Page 26 of Duke of Myste (Braving the Elements #3)
Jane found herself returning the embrace with genuine enthusiasm, the puppy wiggling between them as it attempted to lavish affection on both women simultaneously.
“Harriet, what wonderful timing. Though I must warn you that your brother has been subjecting me to rigorous duchess training. I may be half-civilized by now.”
“Heaven forbid!” Harriet declared with mock horror, stepping back to study Jane with frank amusement. “We cannot have that. Now, what shall we name this little fellow? I was thinking something dignified. Perhaps Wordsworth?”
“Or Crumpet!”
“Absolutely not,” Richard interjected firmly, though Jane noticed he made no move to remove the animal from her arms. “We are not naming it after war heroes or food.”
“Then what do you suggest?” she asked, scratching behind the puppy’s silky ears and earning an expression of blissful contentment that melted her heart. “He needs a name if he’s to join the household.”
“He is not joining the household,” Richard stated with the authority of a man accustomed to having his orders executed without question.
Jane looked up at him, noting the way his gaze lingered on the picture she and the puppy made together, and smiled with the particular sweetness that had proven effective at undermining his more unreasonable edicts.
“Might this be my weekly demand, Your Grace? The puppy stays, and we shall discuss appropriate names over tea.”
The look of betrayal Richard shot her might have been comical if not for the underlying frustration that spoke to deeper issues. “You are using your demand for a dog?”
“I am using my demand for a companion,” Jane corrected gently. “One who will love me unconditionally and never judge my failures in perfect duchess behavior.”
Something shifted in Richard’s expression at her words, a flash of understanding that suggested he recognized the loneliness beneath her tone.
“Very well,” he conceded with obvious reluctance. “But he shall require training. Proper behavior. Discipline.”
“Naturally,” Jane agreed solemnly, though her eyes danced with suppressed mirth. “We cannot tolerate disorder in the ducal household.”
“Speaking of which,” Harriet interjected, looping her arm through Jane’s with the easy familiarity of their growing friendship, “I am dying for tea and gossip. Jane, you must tell me everything about your first week of marriage. Has Richard been insufferably proper, or merely impossible?”
“Harriet,” Richard warned, but his sister waved off his protest with blithe disregard.
“Oh, hush. Jane and I are going to be the best of friends, I can tell. Now, come along, both of you. Mrs. Winters has prepared enough food to feed an army, and I have gossip to share that will make your hair curl!”
As they made their way toward the drawing room, Jane found herself walking between the siblings, acutely aware of the differences between them.
While Richard moved with careful control, every gesture measured for maximum effect, Harriet fairly bounced with enthusiasm, her conversation flowing like a bubbling stream over rocks.
“You know,” Harriet confided as they settled in the blue drawing room, the puppy immediately claiming a spot on the hearth-rug with the confidence of the already-adopted, “Richard had been impossible before your marriage. Stalking about the house like a caged wolf, snapping at innocent servants, working himself into exhaustion over ledgers that could perfectly well wait another day.”
“Harriet,” Richard warned again, though with less heat this time.
“It’s true, and you know it,” she continued, pouring tea with the easy competence of someone who had managed her own household for years. “I was beginning to think he might expire from an excess of responsibility before you could finally arrive to provide distraction.”
Jane accepted her teacup, studying Richard’s profile as he gazed out the window with studied indifference to his sister’s observations. “Perhaps His Grace simply needed time to adjust to married life. It cannot be easy, accommodating another person’s presence in one’s carefully ordered existence.”
“Carefully ordered?” Harriet laughed, the sound bright and infectious.
“My dear Jane, you give him too much credit. Richard’s life isn’t carefully ordered—it is absolutely rigid.
Has been ever since…” She paused, glancing at her brother with sudden uncertainty.
“Well, ever since he inherited the dukedom. All duty and no pleasure, our Richard.”
“Some of us,” Richard said mildly, though Jane caught the edge beneath his seemingly casual tone, “find duty pleasurable enough.”
“Rubbish,” Harriet declared cheerfully. “ Nobody finds duty pleasurable. Some people simply convince themselves they do to avoid admitting they’re afraid of anything more spontaneous.”
The observation landed with uncomfortable accuracy, evident in the way Richard’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. Jane found herself studying him with renewed attention, wondering how much truth lay beneath his sister’s casual assessment.
