Page 8 of His Graceful Duchess (A Lady’s Vow #3)

CHAPTER 8

E van had never cared much for the inner workings of a household.

He had grown up in a world where efficiency meant survival, where money was not merely accounted for but hunted down with precision. His business dealings thrived not because he was well-mannered or beloved by the ton but because he was ruthless when needed.

Which was why he had barely given the estate any attention since acquiring it.

It had been run well enough, or so he assumed. His staff had long since learned that he did not concern himself with domestic matters so long as everything functioned as expected.

And yet, this morning, his butler had sought him out personally.

Evan glanced up from his papers, mildly surprised as Hawthorne stood before his desk, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Your Grace.”

Evan leaned back in his chair, arching a brow. “Something wrong?”

“No, Your Grace. Quite the opposite.”

Evan waited, but the butler merely stared at him, waiting for permission to continue.

Evan sighed. “Well? Out with it.”

“It is the Duchess.”

That had Evan’s attention. He set his pen down. “Isadora?”

“She has taken to her role… unexpectedly well,” Hawthorne said carefully though Evan detected approval beneath the measured words. “She has already reviewed the household accounts, met with every senior staff member, and begun implementing efficient changes. The staff has taken notice.”

Evan smirked. “What, did they expect her to flutter about and do nothing but host tea parties?”

Hawthorne did not answer though Evan saw the flicker of agreement in his gaze.

“She is practical,” the butler continued after a moment. “A rarity among the ladies of her standing.”

Evan exhaled a quiet breath, staring at the polished wood of his desk. He should not have been surprised. Isadora was not like the others.

That was why he had chosen her.

But still…

“She knows what she’s doing, then?” he mused, half to himself.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Hawthorne replied. “And if I may say so, it seems you have made an excellent choice in your duchess.”

Evan huffed a quiet laugh. It was rare for Hawthorne to offer praise at all, much less toward a woman he had barely met.

So, his little wife had managed to impress even him.

Interesting.

He pushed back from his desk, rising abruptly.

“Hawthorne.”

“Yes, Your Grace?”

“Have them set for dinner. I assume my wife is already there?”

The butler gave a knowing nod. “She is. She does not seem to tolerate lateness.”

Evan grinned at that.

“Good,” he said, striding out of the study. “Let’s see how long that lasts.”

As expected, she was already there.

Evan barely made it past the dining room threshold before Isadora’s sharp gaze met his, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“You’re late.”

He smirked, taking his time to step inside.

“Apologies, sweetheart,” he drawled. “Am I to be scolded on my first full day as a husband?”

She gave him a pointed look and reached for her glass. “You should have more discipline, Your Grace.”

There it was again—Your Grace.

Not Evan, not husband, just the formal distance she clung to so desperately.

He pulled out a chair and sat across from her, watching her as she placed her napkin in her lap with practiced grace. Even in irritation, she was poised.

Perfect. Proper. Untouchable.

And yet…

For the briefest second, a different image flickered in his mind.

Her—breathless, disheveled after her ride, the night he had first told her she would be his wife. It had been a glimpse of something else entirely, something so contrasting to her usual restraint.

Something, he realized, he wanted to see again.

He cleared his throat, pushing the thought aside.

If he entertained it too long, he would be tempted to provoke her even more.

No.

This was a business arrangement.

“Shall we eat?” she prompted, clearly eager to move past the lateness of his arrival.

He inclined his head. “Of course. I wouldn’t want to make you suffer longer in my presence than necessary.”

She did not rise to the bait.

Instead, she lifted her fork, cutting into her meal. He let the silence linger, watching her.

The candlelight flickered across the fine planes of her face. She was beautiful.

Of course, he had known that from the moment he first saw her.

But beautiful women were not rare in the ton. Women like Isadora, however, were.

To distract himself, he set down his fork and spoke.

“Our lessons begin tomorrow.”

She looked up.

“Already?”

He smirked. “Should we wait? You seemed rather eager for me to learn, sweetheart.”

Her eyes narrowed. “That eagerness is rapidly diminishing.”

