Page 42 of Duke of Myste
She turned at the sound of his approach, and he found himself momentarily arrested by the picture she presented. The gown’s color accentuated the warm tones of her skin and brought out the golden flecks in her dark eyes. A simple diamond pendant rested in the hollow at the base of her throat, bound by a large black ribbon, rising and falling gently with each breath.
“Your Grace,” she greeted, bobbing a perfect curtsy that managed to convey both proper respect and a hint of irony, as if acknowledging the absurdity of such formality between a husband and wife. “I trust you approve of my attire?”
Richard descended the remaining steps with careful composure, aware of the servants hovering nearby. “You look…” He paused,searching for a word that would be appropriate in the presence of the staff yet would convey more than mere polite approval. “… magnificent, Duchess. This shade of green suits you remarkably well.”
A flicker of surprise crossed Jane’s features, as if she had expected a lecture on propriety rather than a genuine compliment.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she replied, her voice unusually soft. “You look quite dapper yourself.”
The compliment was followed by an awkward silence, both of them uncertain of how to proceed in this unfamiliar territory of mutual appreciation.
“The carriage awaits,” Richard said finally, offering his arm with formal correctness. “Shall we?”
Jane placed her gloved hand on his sleeve, the touch barely perceptible through the layers of fine fabric.
“I am quite nervous,” she admitted as they moved toward the door. “This will be our first public appearance since the wedding.”
The quiet admission of vulnerability surprised him.
“We have prepared thoroughly,” he reminded her, his tone gentler than usual. “You know exactly what to expect and how to conduct yourself. There is nothing to fear.”
Jane glanced up at him, her expression thoughtful. “It is not fear, precisely. More… awareness of being observed. Judged.”
“By people whose opinions matter very little,” Richard pointed out, the words emerging with unexpected vehemence. When Jane looked at him with startled curiosity, he moderated his tone. “You are the Duchess of Myste now. Your position places you above the pretty judgment of the ton.”
A ghost of a smile touched Jane’s lips. “How convenient that rank should shield one from criticism.”
“Not shield,” Richard corrected as they stepped outside into the cool evening air. “But perhaps provide perspective on its importance.”
The drive to Berkeley Square passed in companionable silence, the tension that had characterized their early interactions notably absent. Richard found himself stealing glances at his wife’s profile, illuminated intermittently by passing street lamps. The set of her jaw suggested determination rather than apprehension, a gathering of courage for the performance ahead.
Lady Chatworth’s townhouse blazed with light, every window aglow with the warm invitation of countless candles. Carriages lined the street, disgorging their elegantly attired occupants intothe spring night. The air hummed with anticipation and the strains of music drifting from the open windows.
“Remember,” Richard said softly as their carriage joined the queue, “we are presenting a united front tonight. Whatever private disagreements exist between us must remain precisely that—private.”
Jane nodded, her expression shifting into the composed mask of societal correctness he had noticed during their first meeting. “I am well aware of the performance required, Your Grace. I shall not embarrass you.”
The words carried a hint of resentment that made Richard regret his reminder.
“I did not mean to suggest—” he began, but the carriage had already drawn to a halt before the grand entrance, a footman appearing to open the door with a ceremonial flourish.
The moment for clarification lost, Richard descended first, turning to offer his hand to Jane with punctilious correctness. Her fingers rested in his palm for a brief moment as she stepped down, the touch feather-light, yet somehow leaving an impression that lingered as they proceeded up the steps to the receiving line.
“The Duke and Duchess of Myste,” the butler announced, his stentorian voice carrying over the buzz of conversation and music.
A wave of murmurs rippled through the assembled guests as heads turned in their direction. Richard felt Jane’s spine stiffen beside him, though her expression remained perfectly pleasant, her smile neither too eager nor too reserved as they moved forward to greet their hostess.
“Your Grace! What an absolute delight to see you!” Lady Chatworth exclaimed, her enthusiasm precisely calibrated to convey honor without suggesting that Richard’s attendance was unexpected. She turned to Jane with equal warmth. “And the new Duchess of Myste! My dear, you look absolutely radiant! Marriage agrees with you.”
Jane’s curtsy was executed with flawless grace. “You are too kind, Lady Chatworth. What a spectacular gathering you’ve arranged. The decorations are simply exquisite.”
Richard watched with well-concealed approval as his wife navigated the social niceties with surprising skill. For all her professed disdain for societal conventions, she wielded them with remarkable dexterity when necessary. Their hostess practically preened under her carefully measured praise.
“You must tell me who arranged those magnificent flower displays,” Jane continued, gesturing toward the elaborate arrangements that adorned the entrance hall. “I’ve been seeking inspiration for Myste House, and these are precisely the sort of dramatic yet tasteful compositions I’ve been envisioning.”
As Lady Chatworth launched into an animated description of her florist’s rare talents, Richard caught Jane’s eye briefly. Thesubtle gleam of triumph there told him that she was well aware of how effectively she had captured their hostess’s favor. He inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment of her skill, earning a fleeting smile that warmed her eyes momentarily before her attention returned to their hostess.
After appropriate expressions of interest and promises to call on Lady Chatworth for further consultations regarding decorations, they moved into the ballroom. The vast space glittered with the collective wealth and status of London’s elite, ladies in jewel-toned gowns and gentlemen in somber black creating a constantly shifting kaleidoscope of color and light.
