His dark gaze flicked to the books, to Mrs. Harding, then back to her. “And here I thought you would be planning our first grand ball. Surely, that is the duty of every newly made duchess.”
She arched a brow. “I see little purpose in balls when there are more pressing matters to handle.”
“Practical,” he mused. “I suppose I should have expected that.”
She stepped forward, determined to brush past him, but as she moved, so did he—leaning just slightly in her path.
“Are you quite finished with your inspections, sweetheart?”
“Yes. And I have work to do.”
He smirked. “Then don’t let me keep you.”
She moved past him, ignoring the warmth curling in her stomach, and refused to look back as she strode down the hall.
CHAPTER 8
Evan had never cared much for the inner workings of a household.
He had grown up in a world where efficiency meant survival, where money was not merely accounted for but hunted down with precision. His business dealings thrived not because he was well-mannered or beloved by the ton but because he was ruthless when needed.
Which was why he had barely given the estate any attention since acquiring it.
It had been run well enough, or so he assumed. His staff had long since learned that he did not concern himself with domestic matters so long as everything functioned as expected.
And yet, this morning, his butler had sought him out personally.
Evan glanced up from his papers, mildly surprised as Hawthorne stood before his desk, his hands clasped behind his back.
“Your Grace.”
Evan leaned back in his chair, arching a brow. “Something wrong?”
“No, Your Grace. Quite the opposite.”
Evan waited, but the butler merely stared at him, waiting for permission to continue.
Evan sighed. “Well? Out with it.”
“It is the Duchess.”
That had Evan’s attention. He set his pen down. “Isadora?”
“She has taken to her role… unexpectedly well,” Hawthorne said carefully though Evan detected approval beneath the measured words. “She has already reviewed the household accounts, met with every senior staff member, and begun implementing efficient changes. The staff has taken notice.”
Evan smirked. “What, did they expect her to flutter about and do nothing but host tea parties?”
Hawthorne did not answer though Evan saw the flicker of agreement in his gaze.
“She is practical,” the butler continued after a moment. “A rarity among the ladies of her standing.”
Evan exhaled a quiet breath, staring at the polished wood of his desk. He should not have been surprised. Isadora was not like the others.
That was why he had chosen her.
But still…
“She knows what she’s doing, then?” he mused, half to himself.