He chuckled. “A shame.”

She set her fork down, giving him a measured look. “Very well, then. We shall start them promptly.”

“Though you must tell me,” Evan smirked, “what, exactly, will these lessons entail?”

She pressed her lips together. “How to act the part of a proper duke, of course.”

A flicker of amusement crossed his face.

“Do you find the idea difficult?” she asked.

“No,” he smirked. “You may begin molding me into the perfect gentleman—though I warn you, it is a rather hopeless endeavor.”

“Yes, I imagine it will be.”

Something about the ease of their conversation—the way she had so naturally replied without thinking—made him grin.

Perhaps this arrangement would not be so dull after all.

It might even be entertaining.

“It’s been a while, friend.” Ambrose flashed Evan a smile. The Duke of Warrington had been a dear friend, albeit an unlikely one.

Evan rarely frequented the places in which Ambrose had spent most of his life. Theirs was a friendship forged not in drawing rooms or ballrooms but rather in a gaming hell in London’s darkest corners. Evan had beaten him at a card game, and Ambrose—instead of taking offence—had taken a liking to him instantly. In his own words, Evan had been the first to defeat him in a game in several weeks.

The two had gotten along swimmingly since and grown their relationship into a business partnership.

“Has it, really?” Evan ventured, relaxing backwards in the sofa. “I must not have noticed.”

“Ah, my apologies.” Ambrose’s mouth turned upwards into a smirk. “I should have known better. Of course, you have been keeping busy.”

The conspiratorial manner in which Ambrose said the words made Evan give him a side-long glance, warily. “Keeping busy with work, yes.”

“And what of your time when you’re not occupied at work?”

Evan shook his head, laughing to himself. He understood where his friend was attempting to take the conversation. “I spend it with my dear friend, Ambrose, of course. What did you think? ”

Ambrose chuckled loudly. “You’re a sly one, I shall give you that, but we both know what I am referring to,” The corners of his mouth curled upwards into a smirk. “You could have asked me, you know. I would have found you a wife. A proper one.”

“A proper one? Now where would be the fun in that?” Evan laughed. “Besides, I have managed to do just fine on my own.”

“That you have. Imagine my surprise when I received word that the Duke of Giltburg had been caught in the most unexpected of snares.” He paused for dramatic effect. “ Marriage. I wonder, really, how you managed to do that.”

Evan knew this conversation topic was bound to come up sooner or later. He had never really expressed much interest in the matter.

“A twist of fate. Or would you prefer to call it an intervention?” Ambrose inquired further.

“Intervention,” Evan repeated the word under his breath. Yes, that seemed to be an apt way to describe the situation. It had been all too convenient the manner in which Isadora had appeared in his life exactly at the right time. “Yes, perhaps that is one way to describe it.”

“At least you are conceding on something,” Ambrose teased. “And you did this willingly?”

Evan chuckled, a low sound in the quiet room. “Willingly? That depends on how you look at it.”

Ambrose lifted a brow. “Evan, I have known you for years, and in all that time, I have never once heard you speak of wanting a wife.”

Fair enough.

His friend was not quite wrong. “That is because I did not want one.”

Ambrose leaned back, eyeing him. “And yet, here you are. A married man. Now riddle me that.”

Evan inclined his head. “You should know better now than to believe that anything I do is predictable .”

“Pray tell, did you manage to convince her to stay?”

“You make it sound as though it is a terribly awful fate,” Evan said pointedly.

“Oh, no. I am not passing judgement. I am just trying to understand how this arrangement came to be,” Ambrose explained.

Evan shrugged. “I did not give her a choice.”

Ambrose sighed, shaking his head. “I cannot decide if that is the most honest or the most alarming thing you’ve ever said.”

A chuckle rumbled low in Evan’s throat. “Would it amuse you to know that she came to me?”

Ambrose raised a brow. “She came to you?”

Evan nodded, his smirk deepening.

Ambrose exhaled, shaking his head. “And here I thought you would require at least some persuasion before surrendering your freedom.”

“You make it sound a lot more dramatic than it was. It was simple, really. I saw an opportunity, and I took it.”

