Page 47 of Taken By the Icy Duke

“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.”

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