Page 36 of Duke of Myste
Both sisters turned toward the sound, their postures automatically straightening in response to the commanding presence that now filled the doorway.
Richard stood there, his tall figure outlined by the darker corridor behind him. Even from a distance, Jane could see the tightness around his mouth that indicated displeasure, though his expression remained perfectly composed.
“Your Grace,” Diana greeted before Jane could speak, rising to bob a flawless curtsy. “How kind of you to join us. Your home is absolutely magnificent.”
“Miss Brandon.” Richard’s bow was precise and correct, his tone revealing nothing beyond perfect civility. “Welcome to Myste House. I trust your journey was comfortable?”
“Perfectly so, thank you,” Diana replied, her voice carrying that particular note of deference that Jane had never quite mastered. “The spring weather made for an exceptionally pleasant ride.”
Richard nodded, his gaze shifting to Jane. Something flickered in his hazel eyes—frustration, perhaps, or a more complex emotion she couldn’t immediately name. “Duchess, might I have a word?”
The formal address stirred Jane’s irritation, but she masked it with a pleasant smile. “Of course, Your Grace.” She turned to Diana with an apologetic smile. “Please excuse us for a moment, Sister.”
Diana nodded, settling back into her chair with the demure posture that had been drilled into them since childhood. “Of course. I shall peruse the latest scandal sheet while you attend to your husband.”
She lifted the periodical from the side table, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of her mouth.
Jane followed Richard into the corridor, noting with some surprise that he didn’t close the door fully behind them. Instead, he left it ajar, the crack just wide enough to maintain propriety by ensuring they remained within sight of Diana, if not within earshot.
“Is something wrong, Your Grace?” Jane asked, her tone deliberately light, though she could feel tension building between her shoulders.
The corridor seemed infinitely smaller with Richard standing so close, his presence dominating the space in a way that made her acutely aware of her physical response to his proximity.
“You have invited a guest without consulting me,” Richard began, his voice low but carrying an unmistakable edge of displeasure. “While we aresupposedlyon our honeymoon.”
Jane blinked, momentarily nonplussed by the unexpected complaint. “Diana is hardly a ‘guest’ in the formal sense,” she reasoned, working to keep her voice even. “She is my sister.”
“That is irrelevant to the matter at hand.” Richard’s jaw tightened visibly. “We are newly married. Society expects us to be entirely absorbed in each other for at least a fortnight. Having your family visit us during this time suggests that something is amiss with our union, or that we have no regard for proper appearances.”
Heat rose to Jane’s cheeks, indignation flaring in her chest. “I was not aware that I needed your permission to see my own sister,” she huffed, her voice rising slightly despite her efforts to maintain her composure. “Particularly when our marriage is precisely what you describe—a matter of appearances rather than genuine attachment.”
Richard’s eyes narrowed. “Lower your voice,” he commanded, glancing toward the partially open door. “This is precisely the sort of behavior I cautioned against. A duchess does not engage in corridor disputes like a common fishwife.”
“And a duke does not dictate when his wife may see her family,” Jane retorted, her voice rising rather than falling in direct defiance of his request. “Diana traveled all this way specifically to ensure my well-being, given the… unusual circumstances of our union. I will not send her away simply because it doesn’t align with yournotionof perfect marital theatre.”
“It is not about theater,” Richard protested, his own voice rising to match hers. “It is about establishing the proper foundation for our relationship in the eyes of the ton. If we cannot manage even the basic expectations of a honeymoon period, what hope do we have for convincing the ton that our marriage is?—”
A loud peal of laughter from the drawing room cut through their heated exchange. Both turned simultaneously toward the sound, their argument momentarily forgotten as they stared at the partially open door.
Jane moved first, pushing the door wider to reveal Diana, hand pressed to her mouth in a futile attempt to stifle her mirth.
When Diana caught them watching her, she made a visible effort to school her features, though her eyes were still dancing with barely suppressed mirth.
“I do apologize,” she said, not sounding remotely sorry. “It’s just that… well, you both seem to be getting along so splendidly.”
Jane felt her face flame with embarrassment, while Richard’s expression shifted to one of affronted dignity.
They must have presented quite the spectacle, she realized. The dignified Duke of Myste and his new Duchess, bickering in the corridor like characters in a poorly performed comedy.
“Diana!” Jane hissed, her mortification warring with the urge to laugh at her sister’s unexpected impertinence.
Diana made another valiant attempt to suppress her amusement, but the effort only seemed to make it worse. More giggles escaped her lips, her shoulders shaking with the force of it. “You’re glaring at me in perfect unison,” she gasped. “How remarkably synchronized you are already.”
Jane glanced at Richard, surprised to find him fixing her with the same look of irritation and disbelief she suspected was mirrored on her own face.
The sheer absurdity of the situation struck her then—their first true moment of marital unity coming in the form of shared exasperation with her sister’s ill-timed humor.
With a decisive movement, Jane closed the drawing room door, leaving Diana to recover her composure in private. She turned back to Richard, finding him still watching her with that unreadable expression that seemed to be his default state.
