Page 19 of Taken by the Icy Duke (Marriage Deals #3)

Chapter Nineteen

G ilbert stepped out of the carriage onto the wide gravel drive, the midday sun highlighting the genteel bustle of Josephine’s estate. He immediately turned, extending his hand to Diana as she descended. The swish of her gown, a newly tailored ensemble in soft lilac with delicate embroidered edges, drew his eye before she set her gloved fingers in his.

A now-familiar surge of pride filled his heart.

“You look splendid,” he whispered in her ear, his voice tightening with a curious mixture of satisfaction and something dangerously akin to admiration.

When she had emerged from her dressing room earlier, she was serene, poised, and her features were alight with a confidence he had not seen in her a few short weeks earlier. Now, stepping beside him, she resembled a duchess in every sense of the word.

A footman bowed and guided them down a short garden path lined with flowerbeds and elaborate hedges, the scent of roses and fresh grass mingling in the warm air. They passed clusters of other guests who sipped lemonade beneath striped canopies or strolled through the manicured grounds.

Gilbert caught glimpses of Josephine’s tall figure in the distance, holding court near a fountain. He scarcely gave her a thought; her sly remarks and insinuations had never truly troubled him. What mattered was ensuring that Diana felt unassailable.

He only agreed they should attend to further quell rumors of Diana’s ineptness as a duchess. If Josephine aimed to provoke, it would fail; a single glance at Diana—so self-assured in her new attire—told him that much.

“Your Grace.” A familiar voice caught his ear; Lord Wickley, a neighbor whose estate abutted one of Gilbert’s holdings. “Good to see you here.”

“Lord Wickley,” he acknowledged, offering a polite bow of the head. “I trust you are enjoying the party?”

Wickley cast a quick, assessing look at Diana.

“Indeed. Quite the gathering our hostess has assembled, though I suspect we are all more intrigued by the arrival of the Duke and Duchess of Rivenhall.”

Gilbert noticed Diana give a faint, composed smile at Wickley’s greeting. The man’s comment might have been brazen in other circles, but Gilbert saw Diana handle it with enviable grace.

“I imagine Her Ladyship did not expect quite so many of us,” she remarked mildly, nodding to a nearby throng of guests.

“Yes, well,” Wickley said, clearing his throat. “Your presence has certainly caused…excitement.”

“I hope it shall be a pleasant excitement, and nothing more,” Gilbert said with an arched brow, though his tone remained pleasant.

Wickley mumbled a quick agreement and excused himself to greet another acquaintance. Diana’s eyes traced the man’s retreat, then slid to Gilbert, her lips curving with a hint of amusement.

A footman approached, offering them lemonade; Gilbert took two glasses, handing one to Diana. As she sipped, Gilbert allowed himself a moment to note how at ease she seemed, with her chin held high and her shoulders gracefully squared.

They moved further onto the lawn, exchanging civilities with a few more guests. More than one onlooker shot Diana an appraising glance, as if reassessing the woman they had once deemed timid and uncertain. Gilbert detected the subtle shift in their demeanor, and the way they addressed her with increased deference.

“Lord Rivenhall, Your Grace,” Lady Bembridge called, beckoning them from a small circle of fashionable ladies. Diana, never missing a beat, inclined her head for him to lead. He felt the brush of her hand at his elbow as they approached.

“Lady Bembridge,” Gilbert greeted. “I trust you are well.”

“Your Grace, I must compliment you on that gown. The fit is exquisite, and the embroidery quite the finest I have seen this Season,” She directed a warm smile at Diana. “I daresay you have become a bit of an icon for fashion.”

“Thank you, Lady Bembridge,” Diana dipped her head modestly. “I cannot take credit; I owe it to Madame Beaulieu’s superior needle and His Grace’s generosity.”

“I am pleased it suits you, Your Grace” he murmured to her, trying not to sound too pleased with her delight.

“And it does,” Lady Bembridge assured. “I hear you have a delightful schedule in town, so many engagements, though I presume you have been quite busy with the estate as well, duke?”

“Indeed, there is ever more to see to. But we manage,” Gilbert offered a polite half-smile, an old habit when discussing his responsibilities.

“Oh, you do more than manage, I am sure,” Lady Bembridge’s eyes twinkled. “It is good to see you both out and about. Society thrives on the presence of such a well-matched couple.”

Gilbert inclined his head in thanks, bidding his farewells as Lady Bembridge drifted off to greet another friend. He glanced at Diana, noticing the faint flush of warmth on her cheeks. Before he could speak, a gentle swirl of conversation brushed past them, and they found themselves stepping aside to let a trio of guests pass.

“I hope you are not overly taxed by all this,” he said, leaning toward her while gesturing discreetly to the bustle of Josephine’s guests. “We may depart any time you wish.”

“I am quite well,” she replied softly. Her eyes searched his expression. “Truly. I see no reason to hurry away.”

