Page 13 of Duke of Myste (Braving the Elements #3)
“ I t is time, miss.” The maid’s voice carried a gentle urgency as she fastened the last pearl button on Jane’s wedding gown.
Jane studied her reflection in the mirror, the ivory silk gown catching the morning light. “I hardly recognize myself, Mary.”
“You look beautiful, miss.” Mary adjusted the veil with careful hands. The Duke will be most pleased.”
“The Duke’s pleasure has never been my primary concern,” Jane replied, though her voice lacked its usual edge.
These past weeks of courtship, filled with formal visits and carefully chaperoned outings, had revealed complexities in the Duke that she hadn’t expected.
The door opened, and Diana slipped in, already dressed in her bridesmaid’s gown. “Jane? Are you ready?”
“As ready as one can be under the circumstances, I suppose,” Jane said, attempting lightness.
Diana’s face fell. “If only I hadn’t?—”
“Stop.” Jane took her twin’s hands firmly. “We’ve been through this countless times. I made my choice, and I would do it again without hesitation. For you. ”
“But marrying him?—”
“Is the consequence of my decision.” Jane squeezed Diana’s hands before releasing them. “Besides, our courtship has proven that the Duke is not entirely without redeeming qualities.”
Diana raised a suspicious eyebrow. “High praise indeed from a woman who once called him a ‘fossilized repository of outdated conventions.’”
“I might have revised my assessment slightly,” Jane admitted. “He’s merely a semi-fossilized repository.”
The sisters shared a brief laugh, interrupted by Lady Drownshire sweeping into the room, emanating nervous energy and French perfume.
“Jane! Why are you not ready? Your father awaits. And the Duke…” She paused, her fan fluttering anxiously. “Well, the Duke appears rather… impatient.”
“Heaven forbid we keep His Grace waiting,” Jane murmured, adjusting her grandmother’s diamond earrings. “I suppose punctuality is a ducal virtue I must now adopt.”
“Jane…” Her mother’s voice dropped to an urgent whisper. “I beg you to remember your position. You will be a duchess within the hour. Comport yourself accordingly.”
“I promise to be appropriately duchessy, Mama,” Jane drawled, unable to resist the small rebellion.
Lady Drownshire’s eyes narrowed. “This is not a joke, Jane. Your entire future is about?—”
“To be irrevocably tied to a man I barely know, based on a scandal I deliberately took upon myself,” Jane finished. “I am fully aware of my situation.”
“Then act like it,” Lady Drownshire hissed, before softening her voice. “Your father awaits.”
Jane drew a steadying breath and nodded. “Very well. Let us proceed with this… joyous occasion.”
The corridor stretched before them like a road to execution. Lord Drownshire stood waiting, his expression a complex blend of resignation and concern.
“You look beautiful, Jane,” he complimented, offering his arm.
“Thank you, Papa.” Jane took his arm, grateful for its steadiness. “I apologize for the circumstances.”
He patted her hand awkwardly. “The Duke is a man of honor, despite everything. He will treat you well. That is the most a father can hope for, given the circumstances.”
“I know,” Jane replied, though uncertainty coiled within her.
What did she truly know of Richard beyond their heated debates and carefully modulated conversations?
“This is your last chance to speak sense,” her father declared abruptly, his voice gruff with poorly concealed concern. “The Duke is a cold man, Jane. Perhaps we might still find another way–”
“No.” Jane’s voice was firm. “This is the path I chose, and I will see it through.”
The chapel doors opened, revealing the small congregation gathered for this hasty union. Family and close friends watched as Jane began her walk toward the altar—and toward the Duke of Myste.
He stood rigid and imposing in his formal attire, the severe black emphasizing his broad shoulders and commanding presence. But it was his expression that caused Jane’s steps to falter—a blend of fury and something else that looked almost like pain.
He was looking at her as though the very sight caused him physical discomfort, his jaw clenched so tightly she could see a muscle jumping beneath his skin.
Could it be … ?
The realization struck her with surprising clarity as she noticed a subtle warmth spread across his tortured features.
He is disappointed in how I look.
Lord Drownshire placed her hand in her groom’s with ceremonial precision. Richard’s fingers closed around hers, warm and firm, the brief contact sending an unwelcome jolt of awareness through her despite everything.
