Page 27 of Duke of Storme
“Do you mean for us both to attend?” she asked, and Finn noted the slight hesitation in her voice.
She’s nervous.The realization struck him harder than it should have. Of course she was nervous. She’d been at Storme Castle almost and entire month now, isolated from everything familiar, married to a man who’d done little to make her feel truly welcome.
“Aye.” He moved closer, close enough to catch the faint scent of the rosewater soap she favored. It was a scent that had begun to permeate the castle in subtle ways – lingering in the library where she mostly spent her mornings, drifting from her chambers when she passed in the corridors. It was distinctly feminine in a way the castle had not been in years, and he found it both comforting and deeply unsettling.
“Ye’re my Duchess. The local gentry will expect to see us…” He paused because the word stuck in his throat like a fishbone. “Happy.”
Her dark eyebrows rose in that way that always made him wonder what thoughts moved behind those intelligent brown eyes. “You want me to pretend?”
The question hit him sideways.Pretend.Is that truly what this had become? A performance where neither of them knew their lines?
“‘Tis only for one night,” he said. “We dance. We smile. Then we leave.”
But even as he said it, Finn realized the flaw in his thinking. Diana had been raised in London society, certainly, but she was the quiet one – the sister who preferred books to ballrooms. The thought of throwing her into a Highland gathering where every eye would be cataloguing her every move… Mrs. Glenwright was right, she’d need some form of preparation.
And more than that, she’d need to understand what she was walking into. The Inverthistle ball wasn’t simply a social gathering – it would serve as Diana’s debut to Highland society as his Duchess. Every conversation would be weighed with significance, every gesture analyzed for signs of weakness or strength.
“Actually,” he said, running a hand through his hair, “perhaps we should discuss what ye might expect.”
Diana tilted her head, studying him with those disconcertingly direct eyes. “What might I expect, Your Grace?”
The question was simple enough, but it opened a door he’d been keeping firmly shut. How did he go about explaining the particular cruelties of Highland society to someone raised on London principles? How could he prepare her for the subtle tests she’d face without terrifying her completely?
“Well, the people, the customs...” Finn found himself pacing to the window, then back again. “Highland gatherin’s aren’t like London balls. There are… differences ye should know about.”
“Such as?”
“The dancing, for one.” Finn turned to face her fully. “Here in the Highlands, the reels are far more vigorous than what ye experienced in London ballrooms. The tempo is faster, the steps more complex, and the Highland lairds take great pride in their traditional forms.”
“And the people themselves?” Diana’s voice was steady, but he caught the slight tension in her shoulders. “What should I expect from them?”
Finn hesitated. The honest answer was that some of them would be looking for any excuse to find her lacking, that they’d test her knowledge on things she couldn’t possibly be expected to know, determining her worthiness to bear the Storme name. But how could he tell her that without crushing the quiet confidence she’d been building?
“They can be… particular about tradition,” he said carefully. “Highland society values authenticity above politeness. They prefer directness to diplomacy.”
Diana rose from her chair. The movement was graceful despite her obvious tension. “I see. And you believe I’m capable of learning these… differences?”
Finn’s jaw clenched. “That’s no’ what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean, Your Grace?” She moved closer, close enough that he could see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes. “Because it sounds rather as though you’re expecting me to embarrass you.”
“I’m expectin’ ye to be magnificent,” he said before he could stop himself.
Diana’s lips parted in surprise, and Finn felt heat crawl up his neck.
“What I meant,” he said, forcing his voice back to steadiness, “is that ye deserve to feel confident. These people can be… judgmental. Especially to asassenach.”
“That’s the second time I’ve been called that word. What does it mean?”
“‘Tis Gaelic. Means an outsider. Specifically one from England.”
Diana’s voice had gone very quiet. “Is that what I am? An outsider?”
The honest answer should have been yes – she was English, refined, gentle in ways that Highland society didn’t always appreciate. But looking at her now, standing in his castle as if she belonged there, Finn found he couldn’t voice that truth.
“Ye’re my wife,” he said instead, and found the word carried more weight than he’d intended. “That makes ye the Duchess of Storme. But it doesn’t mean they’ll make it easy for ye.”
Diana was quiet for a long moment, and Finn watched her face as she processed his words. Finally, she nodded and when she spoke again, her voice carried a firmness he was beginning to recognize.
