Page 60 of Duke of Storme
“In London, one often feels as though every word is being weighed and measured for hidden meanings. Here, I can speak my mind without fear of causing offense through directness. It suits me better than I expected.”
A murmur of approval rippled through the gathered guests, and Diana felt something ease in her chest. These people valued authenticity, and authenticity was something she could give them.
“Shall we proceed to dinner?” she suggested, gesturing toward the dining room where candles cast dancing shadows across the polished table.
The seating arrangements she’d labored over proved their worth immediately. Lord MacKenzie found himself deep in conversation with Mrs. Cameron about agricultural innovations, while his brother-in-law was safely positioned between the vicar and young Mr. Douglas, preventing any uncomfortable family disputes.
Diana had placed herself strategically in the center of the table, where she could observe and manage the flow of conversation while ensuring no guest felt neglected.
“The salmon is exceptional,” Lady MacPherson observed during the fish course. “Is this caught locally?”
“From the river that runs through the estate,” Diana confirmed. “His Grace believes in supporting local fishermen whenever possible. Cook has a wonderful relationship with them.”
“And the wine?” asked Lord Ross, a man known for his sophisticated palate.
“French but stored in the castle’s cellars for over a decade. His Grace’s predecessor had excellent taste, even if he neglected other aspects of estate management.”
The subtle criticism of the previous Duke, combined with praise for Finn’s improvements, struck exactly the right note. Diana caught Finn’s eye across the table and saw something that might have been approval flicker across his features.
Midway through the second course, disaster struck in the form of a delayed serving dish. Diana watched the footman’s face go pale as he realized the roasted fowl was nowhere to be seen.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said smoothly, rising from her chair before panic could spread, “I hope you’ll indulge me in a brief Highland tradition. While we await the next course, perhaps Lord MacPherson would honor us with the story of the Battle of Glen Coe? I understand his ancestor played a quite heroic role.”
The old man’s face lit up with pleasure, and soon the entire table was absorbed in his dramatic retelling. By the time he finished, the missing dish had appeared, perfectly prepared and served without further incident.
“Cleverly done,” Jane murmured as Diana retook her seat.
“Mrs. Glenwright deserves the credit,” Diana replied quietly. “She anticipated this possibility and had backup preparations ready.”
The evening continued smoothly until Mr. Sinclair, a pompous landowner from the eastern borders, decided to test Diana’s knowledge of estate management.
“Tell me, Your Grace,” he said, his tone just shy of condescending, “what are your thoughts on the Duke’s decision to invest so heavily in tenant improvements? Some would argue that money might be better spent on more... traditional ducal pursuits.”
The table fell silent as guests recognized the challenge inherent in the question. Diana felt every eye upon her, including Finn’s intense gaze from the head of the table.
“I think,” she said carefully, setting down her fork, “that a Duke’s first responsibility is to the people who depend on him. Prosperous, well-housed tenants are more productive, more loyal, and more likely to support their landlord in times of difficulty. Investing in their welfare isn’t charity – it’s sound business sense.”
“But surely the Duke’s position in Society requires certain... expenditures on prestige?” Mr. Sinclair pressed.
“What greater prestige could there be than being known as a fair and effective leader?” Diana countered smoothly. “Any fool with money can buy expensive furnishings or lavish entertainments. It takes wisdom to build something lasting.”
A murmur of approval ran around the table, and Diana saw Finn’s lips twitch in what might have been a suppressed smile.
“Well said,” Lord Cameron declared, raising his glass. “To the Duke and Duchess of Storme – may their wisdom guide us all.”
The toast was taken up enthusiastically, and Diana felt warmth spread through her chest as she met the approving gazes around the table.
The final test came during dessert when a footman stumbled near Lady MacPherson, sending her wine glass crashing to the floor in a shower of crystal and red wine.
Diana didn’t flinch. Without missing a beat, she signaled for the mess to be cleaned while smoothly directing attention away from the embarrassed servant.
“Lady MacPherson, I’ve been meaning to ask about your rose garden. Mrs. Glenwright mentioned you’ve achieved remarkable success with varieties that typically struggle in Highland climate.”
The older woman, grateful for the distraction from the accident, launched into an enthusiastic description of her horticultural experiments, and the moment passed without further incident.
When the last guest finally departed, their carriages disappearing into the Highland darkness, Diana found herself alone in the dining room. The servants had been dismissed after she’d personally thanked each one for their excellent service, and now she moved quietly around the table, checking that everything was in its proper place.
The silence felt profound after hours of lively conversation. Diana lifted a crystal glass to the candlelight, checking for spots, and allowed herself a moment of quiet satisfaction. She haddone it. She had commanded a room full of Highland nobility, navigated every challenge with grace, and earned their respect through her own merit.