Her response reminded him of how far they had come since those uncertain early weeks. That she felt at ease here—on Josephine’s very lawns—spoke volumes.

His gaze traveled across the party, landing briefly on Josephine herself, draped in a regal gown of deep amethyst. He caught a flare of surprise in her eyes, perhaps at seeing Diana so poised, but she looked away, affecting boredom instead.

They were about to move on when Lord Wickley returned, beckoning Gilbert aside for a question about property boundaries. Gilbert cast Diana an apologetic glance.

“I shall rejoin you in a moment,” he promised in a quiet voice. “You will be quite all right?”

“Of course,” She smiled, calm assurance lighting her face. With that, she turned and made her way toward a small knot of acquaintances, greeting them with serene composure.

As he followed Wickley to a quieter corner of the garden, Gilbert could not help a rush of pride. She was every inch the duchess—collected, gracious, and wholly unconcerned by Josephine’s petty posturing. It dawned on him that he had feared this gathering might strain her nerves, given the widow’s past remarks. But clearly, those fears were unfounded. The Diana of this moment was no timid creature.

“…the boundary marker is entirely on my land,” Wickley was saying, but Gilbert’s mind strayed. He answered as best he could, referencing surveys and records he had reviewed. All the while, a small portion of his focus lingered on Diana: how she drifted between conversations with a subtle confidence, how her thoughtful nod made others lean closer in conversation.

Eventually, Lord Wickley concluded his inquiries. Gilbert excused himself politely, and as soon as it was proper, he crossed the lawn again, finding Diana by the fountain. She offered him a quick, private smile, and he drew a steadying breath.

“You look radiant,” he murmured, mindful of passing ears. “This new style suits you.”

She tilted her head. “Thank you. It appears that your estate business has now concluded?”

“For now. I do not think Wickley can press the matter further.” He paused, glancing at the gathering. “Perhaps we should enjoy a walk in the garden, if you wish. Or have you had your fill of social duties today?”

“I think a walk would be pleasant,” Her eyes glimmered with soft amusement. “I daresay you are more uncomfortable than I am.”

They turned, strolling side by side across the sunny stretch of lawn that led to Josephine’s garden. Onlookers might see only a picture-perfect couple, elegantly clad, exchanging polite conversation. But Gilbert felt something deeper; the sense that they were, at last, moving in step.

Josephine’s party, or any other meddler, no longer held power over them. And for once, he found satisfaction in attending a function he had never truly cared for, simply because Diana stood beside him, without doubt or anxiety.

A breeze passed over them, carrying the fresh scents of clipped boxwood and newly mown grass. Gilbert inclined his head toward the path.

“Shall we, my lady?”

“Lead on, Your Grace,” she answered, her own voice warm with shared amusement, the corners of her mouth curving into a smile.

The couple ventured onward, hand in hand, letting Josephine’s garden party unfold behind them. The murmurs, the gossip, the petty intrigues; none of it mattered now that they had faced it together, united in a way that only strengthened with each passing day.

Gilbert watched as Diana’s expression became animated upon spotting her father and sister at the far end of the garden. Her face broke into a bright smile—one that, despite his innate reserve, he found himself quietly admiring.

With a small, apologetic tilt of her head, she excused herself from his side and crossed the lawn to greet them. Only after Diana had stepped away did Gilbert wonder why Josephine had invited them. As far as he was aware they were not acquainted. Gilbert wondered if it was some scheme of Josephine’s, yet to unfold.

He lingered near a bank of hydrangeas, breathing in their sweet scent while surveying the gathering. He felt strangely at ease, seeing Diana thrive in this once-daunting social scene. Any gathering hosted by Josephine had the potential to unearth old gossip, but Diana’s growing confidence seemed to brush aside the widow’s usual barbs.

A rustle of silk to his right alerted him that his respite would be short-lived. He turned to find Josephine approaching with a purposeful stride, her gown of deep amethyst catching the light. She wore a faintly triumphant smile, as though savoring the chance to corner him alone.

“Gilbert,” she said, her address too familiar by half, and offered a curtsy that barely dipped her head. “How gallant of you to attend my little affair.”

He inclined his head, more out of ingrained courtesy than genuine feeling. “Josephine.”

She drew closer, dropping her voice to a confidential murmur. “I have been meaning to speak with you. One cannot help but hear so many rumors regarding your…marriage. Of course,” she added with a simper, “you returned so soon after your honeymoon, the ton cannot help but wonder.”

Gilbert stiffened at her insinuation, but forced his tone to remain steady. “Our marriage is no concern of yours.”

Josephine emitted a soft, almost pitying laugh.

“Come now. You do not have to put on pretenses with me. Your union with that little chit” she let the slur hang for effect, “cannot possibly compare to what we once shared.”

A flicker of anger spiked in his chest. He had never cared for Josephine’s sly attempts to reframe their former liaison into something more.

