Page 14 of Duke of Myste (Braving the Elements #3)

“ W elcome to Myste House, Your Grace.”

The butler’s voice echoed in the vast entrance hall, the formal address striking her ears with startling unfamiliarity. It would take time, she supposed, to become accustomed to her new title—one of many adjustments awaiting her in this strange new life.

Jane found herself unconsciously moving closer to her new husband, one of the few familiar things amid overwhelming strangeness.

Richard’s arm remained steady beneath her hand as the butler announced, “The staff has been assembled in the main hall to greet Your Graces.”

“Thank you, Wilson,” Richard replied, his voice carrying that particular blend of authority and restraint Jane had come to associate with him. “Please inform them that we shall be there momentarily.”

Jane glanced up at him, surprised to find his expression soft—a momentary glimpse of understanding in his countenance.

“Are you ready?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” Jane replied, summoning a confidence she did not entirely feel. “Though I warn you, I’m likely to forget half their names immediately.”

Something that might have almost been a smile touched Richard’s mouth. “There will be time to commit them to memory. For now, simple dignity will suffice.”

He guided her through the house with that same measured authority, his hand occasionally pressing lightly against hers where it rested on his arm—a silent reassurance that she found oddly comforting despite herself.

The servants waited in neat rows, familiar faces now assembled to formally acknowledge her changed status. Their expressions remained carefully neutral as Jane and Richard entered, though she felt their scrutiny like a physical weight bearing down on her.

These people would bear witnesses to every aspect of her new life, their judgment perhaps more consequential than that of Society at large.

Richard introduced her with formal gravity. “May I present, Her Grace, the Duchess of Myste.”

Jane inclined her head with what she hoped was appropriate ducal dignity. “I look forward to serving as your duchess,” she said, pleased that her voice emerged steady and clear.

Mrs. Winters stepped forward. She was a tall, imposing woman with iron-grey hair and a face that suggested she had seen everything worth seeing in her years of service. “Mrs. Winters, Your Grace. I manage the staff.”

“Mrs. Winters,” Jane acknowledged, noting the woman’s shrewd assessment. Here was the true power behind Myste House’s impeccable order.

Richard proceeded with re-introductions—the butler, Mr. Wilson; the chef, Monsieur Laurent; the head gardener, Mr. Finch; and a dozen others whose names and functions blended together despite Jane’s best efforts to remember them.

When the introductions were concluded, Richard turned to her, that inscrutable mask back into place.

“I’m afraid I must attend to certain matters that cannot wait. Mrs. Winters will show you to your chambers and acquaint you with the household arrangements.”

“You’re leaving?” Jane couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice. This was, after all, their wedding day—irregular though the circumstances might be.

“Only for a few hours,” Richard replied, his tone suggesting this was perfectly reasonable. “There are business matters requiring immediate attention that were postponed for the ceremony.”

Jane felt a flare of indignation rise within her. Business matters? On their wedding day? But she swallowed the sharp retort that sprang to her lips, suddenly aware of the servants’ watchful eyes.

“Of course,” she said instead, her voice cold but steady. “I would not wish to interfere with your work.”

Something flickered in Richard’s eyes—awareness of her displeasure, perhaps. But he merely bowed slightly. “Mrs. Winters will see to your comfort. I shall return for dinner.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving her alone with strangers, in a house that felt more like a museum than a home.

She stood motionless for a moment, fighting the urge to run after him and demand… what, exactly? Attention? Consideration? Some form of acknowledgment that this day was significant?

“If Your Grace would follow me,” Mrs. Winters spoke up, her tone respectful but not obsequious. “I shall show you to your chambers.”

Jane gathered her composure and nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. Winters. I would appreciate that.”

As the housekeeper led her through the sprawling mansion, Jane found herself grateful for the distraction of the tour.

Each room revealed new aspects of the Duke’s character—the library was filled with meticulously organized volumes on history, politics, and natural philosophy; the music room was occupied by a pianoforte that appeared regularly used; the formal dining and drawing rooms were arranged for entertaining the crème de la crème .

“His Grace maintains separate chambers, of course,” Mrs. Winters explained as they climbed the grand staircase to the family wing. “The Duchess’s suite has been completely refurbished in anticipation of your arrival.”

