Page 7 of Duke of Myste
Lady Drownshire nodded once, her composure now fully restored. “Get some rest, Jane. Tomorrow will no doubt bring challenges without the added burden of exhaustion.”
Left alone in the morning room, Jane found herself staring out at the moonlit garden, its careful symmetry so unlike her inclinations toward freedom. Would the Duke of Myste attempt to prune away the aspects of her character that failed to conform to his notion of proper feminine behavior?
The thought stirred a rebellious determination within her, yet she couldn’t forget that moment at the grand reveal—the shock in his eyes, followed by that flicker of something unexpected that had made her breath catch.
Whatever came tomorrow, she would face Richard Riverstone as an equal, not as a docile bride to be managed.
With that resolve firmly in mind, she finally retired to her chamber, passing Diana’s door, where muffled weeping revealed her sister’s distress.
Some burdens, even shared ones, must be carried separately. Just as Jane would carry the consequences of her choice when the Duke arrived with his inevitable offer.
CHAPTER 3
“Must you insist on infuriating the Duke before he has even made his offer?” Lord Drownshire’s voice boomed through the morning room, causing the delicate china on the tea tray to rattle in protest.
Jane remained outwardly composed, even as her fingers tightened around the embroidery hoop in her lap—a prop she had deliberately chosen to project an image of feminine docility that she knew was expected of her this morning.
“I merely suggest that forcing a man to propose out of obligation rather than inclination seems a rather poor foundation for any marriage.”
Lady Drownshire gave a soft, despairing sigh from her position near the window, where she had stationed herself to give the earliest possible warning of the Duke’s arrival. “Jane, dear, this is hardly the moment for philosophical debate on the nature of marriage. The Duke of Myste will be arriving within the hour, and we must present a united front.”
The morning light filtering through the tall windows cast a deceptively cheerful glow over the scene—three members of the Brandon family arranged with careful casualness, as though this were any ordinary morning, rather than one that might determine Jane’s entire future.
Only Diana’s absence betrayed the gravity of the situation; she had pleaded a headache and remained in her bedchamber, unable to face the consequences of what she still viewed as her mistake.
“I am simply trying to manage expectations,” Jane replied, setting another neat stitch that belied her inner turmoil. “The Duke made his opinion of me quite clear at Marian’s wedding. I doubt last night’s events have improved his assessment.”
Her father’s mustache twitched ominously. “His assessment is irrelevant. You were discovered alone together under circumstances that permit but one honorable resolution. He will offer, and you will accept.”
Jane’s needle paused mid-air. “And if I do not?”
The temperature in the room seemed to drop by several degrees.
Lord Drownshire turned slowly to face his daughter, his expression thunderous. “You would dare refuse? After the scandal you have brought upon this family?”
“A scandal that might have been avoided entirely had proper chaperones been present at Lady Thornton’s ball,” Jane pointed out, unable to resist the logical riposte, despite knowing it would only anger her father further.
“Jane!” Lady Drownshire abandoned her post by the window, moving swiftly to intervene before the conversation could devolve into open conflict. “Your father is merely concerned for your welfare, as we all are. The Duke of Myste is a man of impeccable character and considerable fortune. Many young ladies would consider such a match the pinnacle of achievement.”
“I am not ‘many young ladies,’ Mama.”
“No, indeed,” Lord Drownshire muttered. “Other young ladies possess the good sense to avoid compromising situations with eligible bachelors.”
Before Jane could formulate a suitably cutting response, the butler appeared at the door, his expression as impassive as ever despite the tension he had interrupted. “His Grace, the Duke of Myste has arrived.”
The announcement fell into the room like a stone into still water, sending ripples of nervous energy through its occupants.
Lady Drownshire immediately smoothed her already immaculate skirts, while Lord Drownshire squared his shoulders as though preparing for battle. Only Jane remained as she was, though her pulse had turned into a mad flutter that shefirmly attributed to anticipation of the upcoming verbal spar, rather than any reaction to the Duke himself.
“Show him in,” Lord Drownshire commanded.
The Duke entered the morning room with the measured stride of a man accustomed to commanding attention without effort. His tall frame was impeccably attired in a coat of dark blue that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, his cravat arranged in a style of elegant simplicity that somehow conveyed more refinement than the most elaborate fashions. His dark hair was neatly styled, though a single rebellious lock curved over his forehead in a way that seemed at odds with his otherwise perfect composure.
“Lord Drownshire,” he greeted, bowing with precise correctness to the Viscount before turning to Lady Drownshire. “My Lady.” His gaze finally settled on Jane, who had risen from her seat, embroidery abandoned. “Miss Brandon.”
The sound of his deep voice sent an involuntary shiver up her spine—one she firmly attributed to apprehension rather than anything more complex.
“Your Grace,” she replied, bobbing a curtsy neither too deep nor too shallow, a gesture calibrated to acknowledge his rank without suggesting deference.
