Page 42 of Duke of Storme
“Diana,” Finn said finally, his voice dropping to something more intimate.
“Yes?” She looked up to find he’d moved closer, close enough that she could catch the faint scent of sandalwood and something else – something uniquely him.
“When ye’re plannin’ this dinner… don’t think about what they expect. Think about what ye want. What would make ye proud to be hostess.” His hand rested on the desk beside her papers. His fingers nearly brushed hers and Diana felt an unexpected awareness at the almost-contact.
Diana looked up at him, startled by the unexpected tenderness in his tone and the way the afternoon light played across the rugged features of his face. “Thank you. That is very kind of you.”
“‘Tis not kindness, but practicality. A confident hostess commands respect.”
“And do you think I could be that?”
Finn studied her face, noting the determined set of her jaw. “I think ye’ve found yer voice… and that it suits ye.”
Diana felt warmth bloom in her chest at the first genuine compliment he’d given her. “I won’t disappoint you.”
“I know ye won’t.”
For a moment longer, they remained there, simply breathing the same air. Then Finn straightened and his mask of formality slid back into place with visible effort.
“I’ll leave ye to yer planning, then.” His voice returned to its usual careful coldness.
Diana nodded, already missing the unexpected intimacy of the past few minutes. “Yes, of course Your Grace. I know you have important matters to tend to; let me not keep you.”
After he left, she spent the better part of an hour finalizing every detail of the dinner party – from the wine selections to the precise timing of each course. When she finally set down her quill, the guest list had been transformed into a comprehensive plan that would have impressed even her mother’s exacting standards.
Satisfied with her work and suddenly restless after being confined indoors, Diana tucked the completed plans into her reticule and made her way outside. The Highland air was crisp and biting, and she pulled her wool cloak tighter as she made her way toward the old oak tree.
An hour later, Diana walked through the castle gardens when a familiar voice called out to her.
“Your Grace!”
Diana turned to find Mr. Calder approaching with another gentleman she didn’t recognize.
“Mr. Calder,” she said warmly. “Lovely to see you. How is your leg doing?”
“Och, much better, thank ye for askin’, Your Grace.” He lifted the tip of his hat toward her. “Allow me to present Sir James Crawford, Baronet of Glenross. Sir James, Her Grace, the Duchess of Storme.”
The baronet was younger than she expected, perhaps around thirty, with sandy hair and kind brown eyes that crinkled when he smiled. “Your Grace, it’s an honor. I’ve heard a great many things about the English lady who’d captured our Highland Duke’s heart.”
“Have you indeed?” Diana felt herself relaxing in the presence of this man who seemed genuinely pleased to meet her. “And what have you heard, precisely?”
“That you’re far too good for him,” Sir James said with a charming grin. “Though I suspect that’s true of most wives regarding their husbands.”
Diana laughed – a genuine, delighted sound that surprised even herself. “Sir James, you are incorrigible.”
“So, my late wife always told me, Your Grace. Said it was part of my charm.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, truly,” Diana said softly.
“Thank you. It’s been three years now, and I’m only just learning to laugh again. Something tells me you understand what it’s like to find your voice after a long silence.”
The observation surprised her with its unexpected perception. “I am not sure I know what you mean.”
“Oh, I think you do, Your Grace. There’s something different about you from what I’d expected. You seem stronger. More… present.”
“Present?”
“As though you’ve finally decided to stop apologizing for taking up space in the world.”
