Page 20 of Taken by the Icy Duke (Marriage Deals #3)

Chapter Twenty

D iana lounged on a small settee, reading another novel from their expansive library, while across from her Gilbert perused a newly arrived stack of correspondence. Carriages clattered along cobblestones, a muffled reminder of the bustling city outside. The morning’s calm might have lulled anyone else, but Diana’s nerves still crackled from the memory of Josephine’s garden party mere days earlier.

She laid aside her book and sighed .

“Gilbert, are there any invitations of note? Something we should attend?” she asked, wondering what she might need to prepare herself for.

He glanced up from a thick envelope and smirked. “There is no end to the invitations. Dinners, soirées, garden parties, balls; the choice is yours to make.”

“Anything of interest?”.

“Well, we did receive that insistent missive from Lady Bembridge, summoning us to a small philanthropic gathering.” The dryness of his tone made it clear he suspected an ulterior motive. “Apparently, our presence is ‘very much desired to give society confidence in our union.’”

A charitable soirée, smaller than a grand ball, might be just the forum for onlookers they needed to scrutinize them further, sniffing for signs of discord. However, Lady Bembridge seemed to have taken a genuine liking to Diana.

“Lady Bembridge was quite gracious at the garden party,” Diana said softly. “But I suspect she also thrives on ensuring the ton’s talk remains…interesting. Perhaps she wishes to prove to her friends that I am not quite the social disgrace rumors claim.”

Gilbert gave a noncommittal grunt, tossing the letter onto the table.

“We said we would return to London to quell the gossip. Attending such soirées is precisely the kind of show we must give,” he assured her. He cast a disparaging glance at the remaining invitations. “I shall let you dictate what others, if any, we attend.”

Though she heard the resigned practicality in his tone, a feeling of warmth filled her chest.

“I appreciate your deference,” she laughed, reaching for the pile. “Let us not disappoint Lady Bembridge—or the ton.”

The sun was sinking behind London’s rooftops as Diana and Gilbert stepped from their carriage onto the cobblestone street of Mayfair, where Lady Bembridge’s townhouse stood in genteel splendor. Footmen in pale livery lined the steps and muted musical strains from a small chamber ensemble filtered through the open windows.

A discreet hush fell over the guests when the Duke and Duchess of Rivenhall appeared, arm in arm. Diana felt the weight of many eyes descend upon her. However, Gilbert’s presence at her side infused her with an unexpected confidence, his tall frame radiating silent assurance, his hand lightly cradling hers.

They ascended the steps and entered a foyer glittering with candlelit chandeliers. Soft laughter from an adjoining salon merged with the faint clink of teacups and glassware. Lady Bembridge, a regal woman clad in silver satin, hurried forward to greet them.

“Your Graces!” She extended both hands as though they were dear friends. “How delighted I am to see you. So gracious of you to attend, especially with all the demands on your time.”

“We appreciate the invitation, Lady Bembridge,” Gilbert dipped his head politely.

“We look forward to supporting your charitable efforts,” Diana added in a steady voice, despite the thudding of her pulse, and managed a composed smile.

“Charity, indeed!”

Their hostess’s gaze darted from Diana’s gown to Gilbert’s undeniably prestigious attire with a gleam of curiosity in her eyes. “Everyone has been longing to see you both again, you know. Right this way; there is a pledge ledger in the main salon for those who wish to contribute.”

A short corridor led them into a gracefully appointed salon, where plush chairs ringed the walls and guests circulated in clusters. Conversation ebbed momentarily as a cluster of fashionably dressed ladies took notice of Diana and Gilbert’s arrival. The gentle murmurs quickly resumed, though not before Diana caught several pairs of curious eyes scanning her.

They had barely advanced three steps when an older gentleman approached Gilbert, doffing his hat.

“Your Grace, how good to see you. I recall your father’s patronage of these affairs; he was ever so diligent in philanthropic circles. It warms my heart to see you and your…duchess carrying on the tradition.” His gaze flicked toward Diana, a faint question hovering in his tone.

Diana felt a prickle of wariness, wondering if the man was implying that she forced Gilbert to attend. She forced a serene nod.

“We would not dream of neglecting such vital causes. My husband often remarks about the responsibilities we share.”

“Indeed. I trust this gathering will do some good for those in need.” Nothing in his voice betrayed annoyance, but Diana sensed the strain beneath his facade. It was clear the gentleman had been testing them both.

Seeming satisfied, the man bowed and melted back into the crowd, leaving Diana’s heart thrumming with relief. The rest of the salon awaited.

“Well, that is one questioner satisfied,” she swallowed, turning to Gilbert with a faint half-smile.

“And countless more to go,” he murmured dryly, guiding her deeper into the swirl of mingling guests.

They navigated the room, exchanging pleasantries with a small throng of acquaintances, some from Josephine’s circles, and others from the general ton. The atmosphere was not as overtly flashy as the garden party, but Diana found it no less daunting. Here, in this smaller setting, every raised brow or half-smirk felt magnified.

