Page 8 of Taken by the Icy Duke (Marriage Deals #3)

Chapter Eight

D iana paused in the morning room, her hand resting lightly on the windowsill, her gaze drifting over Rivenhall’s orderly lawns. Her thoughts churned as she stared blindly at the neat hedges and dew-bright grass.

She had awakened determined to speak with her husband, to find some mutual understanding in the early days of their marriage. Yet, as the household settled into its morning rhythms, there was still no sign of Gilbert.

In the quiet, she remembered the brush of his lips on her neck the previous day. He had teased her, leaving her breathless and wanting, only to vanish behind a facade of duties and distance. The memory stirred an internal cauldron filled with longing, anger, frustration and need.

As the minutes passed and he remained absent, the unanswered question gnawed at her. Should she be grateful he had married her, or furious that he avoided seeing her?

A footman passed along the corridor. China rattled faintly in a distant dining room. The household’s calm efficiency only heightened her sense of isolation. She turned from the window, straightened her shoulders, and resolved to find purpose in her new role.

Mrs. Hardwick had once again mentioned that the linens still needed her approval. It was a trifling task, but it would keep her mind from wandering hopelessly into uncharted territory.

Before she could decide where to begin, Timmons appeared in the doorway, his hands folded before him.

“Your Grace,” he said quietly, “there is a visitor for His Grace. She has arrived unexpectedly and wishes to see him at once.”

A visitor? Diana lifted her chin. “Who calls?”

“The Dowager Countess of Halfacre, Your Grace.” Timmons lowered his gaze. “His Grace is not presently at home.”

Diana’s mind whirled. Was the Dowager Countess of Halfacre an old family friend? But why appear now, without warning, during what should have been a private honeymoon period? Anxiety tugged at Diana’s stomach. It must be something urgent if the dowager countess dared appear unannounced.

Since Gilbert was away, Diana had no choice. She was now the Duchess of Rivenhall, and would meet the intrusion head-on.

“Show her to the small drawing room,” Diana said. “I shall receive her myself.”

“Very good, Your Grace.” Timmons bowed and departed.

Diana followed shortly, gathering her composure as she crossed the corridor. The small drawing room was tasteful and light, with ivory walls and pale green upholstery. It was the perfect stage for a polite, civilized encounter, and she prayed it would remain civilized. She smoothed her skirts and waited, her spine straight, as Timmons ushered in the visitor.

“The Dowager Countess of Halfacre, Your Grace,” he announced, then withdrew soundlessly.

The woman who entered exuded a subtle but stealthy confidence. Lady Halfacre’s blonde curls framed a poised face that carried a faint, knowing smile. Her gown was stylish, verging on bold for a morning visit, and the slight tilt of her head as she surveyed the room suggested she was used to maintaining an upper hand. The young woman in front of Diana did not look like what she expected of a widow.

“Your Grace,” the dowager countess said, dipping into a graceful curtsy. “How kind of you to receive me.”

Diana inclined her head. “Lady Halfacre, welcome to Rivenhall. I regret that His Grace is not here to greet you himself.”

The dowager countess advanced slowly, taking in the furnishings.

“Yes, such a pity. I had hoped to find him…”

She allowed the sentence to hang, as if suggesting that Gilbert’s absence was something of an enigma. Turning to Diana, she smiled too sweetly. “But it is a pleasure to meet you, Duchess. Allow me first to congratulate you on your marriage. Such a fortunate event—and so swift.”

Diana gestured to a chair, forcing a polite smile. The coy look in the woman’s eyes put Diana on edge. “Thank you. It was unexpected, yes, but we are both…content with the outcome.”

“Content,” Josephine repeated as she seated herself, arranging her skirts languidly. “A fine word. Contentment is a stable foundation, do you not agree? Many marriages lack even that.”

Diana took a seat opposite her, carefully folding her hands. “Indeed. Stability and understanding are valuable qualities.”

Josephine’s gaze scanned Diana’s attire, assessing her posture, her very presence, as if searching for imperfections. “I have long considered His Grace a man of impeccable judgment,” she said. “Therefore, it surprised me to learn of his sudden wedding. I thought perhaps fate had swept in. Or perhaps necessity.” She paused, her head tilted. “I am sure you understand how tongues wag.”

Diana resisted the urge to flinch. “Rumors abound in any marriage forged under…unusual circumstances. We pay them no mind.”

Josephine offered a small, sympathetic sigh. “That is wise. Yet I felt it my duty to call today. I have heard certain whispers that concern me.” She leaned closer, lowering her voice as though confiding a secret. “I consider myself a friend of His Grace and would not wish to see him troubled by malicious gossip.”