The ceremony proceeded with brisk efficiency. When prompted, Jane spoke her vows in a clear, steady voice. “I, Jane Brandon, take thee, Richard Riverstone…”
The words felt strange on her tongue, as though she were speaking lines from a play rather than pledging her life to the stern man beside her. His responses carried similar detachment—precise, correct, but utterly devoid of emotion.
“I, Richard Riverstone, take thee, Jane Brandon…”
Their hands were joined once more for the final blessing. Jane stared resolutely at the vicar’s shoulder, unable to bear meeting Richard’s gaze again.
“I now pronounce you man and wife.”
The vicar’s words were followed by a silence so profound that Jane could hear the soft patter of rain outside.
There was no instruction to kiss the bride—a small mercy for which Jane found herself pathetically grateful. Instead, Richard simply tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and turned them to face the congregation.
“It is done,” he said, his voice pitched low for her ears only as they began the processional down the short aisle. “Do try to look less like you’re walking to your execution, Duchess. We have appearances to maintain.”
The title—her new title—felt foreign and ill-fitting. The Duchess of Myste. No longer Jane Brandon, with all her stubborn independence and sharp opinions.
“Forgive me, Your Grace,” she replied, matching his quiet tone while forcing a smile on her lips. “I shall endeavor to look appropriately enraptured by my good fortune.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw, but he said nothing further as they emerged from the chapel into the light rain.
Servants rushed forward with umbrellas, shielding them as they made their way to the waiting carriage—his carriage, emblazoned with the Myste crest. They found themselves seated opposite one another in the luxurious confines of the carriage, alone.
The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words and simmering tension.
Jane stared out the window, watching raindrops trace slow paths down the glass. The weather, at least, matched her mood—the gray skies and gentle rain a stark contrast to the sunny days tradition claimed should bless a wedding.
“You look beautiful.”
The words, so unexpected, so at odds with his coldness, drew Jane’s attention back to the man seated across from her.
Richard’s expression remained stern, almost angry, as though the admission had been forced out of him.
“I… thank you,” she replied cautiously. “Though I confess, your expression throughout the ceremony suggested you found my appearance displeasing.”
His jaw tightened even more, that same muscle jumping again beneath his skin. “My expression reflects the circumstances, not my opinion on your appearance.”
“The circumstances being that you have been forced to marry a woman you neither truly know nor wish to know,” Jane stated bluntly. “A woman who, by your own admission, lacks the decorum and propriety expected of a duchess.”
Richards’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I do not recall making such an admission.”
“You did not need to,” Jane countered. “Your disapproval has been evident from the moment we met. I am too outspoken, too independent, too… everything that a proper duchess should not be.”
“And yet,” he replied, his voice carrying a dangerous edge, “here we are, bound in matrimony despite these apparent shortcomings.”
“Indeed,” Jane agreed, meeting his gaze with a challenging directness. “How fortunate for me to be elevated beyond what I deserve. How fortunate for you to be saddled with such an unsuitable bride.”
The carriage hit a rough patch in the road, jostling them momentarily. Richard’s hand shot out to steady himself, his knuckles white with tension.
“Let us be clear about one thing, Miss Br?—”
“Duchess,” she corrected, a spark of defiance flaring within her. “Is that not what you called me? If I am to bear the title, let us not forget it.”
Something flashed in his eyes—anger, certainly, but also something that looked almost like reluctant admiration, before it quickly vanished.
“Duchess,” he conceded, inclining his head slightly. “Let us be clear. This marriage, as you have observed, is one of necessity rather than choice. But now that it is done, I shall expect certain things from you.”
“Of course you do,” Jane scoffed, unable to keep the bitterness from her tone. “Obedience, doubtless. Silence when convenient. A proper display of ducal dignity at all times. How am I doing so far, Your Grace?”
“Respect,” Richard countered, the word emerging with unexpected force. “Not blind obedience, but a mutual respect that will allow us to navigate this… arrangement with as little conflict as possible.”
Jane blinked, caught off guard by his departure from what she had anticipated. “Respect?” she echoed, testing the word.
“Yes,” he confirmed, his expression softening fractionally. “I do not expect you to change your nature entirely, Jane. That would be both unreasonable and, I suspect, impossible.”
The use of her Christian name struck her with surprising impact. In his mouth, the single syllable carried a weight that made her pulse flutter.
“What do you expect, then?” she asked, genuine curiosity replacing some of her defensive anger.
