Page 4 of His Graceful Duchess (A Lady’s Vow #3)

CHAPTER 4

“ I t’s a good day to come out to the park.”

Isadora led the group down the pathway. It was meant to be a pleasant outing, a chance to distract Penelope from the tension that had consumed their home ever since the wedding had been called off. Isadora had assured her sister that a walk in the fresh air, accompanied by their closest friends, would do her the world of good. In her mind, it was a chance to forget and move forward.

She had been wrong.

The moment they stepped onto the main promenade, Isadora felt it—the shift in the atmosphere, the sudden weight of attention pressing down on them. Heads turned too quickly. Isadora caught snippets of conversation—just enough to make her blood boil.

“—the poor girl?—”

“—an engagement so publicly ruined?—”

“—can you imagine the humiliation?”

It was all about Penelope.

Isadora clenched her jaw as she stole a glance at her sister. Penelope’s steps had slowed, her face pale. She was enduring it but just barely.

Daphne and Violet noticed too. Violet exhaled in frustration. “Honestly, one would think you had committed a crime, Penelope, rather than having been saved from one.”

Daphne’s voice was gentler. “They are gossiping simply because they have nothing better to do. If it had not been you, it would have been some other young lady.” She cast a disdainful glance toward a group of older women sitting on a nearby bench. “They thrive on scandal. Do not give them the satisfaction of seeing you affected.”

Isadora turned toward her sister and nudged her chin up with a firm hand. “Hold your head high, Penelope. You did nothing wrong.”

Penelope swallowed, her lips parting as if she wanted to say something, but the words failed her. Isadora could see the humiliation settling in, creeping up her sister’s throat.

A group of young ladies walked past, their giggles soft but unmistakable.

“Such a shame,” one of them murmured just loud enough to be heard. Isadora knew it was intentional.

“Oh, I do hope she finds another match soon,” another added. “Or what will she do?”

Isadora stopped walking. Enough.

The group stiffened, realizing that she had heard them. She turned to them with the coolest of smiles.

“Ladies,” she said sweetly, inclining her head. “How fortunate that you are so concerned with my sister’s affairs. And yet, I find myself wondering… do you not have any of your own to occupy you?”

One of the girls—a blonde lady with an expression so innocent that you would not believe the venom she had been spewing just moment ago—flushed. “I—well—of course, we did not mean to?—”

“I do hope not,” Isadora said, her smile never wavering. “It would be rather tragic, after all, if your only amusement came at the expense of another.”

The blonde girl faltered. Her companions looked away. One of them even had the grace to appear ashamed. Isadora did not wait for them to recover—she merely turned back to Penelope, looping her arm through hers, and resumed walking.

“Isadora,” Penelope murmured under her breath, “you did not have to do that. You’ve done enough for me as it is.”

“Yes, I did have to,” Isadora said simply.

Daphne let out a delighted laugh. “Oh, how I love watching you eviscerate people with nothing but politeness.”

Violet nodded. “Isadora will never let a slight go unanswered.”

“Not when it concerns my family,” Isadora agreed.

They continued walking, but the damage had been done. No matter how much they lifted their chins, the whispers continued. The ton had latched onto the scandal eagerly, and they would not let go so easily.

“Isadora,” Penelope murmured at last, “I know you mean well. And I appreciate it, truly. But… I just wish it did not have to be this way.”

Isadora slowed her steps. “What way?”

Penelope let out a soft, almost defeated laugh. “This. The way people look at me now. As if I am something ruined. As if I have done something wrong.” She exhaled. “I know what you are going to say. I know I should not let it bother me. But it does.”

Isadora’s throat tightened. She wished, more than anything, that she could take Penelope’s burden away and carry it herself. But she couldn’t. All she could do now was stand beside her.

She gave her sister’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Then let me bear it with you.”

Penelope blinked at her, startled.

“If they will gossip, then let them gossip about us both.” Isadora shrugged. “I will start wearing outlandish hats. Maybe pretend to faint dramatically in public. Perhaps I shall take up fencing.”

Penelope let out a startled laugh, and it was the best sound Isadora had heard all day.

Violet grinned. “Oh, yes. I do think you ought to purchase a sword immediately.”

Daphne added, “And you must insist on carrying it with you at all times.”

“Of course,” Isadora said gravely. “A proper lady must always be prepared.”

Penelope shook her head, but her shoulders had relaxed, and some of the tension in her face had eased.

Maybe the whispers wouldn’t stop today. Maybe they never would. But as long as Isadora stood beside her, Penelope would never face them alone.

The conversation drifted as the group continued their walk, the tension of the whispers slowly fading into the background. It was Penelope who, after a long moment, glanced at Isadora with curiosity.

“Do you think he’ll actually come to collect?” she asked finally.

Isadora didn’t have to ask who she meant. They all knew.

Evan Marwood and the favor that he had been promised.

Expect my visit.

Even now, Isadora could still hear the low timbre of his voice and feel the way her breath had caught at the quiet certainty in his tone.

She cleared her throat. “I suppose so. A man like that does not make idle claims.”

Violet let out a knowing hum, slipping her arm through Daphne’s. “Well, he does have a reputation for being a man of his word.”

Daphne arched a brow. “But a man of what kind of word? That is the question.”

Isadora hesitated. She did not know much about Evan Marwood, nothing beyond what she had seen of him that day—the man who had walked into a church and disrupted a wedding as though he were simply stepping into a card game he was about to win.

She exhaled. “Tell me about him.”

Daphne and Violet exchanged glances, their expressions far too entertained for Isadora’s liking.

“You truly wish to know?” Violet asked, adjusting the ribbon on her bonnet.