Diana’s heart thudded. A friend. Did that word mask something deeper? The woman’s tone suggested a degree of familiarity that made Diana uneasy. She vowed to show no weakness. “I appreciate your concern,” Diana said, keeping her voice even. “Yet I believe the duke is quite capable of managing any chatter that arises.”

A faint arch of Josephine’s brow signaled amusement. “Oh, I do not doubt his capabilities. But it is you, my dear duchess, who stands at the center of these whispers. Have you not heard? They say the duke’s marriage was a valiant rescue of a young lady caught in scandal. Some paint him as the noble savior, and you—” she hesitated, as if reluctant, then continued delicately, “—as the unfortunate soul he had to redeem.”

Diana’s cheeks warmed. “I am aware that some believe we married to rectify a misunderstanding. His Grace and I have no illusions about the promptness of our union. But surely, now that we have wed, such rumors will die away.”

Josephine’s smile sharpened. “One would hope. Yet I have it on good authority that some find the matter too delicious to forget. There is talk—hurtful talk—implying that you were compromised, that Lord Leopold’s involvement was not as innocent as one might claim, and that you took advantage of the duke’s sense of honor.”

Her eyes glittered. “They say you cornered poor Lord Leopold, embroiling him in scandal so that the duke felt obliged to marry you. Imagine that.”

Horror and fury boiled inside Diana’s chest. She tried to keep her face calm, but her voice trembled slightly. “That is a vicious lie. I never sought such a fate.”

Josephine pressed a hand to her heart, feigning sorrow. “I know, dear. It must be dreadful to hear. But you understand how these things spread. It does not help that His Grace remains… away from home so often. Some might say he finds estate matters more appealing than defending his bride’s reputation in the drawing rooms of London.”

Diana stiffened, painfully aware of Gilbert’s absence. “His Grace is a man of duty,” she managed. “He need not parade about town shouting his devotion. Actions speak louder than words. He married me; that speaks volumes.”

“Actions, indeed,” Josephine murmured. “And yet, the manner of those actions may be interpreted differently by others. Some suggest the duke acted not from love or even duty, but from pity. They whisper that he shoulders you like a burden, poor man, trapped by family loyalty.” She paused, letting the words sink in before adding softly, “I find such insinuations unjust. Yet they persist.”

Diana’s throat tightened. Pity? A burden? She wanted to refute it, but Josephine’s every syllable dripped with sly insinuation. “His Grace is not one to be coerced. He saved me from greater humiliation, yes, but I believe he did so willingly.”

Josephine leaned back, crossing her ankles gracefully.

“Oh, I am sure he did. Willingly enough to sign the marriage lines. But willing and eager are two different states, are they not? I knew him in another era, long before this fiasco. He was a man who cherished his freedom. Now, so newly shackled—” Her lips quirked. “Forgive me, newly wedded—one wonders if he is content or laments his sacrifice.”

The subtle emphasis on ‘I knew him’ prickled Diana’s spine. “You speak as though you and His Grace shared a… special understanding.”

Josephine’s gaze turned sympathetic, as if dealing with a na?ve child. “I will not claim we were ever bound by promises. But I think I may say we enjoyed each other’s company—when it suited us. He is complex, your husband: slow to trust, careful with attachments. Did he not warn you how difficult he can be?”

Diana swallowed hard, struggling to maintain her composure. Each word from Josephine hinted at past intimacies. Diana had no proof, but the unsettling and painful suggestion was evident.

It painted a picture of Gilbert in a different light: a man who chose his lovers at will, yet now found himself tethered to a woman he rescued out of necessity rather than desire.

“I know he can be reserved,” Diana said, fighting to keep her voice steady. “But that does not diminish our arrangement. We have begun building a life here.”

“Quietly, yes. But let us consider the facts.” Josephine tapped a finger on the arm of her chair.

“Your honeymoon period, as the ton calls it, should be a time of closeness. Instead, the duke is absent, and rumors swirl unchecked. Some say he avoids you. Others whisper you make demands he finds inconvenient. And there are those who pity him, seeing him as trapped by your scandalous association with Lord Leopold. They claim your presence prevents him from courting a more…compatible partner.”

Diana’s heart twisted. “We are married. There can be no question of a more compatible partner.”

Josephine’s eyes gleamed. “Of course not. Yet gossip rarely cares for legality when it can spin a more tantalizing story. What if he regrets not waiting for a more suitable match? What if you find him distant and incapable of true warmth? These whispers will cling, my dear duchess, unless he takes action to refute them.”

