Page 6 of His Graceful Duchess (A Lady’s Vow #3)

CHAPTER 6

“ O ne week.”

Isadora sat still, hands wrapped around her untouched teacup. In one week, she would be a married woman.

She sat in her bedroom, surrounded by her friends and Penelope. She had once believed in choice. She had believed that she would be different, that she would wait for the right man, a man who would be steady. And now—now she was set to marry Evan Marwood, who was anything but predictable.

“You always said,” Daphne remarked from the settee, perched comfortably beside Violet, “that you wished for a safe and comfortable match.”

Isadora exhaled, setting her teacup down. “Perhaps my fate was never meant to be comfortable.”

“You don’t believe that,” Violet said, her voice laced with sympathy towards her friend.

“I do not know what I believe anymore.”

The confession sat heavy in the air. They had all dreamed of love once—back when they were foolish, younger girls. They had vowed never to settle, only to marry their prince charming.

Of course, Isadora had always feared love—perhaps the most out of her friends. But she had never thought that her marriage would be like this.

She had thought she would get married on her own terms.

Daphne sighed, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “Isadora, he is unlike any man we have ever known. Are you certain this is what you want? Perhaps you can still come to a different agreement with him.”

“What I want,” Isadora said, trying not to sound bitter, “no longer seems to matter.”

Penelope shifted beside her, her fingers tightening in her lap. “That is not true,” she insisted though there was worry in her voice. “You may have agreed, but it is not too late. If you are unhappy?—”

“I am not unhappy,” Isadora cut in quickly. “I am…” She paused, searching for the words.

Conflicted? Bewildered? How did one even begin to explain Evan Marwood?

“Well, whether this was your wish or not, I cannot imagine the Duke will be anything short of devoted.” Violet tried to lighten the mood.

Daphne’s lips curled slightly. “That is assuming Evan Marwood knows the meaning of devotion.”

Isadora let out a breathless laugh, shaking her head. “I cannot decide if you are trying to comfort me or frighten me further.”

“We are trying to make sense of it, the same as you,” Daphne admitted.

Penelope’s fingers tightened around the lace of her sleeve. “I just…” She hesitated, her brow furrowed in thought. “I do not wish for you to wake one morning and find yourself miserable, sister.”

At that, Isadora’s chest ached because that was Penelope’s greatest fear—that she would be married off to a man she did not love and live her days in regret. And how ironic it was that after all the trouble Isadora had gone through to free her sister from such a fate, she had found herself in one very much like it.

Isadora reached for her sister’s hand, squeezing gently. “I will manage, Penelope.”

“You deserve more than merely to manage,” Penelope said softly.

Violet sat forward. “Perhaps we are looking at this the wrong way. Evan may be a duke, but even he cannot simply force you into this marriage if you do not wish it. Nicholas has known him for years. If I spoke to my husband, perhaps he could persuade the Duke to reconsider.”

“No,” she said quietly.

Violet blinked. “No?”

Isadora inhaled, steadying herself. “I appreciate the offer, Violet, truly, but I cannot ask anyone to intervene.”

“But why not?” Violet frowned. “If Evan agreed to this marriage on some misplaced whim, then surely he can be made to change his mind.”

Isadora did not answer immediately. Instead, her gaze flickered to Penelope, who was watching her with wide, worried eyes.

It had not been on a whim. She had promised him a favor. And now, she did not get to decide what that favor was.

“Because a bargain was struck. And I do not believe Evan Marwood is the kind of man to go back on his word.”

She knew that much now.

Penelope exhaled softly, her fingers twisting together in her lap. “Then that means there is nothing to be done.”

“If that is the case, then we must look forward.” Violet softened, reaching out to touch Isadora’s hand. “We will be here for you. No matter what.”

“I now pronounce you, man and wife.”

The ceremony passed in a blur, and Isadora barely registered the words of the officiant, barely felt the cool band of gold sliding onto her finger. It was as though she was watching someone else’s wedding unfold rather than her own.

But no matter how distant she felt from it all, it was done. She was Isadora Marwood now.

The bells had barely stopped ringing when Evan Marwood’s hand found her waist. They were walking to their carriage.

It sent a strange shiver down her spine, only to be replaced with irritation. She did not look at him. Instead, she kept her eyes forward, face carefully composed.

“Let go of me,” she murmured under her breath.

She did not cause a scene—not now when people were watching. But the steel in her voice was unmistakable.

Evan, of course, did not immediately comply. If anything, she felt the faintest shift of amusement in his posture, his fingers pressing just a fraction tighter against the fabric of her gown.

“My dear wife,” he mused so quietly that only she could hear, “is this how our marriage is to begin? With you already issuing commands?”

Her lips thinned. “I would hardly call asking you to remove your hand a command, Your Grace.”

A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest, but finally, he released her.

She stepped away from him the instant she could, putting space between them though the damage had been done.

The ton would talk. The Duke of Giltburg was openly possessive of his bride.

The very thought sent a wave of frustration through her. She did not wait for him and climbed into the carriage. He followed her, and they were on their way.

For several moments, neither spoke.

“You are going to be impossible, aren’t you?” Evan finally broke the silence.

She turned her head, glaring at him outright.

“If you are already weary of me, Your Grace, perhaps you should have considered this marriage with greater thought,” she quipped back. “But it is not too late to reverse the decision if you wish.”

He let out a low chuckle, amused.

“That eager to be rid of me already?”

“I do not see the point in pretending.”

“Neither do I,” he agreed, still smiling.

“Then perhaps we are in agreement about something,” she narrowed her eyes and then added under her breath, “What a surprise.”

“It would appear so,” Evan agreed. “Though it is in your benefit if you are to agree with me about most things.”

“I am not sure if that is possible,” Isadora argued. “I have been known to have my opinions.”

“That much I can tell already,” Evan smirked.

“Then you are more perceptive than I gave you credit for,” she noted.

“And you are stubborn,” Evan replied. “They say that about me as well.”

“Oh?” Isadora probed. “Well, I suppose it is better than being known as ruthless which is also another thing you are famous for.”

“I thought it was my ruthlessness that drew you to me.” Evan continued to smirk. She realized that it flustered her and annoyed her both at the same time. “You cannot wish it away now, only because we are married.”

“Oh, I would not dare,” she shot back.

“Good,” he replied. “Because if you decide to, you will quickly realize that it is a useless endeavour.”

His words unsettled her, and she wondered what she had gotten herself into, but whatever it was, it was too late now. They had already been bonded together in marriage for better or for worse.

The rest of the ride passed in silence.

When they arrived at the Duke’s estate—their home now, she supposed—Evan barely glanced at her as he stepped out of the carriage.

“Welcome to your new life, sweetheart,” he said over his shoulder. “The staff will help you to your room and provide you with anything that you might need. I have already instructed them.”

And then without anything else, he just left her standing here.

“Your Grace.” A woman rushed over to her. “Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Mrs. Wilson, the head maid at the estate. I shall accompany you to your chambers.”

Isadora could only nod slowly, watching Evan’s figure grow smaller as he walked away and then eventually disappeared at the top of the stairs.

Seeing as her husband had decided to take his leave, Isadora did not have much of a choice.

“Lead the way,” she sighed.