Page 11 of Taken by the Icy Duke (Marriage Deals #3)

Chapter Eleven

G ilbert clenched his riding gloves, his dark eyes fixed on Victor as they stood beneath the shade of a gnarled oak. Horses nickered and pawed the ground behind them, their breath fogging the crisp morning air. Neither man took much heed of their restless mounts, too intent upon the conversation that was unfolding between them.

The sunrise glowed behind the distant hills, turning the estate’s rolling fields into a tapestry of pale gold and dusky violet.

“Well?” Gilbert queried apprehensively. “I have only Josephine’s word of late, and I do not trust her motives. Tell me plainly; what rumors have reached your ears?”

Victor, who had been leaning idly against the tree trunk, arched an eyebrow in mild amusement. He reached up to flick a leaf from his shoulder before answering.

“You drag me all this way to quiz me like a Bow Street runner? I had rather thought we might speak of more congenial matters. Your new marriage, for instance, or the forthcoming Season.” He brushed a speck of dust from his sleeve, feigning a casual air. “But if it is scandal you desire, then scandal you shall have.”

Gilbert tensed his jaw. A gust of wind rustled the overhead branches, scattering dry leaves at their feet.

“Do not trifle with me,” he warned, his tone revealing the anxiety simmering beneath his polished exterior. “I must know exactly what the ton is saying.”

Victor noted the earnest set of his friend’s face and his teasing grin faded. The change was almost tangible, the gentle humor between them rapidly replaced by a solidarity bred of old loyalties and new concerns. He sighed, folding his arms across his chest.

“Very well, then. Thus far, they have painted your duchess as a cunning schemer who entrapped you with her wiles, implying that no decent gentleman would have proposed so suddenly without…persuasion.”

Gilbert’s scowl deepened, and a muscle began twitching in his cheek. His mind drifted, albeit briefly, to Diana’s face, recalling the quiet determination in her gaze the last time they spoke of these whispers. She had wanted to face the world openly, insisting that their marriage was no shameful matter. It galled him to think that the ton—the very circle in which he was expected to lead—should label her a manipulative adventuress.

“And your brother,” Victor went on, pausing to glance around and ensure no servant lingered within earshot, “has been labeled dishonorable and cowardly. There are whispers that he hides away to avoid the embarrassment of your marriage. Some even claim he is nursing wounds to his pride, though how exactly he was wounded seems to be a matter of speculation.”

Gilbert released a slow breath, carefully reining in his temper. The mention of Leopold stung, for the duke knew his brother’s ways were complicated, and whatever Leopold’s faults, cowardice had never been among them.

“And what do they say of me?”

Victor hesitated, the empathy apparent in his eyes. The wind tugged at the hem of his coat, causing him to steady himself against the trunk of the oak.

“They say that you are pitiful—either so spellbound by your new bride that you cannot see her conniving nature, or so plagued by family improprieties that you are desperate to present a veneer of respectability at any cost.”

For a moment, the only sound was the breeze stirring the leaves overhead. The estate seemed hushed in that instant, as though waiting for Gilbert’s reaction. Then, with a derisive snort, he broke the silence.

“Pitiful, am I? Well, that is news indeed.” His voice carried a tight, sardonic edge.

Victor looked him over with genuine concern, all levity gone. “You asked for honesty, old friend.”

“And you have given it,” Gilbert replied, raking a hand through his hair. He felt the gentle tug of leather gloves against his wrist, the action doing little to ease the knot in his chest. “I would sooner face a charging bull than the blasted rumor mills of London. They seem intent on tarnishing the duchess’s name and questioning my judgment in equal measure.”

He could not help but remember how Josephine’s scathing remarks had fanned the flames of his anxieties. Though once a woman of some familiarity to him, she now seemed bent on exploiting every crack in his new marriage, whatever her ultimate goal might be. In that moment he felt the weight of his title, the inheritance of responsibilities he had never chosen. Protecting Diana’s reputation felt more urgent than any estate dispute or social obligation.

“Shall you allow it to pass?” Victor asked gently.

