Page 22 of Duke of Myste (Braving the Elements #3)
“ Y our Grace, Lady Chatworth’s annual spring ball is widely considered the most important event of the Season. I must insist that we arrive at the hour indicated on the invitation—neither embarrassingly early nor fashionably late.”
Richard adjusted his cravat with practiced precision, his valet hovering nearby with an expression of professional anxiety that suggested the Duke’s attire was a matter of national importance.
The fine-lined cravat had been folded and refolded three times already, each iteration achieving a level of perfection indistinguishable from the last to anyone save the valet’s exacting eye.
“Of course, Simmons,” Richard replied, maintaining a patient tone despite the familiar ritual. “The carriage is ordered for half-past-eight, which should place our arrival at precisely nine o’clock, allowing for the usual congestion around Berkeley Square.”
The valet nodded, his relief visible as he stepped back to assess Richard’s evening attire.
The midnight blue coat had been cut by London’s finest tailor to emphasize the breadth of Richard’s shoulders, while tapering elegantly at the waist. Against the stark white of his shirt and cravat, the deep blue created a striking contrast that spoke of refined taste rather than flashy ostentation.
“Very good, Your Grace. And may I say, the new coat is most becoming.” Simmons handed Richard his signet ring with the care of a priest offering a sacred relic.
Richard slipped the heavy gold ring onto his pinky finger, its familiar weight comforting. “Thank you. That will be all.”
As the valet departed with a respectful bow, Richard allowed himself a moment of quiet reflection before the evening ahead.
The past few days had brought unexpected developments in his newly established household—most notably, a gradual thawing in his relationship with his wife.
Their ‘daily lessons,’ initially conceived as a means of establishing proper boundaries, had evolved into something he had not expected.
Jane approached each session with a combination of sharp intelligence and barely concealed impatience that he found oddly refreshing.
She questioned conventions he had long accepted without any real thought, forcing him to articulate reasons beyond ‘because it is simply what is done’ for many of the traditions he upheld.
Yesterday’s lesson on appropriate topics for dinner conversation had devolved into a spirited debate on whether discussions of medical advancements were suitable in mixed company, with Jane arguing passionately that scientific progress should never be considered improper.
The fire in her eyes as she’d leaned forward, foregoing her usual perfect posture in her enthusiasm, had been … utterly distracting.
Even more unexpectedly, he found himself looking forward to these daily encounters, their verbal spars oddly invigorating after years of deferential agreement from those around him.
Jane challenged him in ways few dared, yet there was no malice in her opposition—merely a fierce intelligence seeking understanding rather than blind compliance.
The puppy, too, had proven less disruptive than he’d initially feared.
Now clean, properly fed, and recovering from its ordeal in the woods, the creature had taken to following Jane everywhere with devoted adoration, occasionally deigning to acknowledge Richard’s existence with a cautious wag of its long tail.
He had even caught himself absently scratching the mutt behind its ears this morning while reviewing correspondence—an indulgence he chose not to examine too closely.
A soft knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.
“Enter,” he called, turning to find his butler standing in the doorway.
“Her Grace awaits you in the entrance hall, Your Grace,” Mr. Wilson announced with dignified solemnity. “The carriage has been brought around, as ordered.”
“Thank you, Wilson.” Richard nodded, gathering his gloves and making a final adjustment to his already perfect cravat.
As he descended the grand staircase, he found his pace slowing involuntarily at the sight that awaited him below.
Jane stood in the entrance hall, her back to him as she adjusted an errant curl that had escaped its pins.
The deep emerald of her gown caught the light from the chandeliers, the rich fabric shimmering with subtle movement.
Her shoulders were bare save for a delicate black lace trim that emphasized the graceful curve of her neck rising from the gown’s modest neckline.
She turned at the sound of his approach, and he found himself momentarily arrested by the picture she presented.
The gown’s color accentuated the warm tones of her skin and brought out the golden flecks in her dark eyes.
A simple diamond pendant rested in the hollow at the base of her throat, bound by a large black ribbon, rising and falling gently with each breath.
