Page 8 of Duke of Storme (Braving the Elements #4)

“ T he lilies look beautiful, Diana. They were a fine choice,” Jane whispered as she adjusted the single sprig of white heather tucked behind her twin’s ear. “Though I confess, I expected something more… elaborate for a ducal wedding.”

Diana stood perfectly still while her sister fussed with the flowers.

Her reflection in the mirror looked back at her with unusual paleness.

The ivory silk gown she wore was simple, almost stark in its plainness – no beading, no lace, no ornamentation save for the delicate seed pearls at the neckline.

Her mother had simply declared it ‘tasteful’, though Diana suspected what she really meant to say was ‘suitable for a bride who shouldn’t draw too much attention to herself. ’

“There’s little point in the elaborate, when the ceremony is to be so brief,” Diana replied, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. “His Grace requested simplicity.”

“His Grace requested many things,” Marian said tartly from her position by the window where she’d been watching the street for the past hour. “Though consideration for his bride’s preferences appears to not have been among them.”

“Marian,” Lydia warned gently, though her own expression suggested she shared the sentiment. “Today is not the time for criticism.”

“When, precisely, would be the appropriate time?” Jane asked. Her tone was sharper than usual. “After Diana has been hurried off to Scotland by a man who treats her, and this union frankly, like nothing more than–”

“Please,” Diana said. Her fingers stilled on the pearl bracelet she’d been trying to fasten. “I need… I need to do this without thinking too much about what comes after.”

The room fell silent except for the distant sounds of London waking – carriage wheels on cobblestones, a street vendor’s cry, the normal rhythm of a world that seemed utterly disconnected from the hollow ceremony awaiting her.

“Diana,” Lydia said softly, crossing to kneel beside her chair. “You don’t have to do this if you’re not ready, darling. It is not too late to–”

“Yes, it is.” Diana’s voice carried a finality that surprised even her. “The arrangements have been made. The contracts are signed. His Grace has traveled from Scotland specifically for this purpose.” She managed a small smile. “Besides, is it not what’s expected of me?”

“What’s expected,” Jane echoed, her voice tight with frustration, “is not always what’s right.”

Before Diana could respond, a knock at the door interrupted them. Their mother’s voice carried through the wood with a note of barely contained anxiety.

“Girls, the carriage is here. We mustn’t keep His Grace waiting!”

Diana rose and smoothed her skirts with hands that only shook slightly. Her sisters gathered around her like a protective wall, each adjusting some small detail of her appearance with the concentrated attention of women who understood they were preparing for a sacrifice.

“Remember,” Marian said fiercely, “you are Diana Brandon, and you are worth more than any title or alliance. Do not let anyone convince you otherwise, little dove.”

“Even if that anyone is my own husband?” Diana asked, attempting levity.

“Especially then,” Jane said firmly.

The carriage ride to St. George’s Chapel passed in a blur of London streets and nervous silence.

Diana sat between her parents. Her father’s proud satisfaction radiated from him like heat, and her mother’s anxious energy made the small space feel suffocating.

Through the window, she caught glimpses of her sisters’ faces in the following carriage – Jane’s concern, Marian’s barely contained anger, and Lydia’s protective diplomacy.

The chapel itself was small and dim, with only a handful of witnesses scattered among the pews.

Diana had expected this – His Grace had been quite specific about wanting a private ceremony – but the emptiness still felt like a rebuke.

Where were the flowers, the music, the celebration that should mark the beginning of a new life?

She walked down the aisle on her father’s arm, her steps measured and steady, while her eyes searched for the man who would become her husband.

He stood at the altar with his back to her, his tall frame rigid with military bearing, his dark hair neatly styled, but somehow at odds with the formal setting.

When he turned to face her, Diana felt her breath catch. He was handsome, certainly, with the kind of strong features that spoke of Highland winds and endless skies. But his expression was deafeningly neutral – as though he were attending a tedious business meeting rather than his own wedding.

“Dearly beloved,” the rector began, his voice echoing strangely in the empty space, “we are gathered here today to join this man, and this woman in holy matrimony…”

Diana heard the words as if spoken from a great distance. Her attention was fixed on the Duke’s profile. She noted the way his jaw was set like granite, and the careful distance he maintained between them even as they stood side-by-side.

“Do you, Finn Hurriton, take Diana Brandon to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, until death do you part?”

When the Duke spoke, his response was clipped and efficient, as though he were issuing orders to subordinates. “I do.” Two words. Delivered with the emotional weight of a weather report.

“And do you, Diana Brandon, take Finn Hurriton to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, until death do you part?

She answered clearly, her voice carrying in the silence.

“I do.” Her voice was steadier than she’d expected, though her hands trembled as the Duke slipped a simple ring onto her finger.

His touch was warm, his fingers sure and strong, but he released her hand immediately after the gold band was in place.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

Neither moved. The moment stretched between them like a chasm. Then, Diana tilted her face up expectantly, her heart beating so fast she was certain everyone could hear it. The Duke looked down at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he simply inclined his head.

“Ye are the Duchess of Storme now,” he said quietly, “Congratulations.”

Diana stared at him as heat flooded her cheeks. Around them, the small gathering of witnesses seemed to hold its collective breath. Even the rector looked uncertain.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Diana managedmeekly.

The rest of the ceremony passed in a blur of signatures and congratulations.

Diana’s family surrounded her with careful embraces and whispered words of encouragement, while the Duke stood slightly apart, accepting handshakes and formal pleasantries with the same cool courtesy he’d shown throughout the entire proceeding.

Outside the chapel, London stretched around them with all its bustling morning glory.

The sun had emerged from behind the clouds, casting everything in sharp, clear light that made Diana’s ivory gown seem almost translucent.

She stood beside her new husband, acutely aware of the space between them, while arrangements were made around them.