Gilbert pressed his lips together, recalling Diana’s earnest plea for them to return to town and face the gossips head-on. His conscience pricked him with the memory of her words and the fleeting, heated moment they had shared before he had slipped away yet again. Despite the tension that lingered in their marriage, he could not deny her courage or sense of duty.

“I can no longer abide standing idle,” he said at last, his voice firm. “We must put an end to this slander for Diana’s sake, for Leopold’s, and for my own. She wishes us to return to town, attend the Season’s events together, and ensure that the ton sees us in one another’s company so often that no one can question our marriage. Despite everything, she refuses to shrink from society’s judgments.”

“Bold indeed. I must say, your duchess displays a rather impressive knack for strategy,” Victor’s brows rose and he smiled with genuine admiration. “Perhaps the whispers about her cunning are not so unfounded, though I daresay society has misjudged her intent.”

“She is clever,” Gilbert conceded, a trace of pride relaxing his features. “And if we are to quell these rumors, I would be a fool not to stand with her.”

Victor offered a small, encouraging nod. “Then I shall lend what support I can. Heaven knows we cannot rely upon Josephine for any charity.”

Gilbert raked a hand through his hair in renewed frustration. The repeated motion did little to soothe him, but he found himself grasping for calm. “They seem intent on sullying Diana’s name as well as my own judgment.”

Victor examined Gilbert’s tense posture and the rigid set of his shoulders. “You have two choices, old friend: stand your ground or flee again. But from what I gather, you do not wish to surrender the field.”

“No, that I do not.” Gilbert agreed, exhaling sharply. “Diana has convinced me we must return for the Season. Although it is somewhat sooner than I intended, she believes presenting a united front without delay will quell the gossip, and I am inclined to concur.”

Victor’s brows rose a fraction. “Your wife’s notion? How refreshingly bold. I am impressed she would volunteer to face the ton so quickly.”

“And do you truly believe the ton will be so easily swayed by appearances?” Gilbert asked, his tone heavy with skepticism. “They seem to delight in tearing down even the most unassailable reputations. I feel more adept at navigating the echelons of parliament than the parlor room gossips.”

“Ah, but therein lies the challenge, old friend,” Victor tilted his head, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “You are no ordinary gentleman, and Diana is no ordinary wife. She has shown her mettle, has she not? Few women would volunteer to face such scrutiny with their heads held high. It would be foolish not to capitalize on her strength.”

“She is… remarkable in her own way,” Gilbert frowned, recalling the unwavering determination in her eyes. “And yet, my concern is that by thrusting her into the spotlight, I risk exposing her to further ridicule.”

“Perhaps,” Victor conceded. “But shielding her from it entirely would be an even greater insult, would it not? A woman like your duchess deserves a partner who stands beside her, not one who hides her away.”

“You make a good point,” Gilbert admitted. A trace of admiration crept into his voice, bringing an unexpected warmth to his expression. “She is not one to cower behind closed doors. We shall show them our alliance is solid, regardless of whatever nonsense they choose to spout.”

They turned away from the great oak, ambling toward their tethered horses. The early sunlight, now stronger, caught the edges of Gilbert’s dark hair, illuminating the faint lines of worry on his brow. A stable lad hovered nearby but kept a discreet distance. The dew-kissed grass muffled their footfalls as they crossed the lawn, the estate’s elegant facade behind them standing as a testament to generations of Rivenhall dukes who had faced their own trials.

Pausing beside the horses, Victor rested a hand lightly on the pommel of his saddle. “I assume you intend to appear at certain notable events? Balls, soirées, perhaps a private reception or two at your townhouse in Grosvenor Square?”

“That is the plan,” Gilbert said, a faint wryness in his tone. “Or at least, Diana’s vision of it.” He tried to picture how she might navigate those glittering gatherings, shoulders squared, chin lifted high, determined to face down the whispers. Even in his mind’s eye, the image filled him with a peculiar blend of pride and protectiveness.

Victor nodded thoughtfully, smoothing the reins. “If you desire to make an impression, you might consider one additional matter before you both reenter society.”

Gilbert eyed him curiously. “What do you mean?” A breeze rattled the nearby hedgerow, sending a swirl of leaves across the turf.

