Page 10 of Duke of Storme
Elias spoke for the first time since dinner, his voice carrying quiet authority. “Your Grace, such arrangements seem to benefit only one party. Diana is not cargo to be transported at your convenience.”
The Duke’s attention shifted to Eias, and for a moment, the two men stared at one another with the measuring intensity of potential adversaries. “Miss Brandon will be my wife and my duchess. Her welfare will be my concern.
“Will it?” Richard asked, with deceptive mildness. “Because at present, your primary concern appears to be your own convenience, Your Grace.”
The Duke’s jaw tightened as he faced the collective disapproval of Diana’s family. “My concerns, Your Grace, are my own to manage. As will be my wife’s welfare once she becomes my responsibility.” His voice carried the clipped authority of a man accustomed to having his decisions questioned. “I believe I have made my position clear.”
“I see,” Diana managed, though her voice sounded hollow even to her own ears.
Her father shifted uncomfortably in his seat, clearly out of his depth and at his wits end with the mounting tension. “Well,” he said gruffly, “I suppose that’s your decision to make, Your Grace.” He glanced toward his wife with obvious relief. “My Lady, perhaps you might discuss the… the particulars with His Grace?”
Lady Brandon stepped smoothly into the breach, her voice carrying the diplomatic authority of someone accustomed to managing difficult social situations. “Naturally, Your Grace, we understand the demands of your position. Perhaps we might arrange for Diana to visit once she’s settled–”
“We shall see.” The Duke replied, though his tone suggested the matter was closed.
When the time came for the Duke to take his leave, he rose with the same military bearing that had marked his arrival. His farewells to her family were correct but perfunctory, perfect bows and polite acknowledgements. The three husbands rose as well, their collective movement unmistakably coordinated. Each offered a bow that was precisely correct and utterly cold. When he turned to Diana, she felt her pulse quicken despite herself.
“Miss Brandon,” he said with a brief nod, as though she were a business acquaintance rather than his intended bride.
And then he was gone, leaving behind only the scent of rain and sandalwood and something indefinably masculine that seemed to linger in the suddenly quiet space.
Diana remained by the window, watching his carriage disappear into the darkness as rain began to fall more heavily.
“A week!” Lady Brandon exclaimed, her voice strained with the effort of composure. “How are we to manage everything?”
“We’ll manage,” Lydia replied firmly. “We always do.”
“It’s not the arrangements that concern me,” Jane said, her voice sharp with protective fury. “It’s the man who thinks he can simply sweep our sister away like a prized mare he’s bought.”
“Arrogant bastard,” Nicholas muttered, earning him a sharp look from Marian that contained more agreement than reproach.
“The man clearly has no understanding of family bonds,” Richard added with clinical disapproval. “His behaviour was barely civil.”
“If he treats her with such disregard before marriage,” Elias added quietly, “what consideration can she truly expect?”
Diana turned from the window. The faces of her family members blurred slightly through the threatening tears she refused to shed. “Perhaps it’s better this way. Quick, like removing a thorn. Less time to… dwell on what’s being left behind.”
But even as she spoke the words, she wondered if she could convince herself to believe them. In a week, she would be the Duchess of Storme. In seven days, she would leave everything she’d ever known behind for a Scottish castle and a husband who regarded her with the same warmth he might show a piece of estate correspondence.
That should have terrified her.
But instead, Diana found herself wondering what manner of man was simultaneously so willing to conclude the arrangement he had initiated, while looking so desperate to escape it at the same time. What kind of life had taught him to treat marriage like a campaign to be concluded, rather than a partnership to be savored?
And perhaps most unsettling of all – what did that say about her own future?
CHAPTER 4
“The lilies look beautiful, Diana. They were a fine choice,” Jane whispered as she adjusted the single sprig of white heather tucked behind her twin’s ear. “Though I confess, I expected something more… elaborate for a ducal wedding.”
Diana stood perfectly still while her sister fussed with the flowers. Her reflection in the mirror looked back at her with unusual paleness. The ivory silk gown she wore was simple, almost stark in its plainness – no beading, no lace, no ornamentation save for the delicate seed pearls at the neckline. Her mother had simply declared it ‘tasteful’, though Diana suspected what she really meant to say was ‘suitable for a bride who shouldn’t draw too much attention to herself.’
“There’s little point in the elaborate, when the ceremony is to be so brief,” Diana replied, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. “His Grace requested simplicity.”
“His Grace requested many things,” Marian said tartly from her position by the window where she’d been watching the street for the past hour. “Though consideration for his bride’s preferences appears to not have been among them.”
“Marian,” Lydia warned gently, though her own expression suggested she shared the sentiment. “Today is not the time for criticism.”
“When, precisely, would be the appropriate time?” Jane asked. Her tone was sharper than usual. “After Diana has been hurried off to Scotland by a man who treats her, and this union frankly, like nothing more than–”
