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

“ W e need to talk. Now,” Jane commanded as she burst into the private sitting room where Diana had been discreetly waiting.

Diana’s hand flew to her throat, her eyes widening behind the borrowed blue mask. “Jane! What’s happened?”

“It seems we’ve managed to jump out of the frying pan and straight into the fire,” Jane muttered, her voice tight with urgency.

The sitting room, though small, offered a momentary sanctuary from the chaos unfolding in the ballroom. Beeswax candles cast a warm glow over the sisters as they faced one another, their borrowed identities threatening to unravel like poorly tied ribbons.

“But I don’t understand…” Diana whispered, her voice trembling as she stood before Jane in the borrowed blue gown. “What does it matter if he recognized you? The scandal is already?—”

“The Duke knows , Diana,” Jane interrupted, her voice low and urgent. “He recognized me immediately at the grand reveal.”

Diana’s eyes widened with understanding before her face contorted with guilt. “I should never have let this happen,” she murmured. “Now, you are compromised because of my foolishness.”

For the first time since the ordeal began, Jane allowed her composure to crack, revealing the emotion simmering beneath. She reached for her sister’s hands and clasped them firmly. “Listen to me, Diana. This was my choice—freely made, with full understanding of the consequences.”

“But tying yourself to a man you despise?—”

“Better me than you,” Jane cut in, her voice softening as she met her sister’s teary gaze. “You, sweet sister, are meant for a love match. You need a gentleman, Diana, one who would cherish your heart and wisdom. I could not stand by and watch that future crumble because of one innocent mistake.”

Diana’s lower lip quivered. “And what of your future? What of your chance for love?”

A wry smile twisted Jane’s mouth. “You know that my opinions on the institution of marriage are hardly conventional. If I must enter it under these circumstances, then at least I do so with my eyes wide open, harboring no romantic illusions about its purpose.”

The door opened abruptly, admitting Lady Drownshire, whose normally smooth features were tight with barely contained panic.

“Girls,” she hissed, “your father is beside himself. The Duke of Myste is in the library with Lord Thornton, and gossip is spreading faster than wildfire through kindling.” Her sharp gaze noted the restored clothing and masks, a frown deepening the lines around her mouth. “What have you done?”

Jane straightened her spine, meeting her mother’s accusatory stare with calm resolve. “What was necessary, Mama. I have prevented a scandal from destroying Diana’s prospects.”

“By surrendering yourself to it?” Lady Drownshire’s voice rose an octave before she managed to control it, casting a nervous glance at the closed door. “Jane, have you taken leave of your senses? The Duke is?—”

“Precisely the sort of man who will do the honorable thing,” Jane finished for her. “His reputation for propriety is unmatched in London. He will ask for my hand. Of that, I have no doubt.”

“And you find this an acceptable outcome?” Lady Drownshire demanded, studying her with bewildered intensity. “Tying yourself permanently to a man you openly criticized a mere three weeks ago at your sister’s wedding?”

Diana’s expression turned anxious, her eyes darting between her mother and sister. “Jane… after your heated exchange with him…”

Jane’s cheeks warmed at the memory of her heated exchange with the Duke at Marian and Nicholas’s wedding celebration.

“Barely,” she admitted. “We did not… precisely… agree on certain matters of philosophy.”

“You called him a ‘fossilized repository of outdated conventions’ if I recall correctly,” Lady Drownshire reminded her with a grimace. “Hardly the beginning of a harmonious union.”

Before Jane could formulate a suitable response, the door opened once more, revealing Lord Silas Brandon, the Viscount Drownshire. His usually florid face had turned into an alarming shade of burgundy, and his mustache twitched with barely suppressed agitation.

“What on earth were you thinking?” he snapped, advancing into the room with thunderous steps. “Alone with the Duke of Myste, of all people! Do you have any notion of the damage you’ve done?”

Jane instinctively stepped forward, shielding Diana from their father’s fury. “It was a simple misunderstanding, Father. Nothing inappropriate occurred.”

Lord Drownshire snorted in disbelief. “A misunderstanding that has set every tongue in London wagging! The Duke is well known for his impeccable conduct—the very fact that he allowed such a situation to arise is simply beyond comprehension!”

