Page 33 of My Disastrous Duchess (The Untamed Ladies #2)

Margaret frowned, wondering if it had anything to do with Bastian. “Are your... accommodations not to your liking?” she tried.

“They are no less or more to my liking than yesterday.”

“Right. Then did something else happen to provoke such a restless night, I wonder?”

Margaret was pushing her luck, but if Isadore was suspicious, she didn’t show it. She shook her head with a tepid smile, and Margaret surrendered in silence.

The two women rode without speaking at first, the crunch of hooves on the forest floor filling the quiet space between them. The forest closed in around them, hissing, near-barren trees swaying overhead as they took the winding trail through the woods to the fields beyond.

Margaret had imagined the ride going differently—a chance to speak plainly and understand the girl who might become her sister-in-law.

Alexander and Mr. Hawthorne had gone off to Salisbury again, leaving the two of them alone.

But the sight of Bastian's face the day before, too close to Isadore's by the river, clouded her thoughts.

She had told Alexander that she suspected true love, but the more she thought about, and she had thought about it, the more she worried something else was afoot.

The edge of the forest came into view, and Margaret looked nervously at Isadore, riding beside her. She couldn’t hold her questions in any longer.

“I was wondering...” She paused, reevaluating her strategy. “It would have been nice if Mr. Hawthorne had accompanied us today. He is an excellent rider from what I hear, and he knows all the paths in this place—and much further afield too.”

"Oh?" Isadore's tone was wary.

Margaret kept her gaze forward.

"Yes, and I thought it would have been especially nice since the two of you seem to have become so close. I imagine it pleases His Grace terribly to see that you have become friends. He does keep Mr. Hawthorne in the closest confidence. And yet, it seems unfair to me that he should have a shoulder to lean on, and not you... So if there was something you wished to say, or someone you wished to speak with, I want you to know that you can trust me, Miss Bell.”

She didn’t dare look at Isadore for a while, worried she had revealed too much. Isadore’s silence unnerved her, and when she finally looked back, Isadore had stopped Selene in the middle of the woods. Margaret tightened the reins, stiff in the saddle. She turned Thalia, waiting.

“Did I say something wrong?” Margaret asked.

“It was just...” Selene twitched beneath Isadore, and she moved down to clap the horse soothingly. “Mr. Hawthorne has been extremely kind to me, Your Grace. And it would be wrong to gossip about him.”

“Yes, but we are not gossiping, are we? That the two of you have become close is a fact.” She could see Isadore tense. Margaret cursed herself, but it was too late to back down now. “Miss Bell, I am only saying this because I saw you yesterday, at the edge of the property... with Bastian.”

Isadore was silent, absently stroking Selene until the motion of her hand stopped. Margaret thought she saw Isadore shiver.

"We were only talking," Isadore said after a moment.

"Hm... It is not my wish to argue, Miss Bell, and I do not mean to make you uncomfortable with my questions. But it did not look like merely talking to me," Margaret replied, sharper than she meant. "You were standing close, and I thought I saw... a kiss.”

"And what if it had been a kiss?" Isadore suddenly snapped, straightening on the horse. She refused to meet Margaret’s eye. "He is a kind gentleman, and he listens to me. Why is any of this your business besides?”

“Because these things are important,” Margaret protested softly, trotting closer. “This sort of liaison affects more than just the two of you. His Grace, for instance, should be made fully aware if you have intentions of marriage?—”

“Marriage?” Isadore laughed—a dry, condemning laugh that knocked Margaret off-balance.

“What in the world are you thinking? It was a kiss, Your Grace. There is no use discussing it further, and certainly not with Mr. Hawthorne. Neither of us needs your permission to meet with anyone in a garden. And all this for a kiss, no less. I can hardly believe what I’m hearing. ”

Margaret blinked, alarmed by Isadore’s tone. “This is not an attempt to change your feelings. You are free to do and feel as you please. But this is the way of things in our world. You must be honest in your actions and affections if you intend to remain here.”

“Was that a threat?” Isadore stilled. “If I do not behave, you will have Alexander send me away?” Using Alexander’s name felt like an attack.

“Do you really think you have that much influence over him? You have only just married into this family; you have no more rights than I do when it comes to staying here. How could even say such a thing?”

Margaret recoiled. She groaned as Thalia began shifting under her, restless. “I think you are quite mistaken, Miss Bell.”

“I don’t think so at all.”

“And the factors of my marriage are not yours to know.”

“And yet my relationship with Bastian should be made common knowledge? Why are you owed privacy but not me? You speak of Alexander as if you own him, as if you know his mind. But that’s not true, is it?

I’ve seen the truth for myself. You barely spend any time together.

Maybe that’s all this is... You are jealous, afraid Bastian might see something in me that your husband does not see in you! ”

The accusation struck Margaret like a slap. "That is a low thing to say."

"Obviously, you think I am low already," Isadore shot back.

“All this, everything you had said today, luring me here to question me.

.. You look at me like I'm beneath you. But I never asked to be brought here. I never asked to be scrutinized like this. I won’t apologize for my actions.

If Alexander is concerned about Mr. Hawthorne and me, then he can ask me himself instead of sending you. "

Before Margaret could stop her, Isadore jerked Selene’s reins and galloped away.

Margaret sat still for a moment, shocked at the outcome of their ride.

She watched Isadore’s form retreat, guilt rising within her.

Isadore’s words had been cruel, but perhaps Margaret was to blame.

For fact of being a duchess, even formerly disgraced, Margaret had all the power.

Isadore was right to be frightened. Margaret could destroy her—but she wouldn’t.

“Miss Bell, wait!” Margaret cried, snapping Thalia’s reins.

Thalia refused to move. Margaret spurred her on harder, cursing under her breath. Beneath her, Thalia tossed her head, agitated. Another kick, and Thalia finally shot into a ride, racing after Selene through the woods.

The mare surged forward, hooves thundering against the ground as bare branches clawed at Margaret’s exposed face. The air stung her cheeks, but she barely felt it, her focus locked on the flash of Isadore’s borrowed riding habit vanishing between the trees.

“Isadore!” she called again, but the wind obscured her cry.

The path narrowed suddenly, and Margaret gasped.

Mud splashed up her side as Thalia galloped forward, not stopping despite Margaret’s protests.

She leaned lower in the saddle, dodging a low-hanging branch by inches.

The trees blurred around her, a tangle of shadows.

She had no idea how far they’d gone or where they were headed, only that Isadore had disappeared from sight, and the path before her was unfamiliar.

Then, without warning, Thalia jerked sideways. Margaret didn’t see what spooked her—but she felt the jolt in her spine, the twist of the saddle under her. The world tipped violently as Thalia reared up...

The reins were pulled from Margaret’s hands as she slipped, plummeting from the saddle and hitting the ground hard.

The air rushed from her lungs all at once. Something sharp pulsed in her ribs as she struggled for breath. The trees swayed overhead, still hissing, the sound of hooves retreating until there was only silence.

Margaret tried to sit up. Pain lanced through her side. The forest tilted again.

“ Please ,” she breathed, as her eyes closed of their own volition.