A slender, dark-haired lady in a lavender gown curtsied with pointed politeness.

“Duchess,” Lady Fenmore said, tilting her head. “I trust the honeymoon was productive?”

Though the question dripped with subtext, Diana kept her voice cordial.

“Most enlightening, thank you. We chose to return sooner than originally planned; there is much to manage in London.” She laid a gentle stress on we , letting the word underscore their shared agency.

Lady Fenmore glanced briefly at Gilbert, searching for cracks in their united front. Finding none, she gave them a brittle smile.

“How fortunate you are, then. I do hope we shall see more of you this Season; perhaps no one will recall those silly rumors at all.”

Diana’s cheeks warmed, but she matched Lady Fenmore’s stiff smile with a cooler one of her own.

“Indeed, I suspect the ton will find new topics soon enough.” With that, she nodded politely, stepping aside. Gilbert’s soothing presence at her shoulder felt like a shield.

As they moved through the throng of guests they encountered the more sympathetic figure of Lady Bembridge, who had cornered a small group of philanthropic sponsors to gather additional donations. Spotting Diana, she beckoned her over with an encouraging wave.

“Duchess, do come speak about the orphans’ fund; everyone is intrigued to hear your thoughts.” She proffered a quill for Diana to sign the pledge ledger.

Though slightly taken aback by the direct invitation, Diana refused to falter. The group; three older matrons and a lord with silver hair looked on expectantly.

“It is a modest but worthy cause,” Diana began. “Children without stable homes benefit immensely from the support of private patrons. My husband and I firmly believe in aiding those less fortunate, so they might have, at least, the chance to shape their own futures.” Her heart beat a quick tempo, but she kept her tone sure.

One of the matrons murmured her approval. The silver-haired lord pressed for more details.

“A bold stance for one so newlywed, if I may say,” he commented kindly. “I admire your readiness to involve yourself in society’s duties.”

Diana quietly exhaled. “Thank you. I have always considered charity essential. Marriage changes many things, but one’s moral principles should never be abandoned.”

At that, Gilbert slipped nearer, placing a donation on the ledger under her name. Diana caught the subtle warmth in his eyes.

“We do this together,” he murmured in her ear. Her heart fluttered at the casual sincerity of his words.

An hour of mingling passed. Diana chatted with acquaintances who were surprisingly cordial, though some angled for juicy tidbits about her background. She parried each question as best she could, referencing her father’s barony without belaboring his debts, and praising Gilbert’s stewardship of Rivenhall without oversharing personal details.

Eventually, the crowded salon felt stifling. Gilbert nudged her gently, guiding her toward a side corridor where an unoccupied refreshments table stood waiting. She welcomed the chance to breathe.

“You are managing well,” he murmured, offering her a glass of cool lemonade. “No sign of nerves now.”

She accepted the glass, letting the tangy sweetness soothe her dry throat.

“I was nearly trembling at first, but… somehow, standing beside you makes me braver.”

A faint glimmer of something akin to pride crossed his features. Before he could respond, however, a tall woman in peacock-blue satin drifted up, curiosity painted on her face. Diana recognized her as Lady Pelton, a known friend of Josephine’s.

“Oh, I am glad to see you, Duchess,” Lady Pelton cooed, ignoring Gilbert to target Diana with her gaze. “I hear you and your husband have been quite the generous pair this evening. How noble, considering your… unique circumstances.”

“We believe charity is universal, Lady Pelton, no matter the circumstance—unique or not,” Diana’s spine stiffened. She felt immediately distrustful of the sly look in Lady Pelton’s eyes.

Lady Pelton’s mouth curled, her eyes darting briefly to Gilbert.

“Indeed. And your dear father… he must be relieved his debts are seeing some relief, now that you have managed to access the dukedom’s coffers.”

Gilbert’s expression darkened with annoyance, but Diana subtly gestured to stay his response. Her father’s financial struggles were an easy target for malicious tongues, but she refused to let the barb wound her.

“My father is grateful,” she said calmly, “that our marriage ensures security for both families. As all marriages ought to, if you think about it.”

Lady Pelton blinked, then pursed her lips in faux sympathy.

“I see. Well, I can only hope such an arrangement continues to suit you both.” With that pointed remark, she gave a short curtsy and swept away, evidently disappointed that she had not rattled Diana.

Gilbert’s jaw tightened. “Insolent woman,” he murmured, his voice subdued with suppressed anger. “She is as bad as Lady Halfacre.”

Diana reached for his wrist gently, her eyes meeting his. “We expected worse. Let her talk.”

“You handled her with more grace than she deserved,” he grumbled, the rigidity in his shoulders visibly easing.

At that moment, Lady Bembridge clapped her hands from the center of the room, summoning the guests’ attention. A small hush fell. She announced a short “auction” of donated trinkets; a painting, a rare porcelain figurine, and a few other items whose proceeds would go straight to the orphanage fund.

