Page 38 of Duke of Myste (Braving the Elements #3)
“ J ane! The scandal sheets have arrived!” Harriet’s voice rang out through the morning air like silver bells, entirely too cheerful for such an ungodly hour.
Jane paused in her careful spreading of marmalade on her toast, a peculiar flutter of anxiety suddenly taking residence in her stomach.
The servants had laid out the morning papers as usual, but she had been deliberately avoiding them, preferring instead to savor the lingering warmth from last night’s magical evening at Vauxhall Gardens.
The memory of Richard’s love confession during their dance—his declaration that she was his destined partner, his soulmate—had wrapped itself around her heart like the finest silk, and she had been reluctant to allow the harsh light of public scrutiny to tarnish its perfection.
“The papers are hardly scandal sheets, Harriet,” she replied with careful composure, though her fingers trembled almost imperceptibly as she reached for her teacup. “Though I suppose the Morning Post does occasionally indulge in Society commentary.”
Harriet’s laughter carried a note of wicked delight as she swept into the breakfast room. “Oh, my dear sister-in-law, you are about to discover that Society commentary and scandal are often indistinguishable. Particularly when one attends events as… stimulating as last evening’s entertainment.”
The flutter in Jane’s stomach transformed into something considerably more urgent. “What exactly are you suggesting?”
“I am not suggesting anything,” Harriet replied, lowering herself into her seat with theatrical grace.
“Merely observing that certain members of the ton appear to have taken quite an interest in the Duke and Duchess of Myste’s recent social endeavors.
The Morning Post , in particular, seems positively enchanted by your appearance at what they deem ‘the most scandalously delightful spectacle London has witnessed this Season.’”
Jane set down her teacup with a sharp clink that seemed to echo through the breakfast room like a gunshot. The carefully constructed tranquility of the morning shattered around her, replaced by the familiar cold dread of public scrutiny.
“They mentioned us specifically?”
“Oh, dear Jane,” Harriet sighed, her tone a mixture of sympathy and barely suppressed mirth.
“They practically devoted an entire column to your appearance. Something about the usually reserved Duke of Myste appearing ‘utterly besotted’ while dancing with his Duchess at an event ‘featuring acrobats, fire-breathers, and other entertainments more suited to circus grounds rather than polite society.’”
“Utterly besotted?” Jane repeated, her voice rising an octave despite her best efforts to keep her composure. The words sent an unexpected flutter through her—half mortification, half something dangerously close to pleasure. “They used those exact words?”
“Among others,” Harriet confirmed, her eyes dancing with glee as she unfolded the paper with a theatrical flourish. “Shall I read the full passage? It’s quite… illuminating.”
Jane’s hands fluttered to her throat, her fingers tracing the delicate chain of her necklace—a nervous habit she had developed recently whenever Society’s scrutiny felt particularly sharp. “Perhaps just the important details.”
“Oh, but the poetry of it, Jane! Listen to this. His Grace’s usual reserve appeared to have been entirely abandoned in favor of what can only be described as devoted attention to his Duchess’s every reaction to the evening’s exotic entertainments .
” Harriet’s voice took on the pompous tone of a Society reporter.
“ The Duke was observed to smile—actually smile—no fewer than six times during the evening, a frequency that longtime observers of His Grace’s public appearances will recognize as unprecedented. ”
Despite her anxiety, Jane found herself fighting back a smile. “They counted his smiles?”
“Apparently with great dedication. But wait, there’s more.
” Harriet cleared her throat dramatically.
“ During their waltz, the usually restrained couple appeared so absorbed in their private conversation that they seemed entirely unaware of the fascinated audience surrounding them. Indeed, several guests commented that they had never witnessed such… intensity of feeling displayed on a dance floor .”
Jane’s cheeks burned as memories of their waltz flooded back—the feel of Richard’s hand on her waist, the way his eyes had burned into hers, the moment when he’d confessed his deepest feelings, declaring her his soulmate.
Had they truly been so obvious? So lost in one another that they’d forgotten where they were?”
“The article continues,” Harriet said, her tone growing more serious, “but I think you should know that it’s not entirely critical. In fact, the writer seems rather… enchanted by the romantic spectacle you provided.”