“That was… considerate,” Jane replied, wondering how long Richard had been planning to get married.

“His Grace is most attentive to proper arrangements,” Mrs. Winters added, a note of pride evident in her voice. “Everything is always as it should be in his household.”

As it should be.

The phrase seemed to encapsulate everything about her new husband—proper, correct, perfectly aligned with expectations and tradition. Everything Jane had spent her life questioning and challenging.

Mrs. Winters finally stopped before a set of double doors and opened them to reveal an undeniably beautiful suite of rooms decorated in soft blues and silver, with large windows overlooking the garden below.

Sunlight streamed in through gauzy curtains, catching on silver brushes arranged on the dressing table and the delicate embroidery of the cream bed hangings.

“Your lady’s maid awaits in the dressing room, Your Grace,” Mrs. Winters informed her. “Annabelle has been specially selected for her skills with hair and French fashion. His Grace was most particular about your comfort.”

Jane felt a flutter in her chest at Richard’s consideration. “Thank you, Mrs. Winters. I am certain everything will be satisfactory.”

The housekeeper nodded, her rigid posture softening slightly. “If I might say, Your Grace, the staff is most pleased to welcome you to Myste House. It has been… quiet… for too long.”

Before Jane could respond to this unexpected sentiment, Mrs. Winters curtseyed and scurried away, leaving her alone in her new domain.

She moved slowly through the rooms, trailing her fingers over polished surfaces and soft fabrics, trying to resign herself to her new reality.

The quiet knock at the dressing room door startled her out of her contemplation.

“Your Grace?” A young woman with chestnut-brown hair and bright, intelligent blue eyes curtseyed in the doorway. “I’m Annabelle.”

“Please come in, Annabelle,” Jane urged, studying the young woman with interest. At least, there was someone her age amid the sea of imposing senior servants.

“I’ve prepared a light refreshment, Your Grace,” Annabelle said, gesturing to a small table where tea and sandwiches had been laid out. “And a bath can be drawn whenever you wish to change out of your traveling clothes.”

Jane only then realized how tired she was, the emotional strain of the day catching up with her all of a sudden. “Tea would be wonderful, thank you. And perhaps you could tell me a little about the household while we wait for the bath to be prepared?”

Annabelle’s smile was warm and genuine. “Of course, Your Grace. What would you like to know?”

Jane settled into a comfortable chair by the window, allowing herself a moment of relaxation as Annabelle poured the tea. “I noticed that Lady Riverstone isn’t in residence. I had hoped to see her again.”

“Miss Harriet?” Annabelle’s eyes lit up with affection. “Oh yes, but she’s not in residence at present. She’s at the country estate, Myste Park. She was already there when His Grace sent word about the wedding, and there wasn’t much time for her to return to London before the ceremony.”

“I see,” Jane murmured. “I do hope she wasn’t too disappointed to miss it.”

Annabelle’s expression brightened. “Oh, she’s wonderful, Your Grace! Not at all what you might expect. She’s so lively and full of ideas—always reading or starting new projects that drive the staff to distraction. But everyone adores her, even when she’s turning everything upside down.”

Jane couldn’t help but smile at the description, which seemed to align with her opinion of Harriet, though it seemed so at odds with Richard’s rigid propriety. “She certainly seemed quite unlike the Duke when I met her.”

“In some ways,” Annabelle agreed carefully. “But they’re devoted to each other, despite their differences. His Grace would do anything for his sister.”

This glimpse of Richard as a devoted brother added yet another layer to Jane’s evolving understanding of her new husband. She remembered the duel Lydia mentioned—Richard facing down the rake who had compromised his sister, demanding satisfaction for her honor.

Perhaps his insistence on propriety stemmed not merely from cold adherence to tradition but from witnessing the consequences when such boundaries were crossed.

“I’m certain Miss Harriet will return to London soon,” Annabelle continued, offering Jane a small sandwich. “His Grace thought it best to give you some time to settle before she returns. A honeymoon, as it were.”

Honeymoon.

The word brought a flush to Jane’s cheeks as her thoughts turned unwillingly to the more intimate aspects of marriage.

Until that moment, she had managed to focus on the social and practical adjustments awaiting her, deliberately avoiding consideration of what might be expected of her in the marital bed.

Richard had made no mention of such matters during their courtship. Would he come to her tonight?