Page 69 of Duke of Myste
Her words hung in the morning air like a benediction, and Jane felt something tight in her chest slightly loosen.
“They… they approve?”
“More than approve.” Harriet beamed. “They’re practically composing sonnets about your romance. Though I suspect Richard may have a rather different reaction to being described in this manner in print.”
Jane’s anxiety returned with full force. “Good heavens, he will be mortified. You know how he values his reputation for restraint and dignity.”
“Will he?” Harriet asked, tilting her head with genuine curiosity. “Because from where I was standing last night, Richard looked like a man who had finally stopped caring what anyone else thought. He looked like a man who had found something worth more than social approval.”
“You cannot possibly know that for certain.”
The observation struck Jane with unexpected force. Had Richard really changed so much? The man she’d married would have been horrified by such public scrutiny, but the man who had waltzed with her last night, who had whispered declarations of love in her ear, who had looked at her as though she were the only person in the world—perhaps that man might view such attention differently. But she was not convinced.
“I suppose we will find out,” Jane said, though her voice carried more uncertainty than conviction.
“Indeed, we will,” Harriet agreed. “Though I suspect you may be surprised by his reaction. Love, I’ve observed, has a way of rearranging one’s priorities quite dramatically.”
Though her words were meant to ignite a spark of hope, Jane’s panic and anxiety proved overwhelming.
The blood drained from her face so quickly that she felt momentarily dizzy. She had hoped—foolishly so—that their presence at Vauxhall Gardens would go unnoticed. The realization that their private moment of love’s recognition had become fodder for gossip made her feel as though she had been stripped naked before the entire ton.
“This is disastrous,” she whispered, rising abruptly from her chair. “Richard will be mortified. His reputation, his standing in Parliament… everything he has worked so carefully to build?—”
“Jane, do you not think you are being a bit dramatic?” Harriet interrupted.
But Jane was already hurrying toward the door. “I need air… I cannot… I must think. I think I shall visit Lydia this morning.”
The words tumbled out before she could properly consider them, but once spoken, they felt like salvation.
Her eldest sister would understand. Lydia, who had navigated her own complicated path to love and happiness, would know how to make sense of Jane’s churning emotions.
“Jane, wait!” Harriet called, but Jane was already out of the breakfast room, her mind racing with catastrophic possibilities.
What if Richard regretted their beautiful evening? What if the magic of their confession seemed like mere madness in the harsh light of public ridicule? What if he retreated once more behind those familiar walls of ducal reserve, leaving her alone with feelings she could no longer contain?
Twenty minutes later, Jane’s mount drew to a halt before Lydia’s elegant townhouse, her thoughts still tangled in knots of anxiety and regret. She had worked herself into a state of considerable agitation during the short journey, imagining Richard’s disappointment, his withdrawal, the careful distance he would surely impose to protect his reputation.
“Jane!” Lydia’s delighted voice greeted her as she was shown into the morning room, a bright space decorated in shades of pink and cream that perfectly reflected its mistress’s warm personality. “What a wonderful surprise! Though I presume from your expression that you have already read the morning papers.”
Jane paused in the doorway, taking in the scene before her.
Lydia sat at a small writing desk, correspondence spread before her, while a tall, gangly boy of perhaps twelve years lounged in a nearby chair, his dark hair falling over his forehead in a way that reminded Jane poignantly of what Elias might have looked like at a similar age.
“Peter,” Jane said warmly, though her voice carried an undercurrent of strain, “you have become quite the young gentleman since my last visit.”
Peter grinned, revealing teeth that seemed slightly too large for his face—a temporary condition of youth that somehow made him even more endearing. “Mama has been regaling me with tales of your social triumphs, Aunt Jane. She said the Duke actually smiled in public, which apparently ranks as one of the great miracles of the Season.”
“Peter,” Lydia admonished gently, though her sharp eyes were studying Jane’s pale complexion with growing concern. “Why don’t you go find your tutor? I believe your mathematics lesson should start shortly.”
Peter rolled his eyes with theatrical despair but then obediently rose from his chair. “The sacrifices I make for education,” he declared dramatically. “Aunt Jane, you must promise to tell me more about the fire-breathers before you leave.”
“I promise,” Jane agreed absently, watching with distracted affection as the boy bounded out of the room.
As soon as the door closed behind him, Lydia turned to Jane with an intrigued expression. “Now then, my dear sister, what has brought you to my door looking as though the world might end at any moment? I assume this relates to whatever the gossip sheets have written about your evening?”
Jane sank into the chair Peter had vacated, her carefully maintained composure cracking like ice under spring sunshine. “Lydia, it’s worse than I feared.The Morning Posthas devoted an entire column to our appearance at Vauxhall. They’re calling Richard besotted and suggesting that I led him into scandalous behavior entirely inappropriate for a duke.”
“And?” Lydia prompted, settling herself on the small sofa with the patient expression of someone prepared to talk sense into a beloved.
