Evan seemed unbothered, however. As if he already knew her answer because she had no choice at all.
Isadora could feel the weight of her father’s gaze, the irritation simmering just beneath his composed exterior. George was a man accustomed to having things exactly as he wished. And now, in the span of a single conversation, that control had been taken from him.
He was furious, but to his credit, he did not explode. He did not raise his voice or slam his fist against the desk as she half expected.
Isadora swallowed, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “It is true,” she said, her voice steady despite the sheer madness of the words. “I… we are in love.”
The words tasted foreign. A muscle in George’s jaw ticked, and then he exhaled, slowly.
“I see,” he said finally though the tension in his shoulders did not ease.
Isadora did not trust that response.
Her father was a practical man. He rarely acted out of sentiment and nevermade decisions that did not ultimately serve his own interests. He had tolerated Penelope’s engagement because it had been advantageous. A connection to a marquess, even one as disreputable as Hartenshire, had still been a connection.
But Isadora had never been meant to marry. She had known it for years—had understood with each passing season that George preferred her unmarried. She was too useful to be sent away; her presence in his household made his life far easier.
Now, he was losing her. To a duke, no less.
The thought should have pleased her, given her a sense of victory over the years she had spent chained to his demands, but it didn’t.
“You are certain of this?” George asked although his voice lacked its usual authority.
“I… yes, I am certain of it.” She shifted her gaze to the floor.
“She is,” Evan said. “And I am here to solidify our match by coming to ask you for her hand.”
Marriage?
Isadora felt her head spinning. George seemed surprised too, his lips pressed into a thin line.
“A match with a duke,” he murmured, almost to himself. “I suppose I cannot object to that.”
“How very gracious of you,” Evan said smoothly as though he was amused by the whole thing. He seemed entirely at ease though, as if he frequently visited their home.
That was the thing about him, Isadora realized. He had a way of owning any room he stepped into, of bending the world to his will. And then, just to make things worse, he winked at her.
Winked.
Right in front of her father.
Her teeth clenched as the realization of what was happening finally hit her. This was a game to him. A favor collected. A marriage called off in return for another one.
George, still displeased, exhaled through his nose. “Very well,” he said stiffly. “I will make the necessary arrangements.”
Evan nodded, as if he hadn’t just forced her hand in the most outrageous way possible. “I knew you would be reasonable, Lord Morton.”
George grunted, clearly still trying to reconcile what had just happened, but that was the least of Isadora’s worries. Her mind was still spinning.
“So then, the matter is settled,” Evan announced. “My task here is done. The wedding will happen very soon. Thank you both for the cooperation.”
The moment the agreement was settled, Isadora felt as if the walls had closed around her.
Evan stood smoothly, adjusting his coat with an air of satisfaction. “Mind escorting me to the door?” he said to Isadora, who had no choice but to agree.
She followed him to the door, now out of earshot of her father. He stopped for a moment, regarding her with a smirk.
“Well, sweetheart,” he said, “I suppose that means you’re mine now.”
