Page 70 of Duke of Myste
“And Richard is no doubt furious!” Jane exclaimed, her voice rising with panic. “His entire reputation was built on unshakeable dignity and proper behavior. For the papers to suggest that he was displaying shocking ardor in public, that he allowed himself to be led astray by his wife’s inappropriate desires for adventure?—”
“Jane,” Lydia interrupted gently, “take a deep breath. You’re working yourself into a frenzy over something that may not even concern Richard.”
“May not concern him?” Jane stared at her sister in disbelief.
“Well, have you asked him?”
Jane blinked. “No, I haven’t. Lydia, the man has spent his entire adult life building a reputation for absolute propriety. He inherited his title at nineteen and has never once given Society reason to question his judgment or dignity. And now, because ofme, because of my insistence on attending that spectacular but entirely inappropriate event?—”
“Because of you,” Lydia said firmly, “he experienced what sounds to me like the happiest evening of his adult life. Jane, from what I can see, Richard has been transformed.”
Jane shook her head, tears threatening to spill over. “But that was before the papers. Before the entire ton started gossiping about his behavior. What if he regrets it all? What if he decides that our growing closeness was a mistake, that loving me has made the Myste family vulnerable to criticism he cannot afford?”
Lydia studied her sister’s face with the practiced eye of someone who had weathered her own storms of love and public scrutiny. “Is that truly what you fear? That Richard will regret loving you?”
“I worry he will retreat,” Jane whispered, finally voicing her deepest fear. “That he will decide our beautiful evening was temporary madness. That his declaration of love was not…”
For a moment, Lydia simply stared at her, then shook her head with gentle exasperation. “Oh, dear Jane! Of all the concerns you might harbor about your marriage, that is surely the most unnecessary one. Have you truly so little faith in what you and Richard have built together?”
“Faith?” Jane looked up sharply, confused by her sister’s mild tone. “Lydia, you don’t understand the pressure Richard faces, the expectations?—”
“What I understand,” Lydia interjected, “is that you are borrowing trouble from a future that may never come to pass. Jane, tell me honestly. When Richard declared his love last night, did it sound like the words of a man who could be swayed by gossip columns?”
Jane paused, the memory of Richard’s passionate intensity during their waltz flooding back to her. The absolute certainty in his voice when he spoke of their destined connection, the reverent way he had held her, the raw emotion in his eyes when he said she had restored the missing piece of his heart he had never known was gone.
“No,” she admitted quietly. “He sounded… completely committed. As though loving me was as necessary as breathing.”
“Then why,” Lydia asked gently, “do you assume that a few lines inthe Morning Postcould undo something so profound?” Before her sister could formulate an answer, she urged, “Jane, go to your husband. And for heaven’s sake, trust in what you know to be true.”
Jane rose from her chair on unsteady legs, smoothing down her skirt with nervous hands. “What if he is angry? What if he?—”
“Then you shall deal with it,” Lydia said practically. “But Jane, I suspect you’ll find Richard’s primary concern is not his reputation, but your well-being.”
The possibility that Richard might be worried about her, rather than angry about the gossip, had not occurred to Jane.
“You truly think that?” she asked, hope threading through her voice like golden silk.
“I know it,” Lydia affirmed, moving closer to her sister. “But before you rush back to Richard, let me share something with you that might ease your fears.”
Jane looked at her sister expectantly as Lydia settled beside her, taking her hands in the familiar gesture of sisterly comfort they had shared since childhood.
“Do you remember when Elias and I were navigating the first months of our marriage?” Lydia asked softly. “When I was convinced that every disagreement meant our relationship was doomed, that every social misstep reflected poorly on his reputation?”
Jane nodded, recalling how anxious Lydia had been during that period, constantly seeking assurance about her role as a wife.
“I spent weeks tormenting myself over a particularly cutting remark Lady Cavendish made about my ‘unconventional’ approach to hosting dinner parties,” Lydia continued with a rueful smile. “I was certain Elias would be mortified by my failures. Do you know what he said when I finally worked up the courage to confess my fears?”
“What?” Jane asked, leaning forward with genuine curiosity.
“He told me he had fallen in love with me not despite my unconventional spirit, butbecauseof it. That changing myself to fit Society’s expectations would break his heart far more than any gossip ever could.” Lydia’s eyes grew soft at the memory. “He said the only opinion of me that mattered to him was his own—and that he found me to be kind, intelligent, and true to my principles.”
Jane felt a tremor of recognition at the words. “But surely Richard’s situation is different. His position in Parliament alone?—”
“Jane,” Lydia interrupted gently, “have you considered that Richard’s feelings for you might be stronger than his concerns about his reputation? That perhaps he values your happiness above Society’s approval?”
The question slowly sank in, and Jane found herself thinking back to moments that might support such a possibility. She recalled they way Richard’s eyes lit up when she challenged him intellectually, his obvious pleasure at their verbal spars, and the tender concern in his eyes when he were concerned for her.
“But what if I am wrong, Lydia?” she whispered, voicing her deepest fear. “What if he reads those papers and decides that marrying me was a colossal mistake?