Gilbert and Diana watched from one side as guests placed their bids. Each raised offer caused a ripple of conversation. After a few minor pieces had been sold, the last item, an exquisitely carved cameo brooch, came up for bidding. Their hostess insisted it be displayed before the duke and duchess, no doubt angling for them to make a show.

Diana stepped forward, her heart fluttering. She appreciated the cameo’s delicate artistry. The opening bids began modestly. Then, across the room, a notorious gossip offered a higher sum, glancing slyly at Diana as though daring her to best it. The moment bristled with challenge.

Gilbert looked to Diana questioningly.

Shall we?

She gave him an imperceptible nod and straightened her spine.

“Twenty guineas,” she announced, accepting the woman’s challenge.

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. The gossip’s smirk quickly vanished. She gave another half-hearted attempt to outbid. Diana calmly raised the amount. With a huff, the gossip fell silent. Applause broke out as the hostess declared the cameo sold to the Duchess of Rivenhall.

“Splendid!” Lady Bembridge trilled. “Such generosity bodes well for our little orphans. Thank you, Your Grace.”

Diana accepted the cameo amid polite cheers. In the corner of her vision, she watched the gossip scowl. But, more importantly, she registered approving nods from various lords and ladies who had once whispered about her lowly origins. A burst of confidence bloomed within her.

This is how rumors die.

She caught Gilbert’s eye. His subdued grin suggested he had reached the same conclusion.

When the auction concluded, guests milled around in renewed chatter. The night had grown long; lamps burned low, casting a gentle gold glow across the salon’s paneling. Diana and Gilbert found another moment alone, retreating to a side corridor for a breather.

She turned the cameo in her hands, touched by its craftsmanship.

“I hope this little victory means something… beyond an adornment, I mean,” she murmured. “It feels like… a step.”

“Every small gesture helps dispel their talk of you lacking refinement or means. It shows we are active, not pawns of scandal.” He hesitated, then quietly added, “and you wore that crown well tonight. It is more than mere finery, it is you declaring your rightful place.”

She blushed at his praise, her voice hushed. “Thank you… for doing this with me. For letting me be part of it.”

“I should be the one thanking you ,” he said softly. He studied her a moment, his brows furrowing with a sincerity that made her heart skip. “This entire evening felt… different because you took the lead. I only followed.”

Her heart fluttered at the humility in his tone, the rare warmth shining through the aloof facade. She reached for his hand, lacing her fingers through his in a fleeting gesture. The hum of the party continued just a few steps away, but in that pause they seemed cocooned from the world. They had come far from the stiff distrust of their earlier marriage days.

The hour grew late. One by one, guests approached Lady Bembridge to offer their congratulations and take leave. At last, it was Diana and Gilbert’s turn. Their hostess beamed at them with immense satisfaction.

“Your Graces, you have outdone yourselves,” she said, her voice carrying enough volume for lingering onlookers to overhear. “It delights me to see the Duke and Duchess of Rivenhall as one of our city’s philanthropic pillars.”

“We are grateful for the invitation,” Diana said, returning a warm smile. “We are pleased that everyone here supported such a worthy cause.”

With that, Lady Bembridge’s footman escorted them to the foyer. Several other guests who had once eyed Diana with suspicion now bowed or offered polite nods. One or two even ventured compliments.

“Well played, Duchess,” and “Lovely cameo, Your Grace.” The subtle acceptance in their voices hinted that the rumors, if not gone, had lost much of their sting.

Gilbert let Diana slip her hand onto his arm. The footman opened the townhouse door, revealing a sweep of lamplit street. A mild summer breeze brushed Diana’s cheeks as they stepped outside. Her shoulders finally relaxed as she dropped the burden of their public show.

They climbed into their carriage, the footman closing the door behind them. For a moment neither spoke, lulled by the rhythmic rumble of wheels over cobblestones. Eventually, Gilbert shifted closer, the dark interior throwing his face into silhouette.

“That was…” he paused, as though searching for the right word. “Surprisingly painless, considering how many barbs we faced.”

Diana let out a small, breathy laugh. “Yes, well, I suppose each event makes the next one easier.” She traced her fingertips over the cameo lying in her lap, recalling how it had felt to stand firm under sly stares.

He watched her in the dim glow of the carriage lantern. “If rumors persist we will continue to face them together,” he said simply. Then, before she could reply, he leaned back, seeming to study the skyline through the window.

“I am proud of you,” he added offhandedly, as though admitting it too directly would be risky.

A gentle warmth blossomed in Diana’s chest.

“Thank you… Gilbert,” she murmured. “You made me feel secure—like I could handle anything they had to say.”

He offered a faint nod, half turning his face. She could see his smile, even if the shadows partially disguised it. The carriage rattled onward through London’s quiet lanes, returning them to the safe haven of Rivenhall House.