Page 49 of Duke of Myste
Perhaps growing up watching Richard sacrifice his youth to responsibility taught her to find joy despite the burdens, rather than because of their absence.
When the drawing room began to feel confining, Harriet suggested they take some air in the gardens. The afternoon sun cast dappled shadows through the hedgerows, and Pippin trotted ahead of them, investigating every interesting scent with unbridled enthusiasm.
“Tell me,” Jane said carefully as they walked along the gravel path, their skirts rustling softly against the lavender borders,. “Does Richard ever… allow himself moments of genuine happiness? Away from duty and expectation?”
Harriet paused beside a particularly fine specimen of winter jasmine, her expression growing thoughtful. “He did. Once. Before Father died, before Mother grew so fragile, before…”
She gestured vaguely, encompassing years of loss and responsibility.
“He was different back then. Quick to laugh, fond of pranks, and absolutely devoted to his books and horses. But that Richard disappeared somewhere between inheriting and surviving, and I’m not sure even he remembers what joy feels like anymore.”
The revelation settled in Jane’s chest like a stone, heavy with implications she was not yet ready to examine too closely.
“Perhaps,” she said softly, “someone simply needs to remind him.”
Harriet’s smile was swift and knowing. “Perhaps they do, indeed.”
That evening, as they gathered for dinner in the smaller dining room, Jane found herself studying her husband with new eyes. Harriet’s stories had painted a picture of a man she had never glimpsed—someone capable of lightheartedness, spontaneity, of the kind of unguarded pleasure that had been schooled out of him by years of premature responsibility.
“The Pemberton expansion is progressing smoothly,” Richard was saying in response to Harriet’s earlier inquiry, his manner formal as if he were addressing a business partner rather than his sibling. “I’ve approved additional funding for the project, provided they maintain current employment levels for local workers.”
“How wonderfully progressive of you,” Harriet replied with barely suppressed mischief. “I’m sure the village will be grateful for your largesse.”
Jane recognized the slightly mocking tone and waited to see how Richard would respond. To her surprise, something almost like humor flickered in his eyes, though his expression remained carefully neutral.
“Mock my methods if you will, Sister, but results speak for themselves. Prosperity benefits everyone, not merely those who own the land.”
“I’m not mocking your methods,” Harriet protested, though her grin suggested otherwise. “I’m simply pointing out that you’ve managed to make even charity sound like a business transaction.”
“Because it is simply that—a business transaction,” Richard replied with what Jane was beginning to recognize as his version of teasing. “Sentiment may inspire generosity, but practical considerations ensure its sustainability.”
The exchange continued throughout the meal, the siblings trading barbs with easy familiarity. Jane found herself relaxing into the warmth of their dynamic.
This was not the cold household she had imagined, but something far more complex—a family that had learned to find affection in duty and connection in shared purpose.
Later, as they settled in the drawing room for the evening, Harriet claimed the settee nearest to the fire while Pippin curled contentedly at her feet.
“Jane,” she called with characteristic directness, “you must tell me what you think of our Richard, now that you’re married to him.”
Jane glanced over at her husband, who had settled near the window with a book, though she suspected he was listening despite his apparent absorption in the pages.
“I think,” she said carefully, “that His Grace is perhaps more complicated than he would have people believe.”
“How diplomatically said,” Harriet noted approvingly. “But I was hoping for something more honest. Does he make you happy?”
The question drifted in the air between them like incense, impossible to ignore.
Jane felt heat rise in her cheeks as she struggled to formulate a response that would satisfy Harriet’s curiosity without betraying her own confusion.
“Happiness,” she said finally, “is perhaps not the appropriate measure for a marriage like ours. Compatibility, mutual respect, and shared goals—these seem more relevant considerations.”
“How utterly depressing,” Harriet groaned, pressing the back of her fingers against her forehead for dramatic effect. “No wonder Richard looks so grim most of the time. Here I thought marriage might improve his disposition. But apparently, it simply provided him with another duty to execute efficiently.”
From his corner, Richard’s voice carried clearly despite his focus on his book. “Some of us prefer efficiency to chaos, Harriet. It tends to produce more reliable results.”
“And some of us,” Harriet shot back without missing a beat, “prefer living to merely existing, regardless of the reliability of results.”
Jane watched this exchange with growing fascination, recognizing in their banter the depth of affection that existed between them. They cared for each other deeply; that much was obvious. But they had learned to express that care through challenge, rather than comfort.
