Page 7 of His Graceful Duchess (A Lady’s Vow #3)

CHAPTER 7

“ H as he forgotten me?”

Her new life, it seemed, was shaping up to be quite lonely.

Isadora sat at the vanity, brushing her hair with deliberate strokes, not because she needed to—her maid had already seen to it—but because she needed something to do. Something to occupy her mind.

It was bad enough that she had to get used to living in an entirely new setting, but she had not expected herself to be alone for most of that time. Ever since she had arrived, Evan had been nowhere to be seen.

Surely he will come and visit when it is time to retire to bed.

She had told herself this—a small hope, perhaps—for this was meant to be an important occasion.

She knew what was supposed to happen.

A wedding night was not merely a tradition but an expectation. Perhaps even more important than the ceremony itself. She had never heard of a situation where a husband simply forgets .

But time was passing, and it appeared that the Duke had no plans to come to her chambers.

At first, she had told herself she was relieved.

Had she not been dreading this? Had she not spent the entire day convincing herself that, despite the vows spoken, this was not a real marriage?

And yet, something about his absence set her off. It was another instance of his audacity. And so, she rose from her chair and strode toward the door.

If Evan thought he could simply ignore her, he was mistaken.

She marched through the quiet halls of the Duke’s estate. A few servants lingered, eyes flicking toward her, but they said nothing.

“Where is His Grace?” she asked one of the maids.

“The study,” the woman informed her promptly. It occurred to Isadora then that the last time she had visited this place, she had worried that she could get kicked out. Now, it was her home.

Strange how quickly things had changed.

“I see,” she replied, brusquely, and she marched over there, already knowing her way.

Where else would a man like Evan Marwood be on his wedding night but locked away with his brandy and his business? She did not bother to knock and simply entered.

“Who?—Oh.” Evan looked up from behind his desk. “Sweetheart, to what do I owe this honor?”

Sweetheart.

She stiffened at the word. It was remarkable, truly, how he managed to make her melt even when she was furious with him.

Don’t lose your focus, she reminded herself.

Her hands clenched. “I would prefer if you do not call me that, not when you are shirking your responsibility to me,” she snapped. “Have you forgotten something?”

“That is quite the heavy accusation.” Evan leaned back in his chair. “And not to my knowledge, no.”

Great. So, he had decided to play dumb. He was looking at her with great curiosity now, and for a moment, Isadora almost forgot what she had come here to do.

She was too distracted by the way he looked—which just happened to be… handsome.

“Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?” he teased when he noticed the slight pause in her step.

That was enough to re-ignite her anger.

“What are you doing here in your study?” she blurted out. “It is our wedding night. You are expected to be with me, are you not? Or have you changed the rules of marriage?”

“Ah,” he murmured, studying her. “This is about my absence. You should have said so clearly. Why make me guess?”

“Do you mean, rather, your deliberate disappearance?” she bit out. “Yes, it is.”

“I assumed you would be grateful,” he said simply.

Except the manner in which he spoke only served to infuriate her even more so.

“Grateful?” she repeated, incredulous.

He lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. “We both know this is a marriage of convenience. I saw no reason to… complicate matters.”

Her face burned.

Complicate matters.

The words should have relieved her. Instead, they only humiliated her.

She folded her arms. “Then why marry me at all? That is complicating matters.”

It was a bold question, but one that she had not asked him before. Now, as his wife, she felt as though she had that much of a right.

Something flickered in his expression.

“You owed me a favor.”

“Yes, but why marriage?” she pressed. “I knew that you had been looking for a bride. Surely, a man of your status could have found any woman. Why was it that you chose to marry me and then just leave me waiting? Is this a game to you?”

“No, no,” he clarified, straightening slightly. “This is no game. I’d wager it’s something much better. Sweetheart, you’re the perfect wife for me.”

His words caught her entirely off guard. For a fleeting second, her breath hitched, her mind scrambling to understand what he meant.

Perfect wife? “But you do not even know me.”

“I know enough,” he said, simply. “You’ll do the job just fine.”

