Page 31 of Taken by the Icy Duke (Marriage Deals #3)

Chapter Thirty-One

D iana reclined on a cushioned settee beneath the shade of a tall oak, letting the faint rustle of leaves soothe her nerves. She was grateful for the serenity of her father’s estate; a welcome respite from the pressures and secrets she had fled. Alison perched nearby on a low wicker seat, carefully pouring two glasses of chilled lemonade from a small pitcher resting on a side table.

“You appear tired still,” Alison said, setting the glass within Diana’s reach. “Are you truly resting, or do you lie awake at night with your thoughts?”

Diana picked up the drink, the cool glass welcome against her hand.

“A bit of both,” she said, faint exhaustion coloring her tone. “I think I have improved, yet I cannot say I feel wholly well. At least here I can breathe without watching every corner for conflict.”

Alison adjusted the wide brim of her bonnet and regarded Diana with a mixture of affection and concern.

“You needed time away,” she said, glancing over the garden’s vibrant rosebushes. “I only wish you were happier.”

Diana sipped the lemonade, savoring its crisp tang.

“This is precisely what I needed,” she said, allowing herself a small sigh. “Father’s gardens have always been so tranquil. I used to sit here as a girl, reading poetry under the same oak.”

Alison leaned back, letting the sun bathe her face.

“You do look a shade better, though the color in your cheeks comes and goes. Are you certain you should not call for a proper physician?”

Diana pressed a hand to her abdomen, remembering her hidden condition.

“No physician is needed at present,” she said reassuringly. “I am… certain of my ailment, and it is not one to fix with simple tonics.” She paused, then lowered her gaze. “I truly miss him, Alison.”

Alison shifted closer, laying a hand on Diana’s arm. “You speak of the duke,” she said, her eyes tender. “I suspected as much. You left in such haste.”

Diana set her glass on the small side table and drew an uneasy breath.

“I felt I had no choice,” she said. “He and I kept arguing, or worse—simmering in silence. I feared if I remained, our discord might explode into something we could never mend.”

Alison nodded, glancing at the afternoon sunlight dancing across the lawn.

“I do understand,” she said. “But do you doubt that he cares for you?”

Diana smoothed her skirts, a sorrowful gleam in her eyes.

“I doubt many things,” she said. “I love him—there is no denying that. I crave his presence even now, though I told him otherwise. Yet I remain convinced he does not share my depth of feeling.”

Alison furrowed her brow. “You believe he does not love you?”

Diana clasped her hands in her lap, her gaze trailing over a patch of marigolds.

“He is affectionate at times, and I sense passion in him. But love? He only married me to fulfil a duty… his care stems from a sense of honor tied to that old scandal. I fear that is all.”

“I suspect he loves you more than you realize,” she said, choosing her words with care. “He is a proud, guarded man, but love can dwell behind such walls.”

Diana lifted her shoulders in a helpless gesture.

“I wish I could be certain,” she said, her voice catching. “He made a vow never to have children, and that vow overshadows every intimacy. We have never spoken freely about our future. I feel he rejects the possibility of deeper commitment at every turn.”

Alison glanced around, suddenly perceiving the approach of a passing footman. “Someone is coming,” she said, releasing Diana’s hand.

Diana looked up. A footman dressed in neat livery halted a respectful distance away.

“Beg pardon, Your Grace,” he said, bowing. “A messenger has arrived with a letter from Rivenhall House for the duchess. Shall I present it now?”

Diana exchanged a wary glance with Alison.

“Please do,” she said, extending her hand to accept the sealed note. She recognized Gilbert’s formal crest pressed into the wax. Her heart thudded as she broke it, unfolding the neat page within.

Alison watched intently, leaning forward. “What does he say?”

Diana scanned the letter, absorbing each line of script.

“He writes that an invitation has come from Victor… some significant event Camburn is hosting,” she announced. “Gilbert insists we cannot miss it. He hopes I will attend for his sake and that we might… mend our rift.”

Alison clapped her hands together gleefully.

“He is making an overture,” she said. “That must mean something, Diana. Does he ask you to come back?”

Diana’s lips parted with a shaky breath. “He does not explicitly say come back to Rivenhall,” she said, turning the page to see if there was more. “He urges me to accompany him to Victor’s event, apparently a gathering of some importance, and he hopes we can at least stand united before the ton. He expresses regret about how we parted.” She lowered the letter, her voice trembling. “He says he wishes to make amends.”

“You see?” Alison insisted, letting out a cautious smile.” Perhaps this is a sign he truly does wish for your happiness. He might care more than you believe.”

Diana set the letter in her lap, staring at it.

“I do love him,” she said, pressing a hand to her eyes. “I ache to see him. Yet I dread the same arguments if I return.”

“If you do not go, you may let resentment fester, and the ton might spin fresh rumors,” she said. “If you attend his friend’s event, you can at least gauge how he conducts himself with you in public and in private. Possibly you can find a moment to speak plainly.”

Diana set the letter on the cushion beside her, leaning her head back to gaze at the soft canopy of leaves overhead. The warmth of the day pressed gently on her face, but a small breeze eased the humidity.

