Page 8 of Duke of Myste (Braving the Elements #3)

“ D o try to look as though you’re enjoying yourself, Miss Brandon.

Your expression suggests you’re enduring a particularly painful dental procedure rather than a pleasant afternoon stroll,” Richard remarked, his voice pitched low enough to reach only Jane’s ears as they navigated the crowded paths of Hyde Park.

Jane forced her lips into what she hoped resembled a smile, though she suspected it looked more like a grimace. “I was merely contemplating how best to respond to your utterly bewildering position on the corn importation laws without revealing my true opinion on such backward thinking.”

Richard’s hand tightened almost imperceptibly over hers where it rested on his arm, his strides never faltering despite the tension evident in his rigid posture.

“Perhaps we might save debates on economic policy for less public settings? We are meant to be quashing rumors, not creating fresh fodder for gossip.”

The afternoon sun beat down with unseasonable warmth for early spring, making Jane uncomfortably aware of the weight of her walking dress and the tightness of her corset.

Or perhaps the discomfort stemmed not from the weather, but from the impossible task before them—to present a convincing picture of courtship harmony while disagreeing on virtually every subject they broached.

“Quashing rumors,” Jane echoed with quiet irony. “Tell me, Your Grace, how does one quash rumors of discord by parading about in stiff-backed misery? The ton is hardly blind to insincerity.”

“One manages it through practiced civility and appropriate constraint,” Richard replied, nodding with perfect courtesy to a passing baroness whose curious gaze lingered a bit too long on the Season’s most unexpected couple.

When the woman was out of earshot, Jane couldn’t help but add, “Qualities you believe I lack in abundance.”

Richard’s sigh was barely audible. “I made no such assertion, Miss Brandon.”

“You did not need to. Your tone conveyed it with admirable efficiency.”

They continued along the winding path, their bodies maintaining proper proximity while their minds seemed to occupy entirely different continents.

Around them, le bon ton strolled in elegant parade, ladies twirling parasols and gentlemen tipping hats, the elaborate social dance performed with practiced ease by all, except for the oddly matched pair at its center.

“Perhaps,” Richard suggested after a beat, “we might find safer conversational ground. The weather, perhaps, or the quality of the gravel beneath our feet.”

A laugh escaped Jane’s lips before she could prevent it—a genuine sound of amusement that drew curious glances from nearby promenaders. “Really, Your Grace? Have we truly reached such desperate straits that we must resort to discussing gravel?”

The corner of Richard’s mouth lifted in what might have almost been a smile. “I found myself at a loss for alternatives that wouldn’t immediately spark debate.”

“A fair assessment,” Jane acknowledged, her own lips curving upward despite her irritation. “Though I confess I’m rather tempted to develop a passionate opinion on gravel composition simply to maintain our perfect record of disagreement.”

This time, Richard’s laugh joined hers—a brief, rich sound quickly suppressed, yet genuine enough to momentarily transform his stern features. The effect was startling, drawing Jane’s gaze upward in surprise at this unexpected glimpse of the man beneath the ducal facade.

“Our reputation for discord appears well-deserved,” he observed, guiding her around a particularly enthusiastic group of children racing wooden hoops along the path.

“Indeed,” Jane agreed. “Though I cannot help but wonder whether constant opposition truly serves either of our interests at present.”

Richard arched an eyebrow. “Are you proposing a truce, Miss Brandon?”

“Perhaps a strategic alliance,” Jane corrected. “At least for the duration of our public appearances.”

“That is a rather fascinating prospect,” Richard remarked, studying her with unexpected intensity. “And what would the terms of this alliance entail?”

Jane considered the question as they continued walking, acutely aware of the watchful eyes that followed their progress through the park.

The ton’s fascination with their unexpected courtship showed no signs of diminishing. If anything, their appearance together today had only intensified the curious stares and hushed whispers that tracked their movements.

“I propose we each select three topics of conversation where disagreement is prohibited,” she finally suggested. “Three neutral territories where we might engage without arguing.”

Richard’s expression registered surprise before returning to its usual composed state. “An intriguing suggestion. And these territories would be of our own choosing?”