“Perhaps,” Jane suggested carefully, “it would be wise to hear the Duke’s explanation before jumping to conclusions.”

Her father’s bushy eyebrows drew together ominously. “His explanation? I care not for his explanation! What matters is salvaging what remains of this family’s reputation.” He turned to his wife, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “The carriage is being prepared. We leave immediately.”

“Father,” Diana began timidly, “surely we cannot simply?—”

“We can, and we shall,” Lord Drownshire cut in, his tone brooking no argument. “The Duke has requested a meeting at Drownshire House tomorrow morning. Until then, I will not have my daughters paraded before Society like some common—” He broke off, seemingly unable to complete the thought.

Lady Drownshire moved to her husband’s side, placing a calming hand on his arm. “Of course, my dear. A dignified withdrawal is the only sensible course.” She turned to her daughters, her expression stern. “Collect your wraps. We depart in ten minutes.”

As their parents exited to make the necessary arrangements, Jane let out a slow, measured breath. The first phase of her impulsive plan had succeeded, mostly. She had diverted the worst of the scandal onto herself, saving Diana’s reputation from irreparable damage.

But the cost of that success was now becoming clear—a future tied to a man whose rigid principles and unyielding propriety represented everything she had spent her entire life arguing against.

“Jane,” Diana whispered, breaking into her thoughts. “I am sorry. If only I hadn’t been so foolish?—”

“Hush,” Jane interrupted gently, squeezing her sister’s hand.

“What is done is done. Besides,” she added with forced lightness, “just think of the delicious irony. The Duke, who lectured me on proper feminine behavior, now finds himself obligated to offer for me, the least proper young lady of his acquaintance.”

Diana’s attempted smile wavered, her eyes still troubled. “But will you accept?”

The question hung in the air between them, weighted with implications Jane had not yet allowed herself to fully consider.

Would she accept the Duke’s offer? Could she bind herself to a man whose worldview seemed opposed to her own, whose very presence stirred within her an irresistible urge to challenge and debate?

“I will do what is necessary,” she answered finally, the words feeling hollow even to her own ears. “For now, that means facing tomorrow with dignity and composure.”

The journey home passed in strained silence, the carriage rolling through London’s darkened streets like a funeral procession.

Lord Drownshire stared fixedly out the window, his jaw working silently as he contemplated the evening’s events.

Lady Drownshire sat rigidly beside him, her spine as straight as a poker, occasionally casting worried glances at her daughters, who were huddled on the opposite bench.

Jane and Diana clasped hands beneath the folds of their cloaks, drawing comfort from each other as they had since birth. Yet, Jane could not help but feel the subtle tremors in Diana’s fingers, the clamminess of her palm betraying her distress.

“It will be all right,” she murmured, too softly for their parents to hear. “I promise you, Diana. All will be well.”

But as the carriage turned into the street leading to Drownshire House, Jane’s certainty faltered.

The image of the Duke’s face at the grand reveal flashed unbidden through her mind—his hazel eyes widening in recognition, his stern mouth tightening with an emotion she could not place.

It was not exactly anger, though that had certainly been present.

There had been something else… something that had sent an inexplicable shiver down her spine.

Interest. Assessment. A dangerous spark of… a challenge.

The carriage lurched to a stop before their townhouse, its elegant facade illuminated by the soft glow of lanterns flanking the entrance. As a footman opened the door and lowered the steps, Jane steeled herself for whatever tomorrow might bring.

One thing was certain—her encounter with the Duke of Myste was far from over.

Inside, the house was quiet, with most of the servants having retired for the evening. Only Wilkins, the aging butler who had served the family since before Jane’s birth, had been awaiting their return.

“Wilkins, have tea sent up to my daughters’ rooms,” Lady Drownshire instructed, removing her gloves with sharp, agitated movements. “And inform Cook that we will receive the Duke of Myste at eleven tomorrow. Appropriate refreshments should be prepared.”

“Very good, My Lady,” Wilkins replied, his impassive expression betraying nothing of what he might have heard regarding the evening’s events.