“I had best rest here a while longer,” she said. “I feel drained even by this decision.”

Alison stood, gathering her bonnet ribbons. “Shall I fetch more lemonade?” she asked, glancing at the half-empty pitcher.

Diana nodded, sinking more fully into the cushions.

“Yes, please,” she said. “I must remain in the cool shade. Perhaps by the time I finish my next glass I will have the energy to write Gilbert a response.”

Alison smiled, picking up the pitcher.

“I will return shortly,” she said, stepping away to find a servant who could bring fresh ice.

Left alone, Diana touched her abdomen, where the faint stir of life seemed to flutter with her every emotion. A small thread of hope sparked within her. If he had taken the time to write her personally, perhaps he did yearn for more than a staged united front.

The carriage rattled easily along London’s lamp-lit streets, belying the awkwardness that permeated the cabin’s interior. Diana sat across from Gilbert, her gaze trailing along the passing facades, wondering if returning to London had been the right decision.

She could tell that Gilbert wanted to speak, but the stiffness between them maintained the silence. The week she had spent in the country felt like months and the man across the carriage from her felt like a stranger.

She clutched the folds of her new gown, conscious of the hidden life stirring within her. The last time she had attended a lavish ball she had fainted. She prayed she would not repeat that humiliation. She did feel more like herself, but apprehension still twisted in her stomach.

They arrived at Lord Camburn’s townhouse, its lanterns blazing across the entrance. Gilbert offered his arm, letting her lean on him discreetly. Diana detected the slight tension in his muscles and realized that he was trying to make amends, but she did not know if she could trust his peace offering.

Victor Camburn appeared, cheerful relief plain on his face.

“Rivenhall, Your Grace,” he said, pressing a polite bow. “I am so pleased you could join us. I feared you might still be indisposed, Duchess.”

“I am improved,” Diana said with a dignified smile. “I could not miss your gathering.”

Gilbert inclined his head, greeting Victor with subdued warmth. “We are glad to be here,” he said. “How fares the evening?”

Victor’s keen eyes studied the pair appraisingly.

“All is well, but it is even better now that you have arrived.” He offered a courteous wave toward the crowded salon. “Please, enjoy yourselves. I have guests clamoring to see you both.”

They moved inside, candlelit chandeliers casting their brilliance over clusters of fashionable guests. Diana swallowed her apprehension, letting Gilbert guide her across the polished floor. She kept her hand through his arm, her heartbeat quickening whenever she thought about her condition. She had refused wine earlier in the carriage, fearing Gilbert might press the question. So far, he had not.

She forced a nod, scanning the circle of onlookers. Everywhere she turned she saw polite, curious glances. The swirl of conversation engulfed them like a flood.

Gilbert leaned close enough for her to hear him over the noise. “If at any point you feel unwell, you must tell me.”

“I shall,” she agreed, while silently hoping it would not come to that.

A flash of sadness pierced her heart. He cared for her health, but her recollection of his vow still weighed heavily on her. She pressed a mild smile into place as they greeted Lady Bembridge, exchanging pleasant trivialities. Lady Bembridge offered a flowery compliment on Diana’s gown, ignoring the obvious tension that lay beneath their politeness.

Eventually, Lady Bembridge excused herself, and Gilbert steered Diana toward a refreshment table, where she accepted a glass of lemon water. Her attention was abruptly seized by a figure across the room; Josephine Halfacre, prowling through the throng with an all-too-familiar knowing smirk. A chill brushed Diana’s spine.

Gilbert followed her line of sight and stiffened. “Ignore her,” he murmured. “She will not spoil this night.”

Diana managed a terse nod, but dread coiled in her stomach. She felt certain Josephine would attempt something. Even so, she tried to maintain her poise, greeting another acquaintance with a brief curtsy and a faint smile. Gilbert spoke in clipped civilities, glancing at Diana now and then as though verifying she still stood by his side.

A delicate strain of music signaled the start of a waltz. Several couples glided to the dancefloor and began swirling in graceful arcs. Diana and Gilbert lingered at its margins, neither volunteering to dance. She felt relief—dancing with her in his arms might invite prying eyes, and she feared the exertion. She then observed Josephine crossing the salon, her gaze locked onto them.

“I do not trust her to keep her distance,” Gilbert said under his breath, his hand tightening on Diana’s elbow.

She set her jaw. “I will handle her.”

Josephine approached with a languid smile, curtsying to Gilbert first.

“Your Grace, always a pleasure,” she said, then turned to Diana. “Duchess, you look rather well for someone who vanished so suddenly. We were most curious about your… retreat.”

“I thank you for your concern,” she said, keeping her voice steady. “I had a pleasant time visiting with my family.”

Josephine raised an eyebrow, a tinge of malice behind her polite facade.

“Yes, rumors claimed you found the city air overwhelming. One wonders if your disposition might leave you susceptible to fainting spells, particularly at grand events like this.”

Gilbert’s eyes flared with anger.