The job? And then—understanding dawned on her.

“Ah,” she said, voice quiet. “So that is what this is.”

Evan lifted a brow. “Have you figured it out by yourself already? My, you’re quite the smart girl. Go on, then. Enlighten me.”

“You do not want a wife,” she tried to keep her voice steady. “You want a shield.”

His lips curved—not in denial.

“In my position,” he said, “a proper wife is an asset. And you are as proper as they come. Marrying you ensures my business partners will trust me. It ensures I am welcomed into the fold of the aristocracy. It ensures that doors previously closed will now be open.”

So that was all she was to him. An asset.

He was utilizing her reputation, just as she had utilized his.

“And in return,” she swallowed roughly, “what do I get?”

“That much is apparent, dear. You will be a duchess. And your life will be comfortable, and you shall never have to worry about your finances ever again. You will have an army of servants to command as you wish, and you will live in the most lavish of homes. That is what you get in return. Quite a fair trade, I’d say.”

She let out a short laugh. “So, I am to guide you through society. How fortunate for you that I was available for purchase.”

Evan’s gaze darkened slightly.

“You misunderstand me.”

“Do I?” she shot back.

Evan exhaled.

“It will not help you if you wish to rage at me, Isadora,” he said lazily. “We both knew what this was. And if you truly expected something else?—”

“I expected nothing,” she cut in, her voice sharp.

He studied her for a long moment, and then—he smiled.

“Good. Because this was what you agreed to, need I remind you?” he said. She felt her stomach drop. “You asked me to get your sister out of a bad marriage before it happened and offered that you would do anything in return. Or am I recalling things incorrectly?”

Damn him. She could not argue with him, for he was exactly right. That was what she had agreed to.

“That’s what I thought,” he smirked, annoyingly. “So, then, is it really that much of a sacrifice that I only ask you to be my duchess in name?”

His tone shifted as he said the words, and suddenly, she realized why people were so afraid of him. There was something menacing in his tone, something that made her lose track of her thoughts entirely.

“I…” She stared back at him. She should have been scared now, but somehow, she was not.

She only objectively saw why he was a man to be feared, but she did not fear him.

Huh. How strange.

“Finish your thoughts, sweetheart,” he goaded, clearly having the upper hand here.

She glared at him in return. “What is there to say? It seems that you’ve laid everything out yourself.”

“Very well,” he smirked. “Then, can you at least sound a little happier about it? Remember, you did this for Penelope.”

Isadora wanted to argue with him, but she had run out of her cards for the night. What could she even say to him at this point that would not sound like her begging for his attention?

No. She refused to stoop that low.

You’ve gotten your victory, Your Grace, she thought to herself. Perhaps her own turn would come another day.

“I believe we are done here.”

And with that, she spun on her heel to leave, but Isadora barely made it three steps before Evan’s voice stopped her.

“One more thing, sweetheart.”

Does he really need to call me that every time?

Her back stiffened at the infuriating endearment, but she turned, glaring at him. “What now?”

“The only thing I do not need from this marriage,” he said smoothly, “is an heir.”

She stared at him.

The words should not have surprised her—this was not a real marriage after all—and yet, hearing them spoken so plainly left her…

She did not know what.

It was not that she had expected children, of course. But wasn’t that what marriage was? Even arranged ones? She should not care.

Evan took his moment to stand up, making his way around the desk toward her.

Her instinct was to step back. But instead, she remained rooted to the spot as he closed the distance between them. He stopped only a breath away, towering over her once more, his dark eyes flicking over her face.

Then, his lips curved.

“Disappointed?”

Her entire body burned. Was it with rage or something else entirely… she did not know.

“Rein it in, Your Grace.”

“So that’s how it’s going to be. Not Evan, not husband, not even the occasional sweetheart? Just ‘Your Grace’?”

“I should think so, given that you are already abusing the liberties of our arrangement.” She tried to avert her gaze.

“Taking liberties?” He had the audacity to say as he stood that close to her.

