Page 83 of Duke of Storme
“Emergency Parliamentary session?” asked Mr. Calder, the head groom.
“So His Grace claims. Departure at dawn, return date unspecified.”
“What about the Highland Assembly? I thought His Grace was committed to representin’ the northern estates?”
“Apparently English politics take precedence over Scottish obligations.”
The casual dismissal hit Diana knocked the breath from her lungs as effectively as a fall from horseback. She pressed herself against the cold stone wall with her pulse thundering in her ears as the terrible truth crystallized with diamond-sharp clarity.
Finn was running. Again.
Not toward anything important or necessary, but away from the careful intimacy that had bloomed between them like spring flowers pushing through Highland snow. Away from the woman who’d dared to love him despite his determined efforts to remain loveless.
“Any instructions about the castle while His Grace is away?” Mr. Calder asked.
“Her Grace will manage estate affairs as necessary. His Grace was quite specific that she’s to be given full authority.”
Diana closed her eyes, leaning against unforgiving stone as bitter understanding flooded through her veins like Highland whisky. Full authority over everything except the one thing that mattered most – her husband’s heart, which he guarded more fiercely than any fortress wall.
She should have anticipated this retreat. Finn’s emotional patterns followed the same predictable cycle as Highland weather – moments of unexpected warmth followed by brutal, devastating cold. She’d witnessed it during their drawing room conversations, their dancing lessons, every instance when their careful arrangement threatened to become something real.
But recognizing his pattern didn’t ease the hollow ache spreading through her chest like winter settling over the moors.
Diana straightened her shoulders with the dignity her sisters had spent years instilling and continued down the stairs. Her silk slippers whispered against stone worn smooth by generations of Storme feet. If Finn preferred flight to facing the feelings growing between them, that was his choice to make.
She wouldn’t chase him through castle corridors like some desperate heroine from a Gothic novel. She wouldn’t plead with him to acknowledge what they both knew was true or give him the satisfaction of witnessing how thoroughly his cowardice had wounded her.
She was learning that true strength sometimes meant graceful acceptance of what couldn’t be changed.
Evening painted the drawing room in shades of amber and gold as firelight danced across silk wallpaper while Diana remained motionless in her preferred chair beside the hearth. A volume of Highland ballads lay open in her lap, though she’d attempted the same melancholy verse countless times without absorbing a single word about love lost to pride and fear.
Familiar footsteps approached along the corridor – measured, purposeful, carrying the unconscious authority of someone accustomed to command. Diana didn’t raise her eyes as Finn paused in the doorway, his broad frame silhouetted against lamplight from the hall beyond.
“Duchess.”
The formal address struck her like ice water, each syllable carefully chosen to maintain maximum emotional distance. Diana turned a page she hadn’t read, her movements unhurried despite the storm building beneath her composed exterior.
“Your Grace.”
Silence settled between them thick as Highland fog, weighted with unspoken confessions and abandoned promises. Diana heard him move deeper into the room. Crystal clinked softly as he poured himself whisky from the sideboard that had served Storme Dukes for generations.
“I depart for London at first light.”
The announcement fell between them with the finality of a funeral bell. Diana’s grip tightened imperceptibly on her book’s leather binding, but her voice emerged steady as castle stone.
“Parliamentary business, I assume?”
“Aye. Matters requirin’ my immediate attention.”
Diana finally lifted her gaze, meeting his eyes with the calm composure she’d mastered during weeks of navigating Highland society’s treacherous currents. Finn stood beside the sideboard cradling his tumbler, expression shuttered tighter than any castle gate.
“How long do you anticipate being away?”
“Indefinitely. Could be weeks, dependin’ on how proceedings develop.”
“I see. You’ll want Robertson to handle correspondence in your absence, I suppose. And I should cancel our Highland Assembly obligations.”
Something that might have been surprise flickered across his aristocratic features. “Ye can manage the Assembly yerself. Ye’ve proven... capable of such responsibilities.”