“With mutual approval,” Jane stipulated. “I have no desire to spend the remainder of our courtship discussing hunting or horse breeding simply because you declare them conflict-free zones.”

“And I have equal reservations about extended discourses on radical political philosophy,” Richard countered, though without the usual disapproving tone.

A particularly boisterous group of young lords passed nearby, their openly curious stares and poorly disguised whispers reminding Jane of their purpose in undertaking this public parade in the first place.

The entire exercise was meant to present a united front to Society, to transform their scandalous beginning into a conventional courtship that would eventually culminate in a respectable marriage. Their continuous bickering hardly advanced this goal.

“Perhaps we should begin immediately,” Jane suggested. “I propose gardens as my first neutral territory.”

Richard considered this, his expression thoughtful. “An acceptable choice. My sister would certainly approve. Do you know she has strong opinions on landscape design that have transformed several sections of our estate?”

“Harriet gardens?” Jane asked, genuine curiosity momentarily overcoming her defensive stance. “Diana would be delighted to know of another young lady with serious horticultural interests.”

“I would hesitate to call Harriet’s approach ‘serious’ in the scholarly sense your sister might employ,” Richard clarified, fondness creeping into his voice. “Her designs tend toward the… unconventional. Our head gardener has aged considerably since she began implementing her vision.”

Jane found herself smiling at the image this conjured—a female version of Richard wreaking havoc on carefully maintained grounds.

“I should very much like to meet her,” she said without thinking.

Richard glanced down at her, that same unreadable intensity in his gaze. “You will, should our arrangement proceed to its expected conclusion.”

The reminder of their situation fell between them like a stone, disrupting the momentary ease they had achieved. Jane withdrew slightly, though her hand remained properly placed on his arm, the physical connection at odds with the emotional distance that had reasserted itself.

“Yes, of course,” she acknowledged, her tone cooling. “Though I imagine Harriet might not be entirely pleased to find her brother shackled to a woman of such questionable principles.”

Richard’s posture stiffened, the brief rapport they had established evaporating like morning dew before a harsh sun. “On the contrary, Miss Brandon. My sister would likely consider you a welcome ally in her continuous campaign to disrupt my carefully ordered existence.”

The words might have sounded teasing from another man, but Richard’s delivery held an edge that suggested genuine grievance.

Jane bristled in response, her defenses rising once more.

“How fortunate that I might serve some purpose in your household beyond merely providing an heir to your precious dukedom,” she retorted, her voice sharp despite her attempt to maintain a pleasant expression for the benefit of onlookers.

Richard guided her toward a less populated section of the path, his face set in the stern lines she had come to associate with barely controlled frustration. His voice dropped to ensure privacy, though its intensity remained undiminished.

“Is that truly your understanding of marriage, Miss Brandon? A Transaction where one party exists solely to serve the other’s needs?”

“Is that not precisely how Society structures the institution?” Jane countered, abandoning all pretense of pleasant conversation now that they had achieved temporary seclusion.

“Women relinquish independence, property, and legal standing, all in exchange for protection and security. The arrangement seems decidedly one-sided, from my perspective.”

Richard’s expression darkened further. “A cynic’s interpretation that ignores the possibility of mutual respect and shared purpose.”

“Mutual respect requires equality, Your Grace. A condition notably absent from legal and social constructs surrounding matrimony.”

“Yet you would enter such an arrangement willingly?”

“Willingly?” she scoffed, incredulity coloring her tone. “Need I remind you that our situation arose from necessity rather than choice? That Society’s perception of women’s reputation has forced this path upon us both?”

A flash of genuine emotion—something beyond his usual controlled irritation—crossed Richard’s features. “Indeed, Miss Brandon. A circumstance neither of us would have chosen, yet one we must now navigate with at least the appearance of good faith.”

The reminder of their shared predicament—both trapped by societal expectation neither had designed nor endorsed—momentarily deflated Jane’s righteous indignation.

She drew a deep, steadying breath, conscious of several passing couples whose casual pace had slowed as they approached, clearly hoping to overhear something worth repeating tomorrow in London’s drawing rooms.

“Perhaps we should resume our walk,” she suggested, her voice deliberately steadier.