Page 6 of Duke of Myste
Jane and Diana clasped hands beneath the folds of their cloaks, drawing comfort from each other as they had since birth. Yet, Jane could not help but feel the subtle tremors in Diana’s fingers, the clamminess of her palm betraying her distress.
“It will be all right,” she murmured, too softly for their parents to hear. “I promise you, Diana. All will be well.”
But as the carriage turned into the street leading to Drownshire House, Jane’s certainty faltered.
The image of the Duke’s face at the grand reveal flashed unbidden through her mind—his hazel eyes widening in recognition, his stern mouth tightening with an emotion she could not place. It was not exactly anger, though that had certainly been present. There had been something else… something that had sent an inexplicable shiver down her spine.
Interest. Assessment. A dangerous spark of… a challenge.
The carriage lurched to a stop before their townhouse, its elegant façade illuminated by the soft glow of lanterns flanking the entrance. As a footman opened the door and lowered the steps, Jane steeled herself for whatever tomorrow might bring.
One thing was certain—her encounter with the Duke of Myste was far from over.
Inside, the house was quiet, with most of the servants having retired for the evening. Only Wilkins, the aging butler who had served the family since before Jane’s birth, had been awaiting their return.
“Wilkins, have tea sent up to my daughters’ rooms,” Lady Drownshire instructed, removing her gloves with sharp, agitated movements. “And inform Cook that we will receive the Duke of Myste at eleven tomorrow. Appropriate refreshments should be prepared.”
“Very good, My Lady,” Wilkins replied, his impassive expression betraying nothing of what he might have heard regarding the evening’s events.
Lord Drownshire disappeared immediately into his study, the door closing behind him with an ominous click.
Lady Drownshire hesitated at the foot of the stairs, turning to regard her daughters with exasperation and concern.
“Jane,” she said, her voice lower than usual, “a moment in the morning room, if you please.”
Diana’s grip on Jane’s hand tightened, but Jane gave her a reassuring smile. “Go on up,” she urged gently. “I won’t be long.”
The morning room, with its delicate furniture and pastel walls, had always been Lady Drownshire’s domain—a feminine sanctuary where she planned menus, wrote correspondence, and occasionally delivered reprimands too private for the servants’ ears. Now, in the muted glow of a single lamp, it seemed smaller somehow, the shadows in its corners deeper.
“Sit,” she instructed, indicating a small settee while taking the chair opposite. When Jane had complied, she leaned forward, her voice barely above a whisper. “Did you switch places with Diana at the ball?”
The directness of the question caught Jane off guard. She had expected circumspection, not this confrontation. For a brief moment, she considered lying—but the knowing look in her mother’s eyes suggested that such an attempt would be futile.
“Yes,” she admitted simply.
Lady Drownshire’s shoulders sagged, her usually perfect posture abandoned in a rare display of genuine emotion. “I suspected as much when I saw both of you in the sitting room.” She shook her head, a combination of resignation and reluctant admiration in her expression. “You have always been protective of yoursister, but this… this goes beyond protection, Jane. This is self-sacrifice.”
“It was necessary,” Jane insisted, echoing her earlier words. “Diana wouldn’t have survived such a scandal. You know how sensitive she is, how deeply she feels Society’s judgment.”
“And you?” Lady Drownshire pressed. “How deeply do you feel it?”
Jane lifted her chin slightly. “I have never particularly cared for Society’s opinion, Mama. You know that better than most.”
A tired smile touched Lady Drownshire’s lips. “Indeed. You have made that abundantly clear since you were old enough to form sentences.” She reached out, taking Jane’s hand in a rare gesture of maternal affection. “But this ismarriage, Jane. Marriage to a man you have openly antagonized. Have you truly considered what that means?”
“I have considered it enough to know that it is preferable to Diana’s ruination,” Jane replied, though the words felt inadequate even to her own ears.
Lady Drownshire studied her daughter’s face for a long moment. “The Duke will offer for you,” she said finally. “Of that, I have no doubt. His sense of honor would permit nothing less. The question is, will you accept?”
It was the second time that evening the question had been posed, and Jane found herself no closer to a clear answer.
“Do I have any choice at all?” she asked instead.
“There is always a choice, dear girl,” Lady Drownshire assured, her voice surprisingly gentle. “Though sometimes, the alternatives are equally unpalatable.” She released Jane’s hand and rose from her chair with a rustle of silk. “Whatever you decide, I hope you will remember that marriage is not merely a social contract. It is a life shared, a path walked together. Even the most pragmatic of unions requires some measure of compatibility if the journey is to be endured with grace.”
Jane blinked, startled by this unexpected glimpse of wisdom from a woman she had often dismissed as concerned with appearances.
“I… will remember,” she promised.