Her words hung in the morning air like a benediction, and Jane felt something tight in her chest slightly loosen.
“They… they approve?”
“More than approve.” Harriet beamed. “They’re practically composing sonnets about your romance. Though I suspect Richard may have a rather different reaction to being described in this manner in print.”
Jane’s anxiety returned with full force. “Good heavens, he will be mortified. You know how he values his reputation for restraint and dignity.”
“Will he?” Harriet asked, tilting her head with genuine curiosity. “Because from where I was standing last night, Richard looked like a man who had finally stopped caring what anyone else thought. He looked like a man who had found something worth more than social approval.”
“You cannot possibly know that for certain.”
The observation struck Jane with unexpected force.
Had Richard really changed so much? The man she’d married would have been horrified by such public scrutiny, but the man who had waltzed with her last night, who had whispered declarations of love in her ear, who had looked at her as though she were the only person in the world—perhaps that man might view such attention differently. But she was not convinced.
“I suppose we will find out,” Jane said, though her voice carried more uncertainty than conviction.
“Indeed, we will,” Harriet agreed. “Though I suspect you may be surprised by his reaction. Love, I’ve observed, has a way of rearranging one’s priorities quite dramatically.”
Though her words were meant to ignite a spark of hope, Jane’s panic and anxiety proved overwhelming.
The blood drained from her face so quickly that she felt momentarily dizzy.
She had hoped—foolishly so—that their presence at Vauxhall Gardens would go unnoticed.
The realization that their private moment of love’s recognition had become fodder for gossip made her feel as though she had been stripped naked before the entire ton.
“This is disastrous,” she whispered, rising abruptly from her chair. “Richard will be mortified. His reputation, his standing in Parliament… everything he has worked so carefully to build?—”
“Jane, do you not think you are being a bit dramatic?” Harriet interrupted.
But Jane was already hurrying toward the door. “I need air… I cannot… I must think. I think I shall visit Lydia this morning.”
The words tumbled out before she could properly consider them, but once spoken, they felt like salvation.
Her eldest sister would understand. Lydia, who had navigated her own complicated path to love and happiness, would know how to make sense of Jane’s churning emotions.
“Jane, wait!” Harriet called, but Jane was already out of the breakfast room, her mind racing with catastrophic possibilities.
What if Richard regretted their beautiful evening? What if the magic of their confession seemed like mere madness in the harsh light of public ridicule? What if he retreated once more behind those familiar walls of ducal reserve, leaving her alone with feelings she could no longer contain?
Twenty minutes later, Jane’s mount drew to a halt before Lydia’s elegant townhouse, her thoughts still tangled in knots of anxiety and regret.
She had worked herself into a state of considerable agitation during the short journey, imagining Richard’s disappointment, his withdrawal, the careful distance he would surely impose to protect his reputation.
“Jane!” Lydia’s delighted voice greeted her as she was shown into the morning room, a bright space decorated in shades of pink and cream that perfectly reflected its mistress’s warm personality.
“What a wonderful surprise! Though I presume from your expression that you have already read the morning papers.”
Jane paused in the doorway, taking in the scene before her.
Lydia sat at a small writing desk, correspondence spread before her, while a tall, gangly boy of perhaps twelve years lounged in a nearby chair, his dark hair falling over his forehead in a way that reminded Jane poignantly of what Elias might have looked like at a similar age.
“Peter,” Jane said warmly, though her voice carried an undercurrent of strain, “you have become quite the young gentleman since my last visit.”
Peter grinned, revealing teeth that seemed slightly too large for his face—a temporary condition of youth that somehow made him even more endearing.
“Mama has been regaling me with tales of your social triumphs, Aunt Jane. She said the Duke actually smiled in public, which apparently ranks as one of the great miracles of the Season.”
“Peter,” Lydia admonished gently, though her sharp eyes were studying Jane’s pale complexion with growing concern. “Why don’t you go find your tutor? I believe your mathematics lesson should start shortly.”
Peter rolled his eyes with theatrical despair but then obediently rose from his chair. “The sacrifices I make for education,” he declared dramatically. “Aunt Jane, you must promise to tell me more about the fire-breathers before you leave.”
“I promise,” Jane agreed absently, watching with distracted affection as the boy bounded out of the room.