Page 45 of Duke of Diamonds
Fiona bit the inside of her cheek, suppressing a sigh.This is going marvelously. Truly.
“But I suppose it does not work that way for everyone,” Fiona said lightly, though a part of her sank with the words.
She walked a little ahead, keeping her gaze fixed on the gravel path.
He is not interested in anything I have to say. He does not even pretend to share my thoughts.
The realization pressed against her ribs, cold and unyielding.I have never met two people more at odds than we are.
The remainder of their walk passed in stilted conversation—or none at all. By the time Isaac took his leave with a curt bow and a mumbled promise to return, Fiona was almost grateful.
Later, she found herself distracted, her thoughts returning again and again to the garden path, the silence, the disinterest.
She knelt in the greenhouse, her fingers half-heartedly tending to the herbs, but her mind elsewhere.
This is the man I am to marry. A man who cannot be bothered to speak a civil word. A man who looks at the roses as though they offend him.
It appeared she was now tied to that indifferent character for the rest of her life.
Better this than a life with Canterlack,she reminded herself. Yet the optimism she tried to summon rang hollow. A light step behind her broke her reverie.
“How was your walk with the Duke?” her mother inquired, stepping into the greenhouse, her gloves tucked neatly beneath one arm.
Fiona brushed the soil from her skirts and rose, her heart sinking further.
“Mama,” she said slowly, “do you believe two vastly different people might ever truly get along?”
Prudence arched a brow, plucking a leaf from one of the herb pots and rubbing it between her fingers.
“My dear, there is no bridging certain gaps between people,” she said. “Some differences are simply impossible to change.”
Fiona pressed her lips together, feeling the words settle heavily upon her.
“Oh,” she said, the small sound escaping her before she could stop it.
Prudence paused, her fingers stilling. Her eyes widened, a flash of dawning realization lighting her face.
“Could this be about the Duke?” she asked.
Fiona turned away, pretending to adjust a potted lavender. When Fiona did not respond, her mother seemed to take her silence for assent. “As I mentioned before, Fiona,” Prudence said, plucking another leaf from the herb pot, “in marriage, such things as compatibility are of very little consequence. Cheer up. Your children shall fill whatever void there may be.”
She waved her hand as though brushing aside Fiona’s concerns with the very air.
“You shall find your sanctuary in their joy. In the meantime, you must simply make things work as they are. There is no going back now.”
No reconsidering. No escape.
Her mother’s words offered no comfort—only a sense of quiet resignation. Perhaps this was the ultimate price of her freedom.
You sold your happiness to secure your liberty. A worthy sacrifice,she reminded herself, though the words echoed hollowly. A sudden chill traced her spine, and Hester’s warning rose unbidden in her mind.
What if he is as bad as Canterlack? You do not know the Duke, Fiona.
CHAPTER 16
Fiona sought distraction—any distraction—and found it in the form of a call upon her dearest friend, Anna.
She arrived just in time to find Anna in the front hall, her arms loosely entwined around her husband’s neck. The Duke of Copperton murmured something soft, something meant only for his wife’s ears, before pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead.