Diana clenched her hands in her lap, her nails biting into her palms. She should cast Josephine out, refuse to indulge her poisonous talk. But each barb struck a chord of fear, making her wonder if it might carry a kernel of truth. Gilbert had scarcely spoken with her today; did he truly regret their marriage?

Forcing herself to speak calmly, Diana said, “His Grace will handle these matters in his own time. He is not one for public declarations, but rest assured, he will not let these rumors harm his family name.”

Josephine’s smile turned thin. “I admire your faith. Truly, I do. Still, I worry. If the duke remains passive, the ton might conclude he has resigned himself to his fate. That he wed you only because he had no other choice. They might snicker behind fans, calling you cunning and him hapless. Perhaps even whisper that he pines for another woman—someone who knew him before all this unpleasantness.”

Diana’s heart jolted. She drew a breath, trying not to show how deeply her words cut. “I refuse to be intimidated by rumors or the ton’s nattering. I know what we share. In time, the truth will emerge.”

Josephine stood, smoothing her skirts and smirking in a way that infuriated Diana.

“I respect your resolve. I truly do. It must be difficult, stepping into a role many believe you do not deserve. You handle yourself well, given the circumstances.” She paused, then added with a feigned sigh, “I came here today hoping to warn His Grace of the storm brewing in society’s corners. Since he is not here, I have done my best to inform you instead.”

“Your warning is noted,” Diana said, her voice taut. She rose as well, meeting Josephine’s gaze with as much steadiness as she could muster. “I shall be sure to tell him of your visit.”

“Please do,” Josephine said, her eyes lingering on Diana’s face as if searching for cracks. “I imagine he will want to know that I took the trouble to come. After all, I care about his reputation.”

Diana managed a tight smile. “Of course. And I thank you for your…concern.”

The widow inclined her head. “Should you ever wish to speak freely, without the constraints of polite society, I would be happy to oblige. I know how lonely a noble marriage can be, especially one formed under a cloud of scandal.”

Diana’s jaw tightened. “Your courtesy is appreciated.”

“Think nothing of it. I only hope that, in time, your husband shows the world what sort of man he truly is—before it is too late, and whispers solidify into established truth.”

Josephine moved toward the door, her pace unhurried, as if she owned the hallways as much as Diana did. Before leaving, she glanced back with a mild, almost pitying smile. “I wish you luck, Your Grace. You will need it.”

The door closed. Diana stood rigidly, her heart pounding. She felt as though she had just wrestled a serpent in her own drawing room, emerging from the fray with no clear victory.

Josephine had dangled too many insinuations. Gilbert might have regrets, he might prefer another; he might pity or resent his new wife. Every poisonous jab gnawed at Diana, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.

Could Josephine have been Gilbert’s lover, or just a woman who once circled him, hoping for more? Either way, the widow had made it clear that Diana’s position was precarious; her reputation was under siege, her husband’s loyalty was uncertain, and her own worth was being questioned by those who thrived on scandal.

Diana’s cheeks warmed at the memory of Gilbert’s occasional teasing moments; small things, like his careless kiss near her neck that left her heart racing in a way she found both thrilling and infuriating. It bothered her that his attentions could affect her so deeply while he appeared so untouched.

Diana exhaled sharply and wrapped a hand around the back of the chair. She must not yield to fear. She must become an active participant in her own fate, not merely a pawn in others’ gossip. She would show competence, strength, and dignity.

But first, she needed to gather herself. She stepped into the corridor, nodding absently to a passing maid who offered a polite curtsy. Her mind raced with possible strategies.

If Josephine spoke truthfully—if indeed the ton pitied Gilbert and scorned Diana—then Diana must carve her own path. She refused to remain a powerless figure, buffeted by the winds of cruel rumors.

Still, uncertainty gnawed at her. She felt silly that her nerves had sizzled under his teasing touch, knowing he could be entertaining someone else’s company.

Apprehension flared in her chest at the possibility, and she pressed her lips together, determined to push the unsightly image away. Let Josephine see that Diana was not some timid bride cringing behind the drawing-room curtains.

Diana took a final breath and turned toward the stairs. The rest of the day beckoned, filled with small tasks that would, she hoped, afford her some stability. She would build her reputation one purposeful step at a time. Rumors might linger, but so would her resolve.

As for Gilbert—she would face him soon enough, armed with the knowledge that their marriage’s quiet struggles would not vanish unless confronted.

The next time, neither Josephine’s derisive comments nor Gilbert’s detachment will catch me unprepared.

She might have felt foolish by responding to the stolen kiss on her neck, but no more. If he tried to tease or avoid her again she would meet him head-on, determined to discover whether their marriage was worth fighting for, or if she was destined to fight alone.