Page 26 of Duke of Storme
“She’s asassenachViscount’s daughter,” Mrs. Glenwright corrected sharply. “Which means she’s been taught to be accomodatin’ and agreeable. To defer to others and never make a scene. That might serve her well in London’s drawin’ rooms, but at an Inverthistle ball?” The older woman shook her head. “They’ll eat her alive, Your Grace.”
The words struck Finn like a cutlass to the ribs. He’d spent so many years navigating hostile territory himself – first in his father’s house, then aboard naval vessels where one wrong move could mean mutiny or death – that he’d forgotten what it meant to be truly defenseless. Diana, for all her quiet strength, had been raised to be accommodating. Gentle. The very qualities that had drawn him to her would make her vulnerable in Highland society.
“What do you suppose they’ll do?” he asked, his voice dropping to the ominous quiet that had once made seasoned sailors reconsider their words.
Mrs. Glenwright studied his face carefully. “They’ll test her beyond measure, Your Grace. Every word, every gesture will be found wantin’ by their standards. Lady MacPherson will ask pointed questions about English customs, makin’ them sound inferior. The younger wives will wonder aloud whether she understands Highland weather, Highland food, Highland ways.They’ll smile while they do it, of course, so she won’t ever think them rude. Perfect manners hidin’ perfect cruelty.”
Finn sank into his chair as the truth of her words settled over him like cold rain. He’d been so focused on his own discomfort with the evening that he’d failed to consider what Diana would face. There would undoubtedly be questions about her worthiness, the subtle challenges to her authority, and dozens of small cruelties that Highland society would inflict with perfect politeness.
“She’ll be isolated,” he realized aloud. “They’ll surround her with conversations she cannot join and references she doesn’t understand.”
“Aye. And when she falters – because any normal person would under such circumstances – they’ll exchange those meaningful looks, the ones that suggest they knew all along she wasn’t worthy of ye.”
Mrs. Glenwright moved closer to his desk, her expression softening slightly. “The lass has more steel in her spine than ye might think, Your Grace. I’ve watched her these past weeks. She doesn’t cower when the wind howls thought the castle walls and doesn’t complain when the fire takes longer to catch in her chamber. She adapts. But adaptation and confidence are different creatures entirely.”
“What do ye suggest?” he asked finally.
“Teach her,” Mrs. Glenwright said simply. “Not how to curtsy or which fork to use – she knows all that. Teach her how to hold her ground. How to command respect instead of merely hopin’ for it.”
“I’m not exactly known for my social graces.”
“No, but ye’re known for survivin’ in hostile territory. And make no mistake, Your Grace – that ballroom will be treacherous territory for an English Duchess, no matter how well-bred she might be.”
“And if she fails?” The question escaped him before he could stop it, revealing more of his concerns than he’d intended.
The housekeeper’s face softened further. “She won’t fail, Your Grace. Not if ye give her the tools she needs to succeed. But ye must decide – are ye preparin’ for battle, or are ye simply hopin’ she’ll survive?”
After Mrs. Glenwright departed, Finn found himself staring at the invitation with new eyes. This time, instead of seeing an obligation to be endured, he saw an opportunity. Not just to present Diana to Highland society, but to ensure she could hold her own among them.
The invitation itself was written in Lady MacPherson’s flowing hand, full of flourishes and formal courtesy. But Finn could read between the elegant lines quite easily. This wasn’t a welcome – it was an examination. Diana would be dissected from the moment she entered the ballroom to the moment she left.
Suddenly, he thought of the woman who had stood with him before God, making marriage vows. She’d seemed quiet, thoughtful, and careful not to impose. Then he thought of the woman she’d become in a matter of weeks. The way she’d spoken to him in his mother’s old chambers flashed before his mind’s eye. Mrs. Glenwright was right. The Duchess had immeasurable strength beneath all those gentle manners. He simply needed to help her wield it.
That evening, he made his way to the dining hall with unusual purpose. Since their confrontation in his mother’s wing, they’d maintained even more careful distance – he taking meals in his study, she dining alone at the massive table…
But tonight, that would all change.
He paused outside the doors and listened to the quiet sounds within. The gentle clink of silver against china, the soft whisper of fabric as Diana moved in her chair. It occurred to him that he’d been avoiding these domestic moments, these glimpses of what married life could be like if he’d only allowed it. But avoidance was no longer an option.
The room felt different when he entered – warmer somehow, despite the cavernous space and ancient stone walls. Diana looked up. Surprise flickered across her features before she carefully schooled them into polite welcome.
“Your Grace,” she said quietly. “I wasn’t expecting… that is, I hope I’m not intruding on your routine.”
“Ye’re my wife,” Finn replied, the words coming out more gruffly than he’d intended. “This is yer home now. Ye cannot intrude on what’s yers by right.”
“Thank you,” she said softly. “Would you… would you care to join me? I know it’s not a proper dinner, but Cook prepared some sandwiches and tea when she heard I’d be dining late, and it is considerably more than any one person can consume.”
Finn found himself nodding before he’d consciously made the decision. “Aye. That would be… agreeable.”
As he walked over to her, Finn realized that this simple domestic scene was the most natural thing that had happened between them since their wedding.”
“There’s to be a ball at Inverthistle.”
He blurted out the words without preamble. Diana looked up from her teacup, and he found himself studying the way the light caught the chestnut highlights in her hair. Something tightened in his chest that had absolutely nothing to do with the conversation he intended to have.
“Next week,” he continued, taking a seat opposite her. “A ducal appearance is expected.”
She was wearing a dress of deep burgundy wool and the color brought out the warmth in her complexion, making her dark eyes seem almost luminous. There was something differentabout her tonight – less of the careful precison he’d come to recognize, more natural confidence in her movements.
