Page 63 of Duke of Storme
Finn’s jaw tightened visibly when he saw her. “What do ye need, Duchess?”
The formal address stung more than it should have. “I wanted to discuss the arrangements for the harvest festival. Several tenants have approached Mrs. Glenwright with questions about–”
“Handle it,” he said curtly, turning back to the cowering groom. “Ye don’t need my approval for that, Duchess. Ye’ve proven ye can handle yerself.”
The dismissal was so casually cruel that Diana felt her breath catch. Around them, the stable hands had gone very quiet, clearly uncomfortable witnesses to their Duke’s treatment of his wife.
“I see,” Diana said, her voice steady despite the hurt blooming in her chest. “Well then, I’ll make the arrangements myself.”
She turned to go, but not before catching the flash of something that might have been regret in Finn’s eyes. It was gone so quickly she might have imagined it.
Later that afternoon, Diana sought him out in his study, carrying the correspondence that had arrived from the local magistrate. Surely estate business would warrant some form of civil interaction.
“The magistrate has written regarding the boundary dispute between the MacLeod and Cameron properties,” she said, placing the letter on his desk. “He’s requesting your thoughts on the proposed resolution.”
Finn glanced at the letter, read it with the same attention he might give a bill from the modiste, then shrugged and set it aside.
“Your opinion?” Diana prompted when he offered nothing more.
“The magistrate’s proposal seems reasonable enough.”
“That’s all? No concerns about the precedent it might set? No thoughts about how it might affect our own boundary agreements?”
Another shrug. “I’m sure ye’ll sort it out.”
Diana stared at him, waiting for more, but Finn had already returned his attention to whatever document had been occupying him before her arrival. The dismissal was complete and utterly impersonal.
“Right then,” she said quietly. “I’ll handle it myself.”
She turned toward the door, moving slowly enough to give him an opportunity to call her back, to offer some explanation for his behavior. But he said nothing, and Diana left with the sound of silence ringing in her ears.
That evening, Diana made her decision. She’d expected distance after their interrupted moment – Finn’s pattern ofretreat whenever emotions threatened to surface was becoming familiar. But she hadn’t expected cruelty. She hadn’t expected him to treat her like a stranger, or worse, like an inconvenience he was forced to tolerate.
She found him in the library, exactly where she’d known he would be. He looked up when she entered, his expression already shifting toward that careful blankness he’d perfected over the past few days.
“Your Grace,” she said, settling into the chair across from his desk without invitation. “We need to talk.”
“I’m rather busy this evenin’. Perhaps tomorrow–”
“No,” Diana said firmly. “Not tomorrow. Now.”
He set down his pen with deliberate precision. The movement was sharp enough to suggest barely controlled irritation. “What exactly do ye wish to discuss?”
“Your behavior. The way you’ve been treating me – treating everyone – since the dinner.”
“I haven’t been treating anyone in any way. I’ve been attendin’ to estate business.”
“You’ve been hiding,” Diana corrected, her voice gentle but implacable. “And worse, you’ve been punishing everyone around you for something that isn’t their fault.”
Finn’s eyes flashed. “I don’t know what ye’re referrin’ to.”
“Yes, you do. You’re angry with yourself for that moment in the dining room, so you’re taking it out on me. On the servants. On anyone who happens to cross your path.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” Diana leaned forward slightly, studying his face in the lamplight. “Then explain to me why you can barely look at me. Why you’ve turned every conversation into a dismissal. Why you’re treating me like a stranger when three days ago you were about to–”
“Nothin’ happened three days ago,” Finn cut her off sharply.
