Page 56 of My Duke, The Stranger
Who was Cassian? He was a wicked duke, and no amount of pretending otherwise would make a difference. Could he change? Could he be someone else? And did it even matter? As he made his way into his lonely office, as he sat behind his desk, and as he poured a glass of brandy, he decided that it did not.
In truth, Isolde was better off without him, and whether she accepted that or not, he would do her a favor by keeping her away. His memories were bound to return one day, and the less he and Isolde had to do with one another when they did, the better.
Twenty-Three
Being a duchess wasn’t just about attending parties and being seen by members of the peerage. It wasn’t just about public perception and what others thought of you. It was also about how one conducted themselves at home, and Isolde was determined to do everything that she could to prove to Cassian that she had what it took.
Why do I even bother? It is not as if he cares…
That was a thought that came to Isolde often, and when it did, she pushed it away and refused to consider its meaning.
Yes, Cassian had been rather honest and brutal to her after the supper at Mr. Brook’s home. And yes, when they had returned, he was just as cold.
On the surface, it looked as if he wanted nothing to do with her at all, and that he might be happy if she stopped pretendingentirely. But it was what lay beneath that surface that Isolde focused on.
There had been moments at Mr. Brook’s home when Cassian had almost appeared like his old self. The barest hint of a smile. Light found behind his eyes. And more than once he had looked at her in ways that she remembered… ways that told her how he truly felt.
He was not entirely lost to her, and Isolde would not give up on him.
The first task that she sought to perfect was managing the household staff. Technically, they were her charge, and she was responsible for how they operated within the manor and across the estate. Thus, the morning after Mr. Brook’s supper, she met with the head of each department.
“You do not need to give them new instructions,” Mr. Pemberton told her as he readied her for the meetings. “In truth, most of them are well aware of what they should be doing.”
“Then what is the point?” she sighed. “I do not want to treat them as children. Should they not be allowed to do as they know is best?”
“It is not about treating them as children,” he assured her. “Rather, it is about showing them that you are in charge. Let each know that if they have any questions or problems, they are to speak to you before His Grace. Let them know that this is your home.”
She did the best that she could.
Truthfully, it was not so difficult, and most acted surprised that she was so kind to them. It told her of what this manor must have been like before Cassian lost her memories, and it made her determined that the manor not return to such an awful state.
Another task that she set herself to was correspondence.
Now that she was a duchess, she was inundated with letters from various ladies of the ton who wished to spend time with her. They made it seem as if they wanted to be friends, as if they were just so excited to meet her. What they were actually doing was trying to worm their way into her good graces…
“The trick is learning who to respond to and who you should not waste your time with,” Mr. Pemberton instructed her as they went through each letter. “Most of these can be ignored.”
“But how will I know who I should and shouldn’t respond to?”
He shrugged. “With practice, Your Grace.”
She winced whenever he called her that, and she very nearly told him not to, only she held her tongue because she knew he would deny her. Also, she knew that it was something she had to get used to.
“Perhaps a hint?” she asked as she offered Mr. Pemberton a coy smirk. “Which of these is a must respond? Surely there is one I have no choice in?”
“You are a duchess, Your Grace. If you wished it, you could ignore them all.”
“I will rephrase.” She looked pointedly at Mr. Pemberton. “Tell me who I ought to respond to so as not to cause any concern, or risk drawing attention to myself.” She blinked. “And yes, that is a command.”
Mr. Pemberton nodded and even smiled slightly at her tone. “Lady Highmere is a known socialite and the wife of a marquess.” He reached forward and plucked a letter from the pile. “If you can befriend her, it will go a long way to helping your reputation.”
“Lady Highmere it is.”
Isolde spent the rest of the day composing her letter. She started shortly after midday, expecting it to take only a few minutes. As the daughter of a vicar, Isolde was well versed in her letters, and she often helped her father with his sermons because he was too old and frail to do so.
What she came to learn, however, was that writing a letter to a marchioness was no easy task.
“Your lettering is messy,” Mr. Pemberton told her as he read through her first letter. “See here…” He indicated to the ink smudges on the page. “Lady Highmere will notice such things.”
