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A few people still lingered when she was done, including an old wrinkly woman. “Well?” she asked when Isabel was done. “Where are my ribbons?”

Isabel blinked. “Ribbons?”

“His lordship promised to bring me ribbons from the city. I make blankets and shawls for the entire village. I rarely decorate them with anything, but he promised.”

“And the fruit, Miss—Your ladyship. His lordship promised to bring us exotic fruits.”

“What about the watercolors for the school?”

Isabel blinked at the women, not certain what to say. “I—he—that’s all I have… today.”

The women looked at the empty baskets, forlorn.

“I shall make certain to bring all of it tomorrow,” Isabel promised.

Someone tugged her on her skirt. Isabel turned to see a little blonde girl by her side. “What about my book, my lady?” the girl said in a barely audible whisper, obviously too shy to even address her. “His lordship promised to bring it to me from London.”

A boulder seemed to lodge itself in Isabel’s throat. She forced a smile. “I don’t have it with me today… But his lordship didn’t forget, I promise.” She hoped she was not lying about that. “He just… He wanted to give it to you himself.”

Isabel was glad she could come up with a convenient lie and prayed that the loathsome oaf didn’t forget the damned book and everything else he’d promised to his people.

“Another mistress, that’s what we need!” someone muttered behind her.

Isabel looked around in confusion, unsure how to react to such a statement.

Everyone started to disperse, the conversation buzzing around her. Isabel could still hear their exclamations of surprise and displeasure.

“Instead of bringing us what he promised, he brought us something we never asked for. A mistress. Huh!” an old lady exclaimed by Isabel’s side.

Isabel frowned. Did the old lady not realize Isabel could hear her words?

What did Isabel do to deserve their scorn?

She wasn’t about to get her answer here. Isabel picked up her skirts in frustration, climbed into her carriage, and drove away.

* * *

Rhys came down to supper that evening feeling tired. He had spent the entire morning working in the field with his farmers, as was his custom. He spoke to them daily and made sure they had everything they needed because their problems were quite literally his and his estate’s problems.

The farmers were possibly the busiest people on his estates. So to have a conversation with them, Rhys needed to work alongside them.

This was an unusual activity for a marquess. However, Rhys was not a conventional lord. People already whispered atrocious rumors behind his back. What was one more thing in the scheme of things?

Besides, Rhys loved to work outdoors. He spent every afternoon locked inside his study, crouching behind his desk and looking at numbers with his solicitors, and the morning work was a reprieve from a boring existence. It also gave his highly spirited daughter freedom to roam around the estate while supervised and his massive dog a space to race freely around the fields.

Now, as he sat at the supper table, he gloomily stared at his plate, not even looking at what was being served. His mind was too occupied with the issues around the estates that needed solving. So many things needed his attention, and he couldn’t quite pay enough attention to them all.

This was one of the reasons he had married, but would Lady Isabel aid him in his work or just stifle his progress?

“Ew!” Millie’s exclamation of disgust was what brought him back into the present. “What is this?” she asked, her face a scrunched-up grimace. Her mouth was half-open, pieces of meat falling out as she wiped at her lips and chin.

“A duck, with beans and—” Lady Isabel started, but Millie interrupted her as she shot up from her chair.

“A duck!”

Lady Isabel blinked, and Rhys covered his face with his palm for a brief moment. “Millie, dear, there will be a second course. Please, sit back down.”

“What is wrong with the duck?” Lady Isabel looked from Rhys to Millie, her gaze confused.