“Your Grace,” she greeted, bobbing a perfect curtsy that managed to convey both proper respect and a hint of irony, as if acknowledging the absurdity of such formality between a husband and wife. “I trust you approve of my attire?”
Richard descended the remaining steps with careful composure, aware of the servants hovering nearby.
“You look…” He paused, searching for a word that would be appropriate in the presence of the staff yet would convey more than mere polite approval.
“… magnificent, Duchess. This shade of green suits you remarkably well.”
A flicker of surprise crossed Jane’s features, as if she had expected a lecture on propriety rather than a genuine compliment.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she replied, her voice unusually soft. “You look quite dapper yourself.”
The compliment was followed by an awkward silence, both of them uncertain of how to proceed in this unfamiliar territory of mutual appreciation.
“The carriage awaits,” Richard said finally, offering his arm with formal correctness. “Shall we?”
Jane placed her gloved hand on his sleeve, the touch barely perceptible through the layers of fine fabric.
“I am quite nervous,” she admitted as they moved toward the door. “This will be our first public appearance since the wedding.”
The quiet admission of vulnerability surprised him.
“We have prepared thoroughly,” he reminded her, his tone gentler than usual. “You know exactly what to expect and how to conduct yourself. There is nothing to fear.”
Jane glanced up at him, her expression thoughtful. “It is not fear, precisely. More… awareness of being observed. Judged.”
“By people whose opinions matter very little,” Richard pointed out, the words emerging with unexpected vehemence. When Jane looked at him with startled curiosity, he moderated his tone. “You are the Duchess of Myste now. Your position places you above the pretty judgment of the ton.”
A ghost of a smile touched Jane’s lips. “How convenient that rank should shield one from criticism.”
“Not shield,” Richard corrected as they stepped outside into the cool evening air. “But perhaps provide perspective on its importance.”
The drive to Berkeley Square passed in companionable silence, the tension that had characterized their early interactions notably absent.
Richard found himself stealing glances at his wife’s profile, illuminated intermittently by passing street lamps.
The set of her jaw suggested determination rather than apprehension, a gathering of courage for the performance ahead.
Lady Chatworth’s townhouse blazed with light, every window aglow with the warm invitation of countless candles. Carriages lined the street, disgorging their elegantly attired occupants into the spring night. The air hummed with anticipation and the strains of music drifting from the open windows.
“Remember,” Richard said softly as their carriage joined the queue, “we are presenting a united front tonight. Whatever private disagreements exist between us must remain precisely that—private.”
Jane nodded, her expression shifting into the composed mask of societal correctness he had noticed during their first meeting. “I am well aware of the performance required, Your Grace. I shall not embarrass you.”
The words carried a hint of resentment that made Richard regret his reminder.
“I did not mean to suggest—” he began, but the carriage had already drawn to a halt before the grand entrance, a footman appearing to open the door with a ceremonial flourish.
The moment for clarification lost, Richard descended first, turning to offer his hand to Jane with punctilious correctness.
Her fingers rested in his palm for a brief moment as she stepped down, the touch feather-light, yet somehow leaving an impression that lingered as they proceeded up the steps to the receiving line.
“The Duke and Duchess of Myste,” the butler announced, his stentorian voice carrying over the buzz of conversation and music.
A wave of murmurs rippled through the assembled guests as heads turned in their direction. Richard felt Jane’s spine stiffen beside him, though her expression remained perfectly pleasant, her smile neither too eager nor too reserved as they moved forward to greet their hostess.
“Your Grace! What an absolute delight to see you!” Lady Chatworth exclaimed, her enthusiasm precisely calibrated to convey honor without suggesting that Richard’s attendance was unexpected.
She turned to Jane with equal warmth. “And the new Duchess of Myste! My dear, you look absolutely radiant! Marriage agrees with you.”
Jane’s curtsy was executed with flawless grace. “You are too kind, Lady Chatworth. What a spectacular gathering you’ve arranged. The decorations are simply exquisite.”
Richard watched with well-concealed approval as his wife navigated the social niceties with surprising skill. For all her professed disdain for societal conventions, she wielded them with remarkable dexterity when necessary. Their hostess practically preened under her carefully measured praise.