Isadora narrowed her eyes. “I would not have asked otherwise.”

Daphne sighed, feigning great reluctance. “Very well. But do keep in mind, my dear Isadora, that asking about Evan Marwood is akin to inviting a storm—one never quite knows how it will unfold.”

Isadora rolled her eyes. “Daphne. I only asked a simple question”

Daphne laughed. “All right, all right. What do you wish to know?”

“What kind of man is he?”

Violet was the first to answer. “A most unusual one.”

Isadora waited for more, but Violet simply smiled.

“I have heard things though I am not entirely sure of them,” Daphne continued. “People say that he was not born into his title. The late Duke of Giltburg had no heirs, and after some rather scandalous circumstances, Evan Marwood—who had no noble blood whatsoever—was granted the title by special decree.”

Isadora’s brows lifted in mild surprise. A man not of noble birth rising to the status of a duke? Unusual, at the very least.

“He was raised a commoner?” she asked, unable to keep the curiosity from her voice.

Violet nodded. “Yes, and unlike most men who suddenly find themselves thrust into wealth, he has never quite learned the art of smoothing his edges. He can be…” She hesitated then said delicately, “Rough.”

Daphne smirked. “That is a generous way of putting it. He does not care for the rules of society, nor does he go out of his way to follow them.”

Violet shot her a look. “That does not mean he is a bad man.”

Daphne waved a hand. “I never said he was. I only said he was… unconventional.”

Violet turned to Isadora, her expression more serious. “I have met him a few times. He is improper, yes. Inappropriate, sometimes. But he is also… kind.”

Isadora frowned slightly. “Then why does society seem to loathe him?”

Daphne let out an unladylike snort. “Because he is everything they are not. He was not born among them, yet he is more powerful than most of them. He does not bend to their rules, yet they must acknowledge him. And most of all, he is ruthless in business.”

Violet nodded. “That, and he never lets anyone forget that he made himself. The other nobles—they inherited their power. He took his.”

Isadora pondered this. It was not often that someone outside of the nobility found their way into the upper echelons of society. No wonder he unsettled them. He was a man who did not belong to their world, and yet he had mastered it.

And now, she was in his debt.

She exhaled. “Is there anything else I should know?”

Violet hesitated then nodded. “Yes. He is currently looking for a wife.”

Isadora nearly stumbled in her step. “ What? ”

Daphne grinned. “Oh, yes. The papers say he has been seen at several balls in search of a suitable duchess.”

“Though I suspect his definition of suitable is quite different from what the ton expects,” Violet added.

Isadora hardly knew what to make of that.

Daphne smirked. “You look rather pale, Isadora.”

She forced herself to breathe. “I do not know what you mean.”

Violet sighed dramatically. “Perhaps the dear duke will ask you to help him find a bride as payment.”

Daphne gasped in mock horror. “Or worse—perhaps he will decide you will do.”

Isadora shot them both a deadly glare.

She hated how, despite herself, her thoughts had suddenly turned back to the way his voice had dipped low at her ear, to the quiet promise in his words.

Expect my visit.

She shook herself.

Nonsense.

A man like that would have no interest in her.

And she did not have any interest in him.

Did she?

The Duke remained in her thoughts even as they returned home though she made a point not to mention him again. Not after what her friends had suggested. No, she could not entertain such a notion.

The moment the carriage rolled to a stop in the driveway, Isadora wasted no time. She turned to Penelope, who looked weary from their outing but held herself together well.

“Go inside,” Isadora said gently, helping her sister down. “I need a moment.”

Penelope frowned slightly. “Are you all right?”

“I will be,” she assured her.

Penelope hesitated but eventually nodded, giving Isadora’s hand a quick squeeze before disappearing into the house.

Isadora turned on her heel and made her way toward the stables.

The smell of hay and leather, the distant sound of hooves against the dirt floor—it was a comfort more familiar than any drawing room and more welcoming than any ballroom.

A stable boy looked up as she entered. “Shall I ready a horse, My Lady?”

“No need,” she said, already making her way down the rows of stalls.

Her mare perked up at her approach, her ears flicking forward. A small smile tugged at Isadora’s lips as she reached out, running a gloved hand down her neck.

“Hello, my love,” she murmured. “Did you miss me?”

The mare gave a soft huff in response, nudging at her pockets. Isadora laughed, pulling out the small apple she had brought, letting the mare take it from her hand.

She had always felt most at peace here, among the horses. She had been riding since she was a child, long before she had ever been forced to consider society and its rules and long before she had been made to think about things like reputation and obligation.

Here, she was free.

She saddled the animal herself, adjusting the girth. The moment she pulled herself up and settled into the seat, the world shifted. The weight that had been pressing down on her chest loosened, and the tension in her shoulders faded.

Heaven knows how much I needed this.

With a soft click of her tongue, she urged the animal forward, guiding her toward the open fields.

Wind rushed past her face, tugging at the pins in her hair, loosening strands that fell into her eyes. Isadora didn’t care. She leaned into the motion, the steady rhythm of hoofbeats against the earth.

It was exhilarating.

For a short, blissful moment, there was nothing but the ride. No thoughts of Evan Marwood. No concerns about what favor he might ask of her. No whispers of scandal that lingered in the streets. Just the steady beat of her heart matching the pounding of hooves and the scent of the open air.

She rode until the stitch in her side demanded she slow. The mare obeyed instantly, slowing down to a walk.

What was she going to do?

Evan Marwood was a man unlike any she had encountered before. He had power. He had charm.

And she owed him.

What was he going to ask of her?

She did not know.

And she hated that most of all.