“The carriage is ready, Your Grace,” Whitmore said, appearing at the Duke’s elbow with the efficient discretion of a well-trained secretary.

“Which carriage?” Diana asked, looking perplexed as her eyes darted between the Brandon family coach and the more imposing vehicle bearing the Storme crest.

The Duke’s expression grew, if possible, even more remote. “Mine is prepared for immediate departure. Yer’s will take ye back to yer family’s home.”

Diana blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’ll be leavin’ for Storme Castle within the hour,” he said, his voice carrying that same practical tone he’d used during their engagement dinner. “I thought it best I return ahead and make arrangements.”

“And me?” The words came out quieter than she’d intended.

“Ye’ll remain here for the week. That would afford ye some time for farewells,” he replied, his eyes firmly fixed on something just beyond her shoulder. “I’ll send for ye when the castle is ready to receive its Duchess.”

Each word he uttered landed harshly, yet Diana couldn’t ignore the twisted logic of his decision.

This was what she had asked for – time to say goodbye to her family properly.

Though she had hoped they would be doing it together, not him simply.

. vanishing. The consideration felt more like abandonment, the kindness more like rejection.

“You’re leaving, Your Grace? On our wedding day? ”

“It is the most practical arrangement.” The Duke looked directly at her as he replied. “It has come to my attention that there’s much to prepare, and ye’ll be more comfortable here, while I see to the necessary details.”

Behind her, Diana could hear her sisters’ sharp intakes of breath, her mother’s scandalized gasp, and her father’s low murmur of disapproval. But all of that seemed distant compared to the achingly hollow pain unfurling in her chest.

“I see,” she said carefully, her voice sounding strange to her own ears. “And when might I expect this summons, Your Grace?”

“A week. Perhaps two. No more than that.” He paused, and for a moment she thought she saw something flicker in his expression – uncertainty, perhaps, or regret. “I trust you find that agreeable?”

Agreeable. The word settled in her stomach like a boulder. She, as a newlywed bride, was being told that she would spend her wedding night alone. She was being abandoned by a husband who handled their union as though it were a shipping arrangement requiring coordination.

“Of course, Your Grace,” she said, her voice growing steadier with each word. “I am nothing if not agreeable.”

Something in her tone must have caught his attention, because his eyes sharpened slightly. “Miss Brandon I–”

“Your Grace,” she corrected softly. “I believe that’s the proper form of address now.”

For the first time since she’d met him, the Duke looked genuinely taken aback. His mouth opened as though he intended to say something, then closed again without ever having made a sound.

“I should bid you farewell, then,” Diana continued, her voice carrying a politeness so perfect it could have cut glass. “I wouldn’t want to delay your imminent departure, Your Grace.”

She turned away before he could respond and walked toward her family’s carriage with measured steps.

Behind her, she heard low voices – her new husband speaking with his secretary, no doubt making arrangements and discussing departure times as though he were planning a military campaign rather than leaving behind the woman who had been his bride for barely an hour.

“Diana,” Jane said urgently, catching her arm as she reached the carriage. “You don’t have to–”

“Yes, I do.” Diana’s voice was calm, almost conversational. “This is what I agreed to. This is what was arranged.”

“But surely he doesn’t mean to utterly abandon you on your wedding day,” Marian protested. “No gentleman would–”

“His Grace is not concerned with conventional courtesies,” Diana replied, settling into the familiar carriage seat with careful precision. “He is only concerned with practical arrangements.”

Through the window, she could see her husband supervising the loading of his luggage. His attention was focused entirely on the task at hand. He didn’t look in her direction again, not even when his carriage pulled away from the curb and rolled toward the Great North Road.

The Brandon family carriage followed a different route entirely, returning to the familiar streets of Mayfair, where Diana’s childhood home waited for her exactly as she’d left it.

Nothing had changed – the same wallpaper adorned the walls, the same furniture filled the rooms, and the same servants who had known her since she was a child continued to be on-hand.

Only she was different now. She was the Duchess of Storme – abandoned by her husband on their wedding day.

“There will be no wedding breakfast,” her mother announced with barely concealed mortification as they climbed the front steps. “Under the given circumstances…”

“Of course not, Mama,” Diana replied placidly. “Why would there be?”

Her family exchanged worried glances, but Diana had moved beyond their concern. She climbed the stairs to her bedroom with slow, deliberate steps. Her wedding dress rustled softly with each movement.

The room also looked exactly the same as she’d left it – the bed she’d slept in last night, thinking it would be for the last time, the books she’d read throughout her childhood to escape into other worlds, and the window from where she’d watched London life unfold while dreaming of a different kind of future.

Jane followed her, closing the door behind them with a soft click. “Diana, please talk to me. Tell me what you’re feeling.”

Diana stood still before her mirror, looking at the unfamiliar woman dressed in ivory silk that stared back at her.

“I’m feeling… enlightened,” she said. “This morning, I thought I understood what this marriage would be. Now, I know exactly what it is.”

“What do you mean?”

Diana began removing the white heather from her hair, her movements precise and controlled. “I mean that I am not a wife, Jane. I am a convenience. A placeholder. A problem to be managed at His Grace’s leisure.”

“Diana–”

“And that,” Diana continued, her voice growing stronger, “is a mistake.”

She turned to face her twin. The unfamiliar intensity in her brown eyes forced her twin to take a step back. “He thinks he married the quiet Brandon sister. The manageable one. The one who will be happy to accept whatever treatment he deems appropriate.”

“You are not required to accept scraps or–”

“No,” Diana interrupted, her voice carrying an edge that neither of them had heard before. “I am not.” She moved to her window with slow, deliberate steps. “I am the Duchess of Storme now. And when he sends for me, he will not find the same young lady he left behind so callously.”