Page 14 of Duke of Myste
“The fortnight of acquaintance was her idea,” he said finally, shifting tactics. “A delaying tactic, no doubt, to seek some escape from an unwanted match.”
“Or perhaps,” Elias suggested gently, “a genuine attempt to determine whether you might build something worthwhile together. Miss Brandon has never struck me as a woman who approaches any situation without careful consideration.”
Richard’s expression remained skeptical, but some of the tension had left his shoulders. “We shall see,” he muttered grudgingly. “Though I have little hope for meaningful accord between us.”
Elias rose from his chair with fluid grace. “I would suggest keeping an open mind during your fortnight of ‘acquaintance.’ You might discover unexpected common ground with your reluctant bride.”
“And you might discover the limits of my patience with unsolicited marital advice,” Richard countered, though without genuine heat.
Elias merely smiled, unfazed by the empty threat. “I shall leave you to your brooding, then. Lydia expects me home for dinner, and unlike some, I actually enjoy my wife’s company.”
As his friend departed, Richard remained alone with his brandy and his thoughts—both more unsettling than he cared to admit.
The idea of Jane Brandon becoming his Duchess still seemed like some elaborate cosmic jest—a punishment for sins he couldn’t quite identify. Yet, beneath his outward resistance lurked an undeniable flicker of… not anticipation, surely, but perhaps curiosity.
What would it be like to share his life with a woman of such fierce intelligence and unwavering principles? How would those sharp eyes view the private world he had constructed with such care? What would that clever mind make of the responsibilities and privileges that came with his title?
He dismissed those questions as quickly as they arose, draining the last of his brandy with grim determination. Such idle speculation served no purpose. The arrangement was practical, nothing more.
If Jane Brandon believed their fortnight of acquaintance would reveal some compatibility between them, she would be sorely disappointed.
Richard had spent a lifetime perfecting the art of emotional distance, and he had no intention of abandoning that mastery now, regardless of how provocative his future Duchess might prove to be.
With that firm resolution in mind, he signaled for his coat and hat, determined to focus on the practicalities of his situation rather than the unsettling questions that Jane’s imminent presence in his life continued to raise.
CHAPTER 6
“Do try to look as though you’re enjoying yourself, Miss Brandon. Your expression suggests you’re enduring a particularly painful dental procedure rather than a pleasant afternoon stroll,” Richard remarked, his voice pitched low enough to reach only Jane’s ears as they navigated the crowded paths of Hyde Park.
Jane forced her lips into what she hoped resembled a smile, though she suspected it looked more like a grimace. “I was merely contemplating how best to respond to your utterly bewildering position on the corn importation laws without revealing my true opinion on such backward thinking.”
Richard’s hand tightened almost imperceptibly over hers where it rested on his arm, his strides never faltering despite the tension evident in his rigid posture. “Perhaps we might save debates on economic policy for less public settings? We are meant to be quashing rumors, not creating fresh fodder for gossip.”
The afternoon sun beat down with unseasonable warmth for early spring, making Jane uncomfortably aware of the weight of her walking dress and the tightness of her corset. Or perhaps the discomfort stemmed not from the weather, but from the impossible task before them—to present a convincing picture of courtship harmony while disagreeing on virtually every subject they broached.
“Quashing rumors,” Jane echoed with quiet irony. “Tell me, Your Grace, how does one quash rumors of discord by parading about in stiff-backed misery? The ton is hardly blind to insincerity.”
“One manages it through practiced civility and appropriate constraint,” Richard replied, nodding with perfect courtesy to a passing baroness whose curious gaze lingered a bit too long on the Season’s most unexpected couple.
When the woman was out of earshot, Jane couldn’t help but add, “Qualities you believe I lack in abundance.”
Richard’s sigh was barely audible. “I made no such assertion, Miss Brandon.”
“You did not need to. Your tone conveyed it with admirable efficiency.”
They continued along the winding path, their bodies maintaining proper proximity while their minds seemed to occupy entirely different continents. Around them,le bon tonstrolled in elegant parade, ladies twirling parasols andgentlemen tipping hats, the elaborate social dance performed with practiced ease by all, except for the oddly matched pair at its center.
“Perhaps,” Richard suggested after a beat, “we might find safer conversational ground. The weather, perhaps, or the quality of the gravel beneath our feet.”
A laugh escaped Jane’s lips before she could prevent it—a genuine sound of amusement that drew curious glances from nearby promenaders. “Really, Your Grace? Have we truly reached such desperate straits that we must resort to discussing gravel?”
The corner of Richard’s mouth lifted in what might have almost been a smile. “I found myself at a loss for alternatives that wouldn’t immediately spark debate.”
“A fair assessment,” Jane acknowledged, her own lips curving upward despite her irritation. “Though I confess I’m rather tempted to develop a passionate opinion on gravel composition simply to maintain our perfect record of disagreement.”
This time, Richard’s laugh joined hers—a brief, rich sound quickly suppressed, yet genuine enough to momentarily transform his stern features. The effect was startling, drawing Jane’s gaze upward in surprise at this unexpected glimpse of the man beneath the ducal façade.
“Our reputation for discord appears well-deserved,” he observed, guiding her around a particularly enthusiastic group of children racing wooden hoops along the path.
