever happened.”
George looked at them as though he had made some incredible jest, and they should laugh. No one did.
What a strange thing to say, Evan thought to himself. Sure, their marriage had been one that was done in haste, but to imply that it slipped through his mind entirely seemed like a deliberate effort to undermine it.
“You seem to have a poor memory, Lord Morton.” Evan kept his tone cool. “If you forgot your daughter’s wedding, I shudder to think what else might slip from your mind.”
George’s expression soured immediately. “ Penelope,” he yelled out, as if to re-direct his own frustrations. “Why have you not arranged for refreshments for our guests? Do you wish it to appear as though we cannot host them?”
Penelope got to her feet immediately. “Father, they have only just arrived, and I did inform the maid earlier that?—”
“Oh, stop that.” He waved a dismissive hand over to her and instead walked over to the small cabinet in the corner of the room where an array of liquor bottles lay. “I shall have to do it myself.”
The soft sound of glass bottles clinking together filled the room as George rummaged through the cabinet before eventually emerging with a bottle of wine and two glasses.
One of Evan. One for himself.
And none for his daughters, as though they were not present in the room to begin with.
“You must allow me to pour you something, Your Grace. A fine drink, worthy of your station,” George addressed the Duke directly now. “Perhaps I cannot offer you the same wines that you must be accustomed to drinking at your estate, but I can offer you a drink that might remind you of your early days.”
“Father—” Isadora tried to cut in, but George waved her away.
“Two men are talking here, Isadora. It is rude to interrupt,” he chided her.
“I do not wish to take a drink, Lord Morton,” Evan replied, realizing the game that George was trying to play here. He was trying to humble him by bringing up his origins, not as a duke who was born into his title but rather as a man who inherited it in later life.
“Are you certain? You must need it after the long journey,” George insisted, already filling up both of the glasses.
“Yes, because I am not someone to likes live in the past,” he said. “And quite frankly, I’d advise you against drinking either as it might remind you too much of your present.”
George picked up on the jibe immediately and set down his glass on the table in front of him with more force than necessary.
“Very well then,” he grumbled. “No drinks for anyone.”
“Perhaps you forgot to ask the two ladies present in the room,” Evan said pointedly. It seemed that George had a habit of disregarding his own daughters.
“I did not forget,” George chuckled loudly, “but I know them enough.”
I highly doubt that.
“Family, after all,” George continued. “We are family now, too, Your Grace.”
“I would not take too many liberties with that word if I were you,” Evan grumbled under his breath. The thought of being associated with someone like George was… unappealing, at best.
“You know, it was hard for me to accept that my daughter had gone behind my back and chosen a match for herself so boldly. ” George winced as he said the words. “But I’ve come to see it as fate’s doing, perhaps.”
Evan raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure if I’m the biggest believer in fate.”
“Oh, but you should be,” George continued. “How else would we get a chance to collaborate together on business? I think that should be the next step forward.”
Evan noticed both Penelope and Isadora shift uncomfortably as their father went on, sharing knowing looks that stated clearly that this was habitual for him.
“I am not in need of any business partners at the moment, Lord Morton,” Evan replied, nonplussed. “But should there be a need, I shall contact you.”
“You are a resourceful man, are you not?” George leaned forward. “Why don’t you make the opportunity appear?”
“You seem to mistake me for a magician.” Evan laughed dryly, much to George’s ire as he seemed to be growing increasingly frustrated at not being taken seriously. “I cannot conjure opportunities from thin air.”
“That’s not what I know of you.” George’s tone lowered slightly, and for a brief moment, Evan wondered if he knew something that he ought not to. “You are famous in all of London for being most resourceful. And if marrying my daughter off to you is not enough to make use of that particular skillset of yours, I’m not sure what will be.”
Resourceful.
Yes, that was broad enough. Nothing too specific. Evan felt relief flooding through him as he glanced over at his wife. It occurred to him then that he was not concerned with George knowing the truth, only that it must not reach Isadora.
“If you’ve done your research on me already, perhaps you should also be aware that I do not conduct any sort of deals out of obligation,” Evan replied.