“That is enough,” he growled. “Lady Halfacre, your insinuations are uncalled for.”

Josephine narrowed her gaze, ignoring Gilbert to address Diana directly.

“I trust you managed your malady with Lord Leopold’s assistance,” she said in a whisper that could easily carry to passing guests. “He has been so attentive, has he not? I imagine his presence was a balm while you were absent from your husband.”

Diana’s face grew hot. She knew Josephine intended to stir scandal, hoping others overheard.

“Your imagination runs wild,” she said, her voice shaking with indignation. “My brother-in-law showed common courtesy and His Grace and I are both thankful for his assistance.”

Josephine looked about, feigning surprise at onlookers.

“But do you not find it curious that you rely on him so often? Perhaps Lord Leopold serves where the duke does not,” she added sweetly.

Gilbert’s face became apoplectic, and he released a tight breath, his hands now clenched at his sides.

“Leave her alone,” he spat, clearly struggling to remain calm. “Your presence is not desired here.”

Josephine pretended concern, stepping a hair’s breadth closer to Diana.

“Forgive me if I speak the truth too bluntly,” she said. “I merely worry that the duchess might collapse again if she finds herself too taxed by the crowd. She does appear pale.” She let a mocking smile curl her lips. “We would not want any… incidents.”

Diana’s pulse roared in her ears as fury and embarrassment knotted her throat.

“You push too far,” she said unsteadily. She glanced around and saw several guests eyeing them, murmuring behind fans. Her heart lurched viciously. Josephine had orchestrated this moment to intensify the scandal, or at least the speculation.

Gilbert placed a firm hand on Diana’s back.

“We shall depart your company, Lady Halfacre,” he said icily, guiding Diana away before Josephine could respond.

Diana’s breath was quick and shallow, the world tilting with each step. She sensed the roil of her stomach, whether from Josephine’s spite or her child’s unsettled reaction to her distress. She caught at Gilbert’s sleeve, forcing a steady step.

“I need air,” she whispered.

He nodded, voice tight with worry. “Yes, let us find a quiet corner.”

They edged through the throng, but the salon seemed more crowded than before, pressing around them with their collective heat, scents, and chatter. Diana tried to inhale slowly. She could not faint. Not again. But darkness lurked at the edges of her vision, each beat of her heart pounding in her ears. Her knees wavered, and she let out a small gasp.

Gilbert turned abruptly, his arm wrapping around her waist.

“Diana,” he said, panic etched on his face. “Stay with me.”

She heard a strangled whimper escape her throat as the last of her strength left. The room swam. She felt herself collapse against him, the swirl of gowns and polished shoes blurring. The voices receded into a dull roar.

Diana managed to maintain enough consciousness to feel Gilbert carry her off to a side room just off the main salon, her eyelids fluttering. A cool cloth was being pressed against her temple, and she felt the gentle motion of someone stroking her hair. Her lashes parted enough to see Gilbert’s anxious face hovering above her.

She caught sight of the physician, the same older man who had attended her prior fainting spell. Embarrassment burned in her cheeks at the memory.

Gilbert bent close, his voice shaking with relief. “Thank the heavens. You fainted.”

She tried to speak but her throat was too parched. She managed only a faint murmur and leaned into the crook of his arm. The physician offered a small goblet of water. She sipped at it with Gilbert’s help, tears of humiliation filling her eyes. She let her gaze dart around the room. Josephine was mercifully nowhere in sight, but she suspected the intended damage had been done.

“I did warn you, Your Grace, that these spells could happen to someone in your condition,” the physician said, taking away the water.

Gilbert looked at Diana questioningly, but she avoided his stare.

“Though, I am surprised that you are still affected, given how far along you are,” he continued, unaware that Diana had still not relayed her pregnancy to her husband. She flushed, feeling faint again.

Gilbert took her hand, murmuring quietly, “we shall leave; do not argue.”

His tone brooked no opposition. She felt him lift her carefully. Over the hum of guests, she heard hushed exclamations and murmurs of speculation. She tried to hide her face against Gilbert’s chest, though the shame clawed at her belly. If only Josephine had not cornered her. If only she had more stamina.

They made their exit swiftly, aided by Victor’s discreet intervention in clearing a path. By the time they reached the carriage, Diana’s head throbbed mightily; her chest heavy with guilt and dread.

Gilbert helped her inside, settling her gently onto the seat. He slid in beside her, ordering the driver to depart at once. The lamplight blurred past as the carriage rumbled away from Victor’s townhouse. She tried to gauge his reaction, but she could see nothing in his face that would give away his thoughts.

She closed her eyes, breathing shallowly. Gilbert said nothing for a moment, but she felt his ire like a palpable force in the dark interior. Finally, he spoke, “I am sorry Josephine accosted you. I should not have left your side.”

She could not muster a reply, tears once again threatening to overcome her. He did not press her. Instead, he carefully wrapped an arm around her, letting her lean against his shoulder in silence. As they traveled, she felt each mile bringing them closer to Rivenhall House, and the reckoning she had avoided for so long.