Page 90 of Duke of Diamonds
He moved with purpose, opening a deep drawer and retrieving an ornate chest unlike anything she’d ever seen.
Fiona gasped. “Isaac… what is it?”
The chest was exquisite—carved wood inlaid with intricate designs, stained glass panels catching the morning light in soft hues of amber, blue, and green.
He set it before her. “A little patience.”
Her fingers twitched with anticipation. She waited only until he stepped back before lifting the lid.
A breath escaped her lips.
Inside was a full tea set, each piece delicately formed of stained glass and trimmed with silver. The teapot shimmered like sunlight through cathedral windows, and the cups were studded with the tiniest jewels—emeralds, garnets, even a speck of sapphire.
“I—Isaac…” she whispered, touching one cup as though it might vanish.
But he wasn’t finished.
“There is a second layer,” he said.
Fiona looked down, confused. It appeared to be the base of the box, solid and flat. But as she felt along its edges, she discovered a panel. It lifted away smoothly, revealing two velvet pouches nestled in fitted recesses.
Blue and gold. Embroidered.
She opened one carefully and brought it to her nose.
“Oh—my, I think I smell cloves,” she said, eyes wide. “And cinnamon. Is this…?”
“A blend,” he said simply. “From abroad.”
Fiona closed the pouch, still stunned.
“I should have gotten you a proper wedding gift beforehand,” Isaac said, his gaze unreadable.
She turned to him, the box still open between them. “Isaac, what could possibly be better than this?” Her voice came out soft but certain. “It is more than enough. And I cannot begin to express just how much I love it.”
A quiet passed between them, warm and brimming.
Later that evening, the house came alive with guests. Light laughter trickled down the corridors, and the scent of rose water and roast duck filled the air.
Fiona moved with ease from group to group, her smile bright, her hand resting now and again on a guest’s arm, a quiet word here, a warm welcome there. Every so often, her gaze flicked toward Isaac.
He stood tall and composed, greeting her friends with gracious civility, even the occasional dry remark that earned him a chuckle or two. To the untrained eye, he looked perfectly at home. But Fiona knew better.
He is trying.
And somehow, that made her heart squeeze.
At dinner, he was seated across from Anna’s husband, the Duke of Copperton, and the conversation turned, of all things, to soil and weather.
“The weather in the Scottish lowlands is far more agreeable to early root vegetables than I had expected,” Isaac said, leaning slightly forward.
Copperton stroked his jaw. “I’ve never ventured that far north with my farms, but I shall consider it now.”
“Indeed you should,” Samuel said, lifting his glass slightly.
Fiona watched from her seat. Laughter moved freely around the table, bright and unforced. The evening had unfolded far better than she’d hoped.
Isaac fit. He truly did.
