Page 1 of Duke of Storme
CHAPTER 1
“Pass the marmalade, would you dear?”
Diana Brandon reached across the breakfast table. Her movements were as automatic as breathing. The morning light streaming in through the tall windows caught the amber preserve in its crystal jar, casting tiny rainbows across the white tablecloth. She had been watching those dancing colors when her mother’s voice cut through the gentle clatter of china.
“Diana, darling, do pay attention when you’re spoken to.”
“Yes, Mama.” Diana straightened, conscious of her habitual slouching. Across the table, Jane caught her eye with a sympathetic smile. Twin intuition recognized maternal correction.
Lady Brandon set down her teacup with the precise ‘click’ that always preceded important announcements. “Your father and Ihave something of great significance to discuss with you all this morning.”
The words themselves were unremarkable, but something in their mother’s tone made all four sisters glance up. Lydia folded her hands with unconscious grace, Marian raised one dark eyebrow, and Jane’s fingers tightened around her teacup, while Diana felt her stomach flutter uncertainly.
The sisters had gathered for their monthly breakfast – a cherished new tradition that they’d maintained despite their marriages, with their husbands understanding that some conversation were meant for Brandon women alone. Richard had tended to parliamentary matters, Nicholas was tending to business at White’s club, and Elias had taken young Peter riding, leaving the morning free for sisterly confidences.
Lord Brandon cleared his throat from behind his newspaper. “Yes, well. Quite significant indeed.”
“Silas,” Lady Brandon’s voice carried command perfected over twenty-six years of marriage. “Perhaps you might join the conversation properly?”
Diana watched as her father sighed reluctantly and folded his newspaper. His weathered face bore the expression of a man who would rather be doing anything else but knew better than to cross his wife.
“Right then,” he said briskly. “Diana, my dear girl. Congratulations are in order.”
Diana blinked. Her teacup hovered halfway to her lips. “Congratulations, Papa?”
“You are to be married!” Lady Brandon announced, her voice bright with satisfaction. “To His Grace, the Duke of Storme. Is that not the most wonderful news?”
The teacup slipped from Diana’s fingers, hitting the saucer with a sharp crack. Around the table, her sisters painted a tableau of shock: Jane’s face went pale as she held her bread frozen halfway to her mouth. Marian’s fork clattered against her plate, and Lydia closed her eyes for one long, telling moment.
“Married?” Diana’s voice emerged as barely more than a whisper. “But I… that is to say… we only met once! At Jane’s ball. We danced, but surely that hardly constitutes–”
“On the contrary,” Lady Brandon replied with evident satisfaction. “His Grace was quite taken with you that evening. The arrangement was concluded swiftly thereafter. The Duke’s representative approached your father with a most advantageous proposal, specifically requesting your hand.”
“Advantageous,” Diana echoed. The word felt strange on her tongue. She looked around at her sister’s faces, searching for some sign that this was just some elaborate jest.
Jane found her voice first, sharp with protective indignation. “Surely there has been some mistake, Mama. Diana is only twenty, and one dance is hardly–”
“Diana has had quite enough exposure to society,” Lady Brandon cut in smoothly. “At twenty, she is certainly of age to marry advantageously. The Duke of Storme is one of the most eligible men in England. This is precisely the sort of match that secures a family’s position for generations.”
“And what of love? What of courting?” Marian asked quietly. “Surely Diana should have some affection for the gentleman she’s to marry?”
Lord Brandon shifted uncomfortably. “Love is a luxury, my dear. Compatibility and mutual respect are far more reliable foundations for a marriage. His Grace appears to be a man of honor and substantial means. Diana will want for nothing.”
Diana felt as though she was drowning in honey. Every part of this conversation was slick, slow, and impossible to navigate. “When?” she managed. “When is this to… when would the wedding take place?”
“Soon,” Lady Brandon said with satisfaction. “His Grace is most eager to conclude the arrangements. You will likely be leaving for Scotland within a few months.”
“Scotland?” she squeaked. Diana had never been further from London than Richmond Park.
“Storme Castle is His Grace’s primary residence,” her father explained. “You’ll be a Duchess, Diana. Do you understand what that means for this family?”
She did understand, distantly. Her sisters’ marriages had elevated the Brandon family’s standing considerably. Diana had always known she would be expected to marry well, but she had imagined it would happen naturally – a courtship stretched out over garden parties and balls and shy conversations over tea.
“I see,” she said softly, folding her trembling hands in her lap. “And His Grace… what is he like?”
“Distinguished.” Lady Brandon said promptly. “Well-respected, though he keeps somewhat to himself. A military man – served in the Navy with honor. Inherited the Dukedom five years ago following a tragic accident. And he is also quite handsome.”
“He’s Scottish.” Lord Brandon added, as though this was merely another qualification.