Ambrose let out a soft huff of laughter. “You make it sound like a business transaction.”

Evan arched a brow. “Is that not what marriage is? It is a contract, like most businesses. Both parties stand to gain or lose something from it. Therefore, it is a transaction between two people, albeit a risky one.”

Ambrose studied him for a moment as though he had been stunned into silence by what his friend was saying.

“Wouldn’t you agree?” Evan asked, picking up on the silence. “You have to at least agree that I make a fair argument here.”

“Sometimes, I forget just how ruthlessly you approach life,” Ambrose spoke finally.

Evan smirked, but it did not quite reach his eyes.

“Besides, it still does not make much sense to me. Isadora Morton sought you out, you say?”

Evan nodded.

“And why, exactly, did she do such a thing?” Ambrose inquired. “Was she under some kind of obligation?”

“Flattering that this is the only circumstance in which you can see our marriage being possible,” Evan shot back.

“I am only joking,” Ambrose countered.

Evan mulled over his own thoughts for a moment. The whole situation would seem rather odd to a third person.

“She needed something. And I was the only man who could give it to her,” he said without giving too much away.

Ambrose exhaled a deep breath. “I don’t think I wish to know what that means.”

“Nothing scandalous, I assure you,” Evan chuckled. “Stranger things have happened in the world, surely.”

“Yes, but it does not make the situation any less baffling,” Ambrose admitted. “But I am rather curious. How?”

Ambrose paused for a moment. It was not often that the two discussed their private lives. “I only know of her through my wife, of course—who only has the highest praise for her. But I wonder what she is like with you.”

Evan hesitated, the question catching him off guard.

What was she like?

“That is quite the loaded question you have asked,” Evan admitted, but his mind was already reeling.

He thought of her sharp wit, the way she challenged him at every turn. She had managed to surprise him with that.

And then—he thought of her hands. Soft, and delicate.

A stark contrast to his own which bore the remnants of a life spent climbing, fighting, and surviving.

She was proper in all the ways that he was not.

“She is…” Evan’s voice trailed off, his jaw tightening slightly.

How does one begin to describe Isadora?

Evan was not sure if he had the answer to that question yet.

Ambrose arched a brow. “What? Out with it; you have spent enough time building the anticipation.”

Evan let out a breathless chuckle. “I suppose she is surprising.” To say the least.

Ambrose smirked. “Then perhaps you have met your match.”

“One can hope,” he muttered under his breath.

“No need to be so pessimistic,” Ambrose replied immediately. “As far as matches go, you definitely could have picked worse for yourself—even though I find the union a bit odd. Tell me—does she… well, does she know?”

Evan glanced up. “Know what?” The words came out more annoyed than he had intended them to. Perhaps he had reached his limit of being questioned.

“You know what I mean. Does she know the other side of her husband?” Ambrose’s voice was steady. “That you have dealings with men she would never dream of knowing?”

Right. That.

The God’s honest truth was that Evan tried not to spend much time pondering over that.

“She knows nothing that would trouble her,” he answered finally.

“You play a dangerous game, Evan.” Ambrose’s eyes widened slightly.

“Of all things, that should not come as a surprise to you,” Evan admitted unabashedly. “I always have.”

Ambrose watched him for a long moment before sighing. “I trust you to handle your business, but if you ever need to get out of something?—”

Evan smirked. “Are you offering me a way out of my own marriage?”

“Not at all,” Ambrose arched a brow. “It is everything else that I am worried about. Besides, I just wish for you to know that you’re not alone—should you require help.”

Evan blinked slowly. “Why—I’m touched by the offer.” Even though his tone was sarcastic, there was some sincerity behind his words.

Evan had not grown up making friends. If anything, the people he encountered were only his competition. It felt reassuring—in a way—to have found actual friendships.

“And, as for your marriage…” Ambrose smirked. “Well, that is a private matter between you and the Duchess, but if you need advice on that as well, may I offer you a listening ear at least?”

“I suspect there will be no need for that,” Evan said confidently.

Now, all he had to do was believe it too.