Page 27 of Duke of Myste (Braving the Elements #3)

“Jane,” she called with characteristic directness, “you must tell me what you think of our Richard, now that you’re married to him.”

Jane glanced over at her husband, who had settled near the window with a book, though she suspected he was listening despite his apparent absorption in the pages.

“I think,” she said carefully, “that His Grace is perhaps more complicated than he would have people believe.”

“How diplomatically said,” Harriet noted approvingly. “But I was hoping for something more honest. Does he make you happy?”

The question drifted in the air between them like incense, impossible to ignore.

Jane felt heat rise in her cheeks as she struggled to formulate a response that would satisfy Harriet’s curiosity without betraying her own confusion.

“Happiness,” she said finally, “is perhaps not the appropriate measure for a marriage like ours. Compatibility, mutual respect, and shared goals—these seem more relevant considerations.”

“How utterly depressing,” Harriet groaned, pressing the back of her fingers against her forehead for dramatic effect.

“No wonder Richard looks so grim most of the time. Here I thought marriage might improve his disposition. But apparently, it simply provided him with another duty to execute efficiently.”

From his corner, Richard’s voice carried clearly despite his focus on his book. “Some of us prefer efficiency to chaos, Harriet. It tends to produce more reliable results.”

“And some of us,” Harriet shot back without missing a beat, “prefer living to merely existing, regardless of the reliability of results.”

Jane watched this exchange with growing fascination, recognizing in their banter the depth of affection that existed between them. They cared for each other deeply; that much was obvious. But they had learned to express that care through challenge, rather than comfort.

“Perhaps,” she interjected gently, “both approaches have merit, depending on the circumstances.”

Two identical pairs of hazel eyes turned toward her with mirrored expressions of surprise, as if they had momentarily forgotten their audience for their familiar disagreement.

“You see?” Harriet said triumphantly. “Jane has the right of it. Balance, Richard. The concept does exist outside of accounting ledgers.”

“Balance,” Richard riposted, setting aside his book with deliberate care, “requires something to balance against. Chaos is not the opposite of order—it is simply chaos.”

“And what would you know about it?” Harriet challenged. “When was the last time you did anything spontaneous? Anything purely for pleasure, rather than duty?”

The question struck home with visible impact, evident in the way Richard’s expression tightened almost imperceptibly.

Jane found herself holding her breath, waiting to see whether he would retreat behind his usual deflections or risk genuine engagement with his sister’s provocation.

“I married Jane,” he stated simply, his gaze meeting hers with an intensity that made her traitorous pulse quicken. “Surely that qualifies as sufficiently spontaneous to meet even your standards.”

The response was not what Harriet had expected, judging by her expression of delighted surprise. “Is that so? How fascinating. And here I thought it was merely born of societal expectations and duty, not impulse.”

“Perhaps,” Richard said quietly, still looking at Jane, “it was both.”

As the evening deepened into night, Jane found herself walking alongside Richard as they made their way toward their respective chambers.

The corridor was quiet, save for the soft sounds of their footsteps on the carpet and Pippin’s soft panting at their feet.

Yet the silence between them felt different than usual, charged with awareness rather than mere politeness.

“Your sister is remarkable,” Jane noted as they paused outside her bedchamber.

“She is many things,” Richard replied, though his tone carried more fondness than exasperation. “Remarkable is certainly among them.”

“She loves you very much.”

Richard’s hand stilled on his door handle, and she saw something vulnerable flicker across his features before he masked it. “Harriet sees qualities in people that may not actually exist. It is both her gift and her weakness.”

“And what if they do exist?” Jane asked softly. “What if she simply sees them more clearly than the people themselves?”

For a moment, Richard looked at her with something akin to wonder, as if she had posed a question that had never occurred to him before. Then, his expression shuttered once more, and he inclined his head with formal politeness.

“Good night, Jane. I trust you will find Pippin suitable company.”

As her door clicked shut behind her, Jane leaned against it and closed her eyes, her mind racing with everything she had learned during the day.

Harriet’s casual revelations about her brother’s past, the glimpses of genuine affection beneath their banter, the moments when his careful control had slipped to reveal the man beneath the facade—all of it painted a picture far more complex than she could have imagined.

Perhaps, she thought as she got ready for bed, the key to understanding her husband was not in breaking down his defenses, but in discovering what lay behind his need to construct them in the first place.

As Jane climbed into bed, her mind wandered to the portraits she had spotted on the ballroom walls during their lesson.

One in particular had caught her attention—a woman in a Tudor dress with intelligent eyes and a smile that seemed almost conspiratorial.

When she had asked Richard about it, his response had been surprisingly revealing.

“That is the third Duchess of Myste,” he had said, following her gaze. “Lady Margaret Riverstone. She was known for her… unconventional approach to social expectations.”

The memory of his tone—almost as real as if he were standing right beside her, carrying both admiration and a warning—lingered in her thoughts.

Lady Margaret had established the first lending library in the village, sponsored several female scholars, and allegedly once challenged the local magistrate to a public debate about women’s property rights.

According to Richard, the estate records showed remarkable prosperity during her tenure, though whispers had followed her throughout her marriage.

“I have often wondered if she regretted her choices,” Richard had admitted, “or if she found the cost worthwhile.”

Jane found herself wondering the same thing as she stared up at the ceiling. Was it possible to be both a proper duchess and true to herself? Lady Margaret seemed to have managed it, though not without consequence.

Perhaps that was why Richard had mentioned her—a suitable acknowledgment that he understood Jane’s struggle between duty and authenticity.

The thought that he might be more aware of her internal conflicts than she had realized was both comforting and unsettling. If he recognized her need for intellectual freedom, why did he seem so determined to constrain it?

Unless… unless his constraints stem not from the desire to control, but from a fear of losing her to the same scandal that had befallen Lady Margaret.

Sleep finally claimed her, but her dreams were filled with images of a long-dead duchess who had dared to challenge convention, and a present-day duke who seemed caught between protecting what he loved and allowing it to flourish.

The next morning, she woke up with a new understanding of the delicate balance she would need to strike not just for her happiness, but for Richard’s peace of mind as well.

And perhaps, if she were patient and careful, she might just find a way to show him that some risks were worth taking, even for a man who had learned to find safety only in absolute control.