Page 13 of Taken By the Icy Duke

“Right now?” Diana asked, her eyes narrowing.

“Yes,” he said quickly, searching his mind for justification. “We are expecting a delivery of new harnesses. I must see to it that they meet my specifications.”

Diana simply looked at him and he worried she might press for more details. Her hands came together, her fingers lacing thoughtfully. “Very well,” she said at last in a level voice. “I shall not keep you from your duties. But,” she caught his gaze “I hope tomorrow I will not have to chase you across the estate in order to speak with you.”

The directness of her words struck him. He offered her what he hoped appeared a measured nod, though his throat felt tight. “I shall make an effort.”

She accepted this with a small, enigmatic smile, then turned and departed with quiet steps. Once the door clicked closed, Gilbertpressed the heel of his hand against his forehead, swearing under his breath. He had escaped once again, but what kind of victory was it when he fled from his own wife?

The memory of her calm and persistent voice, and the warmth of her rose-scented presence lingered in the hushed room. He should be relieved that he had maintained his distance. Instead, he found himself looking at the empty doorway, his thoughts unsettled and wanting.

Gilbert returned to his desk and rang a small silver bell. When the steward, Mr. Hollings, stepped inside, Gilbert seated himself, fixing his face into a calm mask. He would focus on what he could control.

“Your Grace,” Hollings bowed. He stood at polite attention, a neat sheaf of papers tucked under one arm.

Gilbert leaned forward. “Any word on Leopold?”

“Not as of yet,” Hollings replied quietly. “The inquiries we sent to several coaching inns have yielded no sign of Lord Leopold’s departure. If he has taken passage abroad, he has been discreet about it.” He lowered his gaze to his papers. “I have asked your solicitor, Mr. Bramley, to spread word among a few trusted contacts. If Lord Leopold attempts to draw on any of your accounts, we will know.”

Gilbert pressed his lips together. He had expected as much. Leopold would have gone to ground by now. “Very well,” he said softly. “And the talk?”

Hollings looked up. “The scandal, Your Grace? The talk persists, but it is losing some of its immediacy. Your decisive action—marrying Miss Gillingham—has blunted much of the sting. Still, a few of the gossipier matrons remain curious as to the younger Lord Ashwell’s whereabouts.”

Gilbert exhaled, tapping a finger on the desk. “Let them. Idle speculation cannot be avoided. What of the Gillingham accounts?”

At that, Hollings adjusted his stance, producing a slim ledger from under the papers. “We have received a full accounting of the Baron of Crayford’s debts. The total is not insignificant, Your Grace, but neither is it beyond remedy. Clearing them will require a careful redistribution of some funds.”

Gilbert nodded. He had promised to settle Diana’s father’s debts and intended to keep that promise. “Draft the necessary instructions and have them ready for my review by week’s end. I want this resolved quietly.”

Hollings inclined his head. “At once, Your Grace.”

A light tapping at the door preceded the butler’s appearance. He stepped in, discreetly clearing his throat. “Your Grace, the Marquess of Camburn has arrived.”

“Send him in,” he said, then glanced at the steward. “That will be all for now, Hollings.”

“Your Grace,” Timmons said softly, once Hollings had left. “I have informed His Lordship that you are in the study, but…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “The duchess is entertaining in the parlor. The Marquess of Camburn has joined her there. Might I suggest you also join them?”

Gilbert’s brow tightened. Entertaining? Diana? He felt a rush of annoyance fill his gut. While receiving visitors was not customary during a couple’s honeymoon period, Gilbert needed Victor’s assistance in tracking down his brother.

If Victor had ventured into the parlor to greet Diana, Gilbert could not avoid following. Better to face them both, keep control of the narrative, and ensure no misunderstandings took root.

“Very well,” Gilbert said, keeping his voice steady.

The butler bowed and withdrew. Once alone, Gilbert straightened his cuffs, squared his shoulders, and stepped out into the corridor. He would go to the parlor. He would be civil, composed, and do what needed doing. If there were questions, he would answer them. If Diana looked at him expectantly, searching for the attention he had so consistently avoided, he would also find a way to manage that.

He inhaled, steadying himself. After all, duty never truly ended.

Gilbert stepped into the parlor, his posture steady, allowing himself a slow survey of the room before catching Diana’s eye. He found her seated in a small, gilt-backed chair, her hands folded neatly in her lap, while Victor stood near the mantel,examining a porcelain figurine. At Gilbert’s entrance, Diana rose, lowering her head in a subtle greeting.

“Your Grace,” she said quietly, “I was just informing Lord Camburn of the improvements the gardener has begun near the east wall. He seemed quite interested.”

“I have no doubt,” Gilbert replied with forced evenness. He nodded to Victor. “Camburn.”

Victor turned, setting the figurine aside, his lips curving in what might have been amusement. “Your Grace,” he said. “Your duchess has been most welcoming.”

Gilbert ventured a glance at Diana, who looked back at him without blinking. He had to admire her poise. “Yes,” he said, “she is a gracious hostess.”

For a few minutes, they spoke of trifles. Diana mentioned the shipment of new linens, and Victor inquired about the weather and the prospects for the coming year’s harvest. Gilbert contributed sparse observations, each word meticulously chosen as though afraid to slip and reveal something he should not.

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