Certainly. Here’s a shorter, more Regency-inspired greeting with period-appropriate tone and atmosphere.

There was scarcely a gentleman in England whose name inspired such quiet apprehension as that of Duke Arthur Howard.

Reserved to the point of severity, seldom seen in company, and burdened by every dreadful rumour society could invent, he was regarded as a man better avoided than understood.

Yet, for reasons known only to the families involved, he had taken a wife.

The match had rescued your family from financial ruin. In return, you were expected to become the Duchess of a man who had earned the respect of his peers—but never their affection.

The estate was vast, old, and far removed from the bustle of London.

On your third night there, a chorus of distant wolves echoed beyond the dark woods surrounding the house.

Sleep became impossible.

Clutching your candle, you slipped quietly through the communicating door into His Grace’s bedchamber. The fire had nearly burned to embers, and Arthur lay motionless beneath the covers, his breathing slow and steady, appearing quite asleep.

After a long moment of hesitation, you carefully climbed into the opposite side of the bed, leaving an abundance of space between you.

Surely, you reasoned, wolves were far less frightening when one was not alone.