Victor cleared his throat, as if weighing his words. “I refer to your wife’s wardrobe. Forgive my bluntness, but her garments speak more to her family’s humble purse than they do to your status as Duke of Rivenhall.”

A flicker of perplexity crossed Gilbert’s face. Indeed, he had noticed Diana’s gowns were of modest cut and cloth, but he had never considered them unsuitable; they suited her graceful figure well enough to his eye. Still, he could not dismiss Victor’s insight into the ton’s unyielding scrutiny and biting criticism.

“Surely you do not suggest that her attire is so lacking? I have seen nothing to?—”

“You may see nothing amiss, but the ton most assuredly will,” Victor cut in smoothly. “Cruel though it seems, appearances matter greatly in our circles. To silence rumors of neglect or disinterest, you should furnish her with all the latest fashions; fine silks, Parisian trims, and jewels befitting her new station.”

Gilbert frowned, considering. Memories of how earnestly Diana had tried to meet him halfway, her quiet dignity in the face of the dowager countess’s insinuations, made him realize how vulnerable she would feel entering a drawing room filled with judgmental eyes. “You believe new gowns will dispel any suspicion that I hold her in low regard?”

“Precisely.” Victor picked up his reins again, then shot Gilbert a pointed look. “All your protestations about caring for her will ring hollow if she is forced to make do with dowdy frocks. If you desire to show her—and the world—that she is truly your duchess, you must invest in her image.”

Gilbert’s features eased as realization dawned. He pictured Diana standing in a shimmering satin gown, her dark hair adorned with only the subtlest of jewels. An image of confidence, grace and belonging.

“I see your logic. Diana deserves the best, and I confess I would not have her pitied or judged for want of a few yards of cloth.”

“Then let that be your first endeavor upon returning to town,” Victor said, stepping up into the saddle. The horse shifted slightly, stamping its hoof. “A well-appointed modiste will ensure your duchess enters every drawing room in London looking the picture of poise and prosperity.”

Victor’s words lingered as Gilbert considered them. He had never given much thought to gowns or jewels, save for their usefulness in appeasing the whims of society. But as Victor spoke, an image rose unbidden in his mind.

Diana in shimmering silks, her dark hair swept up to reveal the graceful curve of her neck, her bearing regal and self-assured. The thought unsettled him. It was not vanity that drove him to picture her thus; it was the realization that such a transformation would silence any whispers about her unworthiness. It was not just a matter of appearances; it was a declaration of her place by his side.

Gilbert swung onto his own horse, nodding firmly as he settled into the saddle. Renewed determination burned in his eyes, chasing away some of the doubt that lingered in his expression.

“I thank you, Victor. You have given me much to consider. We shall make our arrangements, and I will see to it that Diana’s wardrobe is addressed at once.”

“Excellent.” Victor guided his horse onto the winding path leading away from the estate. The sky had since brightened to a pale blue, and the lingering clouds were tinged pink at their edges. “In that case, I will await news of your arrival in London. You know where to find me.”

Gilbert raised his head and stretched back his shoulders. “I promise it shall be soon. When next we meet, I expect we will have silenced every wagging tongue in the city.”

“You do know,” Victor said, his tone laced with caution, “once you and Diana step back into London’s circles, the gossip will not simply vanish. There will be those who will test the strength of your union and attempt to unravel it purely for their own amusement.”

Gilbert’s jaw tightened, his grip on the reins firm. “Let them try. They will find us unyielding.”

Victor tilted his head as a shadow of doubt crossed his eyes. “I hope for your sake, and hers, that you are right. Good day, Your Grace.”

With that, the two men spurred their mounts forward, hoofbeats echoing across the dew-kissed fields. As they cantered away, Gilbert found his mind turning over Victor’s sage counsel. Rumors, scandal, the demands of rank; these issues had preoccupied him for days. But the thought of outfitting Diana in a manner that would both please her and thwart the ton’s malice awakened something fiercely protective in his soul.

He pictured Diana’s reaction to his suggestion that they take a trip to the finest modiste in London. Would she be pleased? Embarrassed by the sudden indulgence? Grateful for his support?

Gilbert would ensure that his duchess was equipped with all the weapons society demanded: beauty, finery, and, most of all, the resolute loyalty of her husband.