Page 45 of Duke of Myste
A door had opened, revealing the possibility of a connection that transcended their initial agreement.
Jane glanced up at Richard’s profile as he escorted her back to her sisters, his expression once again composed into the perfect model of aristocratic reserve. But she had seen beneath that reserve now, and the knowledge hummed within her like a chord struck on a perfectly tuned instrument.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of dances, conversations, and social niceties, but beneath it all, she remained acutely aware of her husband’s presence wherever he moved around the ballroom. Their paths crossed repeatedly as the night progressed, each brief interaction charged with a new awareness that had not existed before their waltz.
When they finally left, the silence that usually permeated their rides back home had also somehow transformed into something different—not uncomfortable, but weighted with unspoken thoughts. The rhythmic clatter of hooves against cobblestones seemed to emphasize rather than fill the silence.
“You conducted yourself admirably this evening,” Richard said finally as they neared Myste House. “Our hostess was quite enchanted by you.”
“High praise, indeed,” Jane replied, her attempt at lightness undermined by the lingering intimacy of their earlier exchange. “Though I suspect her enthusiasm had more to do with my flattery of her flower arrangements than an intrinsic charm on my part.”
“You underestimate yourself,” Richard chided, his gaze fixed on some point outside the carriage window. “Your social skills are considerable when you choose to employ them, Duchess.”
“When they serve a purpose beyond mere conformity, you mean,” Jane clarified, watching his profile in the intermittent glow of passing street lamps.
Richard turned toward her then, his expression thoughtful. “Perhaps purpose is precisely what gives meaning to our connections.”
The carriage drew to a halt before Myste House, its grand façade aglow with welcoming light despite it being well past midnight.As a footman opened the door and lowered the steps, Richard descended first, turning to offer his hand to Jane.
Unlike earlier in the evening, however, when her fingers had merely brushed his palm, Jane found herself placing her hand fully in his as she stepped out. His fingers closed around hers with gentle firmness, the warmth of his skin seeping through her glove.
Their eyes met over their clasped hands, and for a moment, everything else around them seemed to fade away.
Jane felt a curious lightness in her chest, a fluttering sensation that she had not experienced before—or at least, not with this particular intensity. Richard’s gaze held hers with unexpected directness, the usual careful neutrality of his expression replaced now by something warmer.
Time stood still and stretched between them, neither quite willing to be the first to break the moment, until the coachman’s discreet cough brought them back to reality.
Richard released her hand slowly, almost reluctantly, his fingers trailing over hers for a fraction longer than necessary.
“We should go inside,” he said.
The roughness of his voice made Jane’s pulse quicken despite herself.
“Yes,” she agreed, though in truth she was reluctant to end their evening—to return to the careful distance they typically maintained within the walls of Myste House. “It is late.”
As they ascended the steps together, Jane became acutely aware of his presence beside her—of the precise distance between them as they walked, neither too close nor as far apart as they might have been mere days ago.
Something had changed tonight. Some invisible barrier had begun to crumble, and neither of them seemed entirely certain of how to proceed in its absence.
In the entrance hall, Mr. Wilson waited with his usual impassive efficiency, ready to take their outer garments despite the late hour. Jane handed over her wrap, surprised to find her fingers trembling slightly as she unfastened it.
“Would you like to join me for some tea before retiring to bed?” Richard asked.
His question was unexpected after their usual pattern of immediately separating upon returning home.
Jane looked up, searching his face for the motivation behind the invitation. What she saw there—a blend of uncertainty and something akin to hope—made her heart clench in her chest.
“Tea would be lovely,” she said before she could reconsider.
Something flashed across Richard’s face—relief, perhaps, or simply approval of her acceptance. “Excellent. Shall we use the small drawing room? It will be warmer at this hour.”
As they moved toward the room in question, Jane found herself wondering at the strangeness of the evening.
They had attended a ball, danced a waltz, and were now about to take tea together—all perfectly ordinary activities for a married couple. Yet, it all felt somehow momentous, charged with meaning beyond the simple actions themselves.
Perhapsthis is how marriages of convenience evolve sometimes.
Not through grand gestures or passionate declarations like in romance novels, but through several small moments of connection, gradually accumulating until something new and unexpected had formed between two people who had begun as strangers.
