Page 15 of Duke of Myste (Braving the Elements #3)
The thought sent a strange shiver through her—not revulsion, as she might have expected, but something far more complicated.
“Your bath is ready, Your Grace,” Annabelle announced, breaking into Jane’s unsettling reflections. “Would you like me to help you out of your wedding gown?”
The remainder of the afternoon passed in a blur of practical matters—bathing, changing into a comfortable evening dress, memorizing the layout of her new chambers.
Annabelle proved a godsend, her cheerful efficiency and willingness to explain household customs helping Jane navigate this strange new world.
“His Grace dines at seven precisely,” she informed her as she arranged her hair in a simple but elegant updo. “The first dinner bell will ring at half-past six.”
“And is dinner a formal affair, even when there are no guests?” Jane asked, wondering what Richard would expect of her.
“His Grace maintains proper standards at all times,” Annabelle replied, which Jane took as a definite yes. “But he dines alone most evenings when in town, so I expect tonight will be just the two of you.”
The prospect of dining alone with Richard sent another of those strange shivers through Jane. Their outings had always been chaperoned and in public settings. This would be their first private interaction as husband and wife.
The dining room at Myste House, like all the other rooms, spoke of unrestrained elegance.
Candles cast a warm glow over the polished mahogany table, which had been set for two at one end, rather than opposite extremities.
The silver gleamed, reflecting the dancing flames in miniature constellations across the tablecloth.
Richard was already standing beside the table when Jane entered, his formal evening attire impeccable despite the absence of guests. He moved forward to pull back her chair with practiced courtesy.
“I hope you find the arrangements satisfactory, Duchess,” he said as she settled into her seat. “I’ve instructed the kitchen to prepare several options until we determine your preferences.”
“That is… thoughtful of you,” Jane replied, somewhat surprised by his consideration. “Though I assure you, I’m not particular about food.”
Richard took his seat, his movements deliberate and controlled. “Nevertheless, preferences should be respected when possible.”
The first course arrived—a delicate soup that steamed gently in bone china bowls. Jane watched as Richard unfolded his napkin with precise movements, a study in perfect dining etiquette.
“Do you find your chambers comfortable?” he inquired after the footman had withdrawn. “If anything is lacking, Mrs. Winter can make adjustments.”
“The chambers are beautiful,” Jane admitted, tasting the soup carefully. “Though I confess that the number of rooms is somewhat bewildering. I counted three separate dressing areas.”
“The suite was designed for a duchess with an extensive wardrobe and multiple lady’s maids,” Richard explained. “My grandmother was particularly concerned about having enough space for her seasonal collections.”
Jane couldn’t help a small smile. “I fear she would be disappointed by my modest trunks, then. Half the closets stand empty.”
“That can be easily remedied if you wish,” Richard offered, his tone suggesting that this was a simple matter to resolve. “The modiste can visit for initial measurements.”
A momentary silence fell between them, filled only by the gentle clink of silver against porcelain.
Jane racked her brain for something—anything—to say that might bridge the vast gap of unfamiliarity between them.
“The soup is excellent,” she praised, then immediately felt foolish for resorting to such a mundane topic.
“Chef Laurent was trained in Paris,” Richard replied. “He takes particular pride in his consommés.”
The footmen returned, removing the soup bowls with silent efficiency and presenting the next course—roasted pheasant with seasonal vegetables arranged in an artistic display that seemed almost too beautiful to disturb.
“I understand you enjoy reading,” Richard said after serving her a portion. “The library is at your disposal, of course. If there are particular volumes you wish to acquire, you need only make a list.”
Jane looked up, momentarily startled by this unexpected opening. “I do read extensively. Do you also enjoy books, Your Grace?”
Something flickered in Richard’s eyes—surprise, perhaps, that she had asked about his interests. “I do, though primarily biographies and political treatises rather than novels.”
“No poetry then?” Jane asked, finding herself genuinely curious about what might capture the attention of her husband.
“Some,” Richard admitted. “Donne, occasionally. Milton.”
“Interesting choices,” Jane noted. “Both concerned with order and structure, yet writing about the most chaotic of human experiences.”
Richard’s gaze met hers with unexpected directness. “Perhaps structure provides the necessary framework to contain chaos.”
The comment settled between them, laden with meaning that extended far beyond literary preferences. Jane felt the weight of it, aware that they were suddenly discussing something much more personal than poetry.
“And does it succeed?” she asked softly. “Does the structure truly contain the chaos or merely disguise it?”
Richard’s hand paused briefly, his knife hovering above his plate. “That,” he said after a moment, “would depend entirely on the strength of the structure.”
The remainder of the meal passed in a similar fashion—moments of surprisingly thoughtful conversation interspersed with lengthy silences charged with unspoken thoughts.
By the time dessert arrived—a delicate lemon tart that Jane barely tasted—she found herself exhausted by the constant navigation of emotional currents neither of them seemed willing to acknowledge.
When the final course had been cleared, Richard finally addressed the tension that had been simmering beneath their polite exchange.
“This is… unfamiliar territory for us both,” he began, his voice carrying a hint of the same uncertainty she felt. “I would not have chosen these circumstances for either of us.”