“We shared nothing lasting. And as I said, my affairs are not yours to interfere with,” he said, fighting to keep his countenance cool.

“Why maintain this charade?” She tilted her head, her eyes narrowed in a provocative gaze. “The entire ton knows you wed out of necessity, and that you cannot possibly desire a life with her. Return to me. In truth, I doubt you have even consummated?—”

“Enough.” His voice was icy. “This ‘charade’ as you call it, is my marriage. And my marriage is my own concern. You would do well to remember that.”

“I find it unlikely you have had such a swift change of heart. Why not come by my estate? We can discuss old times. No harm in—” Josephine pressed on, unfazed by his warning.

“Josephine, if you have any sense, you will stop this at once. Do not approach me so carelessly.” He took a deliberate step back, fury flashing in his eyes.

“I only mean to remind you of what you are missing,” she purred. She reached out as if to smooth the lapel of his coat, her fingertips just brushing the fabric.

Gilbert opened his mouth to demand she withdraw her hand, but suddenly, a gentle warmth enclosed his fingers. Diana’s slender, gloved hand slipped into his, and he nearly sighed in relief at her timely arrival.

A swift glance told him she had witnessed Josephine’s blatant gesture. Yet her own bearing remained poised, and she stared at the countess with ironclad authority.

“Lady Halfacre,” Diana said smoothly, “pray excuse me for stealing my husband away. I believe my father and sister have need of us.” Her tone held every ounce of decorum, but there was no mistaking the staunch gleam in her eyes.

Josephine let her hand drop from Gilbert’s coat, her facade of poise deteriorating. She stared at Diana’s joined hand with Gilbert’s, evidently grasping how little ground she now held.

“But of course,” she said, failing to keep the bitterness from her voice. Her gaze darted to Gilbert, as if hoping he might contradict Diana’s request.

Gilbert tightened his hold on Diana’s fingers, offering the widow only the briefest of acknowledgments.

“Good day, Countess,” he said, turning away with purposeful finality.

As they moved off, Diana’s grip on his hand remained reassuringly firm. Once they were out of earshot, she gently released him, though the concern in her eyes had not dimmed.

“I trust her presence did not vex you overmuch?”

“She posed no great trial, thanks to your timely intervention,” he exhaled, steeling his composure.

A slight smile curved Diana’s lips, and she nodded in the direction of her father and Alison, who were waiting for them near a cluster of rosebushes.

“Then let us attend to more welcome company.”

The two continued on, hand in hand for a few moments longer. Gilbert felt the tension in his shoulders begin to ease. Whatever Josephine’s plans, they were now of little consequence. Diana had made her stance clear.

He belonged at her side, and she would not stand for any insolence regarding her marriage. The memory of Josephine’s flustered expression already felt distant, overshadowed by the comforting presence of the woman who shared his name, and whose company he found increasingly indispensable.

They reached Lord Crayford and Alison, exchanging warm greetings amid the chatter and fragrance of the garden. Gilbert, still relishing the relief of escaping Josephine, caught Diana’s eye over Alison’s animated account of her recent riding lesson and offered her a small, thankful smile.

Once Diana’s father and sister returned to mingling, Gilbert leaned closer, keeping his tone low enough so only she could hear.

“Must I infer, my lady, that you were…jealous?” The playful wiggle of his brows belied his usual reserve.

A soft laugh escaped Diana, and she gave him a light tap on the arm with her fan. “Hardly. But your mortified expression suggested you were in dire need of rescuing. I took pity on you.”

He let out a genuine, unguarded laugh that startled a passing guest. Gilbert rarely allowed himself such open mirth in public, but the memory of Josephine’s thwarted triumph and Diana’s perfectly timed intervention stirred a degree of amusement he could not suppress. Diana, for her part, seemed pleased by his reaction and her eyes danced with warm satisfaction.

When his laughter subsided, he fixed her with a grateful look. “Then I owe you a debt for sparing me a most uncomfortable predicament. My thanks, Diana.”

“Think nothing of it,” she replied, adjusting a stray ribbon at her sleeve. “But if it happens again,” she added with feigned gravity, “I shall expect you to appear less mortified.”

He nodded his agreement, the smile remaining on his lips. “I shall endeavor to manage my countenance more admirably in the future.”

Together, they rejoined the company, making polite conversation with Diana’s father and sister until the event drew to a close.

As the last strains of laughter and conversation at Josephine’s garden party dwindled, Gilbert felt a rush of relief. Even so, he knew better than to assume the ton’s rumors would vanish overnight. When a footman discreetly provided them with an embossed envelope from Lady Bembridge, inviting them to another social gathering, Diana’s smile assured Gilbert that it had been worth the effort.

By then, the sun was slipping below the horizon, painting the sky in amber and rose hues. With the final courtesies exchanged and farewells offered, they departed Josephine’s estate in their waiting carriage, the warm summer air drifting through open windows.