“Quite,” she said stiffly. “And since you are so insistent that this marriage remain nothing more than a business arrangement, I suggest you start behaving as such.”

He hummed. “And how, exactly, does a duke behave?”

“You need lessons,” she said flatly. “And they will start soon.”

Evan chuckled at that—perhaps realizing that he was not the only one with audacity.

She turned on her heel before she did something regrettable—or worse, let him see that the heat rising in her face had spread from her neck to her ears.

As she reached the door, she heard him call after her.

“I look forward to it, sweetheart.”

She slammed the door behind her.

It was still early when Isadora made her way downstairs the next morning.

She had slept little the night before. Though ‘slept’ was perhaps too generous a word. She had laid awake, her mind racing with the weight of what she had agreed to—a marriage that was nothing more than a transaction—a role she had spent years preparing for but never in this manner.

But if nothing else, she could take control of her duties.

It did not matter what kind of husband she had. It did not matter what arrangement had been made between them.

The estate was hers to run, and she would do it well.

She found Mrs. Harding in her office. The housekeeper was already occupied with the morning’s ledgers. The older woman looked up as Isadora entered, and for a moment, her sharp gaze assessed the Duchess before her.

“Your Grace.” She rose, hands folded before her. “You are up early.”

“I am,” Isadora said briskly. “I would like to begin reviewing the household operations.”

A flicker of surprise crossed Mrs. Harding’s face. Not many new brides took such an interest in the running of their homes so soon—some did not at all—but Isadora had always been different.

She took a seat across from her, glancing at the ledgers. “I trust everything has been managed well in my absence?”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Mrs. Harding replied. “But I had anticipated that you might wish to make adjustments to the management of the house.”

Isadora nodded. “You anticipated correctly.”

Isadora sat beside her, taking the thick book of accounts in her hands and flipping through the pages with practiced ease. She had done this before—for her father’s house for years.

The expenses were well-managed, but there were areas that could be improved. Servants’ wages had remained stagnant for far too long—something she would correct immediately. Some rooms in the house were unused yet still staffed unnecessarily, and the kitchens were ordering supplies in excess, leading to waste that could be prevented.

Her mind worked quickly, mapping out a plan.

“Has anyone been handling these inefficiencies?” she asked.

Mrs. Harding hesitated. “His Grace does not interfere much in household matters.”

Of course, he doesn’t, she thought dryly.

“Then it is time someone did,” Isadora said, making quick notes in the margin of the ledger.

She made a point to speak with each department—from the butler, who managed the footmen, to the housekeeper, the kitchen staff, and even the stable master.

She knew their names by midday.

“She moves with a sense of purpose,” she overheard one of the maids whisper.

“She asks questions. Not just for show, either,” another murmured.

Isadora was pleased to hear that. At least the staff had formed an opinion. The new duchess was efficient.

And—perhaps most importantly—she would not be ignored.

She closed the final ledger with a decisive snap and turned to Mrs. Harding. “I will have the adjustments sent to you tomorrow. We shall discuss any concerns before they are implemented.”

The housekeeper’s lips twitched as though suppressing the urge to smile.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

As Isadora rose from her chair, a voice sounded from the doorway.

“You’ve been busy.”

She stiffened.

Evan stood in the threshold, arms folded, his head tilted slightly. Of course, he would choose now to appear.

She smoothed her skirts. “Yes. It is a duchess’ duty, after all.”

His dark gaze flicked to the books, to Mrs. Harding, then back to her. “And here I thought you would be planning our first grand ball. Surely, that is the duty of every newly made duchess.”

She arched a brow. “I see little purpose in balls when there are more pressing matters to handle.”

“Practical,” he mused. “I suppose I should have expected that.”

She stepped forward, determined to brush past him, but as she moved, so did he—leaning just slightly in her path.

“Are you quite finished with your inspections, sweetheart?”

“Yes. And I have work to do.”

He smirked. “Then don’t let me keep you.”

She moved past him, ignoring the warmth curling in her stomach, and refused to look back as she strode down the hall.