Page 76 of Duke of Myste
“It terrified me,” Richard admitted. “After Father’s weakness nearly destroyed our family, after Mother’s decline, after your scandal… I had convinced myself that caring deeply was a luxury I could not afford. That maintaining emotional distance was essential for effective leadership.”
Harriet was quiet for a moment, her expression thoughtful. “But Jane changed all of that.”
“Jane changedeverything.” Richard’s voice carried a note of wonder, tinted with something oddly close to desperation. “She made me want to be the kind of man who could love completely without reservations. But now, the thought of losing her, of having to return to the desolate life I was living before?—”
“You won’t lose her,” Harriet said firmly. “And Richard, even if something happened—which it won’t—you wouldn’t return to who you were before. That is rather impossible. You see, love has the ability to change us fundamentally, permanently. Jane’s love has made you a better man, and that growth doesn’t disappear even if circumstances change.”
Richard shook his head. “You don’t understand. Jane isn’t merely someone I love—she’s the part of myself I never knew was missing. Without her, I’m incomplete in a way that goes beyond simple loneliness or grief.”
“Then put your faith in that, in your connection,” Harriet urged tenderly. “If you’re truly two halves of the same whole, then she will find her way back to you. Love like that doesn’t just disappear because of an accident.”
Pippin, who had been maintaining his own silent vigil from a cushion beside Richard’s chair, suddenly lifted his head and padded over to the bed. The spaniel placed his front paws against the mattress and whined softly, his tail wagging tentatively as his eyes stared at his mistress’s still form.
“What is it, boy?” Richard asked quietly, though he found himself leaning forward to study Jane’s face more closely.
Was there some change Pippin had sensed that Richard could not detect?
Jane’s breathing remained steady, her face peaceful in sleep, but something about the dog’s behavior made Richard’s heart skip with cautious hope. Animals, after all, could sense things humans couldn’t detect. Perhaps Pippin was picking up on some subtle sign that Jane’s condition was improving.
“She’s still deeply asleep,” Harriet noted, though she too was watching Jane’s face with renewed attention. “But Pippin most definitely seems to think something has changed.”
Richard reached out to stroke the dog’s silky head, grateful for his loyal presence during these difficult hours. “Good boy,” he murmured. “You are taking excellent care of her, aren’t you?”
Pippin settled back down beside the bed, but Richard noticed he was more alert than before, his ears pricked and his eyes fixed on the bed as though he were waiting for something.
“Richard,” Harriet said gently, leaning back in her chair, “why don’t you try to rest? Even if you won’t leave this room, at least close your eyes for a while. I’ll watch over Jane.”
Richard shook his head immediately. “I can’t. What if she wakes up and needs something, and I am not here to?—”
“I’ll be here. And I promise I will wake you if anything happens,” Harriet interrupted firmly. “Richard, you’re no good to Jane if you collapse from exhaustion. She’s going to need you to be strong when she recovers, not weakened by days of neglecting yourself.”
The logic was undeniable, but Richard found himself unable to accept it. The thought of closing his eyes, of allowing even a moment’s inattention, felt like a betrayal of his duty to protect the woman he loved.
He contemplated this for some time, and when he finally spoke, his voice was soft.
“I shall rest when she wakes up,” he said finally. “When I can see for myself that she’s truly going to be all right.”
Harriet sighed but didn’t argue further. She understood, perhaps better than anyone, the depths of her brother’s capacity for stubborn devotion when it came to the people he loved.
“Very well,” she conceded. “But Richard, please, at least eat something. If not for your own sake, then for Jane’s. She will no doubt be horrified when she wakes up and sees what you’ve done to yourself.”
Richard glanced toward the dresser. over to the mirror. His reflection in the mirror showed a man who seemed to have aged years in a matter of days, his usually pristine appearance replaced by the haggard look of someone who had forgotten that basic self-care was necessary for survival.
“Perhaps you might be right,” he admitted reluctantly. “But I am not leaving this room.”
“I wouldn’t dream of asking you to do that. Not again,” Harriet replied with obvious relief. “I’ll have Cook prepare a proper meal and bring it here.”
As his sister quietly left to arrange for food, Richard returned his attention to Jane’s peaceful face.
In sleep, the worry lines that had appeared during the first weeks of their marriage had softened, making her look younger, more vulnerable than she did during her waking hours.
“I’m here, my darling,” he whispered, taking her hand in his with infinite gentleness. “I am not going anywhere. When you’re ready to come back to me, I’ll be waiting.”
The late afternoon light filtering through the windows had begun to fade toward evening, marking another day in what felt like an endless vigil. But Richard remained steadfast in his watch, surrounded by the quiet sounds of Pippin’s breathing, the distant bustle of the servants, and the steady rhythm of Jane’s heartbeat, strong and sure beneath his watchful gaze.
Perhaps she would wake up tomorrow. Perhaps he would hear her voice again and see those brilliant brown eyes settle on his face with recognition and love. Until then, he would wait, and hope, and pray, and guard her recovery with all the devotion his heart could muster.
After all, some things were worth any amount of waiting. And Jane—his Jane, his brilliant, impossible, beloved wife – was worth everything.
