Page 4 of Duke of Storme
Outside her window, London continued its eternal rhythm, oblivious to the fact that Diana Brandon was about to disappear forever.
Perhaps, she thought,it is time to stop being the invisible sister.
CHAPTER 2
“Another invitation, Your Grace. Lady Pemberton requests the honor of your presence at–”
“No.” Finn Hurriton didn’t look up from the estate reports scattered across his London desk. The morning light streaming in made the marble floor gleam like ice – bold and unwelcoming as everything else in this godforsaken city.
His secretary, Whitmore, cleared his throat delicately. “Perhaps I should mention that the Duke of Marlborough will be in attendance, along with several other members of Parliament who–”
“I said no.” Finn’s quill scratched against the paper with unnecessary force. “Send regrets.”
“Very good, Your Grace.” Whitmore’s tone suggested he found his employer’s antisocial tendencies both mystifying andprofessionally challenging. “Shall I also decline the invitation from Lord Castlereagh regarding the agricultural committee?”
Finn finally looked up. His gray-blue eyes were sharp with irritation. “That one’s different,” he said, the slight softening in his vowels reflecting his Scottish heritage. “Agricultural policy affects my tenants, and I’ll no’ have them suffer for my social failings. Besides, Lady Pemberton’s soiree affects nothing but her own social standing.”
“Of course, Your Grace. Though I feel compelled to mention that your… absence from Society has been noted. There are expectations–”
“There are always expectations, Whitmore,” Finn replied, his Highland accent growing more pronounced in his irritation. He set down his quill and leaned back in his chair, suddenly feeling every one of his twenty-nine years. “The question is whether they’re worth the effort of pretendin’ to care about which wine pairs best with gossip.”
Whitmore’s eyebrows rose fractionally. “I take it Your Grace finds London Society somewhat… artificial?”
“Artificial?” Finn laughed humorlessly. “They speak in riddles when plain words would do, smile when calculatin’ how best to use ye, and spend their days arrangin’ flowers while Rome burns around them.”
“Shall I prepare a list of genuinely essential social obligations? Events that serve your political or business interests rather than mere entertainment?”
“Aye, that would be useful.” Finn stood and walked to the window, gazing out at the busy London street below. “How many invitations did you say we received yesterday?”
“Seventeen, Your Grace. Though I suspect that number will increase significantly once news of your engagement becomes public knowledge.”
Finn’s jaw tightened. His engagement to Miss Diana Brandon – a perfectly suitable young lady who would make a perfectly malleable Duchess. The arrangement had been concluded with admirable efficiency, with bloodlines examined, dowry negotiated, and expectations clearly outlined. The transaction was as clean and uncomplicated as a military supply contract.
“Speaking of which,” Whitmore continued carefully, “I’ve received word from the Viscount’s secretary regarding the engagement dinner tonight. Shall I confirm your attendance?”
“I’m hardly likely to miss my own engagement dinner,” Finn said dryly. “Though I confess, the prospect holds all the appeal of a court marital.”
“Forgive my boldness, Your Grace, but are you not being somewhat… dramatic? Miss Brandon is by all accounts a charming young lady. Well-educated, well-connected, possessing of all the accomplishments expected in a Duchess.”
Finn turned from the window, his expression unreadable. “Have ye met her, Whitmore?”
“I have not had that pleasure, Your Grace.”
“She’s quiet. Thoughtful. The sort of woman who listens more than she speaks and thinks before she acts.” Finn paused, remembering soft brown eyes and the graceful way she had followed his lead during their dance at the Myste ball. “She’ll make an excellent Duchess.”
“You sound… uncertain about something, Your Grace.”
“Not uncertain. Practical.” Finn returned to his desk where he shuffled through papers with unnecessary vigor. “Miss Brandon understands what this marriage represents. Mutual benefit, social advancement, the continuation of two respectable family lines. No romantic nonsense to complicate matters.”
“Ah.” Whitmore’s tone was carefully neutral. “And Your Grace is satisfied with this… practical approach?”
Finn’s hand stilled on the papers. The question was innocent enough, but it prodded at something he preferred not to examine too closely. Was he satisfied? He should be The arrangement met all his requirements.
“My satisfaction is irrelevant,” he said finally. “This marriage serves the interests of both families. That’s sufficient.”
“Of course, Your Grace. Though I wonder… have you given any thought to what Miss Brandon might hope to gain from the arrangement? Beyond the obvious advantages of title and position?”
The question hit harder than Finn cared to admit. WhatdidDiana Brandon hope for? He remembered the way she had spoken about Scottish music. There had been genuine interest in her voice when she had described his homeland. She hadn’t seemed like a woman motivated purely by social ambition, but then again, he had spent perhaps twenty minutes in total conversing with her. How could he possibly know what she wanted from life?
