Page 19 of Duke of Storme
The girl’s words trailed off, but Diana understood perfectly well. The staff didn’t know what to make of her because they didn’t know if she would be able to adapt. How many visitors to Storme Castle had come with grand expectations, only to find the Highland way of life too different from their London sensibilities?
“I will be staying,” Diana said quietly.. “This is my home now.”
Morag’s face brightened. “Then ye’ll want to know the castle proper. Mrs. Glenwright’s got her own ways, but if ye need anythin’ the housekeeper can’t provide…” She glanced around conspiratorially and lowered her voice. “Agnes knows which horses are gentlest and Cook always has extra Bannocks if ye get hungry between meals. And, if ye want the best view of the loch, there’s a window in the tower that looks straight out over the water, Your Grace.”
Diana felt something warm unfurl in her chest. This was the first time anyone at Storme Castle had spoken to her like a person, rather than a duty to be managed.
“Thank you, Morag. That’s very kind.”
The girl beamed. “Just doing my part for the new Duchess. Besides,” she added with a mischievous grin, “it’s about time this old place had some life in it again.”
About twenty-five minutes later, Diana stood at the edge of what was undoubtedly the most magnificent stable complex she’d ever encountered. Built of the same gray stone as the castle itself, the buildings seemed to sprout from the Highland landscape like something that truly belonged. The scent of hay and leather and horse manure filled the air, accompanied by the soft sounds of animals moving in their stalls and the distant murmur of voices.
“Ye must be our new Duchess.”
Diana turned to find a man approaching from the direction of the nearest building. He was perhaps fifty, with weathered hands and a face that spoke of decades spent outdoors. His clothes were practical – leather breeches, a wool vest over a linen shirt – and he moved with the easy confidence of someone completely at ease in his domain.
“Mr. Calder?” she ventured.
“Aye. And ye’re lookin’ to ride, from the way ye’re eyein’ the horses.” His voice held no deference, but neither was it unfriendly. Mr. Calder’s tone was matter of fact, as if he dealt with Duchesses every day of the week.
“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble. I confess, I’ve grown rather restless within the castle walls.”
“Trouble?” A girl’s voice piped up from behind one of the stalls, followed by the appearance of a slight figure with wheat-colored hair escaping from beneath a practical cap. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen, with bright eyes and a smudge of dirt across one cheek. “Beggin’ yer pardon, Mr. Calder, but when have we ever turned away someone wanting to ride?”
“Agnes,” Mr. Calder said with the patient tone of someone accustomed to managing an enthusiastic apprentice. “This is Her Grace, the Duchess of Storme.”
Agnes’s eyes widened, and she immediately dropped into an awkward curtsy. “Och! Your Grace, I didn’t mean to… that is… I wasn’t–”
“Please,” Diana interrupted gently. “There’s no need for formalities. I’m simply someone who misses the feeling of fresh air and open spaces.”
“Ye know horses?” Mr. Calder asked, his weathered features skeptical.
“I rode regularly at my family’s estate. Nothing too ambitious, of course. I prefer gentle mounts to spirited ones.”
“Practical.” Mr. Calder nodded approvingly. “Too many young ladies want the prettiest horse in the stable, regardless of whether they can manage the beast. Come along, then. Let’s see what suits ye.”
As they walked toward the stalls, Agnes fell into step beside Diana.
“Have ye seen much of the castle yet, Your Grace? It’s bigger than three manor houses put together, though some of the west wing’s been closed up for years. The Duke, he’s been makin’ improvements since he inherited, but there’s only so much one man can do, even with fifty-odd staff we have.”
“Agnes.” Mr. Calder’s voice carried a note of warning.
“What? I’m just makin’ conversation!” The girl’s protest was cheerful rather than defensive. “Her Grace doesn’t mind, do ye? We don’t get many visitors, especially not ones who want to chat while we’re muckin’ stalls.”
Diana found herself smiling – another genuine smile. “I don’t mind at all. In fact, it’s refreshing to have someone speak to me as though I’m a person rather than a title.”
“Well, yearea person,” Agnes said with the straightforward logic of youth. “Bein’ a Duchess doesn’t change that, does it?”
“No,” Diana agreed quietly. “It doesn’t.”
Mr. Calder stopped before a stall housing a gentle-eyed gelding with a coat of the color of autumn leaves. “This is Sorrel. Sixteen hands, steady as Highland granite, and wise enough to take care of a rider who might be… adjustin’ to our local terrain.”
Diana approached the stall slowly, extending her hand for the horse to investigate. Sorrel snuffled her palm with velvet lips before allowing her to stroke his neck.
“He’s beautiful,” she murmured.
“He’s practical,” Mr. Calder corrected. “Beautiful horses often have beautiful temperaments to match – all flash and temper. Sorrel here’s got sense.”
