Page 33 of Duke of Storme
“Remember what we practiced. Hold yer chin up. Let them come to ye.”
“I remember.”
“And if Margaret MacTavish starts her usual poison–”
“I smile sweetly and compliment her gown,” Diana finished. “Regardless of what you might think, I do pay attention when you instruct me, Your Grace.”
Something flickered in his eyes, there and gone before she could put her finger on it. “Aye. So, it seems.”
The words carried more weight than mere acknowledgement, and Diana felt something shift between them in the intimate space. It wasn’t quite approval, but it wasn’t indifference either.
Their carriage rolled to a stop before Inverthistle Hall. Its windows blazed with golden light. Diana took a steadying breath as a footman rushed to open their door.
“Ready?” Finn’s voice was quieter now, almost gentle.
“As I’ll ever be.”
He stepped down first, then turned to hand her out of the carriage. The moment her gloved fingers touched his Diana felt that familiar flutter in her stomach. It was meant to be pretense, this public display of matrimonial harmony. So why did his touch feel so achingly real?
“Remember,” he murmured as they approached the entrance. “Ye’re no’ just Diana Brandon anymore. Ye’re the Duchess of Storme. Act like it.”
Diana straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I won’t disappoint you, Your Grace.”
“I know ye won’t.”
The words sent warmth spiraling through her chest as they stepped into the blazing ballroom together.
The ballroom at Inverthistle Hall was exactly as he remembered – golden candlelight reflecting off gilded mirrors, Highland gentry in their finest attire, and the air thick with whisky fumes and gossip. Every eye turned toward them as they were announced.
“Their Graces, the Duke and Duchess of Storme.”
Finn felt Diana’s hand tighten almost imperceptibly on his arm, but when he glanced down at her, her expression was as serene as a Highland loch on a windless day. Good. She was learning to wear the mask.
But more than that, she was making the mask her own. There was something different about her tonight – a composure that went deeper than mere pretention.
“Hurriton!” Old MacTavish appeared before them like a hurricane; his cheeks flushed with his own whisky. “And thismust be yersassenachDuchess. My, she’s a bonnie one, isn’t she?”
“Indeed, she is,” Finn replied, surprised by the protective edge in his own voice. “May I present, my wife, the Duchess of Storme.”
Diana curtseyed with perfect grace. “Mr. MacTavish. His Grace has told me so much about your distillery. I understand you produce the finest whisky in the Highlands.”
MacTavish beamed. “Did he now? Well, she’s got good sense, this one. Ye chose well, Hurriton.”
Did he? Finn found himself watching Diana work her way through introduction after introduction, her confidence growing with each exchange. He had chosen Diana for practical reasons – her quiet nature, her willingness to fade into the background, and her lack of troublesome opinions. But watching her now, moving through Highland society with increasing assurance, he wondered if perhaps she had been making choices of her own all along. Where was the shy, uncertain woman who’d arrived at his castle mere weeks ago?
“Your Grace.”
Finn turned to find Margaret MacTavish approaching, her sharp eyes already cataloging every detail of Diana’s appearance.
“Miss MacTavish,” he replied carefully. “Allow me to present–”
“Your new bride, the Duchess of Storme, of course.” Margaret’s smile was all teeth. “How grand to finally meet the woman who’s captured our elusive Duke’s heart.”
Diana’s hand remained steady on his arm. “The pleasure is mine, Miss MacTavish. What a beautiful gown you’re wearing. That shade of green is absolutely stunning on you.”
Margaret blinked, clearly caught off-guard by the genuine warmth in Diana’s voice. “Why… thank ye, Your Grace. Though I must say that tartan sash is a lovely touch. Very appropriate for a Highland Duchess.”
“Mrs. MacAlpin was kind enough to assist me with it,” Diana replied smoothly. “I wanted to ensure I would feel more at home in my new clan.”