“One matter that has not been settled,” she remarked, “is a name for our newest family member.” She nodded toward the snoring puppy.
“Wellington?”
“Perhaps something a bit more… playful?” she suggested. “Dandy?”
“Oh, I like that one!” Harriet waved her hand enthusiastically. “Or Gent?”
“What do you think, Your Grace?” Jane asked, noticing the thoughtful look on Richard’s face as he looked at the ball of fluff sprawled in front of the hearth.
“Pippin.”
The two women blinked at him for a moment, and then Jane turned back to the puppy.
“Pippin,” she repeated softly, testing the word on her tongue. “Pippin!” she repeated, her voice rising slightly.
The puppy perked up, tilting his head in her direction, giving her a soft yip as he wagged his tail.
“That’s settled, then!” Harriet exclaimed.
For the remainder of the afternoon, Jane found herself drawn into Harriet’s orbit like a planet captured by a particularly charismatic sun.
They discussed everything, from fashion to literature to the scandalous behavior of various hostesses.
Jane discovered that Richard’s sister possessed not only infectious enthusiasm but also a sharp wit and surprising depth of knowledge.
She began to understand that beneath Harriet’s cheerful exterior lay the same sense of duty that drove her brother, though she wore it much more lightly.
Perhaps growing up watching Richard sacrifice his youth to responsibility taught her to find joy despite the burdens, rather than because of their absence.
When the drawing room began to feel confining, Harriet suggested they take some air in the gardens. The afternoon sun cast dappled shadows through the hedgerows, and Pippin trotted ahead of them, investigating every interesting scent with unbridled enthusiasm.
“Tell me,” Jane said carefully as they walked along the gravel path, their skirts rustling softly against the lavender borders,. “Does Richard ever… allow himself moments of genuine happiness? Away from duty and expectation?”
Harriet paused beside a particularly fine specimen of winter jasmine, her expression growing thoughtful. “He did. Once. Before Father died, before Mother grew so fragile, before…”
She gestured vaguely, encompassing years of loss and responsibility.
“He was different back then. Quick to laugh, fond of pranks, and absolutely devoted to his books and horses. But that Richard disappeared somewhere between inheriting and surviving, and I’m not sure even he remembers what joy feels like anymore.”
The revelation settled in Jane’s chest like a stone, heavy with implications she was not yet ready to examine too closely.
“Perhaps,” she said softly, “someone simply needs to remind him.”
Harriet’s smile was swift and knowing. “Perhaps they do, indeed.”
That evening, as they gathered for dinner in the smaller dining room, Jane found herself studying her husband with new eyes.
Harriet’s stories had painted a picture of a man she had never glimpsed—someone capable of lightheartedness, spontaneity, of the kind of unguarded pleasure that had been schooled out of him by years of premature responsibility.
“The Pemberton expansion is progressing smoothly,” Richard was saying in response to Harriet’s earlier inquiry, his manner formal as if he were addressing a business partner rather than his sibling.
“I’ve approved additional funding for the project, provided they maintain current employment levels for local workers. ”
“How wonderfully progressive of you,” Harriet replied with barely suppressed mischief. “I’m sure the village will be grateful for your largesse.”
Jane recognized the slightly mocking tone and waited to see how Richard would respond. To her surprise, something almost like humor flickered in his eyes, though his expression remained carefully neutral.
“Mock my methods if you will, Sister, but results speak for themselves. Prosperity benefits everyone, not merely those who own the land.”
“I’m not mocking your methods,” Harriet protested, though her grin suggested otherwise. “I’m simply pointing out that you’ve managed to make even charity sound like a business transaction.”
“Because it is simply that—a business transaction,” Richard replied with what Jane was beginning to recognize as his version of teasing. “Sentiment may inspire generosity, but practical considerations ensure its sustainability.”
The exchange continued throughout the meal, the siblings trading barbs with easy familiarity. Jane found herself relaxing into the warmth of their dynamic.
This was not the cold household she had imagined, but something far more complex—a family that had learned to find affection in duty and connection in shared purpose.
Later, as they settled in the drawing room for the evening, Harriet claimed the settee nearest to the fire while Pippin curled contentedly at her feet.