Lord Drownshire disappeared immediately into his study, the door closing behind him with an ominous click.

Lady Drownshire hesitated at the foot of the stairs, turning to regard her daughters with exasperation and concern.

“Jane,” she said, her voice lower than usual, “a moment in the morning room, if you please.”

Diana’s grip on Jane’s hand tightened, but Jane gave her a reassuring smile. “Go on up,” she urged gently. “I won’t be long.”

The morning room, with its delicate furniture and pastel walls, had always been Lady Drownshire’s domain—a feminine sanctuary where she planned menus, wrote correspondence, and occasionally delivered reprimands too private for the servants’ ears.

Now, in the muted glow of a single lamp, it seemed smaller somehow, the shadows in its corners deeper.

“Sit,” she instructed, indicating a small settee while taking the chair opposite. When Jane had complied, she leaned forward, her voice barely above a whisper. “Did you switch places with Diana at the ball?”

The directness of the question caught Jane off guard. She had expected circumspection, not this confrontation. For a brief moment, she considered lying—but the knowing look in her mother’s eyes suggested that such an attempt would be futile.

“Yes,” she admitted simply.

Lady Drownshire’s shoulders sagged, her usually perfect posture abandoned in a rare display of genuine emotion.

“I suspected as much when I saw both of you in the sitting room.” She shook her head, a combination of resignation and reluctant admiration in her expression.

“You have always been protective of your sister, but this… this goes beyond protection, Jane. This is self-sacrifice.”

“It was necessary,” Jane insisted, echoing her earlier words. “Diana wouldn’t have survived such a scandal. You know how sensitive she is, how deeply she feels Society’s judgment.”

“And you?” Lady Drownshire pressed. “How deeply do you feel it?”

Jane lifted her chin slightly. “I have never particularly cared for Society’s opinion, Mama. You know that better than most.”

A tired smile touched Lady Drownshire’s lips.

“Indeed. You have made that abundantly clear since you were old enough to form sentences.” She reached out, taking Jane’s hand in a rare gesture of maternal affection.

“But this is marriage , Jane. Marriage to a man you have openly antagonized. Have you truly considered what that means?”

“I have considered it enough to know that it is preferable to Diana’s ruination,” Jane replied, though the words felt inadequate even to her own ears.

Lady Drownshire studied her daughter’s face for a long moment. “The Duke will offer for you,” she said finally. “Of that, I have no doubt. His sense of honor would permit nothing less. The question is, will you accept?”

It was the second time that evening the question had been posed, and Jane found herself no closer to a clear answer.

“Do I have any choice at all?” she asked instead.

“There is always a choice, dear girl,” Lady Drownshire assured, her voice surprisingly gentle.

“Though sometimes, the alternatives are equally unpalatable.” She released Jane’s hand and rose from her chair with a rustle of silk.

“Whatever you decide, I hope you will remember that marriage is not merely a social contract. It is a life shared, a path walked together. Even the most pragmatic of unions requires some measure of compatibility if the journey is to be endured with grace.”

Jane blinked, startled by this unexpected glimpse of wisdom from a woman she had often dismissed as concerned with appearances.

“I… will remember,” she promised.

Lady Drownshire nodded once, her composure now fully restored. “Get some rest, Jane. Tomorrow will no doubt bring challenges without the added burden of exhaustion.”

Left alone in the morning room, Jane found herself staring out at the moonlit garden, its careful symmetry so unlike her inclinations toward freedom. Would the Duke of Myste attempt to prune away the aspects of her character that failed to conform to his notion of proper feminine behavior?

The thought stirred a rebellious determination within her, yet she couldn’t forget that moment at the grand reveal—the shock in his eyes, followed by that flicker of something unexpected that had made her breath catch.

Whatever came tomorrow, she would face Richard Riverstone as an equal, not as a docile bride to be managed.

With that resolve firmly in mind, she finally retired to her chamber, passing Diana’s door, where muffled weeping revealed her sister’s distress.

Some burdens, even shared ones, must be carried separately. Just as Jane would carry the consequences of her choice when the Duke arrived with his inevitable offer.