Page 83 of Duke of Myste
But then, with a small nod that suggested more courage than she probably felt, Diana placed her hand in his. “I would be honored, Your Grace,” she said softly.
As the Duke led Diana toward the dance floor, Jane caught Marian’s eye and saw her speculative interest reflected there.
The Duke of Storme’s attitude toward Diana was remarkably different from his rather distant courtesy to the rest of their group—warmer, more personal, as though something about her shyness and intelligence had captured his attention in a way that mere social obligation could not.
“Well,” Lydia murmured, appearing at Jane’s elbow with perfect timing, “that was rather unexpected.”
“Indeed,” Jane agreed, watching as the Duke guided Diana through the opening steps of what appeared to be a Scottish reel. “Though not unwelcome, I think. Diana needs someone who appreciates her quiet strengths rather than trying to change her into something more conventional.”
“And the Duke of Storme strikes you as that sort of man?” Elias asked with genuine curiosity.
Jane considered this, observing the careful attention the Duke paid to Diana’s comfort, the way he adjusted his naturally commanding presence to something less overwhelming without becoming condescending.
“Perhaps,” she said thoughtfully. “He certainly seems to be making an effort.”
“Time will tell,” Nicholas murmured with the practical wisdom of a man who had learned not to make hasty judgments about developing attachments. “Though I will say this—if the Duke’s intentions toward Diana are honorable, he’ll find himself with rather formidable advocates in her family.”
The warning, delivered with polite courtesy but unmistakable steel, drew an appreciative nod from Richard, and Jane felt her heart swell.
The Duke of Storme might be a man of considerable standing, but Diana was under the protection of two dukes and a marquess who took their responsibilities seriously.
As the dance concluded and the Duke escorted Diana back to their group, Jane noted the becoming flush in her sister’s cheeks and the way her eyes seemed brighter than they had been all evening. Whatever had passed between them during their dance had clearly been more than mere social politeness.
“Thank you for the dance, Your Grace,” Diana said as they rejoined the group, her voice steadier than it had been earlier. “You were quite right about the beauty of Scottish music—it tells stories in a way I hadn’t expected.”
“Perhaps,” the Duke replied, the slight softening of his vowels fully betraying his heritage, “ye would allow me to share more of those stories with ye in the future? If yer family would permit it.”
The formal request, delivered with perfect propriety, nevertheless carried an undercurrent of genuine interest that made Jane’s heart skip with excitement for her sister.
“We would be delighted to receive you, Your Grace,” Richard responded with ducal authority, while Jane tried not to smile too obviously at Diana’s expression of mingled terror and anticipation.
As the Duke took his leave with promises to call within the week, Jane felt a familiar surge of protective affection for her twin. Diana deserved someone who would gently peer past her shyness to the warm, intelligent woman beneath—and perhaps, just perhaps, they had found him in the most unlikely of places.
“Well,” Marian said with barely contained excitement as the Duke disappeared into the crowd, “that was certainly interesting. Diana, you’re positively glowing!”
Diana’s cheeks, which had only just returned to their normal color, immediately flushed bright pink again. “I amnotglowing. I am simply… warm from all the dancing.”
“Of course you are,” Lydia drawled with the sort of innocent expression that fooled no one. “Though I must say, the Duke seemed quite taken with your conversation about Scottish ballads. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man listen so intently to a discussion about musical compositions.”
“He was merely being polite,” Diana protested, though her voice lacked conviction. “I’m sure he dances with many young ladies and shows the same courtesy to them all.”
“My dear sister,” Jane said gently, “I watched that entire interaction, and it was rather plain that the Duke of Storme was not merely being polite. He was genuinely interested in what you had to say—and more importantly, inyou.”
Nicholas cleared his throat. “While I hesitate to involve myself in matters of the heart, I feel compelled to point out that His Grace’s request to call on the family was phrased with particular specificity. He didn’t ask to call on the Brandons generally—he specifically requested permission to continue his acquaintance with Diana.”
“Did he?” Diana asked, her voice barely above a whisper, as though she were afraid that speaking too loudly might somehow make the entire evening evaporate like a dream.
“He did, indeed,” Richard confirmed, his tone carrying the authority of someone who had listened to such requests many times. “And Diana, as someone who is well aware of the obligations of a duke, I can assure you that the Duke of Storme would not have made such a request lightly. Dukes, as a generalrule, do not waste time on social pleasantries that serve no purpose.”
Elias nodded in agreement. “Richard is quite right. A man of Storme’s position could have any number of social obligations at any given time. The fact that he specifically sought an introduction to you, engaged you in substantive conversation, and then requested permission to continue the acquaintance… these are not the actions of a man simply being polite or fulfilling a social obligation.”
Diana looked around at the assembled group, her expression caught between hope and terror. “But surely you’re all reading too much into a simple dance and polite conversation? I mean, what could a duke possibly see in someone like me?”
“Someone like you?” Jane repeated, her voice sharp with reproach. “Diana, you are intelligent, kind, well-read, and possess a gentle warmth that draws people to you. What’s more, you have the strength to remain true to yourself, despite Society’s pressure to conform to some artificial standard of vivacious charm. Those are qualities any sensible man would value.”
“Jane is absolutely right,” Marian chimed in. “Diana, I saw the Duke’s face during your conversation. He was deeply engrossed. You made him smile genuinely—not the practiced smile most of us wear at these events.”
“Besides,” Lydia added with a mischievous glint in her eyes, “if the Duke of Storme was merely being courteous, why did he lookso… annoyed when Lord Finlay approached during your dance, clearly intending to cut in?”
