Page 5 of Duke of Myste
Diana’s lower lip quivered. “And what of your future? What of your chance for love?”
A wry smile twisted Jane’s mouth. “You know that my opinions on the institution of marriage are hardly conventional. If I must enter it under these circumstances, then at least I do so with my eyes wide open, harboring no romantic illusions about its purpose.”
The door opened abruptly, admitting Lady Drownshire, whose normally smooth features were tight with barely contained panic.
“Girls,” she hissed, “your father is beside himself. The Duke of Myste is in the library with Lord Thornton, and gossip is spreading faster than wildfire through kindling.” Her sharp gaze noted the restored clothing and masks, a frown deepening the lines around her mouth. “What have you done?”
Jane straightened her spine, meeting her mother’s accusatory stare with calm resolve. “What was necessary, Mama. I have prevented a scandal from destroying Diana’s prospects.”
“By surrendering yourself to it?” Lady Drownshire’s voice rose an octave before she managed to control it, casting a nervous glance at the closed door. “Jane, have you taken leave of your senses? The Duke is?—”
“Precisely the sort of man who will do the honorable thing,” Jane finished for her. “His reputation for propriety is unmatched in London. He will ask for my hand. Of that, I have no doubt.”
“And you find this an acceptable outcome?” Lady Drownshire demanded, studying her with bewildered intensity. “Tyingyourself permanently to a man you openly criticized a mere three weeks ago at your sister’s wedding?”
Diana’s expression turned anxious, her eyes darting between her mother and sister. “Jane… after your heated exchange with him…”
Jane’s cheeks warmed at the memory of her heated exchange with the Duke at Marian and Nicholas’s wedding celebration.
“Barely,” she admitted. “We did not… precisely… agree on certain matters of philosophy.”
“You called him a ‘fossilized repository of outdated conventions’ if I recall correctly,” Lady Drownshire reminded her with a grimace. “Hardly the beginning of a harmonious union.”
Before Jane could formulate a suitable response, the door opened once more, revealing Lord Silas Brandon, the Viscount Drownshire. His usually florid face had turned into an alarming shade of burgundy, and his mustache twitched with barely suppressed agitation.
“What on earth were you thinking?” he snapped, advancing into the room with thunderous steps. “Alone with the Duke of Myste, of all people! Do you have any notion of the damage you’ve done?”
Jane instinctively stepped forward, shielding Diana from their father’s fury. “It was a simple misunderstanding, Father. Nothing inappropriate occurred.”
Lord Drownshire snorted in disbelief. “Amisunderstandingthat has set every tongue in London wagging! The Duke is well known for his impeccable conduct—the very fact that he allowed such a situation to arise is simply beyond comprehension!”
“Perhaps,” Jane suggested carefully, “it would be wise to hear the Duke’s explanation before jumping to conclusions.”
Her father’s bushy eyebrows drew together ominously. “His explanation? I care not for his explanation! What matters is salvaging what remains of this family’s reputation.” He turned to his wife, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “The carriage is being prepared. We leave immediately.”
“Father,” Diana began timidly, “surely we cannot simply?—”
“We can, and we shall,” Lord Drownshire cut in, his tone brooking no argument. “The Duke has requested a meeting at Drownshire House tomorrow morning. Until then, I will not have my daughters paraded before Society like some common—” He broke off, seemingly unable to complete the thought.
Lady Drownshire moved to her husband’s side, placing a calming hand on his arm. “Of course, my dear. A dignified withdrawal is the only sensible course.” She turned to her daughters, her expression stern. “Collect your wraps. We depart in ten minutes.”
As their parents exited to make the necessary arrangements, Jane let out a slow, measured breath. The first phase of her impulsive plan had succeeded, mostly. She had diverted the worst of the scandal onto herself, saving Diana’s reputation from irreparable damage.
But the cost of that success was now becoming clear—a future tied to a man whose rigid principles and unyielding propriety represented everything she had spent her entire life arguing against.
“Jane,” Diana whispered, breaking into her thoughts. “I am sorry. If only I hadn’t been so foolish?—”
“Hush,” Jane interrupted gently, squeezing her sister’s hand. “What is done is done. Besides,” she added with forced lightness, “just think of the delicious irony. The Duke, who lectured me on proper feminine behavior, now finds himself obligated to offer for me, the least proper young lady of his acquaintance.”
Diana’s attempted smile wavered, her eyes still troubled. “But will you accept?”
The question hung in the air between them, weighted with implications Jane had not yet allowed herself to fully consider.
Would she accept the Duke’s offer? Could she bind herself to a man whose worldview seemed opposed to her own, whose very presence stirred within her an irresistible urge to challenge and debate?
“I will do what is necessary,” she answered finally, the words feeling hollow even to her own ears. “For now, that means facing tomorrow with dignity and composure.”
The journey home passed in strained silence, the carriage rolling through London’s darkened streets like a funeral procession. Lord Drownshire stared fixedly out the window, his jaw working silently as he contemplated the evening’s events. Lady Drownshire sat rigidly beside him, her spine as straight as a poker, occasionally casting worried glances at her daughters, who were huddled on the opposite bench.