“Nor I,” Jane allowed, grateful for the momentary honesty. “Yet here we are.”
“Indeed.” Richard nodded. “Here we are.”
When they finally retired to the drawing room for coffee, Jane found herself watching the clock with increasing anxiety. As the hour grew late, the question she had been avoiding all day loomed ever larger.
Would Richard expect her to fulfill her wifely duties tonight? And if so, how did she feel about that?
By ten o’clock, Richard had not made any move to suggest they retire together. Instead, he rose with formal correctness. “You must be tired after such a demanding day. I shall bid you good night, Jane.”
“Good night… Richard,” she replied, his given name still unfamiliar on her tongue.
She watched him leave with mingled relief and confusion.
Was this consideration for her feelings, or an indication that he found the prospect of consummating their marriage as distasteful as she had initially assumed it would be?
Back in her chambers, Annabelle helped her prepare for bed with quiet efficiency, brushing out her hair and laying out a nightgown of fine linen trimmed with delicate lace.
“Will there be anything else, Your Grace?” she asked.
“No, thank you, Annabelle. You’ve been most helpful today.”
Left alone, Jane paced the confines of her bedchamber, too restless for sleep despite her exhaustion. The enormity of what had happened today—the permanent change in her circumstances—seemed to press in on her from all sides.
She had bound herself to Richard for life, yet she still knew so little about him.
The clock on the mantel chimed eleven, then half-past. Jane had nearly convinced herself that Richard had no intention of visiting her chambers when a soft knock sounded at her door.
Her heart leapt into her throat as she crossed the room, conscious of her state of undress. Her thin nightgown suddenly seemed woefully inadequate, despite its modest cut.
Richard stood in the corridor, still dressed in his evening clothes, though he had removed his cravat. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a glimpse of his throat, which seemed strangely intimate.
“I apologize for the late hour,” he said, his voice carrying that same measured control it had all day. “But there are matters we should discuss.”
“Now?” Jane asked.
“If you are not too tired,” he replied, his gaze fixed on her face.
Jane swallowed hard, then stepped back to allow him entry. “Of course.”
Richard entered but remained near the door, maintaining a distance that seemed deliberate. “I wanted to ensure that you are comfortable with the household arrangements,” he began, his tone formal despite the intimate setting. “Mrs. Winters can make any changes you deem necessary.”
“The arrangements are more than satisfactory,” Jane assured, wondering if this was truly what he had come to discuss at nearly midnight.
Richard nodded, seeming almost relieved. “Good. That’s… good.” He hesitated, then added, “I also wish to inform you that I have no expectations of you regarding… other aspects of our marriage. Not yet.”
Jane felt heat rising to her cheeks at the direct reference to what she had been anxiously contemplating.
“I… thank you,” she managed, unsure whether she felt relief or something more complicated.
“This is not how either of us would have chosen to begin,” Richard continued, his gaze meeting hers with unexpected directness. “I believe we would both benefit from getting to know each other better before attempting the more… intimate aspects of matrimony.”
“That seems… sensible,” Jane agreed, though part of her wondered why the logical, pragmatic Duke would delay consummating a marriage that had been prompted by scandal.
Wasn’t securing the legitimacy of any potential heirs a primary concern for a man in his position?
Richard’s expression softened slightly. “I did not come here tonight for… that, Jane. I merely wanted to ensure you were settling in comfortably. We have much to discuss regarding our new life together, but that can all wait until morning.”
“I appreciate your consideration,” Jane said, finding she genuinely meant it.
Richard took a step toward the door, then paused. “There is one matter. My sister will be returning from the country estate next week. I thought you might appreciate the time to adjust to your new position in her absence.”
“Annabelle mentioned she was away,” Jane admitted. “I look forward to seeing her again.”
“Harriet can be… overwhelming,” Richard said, a note of fond exasperation entering his voice for the first time.
“So I’ve gathered.” Jane found herself smiling slightly at his obvious affection for his sibling. “Annabelle seems quite devoted to her.”
“The entire household is,” Richard acknowledged. “Despite—or perhaps because of—her tendency to upend established order at the slightest chance.”
The brief glimpse of the man behind the ducal mask intrigued Jane more than she cared to admit. “I think she is someone I might enjoy knowing.”
“I suspect you will be partners in crime before long, turning my hair grey,” Richard snorted.
For a moment, their eyes met, his filled with surprising warmth. In that unguarded instant, Jane felt the weight of their situation even more.
The moment stretched and wrapped around them, heavy with unspoken thoughts and possibilities. Then, Richard straightened, his expression returning to its usual neutral state. “I shall leave you to rest. Good night, Jane.”
“Good night, Richard.”
As the door closed behind him, Jane remained standing in the center of the room, her thoughts in turmoil.
She had expected coldness, perhaps even pressure of consummation from the stern Duke she had reluctantly married. Instead, he had shown consideration and restraint, respecting boundaries she hadn’t even set.
Perhaps, she thought as she finally slipped beneath the covers, there was indeed more to Richard Riverstone than she had initially believed. Whether that made their situation more or less complicated, however, remained to be seen.
What was clear was that tomorrow would bring the true beginning of their new life together—a prospect that, surprisingly, no longer filled her with the dread it once had.