Page 27 of Duke of Myste
Jane couldn’t help but smile at the description, which seemed to align with her opinion of Harriet, though it seemed so at odds with Richard’s rigid propriety. “She certainly seemed quite unlike the Duke when I met her.”
“In some ways,” Annabelle agreed carefully. “But they’re devoted to each other, despite their differences. His Grace would do anything for his sister.”
This glimpse of Richard as a devoted brother added yet another layer to Jane’s evolving understanding of her new husband. She remembered the duel Lydia mentioned—Richard facing down the rake who had compromised his sister, demanding satisfaction for her honor.
Perhaps his insistence on propriety stemmed not merely from cold adherence to tradition but from witnessing the consequences when such boundaries were crossed.
“I’m certain Miss Harriet will return to London soon,” Annabelle continued, offering Jane a small sandwich. “His Grace thoughtit best to give you some time to settle before she returns. A honeymoon, as it were.”
Honeymoon.
The word brought a flush to Jane’s cheeks as her thoughts turned unwillingly to the more intimate aspects of marriage.
Until that moment, she had managed to focus on the social and practical adjustments awaiting her, deliberately avoiding consideration of what might be expected of her in the marital bed.
Richard had made no mention of such matters during their courtship. Would he come to her tonight?
The thought sent a strange shiver through her—not revulsion, as she might have expected, but something far more complicated.
“Your bath is ready, Your Grace,” Annabelle announced, breaking into Jane’s unsettling reflections. “Would you like me to help you out of your wedding gown?”
The remainder of the afternoon passed in a blur of practical matters—bathing, changing into a comfortable evening dress, memorizing the layout of her new chambers.
Annabelle proved a godsend, her cheerful efficiency and willingness to explain household customs helping Jane navigate this strange new world.
“His Grace dines at seven precisely,” she informed her as she arranged her hair in a simple but elegant updo. “The first dinner bell will ring at half-past six.”
“And is dinner a formal affair, even when there are no guests?” Jane asked, wondering what Richard would expect of her.
“His Grace maintains proper standards at all times,” Annabelle replied, which Jane took as a definite yes. “But he dines alone most evenings when in town, so I expect tonight will be just the two of you.”
The prospect of dining alone with Richard sent another of those strange shivers through Jane. Their outings had always been chaperonedandin public settings. This would be their first private interaction as husband and wife.
The dining room at Myste House, like all the other rooms, spoke of unrestrained elegance. Candles cast a warm glow over the polished mahogany table, which had been set for two at one end, rather than opposite extremities. The silver gleamed, reflecting the dancing flames in miniature constellations across the tablecloth.
Richard was already standing beside the table when Jane entered, his formal evening attire impeccable despite the absence of guests. He moved forward to pull back her chair with practiced courtesy.
“I hope you find the arrangements satisfactory, Duchess,” he said as she settled into her seat. “I’ve instructed the kitchen to prepare several options until we determine your preferences.”
“That is… thoughtful of you,” Jane replied, somewhat surprised by his consideration. “Though I assure you, I’m not particular about food.”
Richard took his seat, his movements deliberate and controlled. “Nevertheless, preferences should be respected when possible.”
The first course arrived—a delicate soup that steamed gently in bone china bowls. Jane watched as Richard unfolded his napkin with precise movements, a study in perfect dining etiquette.
“Do you find your chambers comfortable?” he inquired after the footman had withdrawn. “If anything is lacking, Mrs. Winter can make adjustments.”
“The chambers are beautiful,” Jane admitted, tasting the soup carefully. “Though I confess that the number of rooms is somewhat bewildering. I counted three separate dressing areas.”
“The suite was designed for a duchess with an extensive wardrobe and multiple lady’s maids,” Richard explained. “My grandmother was particularly concerned about having enough space for her seasonal collections.”
Jane couldn’t help a small smile. “I fear she would be disappointed by my modest trunks, then. Half the closets stand empty.”
“That can be easily remedied if you wish,” Richard offered, his tone suggesting that this was a simple matter to resolve. “The modiste can visit for initial measurements.”
A momentary silence fell between them, filled only by the gentle clink of silver against porcelain.
Jane racked her brain for something—anything—to say that might bridge the vast gap of unfamiliarity between them.