Richard’s gaze remained steady on her. “Discretion. Consideration for the position you now hold. And a willingness to find common ground where possible.”
“And in return?” Jane pressed, unwilling to accept his terms without clarification.
A flicker of surprise crossed his features.
“In return,” he said slowly, “I offer the same. Respect for your… independence of mind—within reasonable bounds, of course.”
“Reasonable bounds,” Jane repeated, a hint of her usual sharpness returning. “And who determines what is reasonable, Your Grace?”
“We both do,” he replied, surprising her once more. “This is a partnership, Jane, however unconventionally it began. I am not seeking to crush your spirit. Surely you know that.”
The carriage turned onto a smoother stretch of road, silence settling between them again. Outside, the rain continued to fall, blurring the landscape beyond the windows.
“I have no idea how to be a duchess,” Jane confessed finally. “I have never been particularly adept at conforming to norms.”
Something that might have almost been a smile tugged briefly at the corners of Richard’s mouth. “I am aware,” he said dryly. “Your reputation preceded you, even before our… encounter at the masquerade ball.”
Jane felt heat rise to her cheeks. “I did not intend…” she began, then stopped, unsure how to continue.
“I know,” Richard replied, surprising her with his simple acceptance. “Protecting your sister was… admirable, if somewhat reckless.”
The pragmatism in his tone was both reassuring and oddly disappointing. Jane found herself wishing, irrationally, for some indication that he might someday see her as more than just an obligation.
“I should warn you,” she said, “I am likely to disappoint you.”
This time, the smile that curved Richard’s lips was unmistakable.
“I am not seeking mindless agreement, Jane. That would be… tedious.” He paused, studying her intently.
“What I require is consideration—that you think before you speak in certain company, that you recognize there are times when discretion serves better than immediate honesty.”
“And when would those times be?”
“I will teach you,” he offered, the words carrying neither condescension nor command. “Just as I hope you will… enlighten me when my expectations prove unreasonable.”
The carriage slowed as they entered London.
“We will be arriving shortly,” Richard announced, straightening his already pristine cravat. “The staff will be assembled to greet you. It would be… appreciated if we could present a united front.”
Jane nodded, understanding the unspoken request. Whatever disagreements might exist between them, the outside world must only ever see the Duke and Duchess of Myste as a harmonious unit.
“I shall endeavor to be appropriately duchessy,” she promised, the faint attempt at humor surprising even herself.
The ghost of a smile touched Richard’s lips again. “Duchessy,” he repeated, the word sounding strangely endearing in his deep voice. “I believe this is the first time that particular adjective has been applied to the position.”
“I excel at innovation, Your Grace,” Jane quipped. “It is one of the many qualities that Society finds so alarming in a woman.”
“Richard,” he said unexpectedly, his gaze intent on her face. “When we are alone, at least, you should call me Richard. The title sounds too formal between husband and wife.”
The simple request touched Jane more deeply than she cared to admit. “Richard,” she repeated softly, testing out his name. “And you will call me Jane? Not Duchess ?” She gritted her teeth slightly. “Or Lady Jane ?”
“Jane,” he agreed, the single syllable somehow transforming the atmosphere between them into something less adversarial.
The carriage finally stopped in the sweeping drive that led to Myste House, its imposing facade visible even through the gentle rain.
“Ready?” he asked, turning to meet her gaze once more.
Jane drew a steadying breath. “As ready as I’ll ever be to begin an entirely new life with a stranger,” she replied honestly.
Something unexpected flickered in Richard’s eyes—a brief vulnerability that was quickly masked.
“Then we are equally prepared,” he said quietly, and Jane realized that in truth, he was facing the same prospect.
Together, they faced the entrance of Myste House, where the familiar line of servants awaited – the same faces she had met during her courtship, now looking upon her with new eyes as their duchess.
Jane’s grip tightened imperceptibly on Richard’s arm, a silent acknowledgement that everything had changed, that this was no longer a visit, but her permanent reality.
To her surprise, his free hand came up to cover her own for a brief moment, a gesture of reassurance so fleeting, she might have imagined it.
“One step at a time, Jane,” he murmured. “We will find our way through this together.”
As they moved forward to begin their new life as Duke and Duchess of Myste, Jane wondered what other surprises this enigmatic man might hold—and whether there might be more to this arrangement than the cold, calculated transaction she had anticipated.