Page 25 of Duke of Storme
“Beauty is a luxury I can’t afford,” he replied, the words coming out harsh and clipped.”
“What if I told you that I believe beauty to be not a luxury, but a necessity?” She took a step towards him. “That without it, we become as cold and decrepit as these sealed rooms?”
“Then I’d say ye’re naïve. Life destroys all beautiful things, Diana. Better to be strong than pretty.”
“Or--” Diana countered, “perhaps broken things can still hold beauty. Perhaps the cracks are where the light gets in.”
They simply stared at each other across the dusty chamber, the portrait of Lady Catherine bearing silent witness to their standoff. Finally, Finn’s shoulders sagged slightly.
“Why are ye so determined to pry open doors that should remain closed?”
“Because,” Diana said softly, “I think you’ve confused protection with prison. And I think your mother would have wanted more for you than this desolate fortress you’ve built around your heart.”
Finn’s eyes flashed. “Don’t dare presume to know what my mother would have wanted.”
“You’re right,” Diana admitted. “I never knew her. But I know her son. And despite all your efforts to convince me otherwise, I see glimpses of the dreams she had for you. The love she planned to give, even if she never got the chance.”
“All of that died with her,” Finn said flatly.
“Did it? Or are those dreams simply buried beneath years of pain that you were expected to carry alone?”
Before Finn could respond, Diana moved toward the door. “I shall respect your wishes about this wing. If you truly wish it, I will never visit or mention it again.” She said quietly, “But I want you to know – the dreams your mother had for you? They deserve better than to be forgotten. And so do you, Your Grace.”
She paused in the doorway, looking back at her husband standing alone among the remnants of his mother’s hopes. Diana left him there, surrounded by dust and memories and the painted image of a woman who’d loved him deeply, fiercely, before he’d even drawn breath. As she walked back through the castle’s main corridors, her mind churned with everything she had uncovered.
The sketchbooks. Morag had mentioned finding Finn’s old sketchbooks – drawings that showed the artistic soul he’d been forced to bury beneath years of pain.
Diana paused on the main staircase, guilt warring with determination. She had promised to respect his privacy, but this felt different. This wasn’t about going against his wishes – this was about honoring the dreams his mother had held for him. And showing him that she truly saw who he was.
She thought of the portrait and of her mother-in-law’s hands cradling her unborn child with such tender hope. That womanhad dreamed of raising a son who would find joy in creation and wouldn’t be hardened by life’s brutality.
Perhaps those sketchbooks were proof that Lady Catherine’s dreams had indeed taken root, however briefly. Perhaps they deserved to be preserved, protected, and honored.
Diana’s artistic heart began racing as the plan crystallized. She could ask Agnes to show her where the sketchbooks were kept. She could carefully preserve them, create a proper binding, and arrange them in a beautiful presentation – perhaps along with one or two small things that had belonged to his mother, or to Finn as a baby… not to pry, or invade his privacy, but to show her husband that his gifts mattered. That his mother’s hopes for him hadn’t been foolish.
It would be a gift. A gesture of understanding. A way to say without words that she saw the man he truly was beneath all that self-assembled armor – and that that man was worth celebrating.
As Diana lifted her skirts and began climbing the stairs toward her chambers, her heart hammered with newfound purpose. She would need fine paper, ribbons, and leather for binding. She would need to keep this little project under wraps. She would need to choose her words carefully for the letter she intended to include.
But most of all, she would need courage. Because giving such a gift would reveal her own heart just as surely as it honored his.
But perhaps it was time to stop hiding behind safe distances. Perhaps it was time to show the Duke of Storme that there existed someone who believed in the dreams his mother had carried for him – and was willing to fight for them.
CHAPTER 9
“Beggin’ yer pardon, Your Grace, but I’ve just heard about the Inverthistle ball from Calder.”
Finn looked up from the estate reports scattered across his desk with his quill suspended mid-stroke. Mrs. Glenwright stood in the study doorway; her weathered face creased with concern and something that looked suspiciously like exasperation.
“And?”
“And I’m wonderin’ if ye’ve lost yer bloody mind.”
Finn’s eyebrows rose. In all the years Mrs. Glenwright had served the Storme family, she’d never been anything less than scrupulously respectful. “I beg yer pardon?”
“That poor lass has no idea what she’s walkin’ into.” The housekeeper continued, her Highland accent thickening withagitation. “Ye cannae just throw her tae the wolves and expect her tae survive on breedin’ alone!”
“She’s the daughter of a Viscount–”
