Page 32 of Duke of Storme
“These’ll be grand with the gown,” Mrs. MacAlpin said, examining the lustrous pearls with a professional eye. “Simple, elegant, and they won’t compete with the silk.”
“Mrs. MacAlpin,” Diana said as the woman made final adjustments to the gown, “what would you do if you were in my position?”
“At the ball, ye mean?”
“In this marriage. In this life. If you were an English woman trying to find her place in Scottish society…”
The seamstress paused in her work, studying Diana’s face in the mirror. “I’d stop tryin’ to find my place and start makin’ one for myself,” she said finally. “Ye think too much about fittin’ in, lass. Sometimes the best thing ye can do is stand out.”
The words settled over Diana like a mantle.
Stand out. Be seen. Be heard. Who would’ve thought?
“You’re right,” she said quietly. “I’ve spent so long trying to be what others wanted me to be that I’ve lost sight of what I truly want.”
“Och, aye. And what do ye want then?”
Diana looked at her reflection again – at the midnight blue silk that made her skin glow, at the woman she was becoming rather than the girl she used to be.
“Everything,” she whispered.
A week from now, she would walk into that ballroom on Finn’s arm, and it felt as though her entire future was hanging on a precarious thread. She would either prove herself worthy of her new station, or she would fail most spectacularly.
But looking at her own image in the midnight blue silk, remembering the way Finn’s hands had felt at her waist during their lesson, Diana found herself hoping for something more than mere survival.
She found herself hoping for triumph.
And perhaps, if she was lucky enough, she might discover that the man she’d married was hoping for the same thing.
“There,” the seamstress said, stepping back to admire her work. “Ye look the spittin’ image of a Duchess who knows her own worth. Now, let’s see if ye can convince the rest of Highland society of the same thing.”
Diana’s fingers trailed over the pearls at her neck. “I believe I can,” she said, and for the first time since arriving at Storme Castle, she truly meant it.
CHAPTER 11
“Ye look...”
Diana stood perfectly still in the drawing room doorway, watching Finn’s words die on his lips as his gray-blue eyes swept over her. The Highland tartan sash – his family colors – draped across her shoulder had been the final touch, a gesture that Diana thought significant.
“Appropriate.” He finished finally, but his voice had gone rough around the edges.
“And you, Your Grace, are ever so poetic,” Diana replied, allowing the faintest of smiles to curve her lips.
She had chosen this gown not to please him, not to meet Highland expectations, but to feel powerful. The dark midnight blue silk caught the candlelight and moved like water when she walked, and for the first time in her life, Diana Brandon – DianaHurriton– felt like someone worth looking at.
Finn’s gaze lingered on the tartan sash longer than was strictly necessary. The Storme colors looked natural against her shoulder, as though she were born to wear them. She could see him wondering when she had chosen this.
“Where did ye find that?” he asked quietly.
“Mrs. MacAlpin assisted me,” she said softly. “I thought it appropriate. Was I mistaken?”
“No,” he managed. “It’s… fitting.”
The carriage ride passed in silence, broken only by the clatter of wheels and the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves over stone. Diana kept her gloved hands folded in her lap, acutely aware of Finn’s presence beside her in the confined space of the carriage. She took a deep breath. He smelled of sandalwood and Highland wind, and she found herself stealing glances at his profile when he wasn’t looking, noting the tightness around his eyes that suggested his own nerves about the evening that lay ahead.
“Diana.”
She turned to find him watching her with an expression she couldn’t quite read. “Yes?”