“So then, what is the point of all this?” George stood up. “This little tête-à-tête? I was hoping it would lead to a more lucrative conclusion.”
Evan shook his head. He had met many opportunist men in his lifetime but was quickly finding that George might be the worst of them all.
“Is it really difficult for you to fathom that perhaps the only reason we visited is because your daughter wanted to see her family?” Evan asked.
George began to grumble something under his breath, but even so, there was not a trace of shame on his face. “Penelope, see to whatever is taking the servants so long with refreshment,” he barked.
“Yes, Father.” She stood up immediately and began to pull Isadora along with her. “Isadora, will you please help me?”
“Uh, right, yes,” Isadora complied, and the two ladies scurried out of the room.
Finally.
Evan had been holding back with Isadora in the room. He turned back to George, his expression impossible to read.
“Lord Morton, I think it would be wise for us to clear up some misconceptions that you have seemed to have developed,” Evan said in a calm voice. “You seem to think that Isadora is a bargaining chip in advancing your business interests. As though somehow you can use her name to get me to agree to whatever it is that you wish.”
George stumbled for a second at having been called out so bluntly. “Your Grace—I?—”
“You do not need to deny it. It is painfully obvious for everyone to see, and perhaps this has been the norm for you,” Evan noted. “But let me make one thing very clear, you will never be able to hold Isadora over my head as though she is some kind of leverage. She is my wife now, and I do not take kindly to seeing her being used like this.”
“I wasn’t—I was only suggesting in good faith—” George tried to defend himself, but Evan was beyond the point of listening to his excuses.
“Whatever it was that you were attempting to do, I would suggest you stop it. Immediately.” The threat in his voice was no longer concealed.
George sunk back further into his chair, grumbling under his breath, but it was clear who had the upper hand in this situation.
“Are we in agreement?” Evan prodded, his mouth curving upwards into a thin smirk.
“Y—yes, Your Grace,” George said, falling back in line.
“Good.”
“Was that as awkward for you as it was for me?” Penelope asked as the two ladies made their way out of the drawing room.
Isadora drew in a sharp breath. “Father is being overly demanding, yes.” The word she wanted to use was embarrassing, but she held herself back.
“I am surprised that the Duke has not snapped at him yet.” Penelope shook her head.
Isadora let out a slow exhale, shaking her head. “Evan is far more patient than our father deserves, but even he has his limits.”
Penelope cast a wary glance behind them, ensuring no one was within earshot as they made their way down the corridor. The murmuring voices from the drawing room had quieted.
“You know,” Penelope began in a low voice as though she was letting her sister in on a grand secret, “the entire time I was sitting in that drawing room, I could only think of one thing. What would happen if the both of us simply decided… not to put up with any of it anymore?”
“What exactly do you mean by that?” Isadora frowned.
“It’s only an idea, you know.” Penelope tried to downplay it, but the seriousness of her expression indicated anything but. “Would it be so awful if we just… well, up and left? Far away from all of this.”
Isadora’s mouth nearly hung open. “Penelope Morton, are you suggesting that we run away?”
“Would that be so bad?” Penelope nodded. “It could be a chance for a new beginning. We can escape all of this. I would no longer have to endure Father, and you can get away from the Duke.”
A strange feeling settled in Isadora’s chest at the suggestion alone. “I do not wish to do that,” she blurted out, without so much as a second thought—almost as if it were a reflex. “I am not the prisoner that you think I am.”
“Aren’t you, though?” Penelope argued. “Evan does not seem like someone who likes to loosen his control, within or outside of the house. He expects obedience from you. Is that really a life you wish to have for yourself?”
Isadora found herself shaking her head. “You seem to have formed the wrong perception of him entirely. He could not be more different from Father. He does not see me as something to be used, nor does he wish to control me.”
Penelope studied her, searching for cracks, but Isadora did not waver.
With a resigned sigh, Penelope folded her arms. “Then I suppose you are a braver woman than me.”
“No, just a different one.” Isadora smiled faintly, reaching to tuck a stray curl behind Penelope’s ear. “Now, please. Abandon this ridiculous plan you’ve conjured up—there shall be no running away from anything.”
