Page 5 of His Graceful Duchess (A Lady’s Vow #3)

CHAPTER 5

T he relief Isadora had gotten from her excursion at the stable was short-lived. From the moment that she stepped into the manor, she knew something was wrong.

“Do we have a visitor?” she asked one of the house help. There had been a carriage in their driveway—one she did not recognize.

The maid nodded, but before she could answer, she heard his voice.

Deep.

And far too at ease for what she knew could only be a very bad situation. Her heart nearly stopped.

She turned toward the drawing room where the door was slightly ajar, and there he was.

Evan Marwood stood in the middle of the room, his stance easy, as though he had spent his entire life walking into places where he was not wanted and making himself at home regardless. And opposite him sat her father.

George looked as though he was barely containing his irritation, his fingers drumming against the armrest of his chair, his mouth pressed into a thin line.

“Isadora?” George caught sight of her standing in the doorway and waved her forward impatiently. She jumped at the sound of her own name. “Come inside. I… well, your presence is required here. The Duke has arrived with quite the claim.”

Isadora’s stomach dropped. She had not expected him to be visiting so soon. Slowly, she made her way inside, and Evan turned his head slightly toward her. He seemed to be assessing her, but his eyes gave nothing away.

George gestured toward a chair. “Sit.”

She hesitated for half a second then obeyed, settling stiffly into the seat across from Evan.

George exhaled, turning his glare back to Evan. “I have just been informed of something rather extraordinary,” he said, his tone dry with disbelief. “And I want you to confirm whether it is true or not.”

Isadora blinked.

“Would you care to tell her, Your Grace?” George said tightly.

Evan nodded, his lips tipping into the faintest hint of a smile before he spoke. “I was simply informing your father of our understanding,” he said smoothly.

Isadora’s stomach tightened. “Our… u—understanding?”

George let out a short, bitter laugh, rubbing a hand down his face. “He claims that the two of you are in love.”

The words barely made sense at first. Isadora stared at her father, waiting for him to say it was a misunderstanding , but the tension in his jaw told her otherwise. She turned back to Evan for an answer.

He met her gaze, his expression unreadable, but in the depths of his dark eyes, she saw it.

The favor.

This was it.

It was worse than she could have possibly imagined. Her heart slammed against her ribs.

“I… well…” she stumbled out, not sure of what to say exactly.

Evan’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes did. The message was subtle, but it was clear as day.

Play along.

George’s gaze snapped back to her. “Is it true, or is it not?” he asked, growing more impatient by the second.

Evan leaned back slightly and spoke before she could. “Perhaps I was mistaken but I was under the impression that the lady and I had an understanding.”

It felt like a warning. He was trapping her.

George’s stare bored into her, waiting.

Evan seemed unbothered, however. As if he already knew her answer because she had no choice at all.

Isadora could feel the weight of her father’s gaze, the irritation simmering just beneath his composed exterior. George was a man accustomed to having things exactly as he wished. And now, in the span of a single conversation, that control had been taken from him.

He was furious, but to his credit, he did not explode. He did not raise his voice or slam his fist against the desk as she half expected.

Isadora swallowed, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “It is true,” she said, her voice steady despite the sheer madness of the words. “I… we are in love.”

The words tasted foreign. A muscle in George’s jaw ticked, and then he exhaled, slowly.

“I see,” he said finally though the tension in his shoulders did not ease.

Isadora did not trust that response.

Her father was a practical man. He rarely acted out of sentiment and never made decisions that did not ultimately serve his own interests. He had tolerated Penelope’s engagement because it had been advantageous. A connection to a marquess, even one as disreputable as Hartenshire, had still been a connection.

But Isadora had never been meant to marry. She had known it for years—had understood with each passing season that George preferred her unmarried. She was too useful to be sent away; her presence in his household made his life far easier.

Now, he was losing her. To a duke, no less.

The thought should have pleased her, given her a sense of victory over the years she had spent chained to his demands, but it didn’t.

“You are certain of this?” George asked although his voice lacked its usual authority.

“I… yes, I am certain of it.” She shifted her gaze to the floor.

“She is,” Evan said. “And I am here to solidify our match by coming to ask you for her hand.”

Marriage?

Isadora felt her head spinning. George seemed surprised too, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“A match with a duke,” he murmured, almost to himself. “I suppose I cannot object to that.”

“How very gracious of you,” Evan said smoothly as though he was amused by the whole thing. He seemed entirely at ease though, as if he frequently visited their home.

That was the thing about him, Isadora realized. He had a way of owning any room he stepped into, of bending the world to his will. And then, just to make things worse, he winked at her.

Winked.

Right in front of her father.

Her teeth clenched as the realization of what was happening finally hit her. This was a game to him. A favor collected. A marriage called off in return for another one.

George, still displeased, exhaled through his nose. “Very well,” he said stiffly. “I will make the necessary arrangements.”

Evan nodded, as if he hadn’t just forced her hand in the most outrageous way possible. “I knew you would be reasonable, Lord Morton.”

George grunted, clearly still trying to reconcile what had just happened, but that was the least of Isadora’s worries. Her mind was still spinning.

“So then, the matter is settled,” Evan announced. “My task here is done. The wedding will happen very soon. Thank you both for the cooperation.”

The moment the agreement was settled, Isadora felt as if the walls had closed around her.

Evan stood smoothly, adjusting his coat with an air of satisfaction. “Mind escorting me to the door?” he said to Isadora, who had no choice but to agree.

She followed him to the door, now out of earshot of her father. He stopped for a moment, regarding her with a smirk.

“Well, sweetheart,” he said, “I suppose that means you’re mine now.”

Isadora’s lips parted in outrage. “I was not aware that this was the favor you would ask of me.”

He merely shrugged. “I suppose I have a habit of surprising you.”

But before she could snap at him, he took a step closer and lifted her hand in his own. She barely had time to react before his lips brushed over her skin.

The contact was brief, but it stunned her nonetheless. His thumb lingered for just a moment longer than necessary. Isadora’s breath hitched, her pulse quickening against her will.

He looked at her, his dark eyes filled with something unreadable, and when he spoke again, his voice was low.

“Be ready to become my duchess in a week.”

She did not move.

Then, just as quickly, he released her hand and turned toward the door, striding away with infuriating ease, as if he had not just completely turned her entire world upside down.

The door shut behind him with a soft click.

Silence settled over her, and when she returned to the drawing room, she was met by her father.

“What have you done?” His fury was unmistakable now that they were alone. “This should have been Penelope, not you.”

“She is the one who needs a match,” he continued. “She is the one whose prospects have been ruined. You should be content with your spinsterhood.”

The word spinster should not have hurt, for it was not the first time her father had used the term against her, but it did.

“You would prefer I refuse him?” she said simply.

George let out a harsh laugh, “Of course not. You played this game well.”

No one refused a duke, and even George was helpless in this matter.

And then, a strange kind of desperation laced his voice. “You were not meant to leave here. How will this house go on without you?”

“You will have to manage,” she said quietly.

George scoffed, shaking his head as though she had just burdened him with an unnecessary problem. He turned away, already reaching for the brandy on his desk, as if the conversation had already ended.

“Leave my sight.”

As Isadora turned, she did not rush. She did not wish to let her father see how much his words had unsettled her. Only when she reached her room—when the door shut behind her and she was alone—did she allow herself to breathe.

And then it hit her all at once.

She was getting married in one week.

To Evan Marwood.