Page 35 of Duke of Myste
The thought was both unsettling and oddly exhilarating.
Outside, the clouds parted to allow a shaft of sunlight to illuminate the geometric perfection of the rose garden, each bush planted at precisely the correct distance from its neighbors, every path intersecting at perfect angles.
Jane studied the patterns with growing interest, wondering what might happen if one introduced a single wildflower to that carefully maintained order? Would it be immediately uprooted as a disruptive element, or would the unexpected touch of wilderness enhance the garden’s strict beauty?
A metaphor, but perhaps an apt one.
Jane realized she was now the wildflower planted in the Duke’s meticulously ordered existence. The question that remained was whether she would be permitted to bloom, or whether the gardener’s dedication to perfect symmetry would ultimately prove too rigid to accommodate such an unpredictable element.
Only time—and her weekly requests—would tell.
CHAPTER 12
“Marriage appears to be treating you rather well, Jane, despite your… unusual circumstances. You’re positively glowing!”
Diana’s eyes sparkled with barely contained curiosity as she settled more comfortably into her chair, a teacup balanced delicately between her slender fingers.
Despite being the younger twin by mere minutes, she had always possessed a certain ethereal quality that made her seem simultaneously more fragile and more perceptive than her more outspoken sister.
The afternoon sun filtered through the tall windows of the drawing room, casting a golden glow over the elegant furniture and illuminating the fine china tea service that had been arranged with military precision on the table between them.
The scene might have been plucked from a watercolor painting depicting perfect aristocratic leisure, were it not for the tension visible in Jane’s shoulders despite her welcoming smile.
“If I’m glowing, dear sister, it’s merely the flush of righteous indignation,” Jane replied, though her tart tone was softened by the genuine pleasure in her expression.
After days of navigating the treacherous waters of her marriage without a confidante, Diana’s arrival felt like a lifeline thrown to a drowning woman.
“The Duke keeps a household that would make even Mama’s exacting standards seem positively bohemian.”
Diana’s laugh, light as wind chimes in a summer breeze, filled the room. “I can scarcely imagine it. Mama spentthree hoursyesterday reorganizing the linen closets because they lacked ‘proper hierarchical arrangement.’ Father nearly had an apoplexy when he found her instructing the new maid on the correct number of folds for his handkerchiefs.”
Jane found herself laughing in response, the sound rusty from disuse.
How long had it been since she’d genuinely smiled? Only a few days into her marriage, yet it felt like months had passed since that disastrous masquerade ball that had precipitated her current situation.
“Oh, Diana, how I’ve missed you.” She reached across to squeeze her sister’s hand. “Tell me everything that’s happened since the wedding! Has Lady Houndshire finally stopped circulating rumors about the hasty ceremony? Has Mama recovered from the shock of having two daughters married in succession?”
“Lady Houndshire has found new prey, thank heavens,” Diana scoffed, carefully setting her teacup down. “Apparently, Lord Weatherby’s youngest son was discovered in a rather compromising position with the French ambassador’s niece. Mama is simultaneously devastated by your absence and triumphant about securing such an advantageous match, poor woman. The emotional contradiction has her redecorating the east wing.”
Jane shook her head, imagining the whirlwind of activity at Drownshire House. Her mother had always channeled emotional turmoil into renovations—a trait Jane suspected she had inherited in some way.
“And how is Papa faring under the strain of matrimonial victories?”
“Hiding in his study, naturally,” Diana replied with a fond smile. “Though he did mention at breakfast yesterday that the Duke required a surprisingly modest dowry, and that ‘a gentleman wo values character over coin is a man of sense.’ I believe that’s Papa’s way of saying he hopes you’ll be happy.”
Jane’s expression softened. Her father’s inability to express affection directly had been a constant throughout theirchildhood, but she had learned to interpret his practical considerations as the closest he could come to emotional support.
“And what of you, Diana? Has Mama already begun parading potential suitors before you, now that Lydia, Marian, and I have been successfully matched?”
Diana’s cheeks colored slightly, her gaze dropping to her lap. “There may have been a few carefully arranged ‘chance encounters’ at Lady Cavendish’s musical evening last week. Though I believe Mama is allowing herself a brief respite before launching a full campaign for my future.”
“And were any of these chance encounters remotely tolerable?” Jane leaned forward, genuinely curious.
Diana had always been the quieter twin, less inclined to challenge suitors to debates. Her reserved nature often attracted a different caliber of gentlemen than those who approached Jane.
“Lord Hartley was unexpectedly knowledgeable about botany,” Diana admitted, a hint of interest animating her usually serene features. “We had quite a fascinating discussion about the medicinal properties of certain garden herbs. And Mr. Thompson’s younger brother has a rather impressive library, though he seems to regard it mainly as an inherited obligation rather than a genuine resource.”
Jane opened her mouth to inquire further, but the drawing room door swung open with a suddenness that spoke of purpose rather than casual entry.