Penelope pouted her lips and then let out a sigh of resignation. “You never wish to be on board with my ideas.”
“Absolutely not,” Isadora smirked.
“Very well then,” she huffed. “Should you decide to change your mind, know that I would—at the very least—make an excellent fugitive partner.”
“Oh, I never doubted your ability or your company,” Isadora chuckled. “I think we should inform the kitchen staff as Father asked, otherwise he might just cause another tantrum.”
“Yes, fine,” Penelope sighed. “You’re right as always. Annoying how that always works out.”
“What took you both so long?” George scolded the moment Isadora and Penelope stepped back into the drawing room. His tone was clipped and impatient, as though they were still children under his command rather than grown women with their own lives. “I asked you to do one simple thing—had you planned on taking the entire week?”
“We got talking and didn’t realize,” Isadora replied simply. She was used to him overreacting about the smallest of things—it did not even faze her anymore.
“Thoughtless behavior,” he continued to grumble even as the staff entered the room and finally began to serve the refreshments. “You are a married woman now. One would expect better from you.”
Isadora let his rambling fade into the background, but there was someone in that room that wasn’t unaffected. She noticed Evan’s face pull back into a scowl, and his fists ball up against his sides.
The shift in him was subtle but immediate—the straightening of his posture, the clenching of his jaw, the glint of something dangerous flashing through his normally composed gaze.
“Lord Morton, I would watch that tone if I were you,” Evan warned in a low voice. “Might I remind you again that this is my wife that you are speaking to?”
“Oh, surely you cannot have a problem with this as well?” George said, baffled. As if it was perfectly normal in his world to talk down to women as inferiors. “Why the need to be so sensitive, Your Grace? A father ought to correct his daughter when she strays from proper manners. It is how they learn, is it not?”
“This is not about a father correcting his daughter—though even that has a time and place.” He glanced over to the staff, who were now exiting the drawing room. “What I take issue with is the tone in which you address my wife in my presence as though she were still under your rule.”
“It is just the way things have always been,” George faltered. “Surely, you know that I mean no harm by it.”
“Then perhaps you need to understand…” Evan’s face grew stormier. “… that things have changed. Isadora is no longer yours to command, nor will I tolerate you speaking to her as though she is some wayward child in need of correction. She is a duchess. She is my wife. And you will show her the respect that title demands, or you shall find that your company will no longer be tolerated.”
The room fell into silence. Even Penelope held her breath, darting a glance between the two men.
“Your Grace,” Isadora said softly, trying to diffuse the situation. Despite her difference with her father, the last thing she wanted was for him to get into a spat with Evan on her behalf. “It’s fine. I believe the point has been communicated.”
Evan shot her a look.
Please listen, she pleaded silently in her own head.
“Has it been communicated, Lord Morton?” Evan turned to his father-in-law once more. His tone was softer now but somehow just as threatening.
George opened his mouth then closed it again. “Yes, of course. No harm intended, Your Grace.”
Evan did not so much as blink. “See that it stays that way.” He stood up. “Isadora, I shall leave now for some tasks at the center. You may spend time with Penelope till then. I shall come and collect you in three hours. Good day to you.”
“No.” Isadora stood up herself. “I shall come with you wherever it is that you are going. We shall leave together.”
It was a small act of solidarity. She did not wish for her husband to leave without her—and most of all, she wanted to communicate to George that Evan and she were one unit now.
Isadora stepped forward and slipped her hand into Evan’s arm. He turned to her, his expression softening the moment his eyes met hers.
“I suppose we could do that as well,” he murmured. Isadora wasn’t sure if she was imagining things, but she saw the briefest hint of a smile creep onto his face. “Very well, then. The Duchess and I shall be taking our leave now.”
Isadora nodded, offering a brief glance to Penelope to mutter a quick sorry before turning back to her husband. “Yes, let us go.”
George said nothing as they made their way to the door. He only watched—in remorse or in defeat, it was difficult to say, but he did not look like a happy man.
Finally, they left together.