Given to a Duke Far Too Old, She Wept for Her Dreams—But on Wedding Night His First Gift Amazed Her

Chapter 2

Morning came gently to Hollowmere Hall, as if the old place had decided, overnight, that a new inhabitant deserved light.

Isolde woke with a start, certain she had overslept some unspoken duty, then remembered she had no duties at all. No one had come for her. No one had demanded anything. The key lay on the pillow beside her, catching the pale sun, and she had the strange, giddy sensation of a prisoner discovering the cell door was not merely unlocked — it had never been locked at all.

Breakfast arrived on a tray carried by a maid with kind, curious eyes. A single white gardenia rested on the napkin, petals still damp, as if it had been picked at dawn.

“His Grace dines alone in the mornings,” the housekeeper said, a tall woman named Mrs. Caldecott whose voice was calm as still water. “But he hopes you will join him for tea in the south garden later, should you wish.”