Page 37 of Duke of Myste
“My sister can be somewhat… naïve at times,” she offered, feeling a peculiar need to explain Diana’s behavior even though the comment had contained more truth than either of them cared to admit.
Richard nodded, the gesture carrying reluctant acknowledgment. “Indeed.” His tone had lost some of its earlier sharpness, the edge of anger softened by the unexpected interruption. “You should not tarry too long. The tea will get cold.”
The mundane observation, delivered with such formal correctness after their heated exchange, struck Jane as oddly endearing. It was precisely the sort of consideration that revealed glimpses of the man beneath the façade—a man who apparently had opinions about the proper temperature of tea.
“Yes, that would be tragic, indeed,” she replied, unable to keep the irony from her voice. “Far worse than scandalizing Society by allowing my sister to call during our honeymoon.”
Silence fell between them then, neither hostile nor uncomfortable, but carrying a strange current of awareness that made Jane’s pulse quicken. Richard’s eyes met hers, the hazel depths revealing a flash of something that might almost have been humor, before his usually guarded expression reasserted itself.
The corridor suddenly felt even narrower than before, the very air between them charged with an energy Jane had no desire to examine too closely at present. She found herself noticing the strong line of his jaw, the way his perfectly tailored coat accentuated his broad shoulders, and the faint scent of sandalwood and leather that always seemed to cling to him.
Richard cleared his throat abruptly, breaking the unexpected connection. “I shall leave you to your visitor,” he said, taking a step back to restore proper distance between them. “Please convey my regards to your sister before she departs.”
“I will.” Jane smoothed down her skirts—a nervous gesture that she had thought long conquered. “Thank you for your… understanding.”
Something that might have been a smile touched Richard’s lips before disappearing just as quickly. “Until dinner, then, Duchess,” he said, offering a slight bow before turning with military precision and striding away.
Jane watched him go, acutely aware of the confusing mixture of irritation and reluctant fascination that seemed to characterize her every encounter with her new husband lately.
He was infuriating in his rigid adherence to propriety, maddening in his certainty, and yet occasionally, in unguarded moments, oddly compelling in a way she had no intention of acknowledging—even to herself.
With a slight shake of her head to clear such unwelcome thoughts, Jane turned back to the drawing room, where Diana waited, no doubt bursting with questions about the encounter she had witnessed.
One difficult conversation at a time, she decided, plastering a smile on her face as she opened the door to face her sister’s curiosity.
The tea, as Richard had predicted, had indeed gone cold.
CHAPTER 13
“Ishall be riding out this morning, Annabelle. The side-saddle appears perfectly adequate, but I think I shall wear my old riding habit instead.”
Jane examined the attire laid out on her bed with a critical eye, running her fingers over the fine wool of the formal riding habit her mother had insisted she bring to her new home. Its midnight blue fabric and severe cut were beyond fashionable, yet the thought of trapping herself atop a side-saddle while wearing the restricting garment made her wince. Beside it lay a simpler outfit—dark green with significantly less restrictive tailoring—that had been her secret companion on many solitary rides at Drownshire House.
Annabelle’s eyes widened slightly, her hands pausing in their task of arranging Jane’s hairpins. “Your Grace, I don’t believe His Grace would… That is to say, most ladies of your station would?—”
“Most ladies of my station haven’t spent their lives riding astride whenever they could escape their mothers’ watchful eyes,” Jane replied, already reaching for the green habit. “Besides, I have no intention of being seen by anyone besides the stablehands, who I suspect have witnessed far more shocking things than a woman riding astride.”
The maid’s expression suggested that she disagreed heartily with this assessment, but she knew better than to challenge her mistress directly.
“As you wish, Your Grace. Though perhaps it might be wise to at least inform His Grace of your intentions? He seemed rather particular about household routines yesterday.”
Jane stifled a sigh, reminded uncomfortably of Diana’s barely suppressed laughter at their marital discord. “His Grace rose before dawn for some business in the city. He will hardly notice my brief absence, particularly if I return before he does.”
Annabelle’s doubtful expression suggested that she found this optimistic reasoning highly suspect. Nevertheless, she helped Jane into the green riding habit with efficient movements, her fingers working deftly at fastenings and adjustments.
“There,” Jane said with satisfaction, examining her reflection in the tall mirror.
The habit was perhaps a touch dated in its design, but the color complemented her complexion beautifully. More importantly,it allowed for the freedom of movement that proper riding demanded.
“I shall return before luncheon, Annabelle. Should anyone inquire, I am simply getting better acquainted with the estate.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Annabelle replied, her tone carrying that particular blend of deference and doubt that seemed to characterize most of the Myste House’s staff interactions with their new mistress.
The morning air carried a bracing freshness as Jane made her way to the stables, a quality that seemed to promise adventure and possibility despite the rigidly formal surroundings. Even the immaculately groomed gardens, with their geometric precision and carefully maintained hierarchy of plantings, could not diminish the simple pleasure of a spring morning with freedom stretching before her.
The head groom’s neutral expression betrayed only the slightest flicker of surprise when Jane requested that her mare be saddled traditionally.
“As you wish, Your Grace,” he had said after the briefest hesitation, his weathered face revealing nothing beyond proper deference as he instructed a stable boy to make the necessary adjustments.
