Page 23 of Duke of Myste
Lord Drownshire placed her hand in her groom’s with ceremonial precision. Richard’s fingers closed around hers, warm and firm, the brief contact sending an unwelcome jolt of awareness through her despite everything.
The ceremony proceeded with brisk efficiency. When prompted, Jane spoke her vows in a clear, steady voice. “I, Jane Brandon, take thee, Richard Riverstone…”
The words felt strange on her tongue, as though she were speaking lines from a play rather than pledging her life to the stern man beside her. His responses carried similar detachment—precise, correct, but utterly devoid of emotion.
“I, Richard Riverstone, take thee, Jane Brandon…”
Their hands were joined once more for the final blessing. Jane stared resolutely at the vicar’s shoulder, unable to bear meeting Richard’s gaze again.
“I now pronounce you man and wife.”
The vicar’s words were followed by a silence so profound that Jane could hear the soft patter of rain outside.
There was no instruction to kiss the bride—a small mercy for which Jane found herself pathetically grateful. Instead, Richard simply tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and turned them to face the congregation.
“It is done,” he said, his voice pitched low for her ears only as they began the processional down the short aisle. “Do try to look less like you’re walking to your execution, Duchess. We have appearances to maintain.”
The title—her new title—felt foreign and ill-fitting. The Duchess of Myste. No longer Jane Brandon, with all her stubborn independence and sharp opinions.
“Forgive me, Your Grace,” she replied, matching his quiet tone while forcing a smile on her lips. “I shall endeavor to look appropriately enraptured by my good fortune.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw, but he said nothing further as they emerged from the chapel into the light rain.
Servants rushed forward with umbrellas, shielding them as they made their way to the waiting carriage—his carriage, emblazoned with the Myste crest. They found themselves seatedopposite one another in the luxurious confines of the carriage, alone.
The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words and simmering tension.
Jane stared out the window, watching raindrops trace slow paths down the glass. The weather, at least, matched her mood—the gray skies and gentle rain a stark contrast to the sunny days tradition claimed should bless a wedding.
“You look beautiful.”
The words, so unexpected, so at odds with his coldness, drew Jane’s attention back to the man seated across from her.
Richard’s expression remained stern, almost angry, as though the admission had been forced out of him.
“I… thank you,” she replied cautiously. “Though I confess, your expression throughout the ceremony suggested you found my appearance displeasing.”
His jaw tightened even more, that same muscle jumping again beneath his skin. “My expression reflects the circumstances, not my opinion on your appearance.”
“The circumstances being that you have been forced to marry a woman you neither truly know nor wish to know,” Jane statedbluntly. “A woman who, by your own admission, lacks the decorum and propriety expected of a duchess.”
Richards’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I do not recall making such an admission.”
“You did not need to,” Jane countered. “Your disapproval has been evident from the moment we met. I am too outspoken, too independent, too… everything that a proper duchess should not be.”
“And yet,” he replied, his voice carrying a dangerous edge, “here we are, bound in matrimony despite these apparent shortcomings.”
“Indeed,” Jane agreed, meeting his gaze with a challenging directness. “How fortunate for me to be elevated beyond what I deserve. How fortunate for you to be saddled with such an unsuitable bride.”
The carriage hit a rough patch in the road, jostling them momentarily. Richard’s hand shot out to steady himself, his knuckles white with tension.
“Let us be clear about one thing, Miss Br?—”
“Duchess,” she corrected, a spark of defiance flaring within her. “Is that not what you called me? If I am to bear the title, let us not forget it.”
Something flashed in his eyes—anger, certainly, but also something that looked almost like reluctant admiration, before it quickly vanished.
“Duchess,” he conceded, inclining his head slightly. “Let us be clear. This marriage, as you have observed, is one of necessity rather than choice. But now that it is done, I shall expect certain things from you.”
