Chapter 8
“You haven’t acknowledged me since the ball a week ago,” Isla spelled out carefully in the doorway of her home, “But you wish to take me on an outing today? Now?”
The duke blinked at her. “Yes.”
“Oh. Well, that explains everything.” He didn’t seem to pick up on her humor. She forced a smile before turning––and nearly hitting her mother with her elbow. The woman had crept up while she wasn’t paying attention. “Oh! Mother, I’m off on… an outing. Is that all right?”
“How lovely! It’s a brilliant day for an outing. Hyde Park, I suppose? It shouldn’t be too crowded at this hour,” her mother added helpfully. “Is that where you will be, Your Grace?”
He hesitated before nodding. “Yes, Mrs. MacLaren. That is where we shall go.”
“Och. Ah. Well…” Her gaze shifted, eyes a little too wide, between the two of them before she finally nodded to Isla. There was a request in that expression that Isla couldn’t read. “Go on, then. Do have a pleasant time, yes?”
“Certainly, Mother,” Isla murmured.
She took the shawl her mother recommended, and the bonnet, and then followed the duke outside. It only took a moment to reach the street to find there was no vehicle for them. Noting the horse he unhooked from the gate, she glanced about.
“Are we walking?”
“It’s a fine day, is it not?” He lowered his gaze to eye her feet, most likely noticing the sturdy boots. “I know your feet work.”
She nodded. “They do, only I thought we might go for a ride. Do you have curricle?”
“No. You’ll have a carriage soon enough. It’ll be your wedding present. Would you like to take my arm?”
Without giving her a chance to let her mouth drop open, the gentleman was guiding her to the end of the street. Isla wasn’t certain she had even given him her hand. But somehow she was holding onto his arm now as they crossed, his horse following at his other shoulder.
“There is no need to give me one of your carriages,” Isla hissed.
Her gaze darted about the lane. Her mother had managed to rent a fine little townhouse just on the edge of Mayfair where it was still fashionable.
That meant eyes were surely already on them.
Forcing a tight smile, she added, “I can walk just fine through London or take myself a hackney.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. A duchess would never use a hackney. And if you are to be my wife, then I fully expect you to be secured in your travels without having to worry about your well-being.”
That’s unusually thoughtful.
Peering up at him in confusion, Isla wondered if she was misreading the duke. He was rather difficult to sort out most of the time.
If he offered his opinion, he was honest and precise.
He expected her to agree with it, too, like roasted broccoli being the ideal form of vegetable.
Then he asked her questions without offering his own answers.
The only times she could tell he did have a varying opinion then was in his targeted questions that left her feeling dizzy by the end.
Or maybe that had been the dancing. He was a most excellent dancer and lead. I wonder if he will still dance once we are wed… No, if we wed. There is no guarantee of that now. There won’t be. This is probably some sort of game he’s built with his friends. If he has any of those.
“Very well. That is very considerate of you. A fine gift. I’m afraid I haven’t considered anything for you at this time. Is there anything you would like as a wedding gift?” Isla offered.
His brow lifted a smidgeon like he was surprised. “I don’t have need of anything.”
“That doesn’t dismiss a desire to exchange gifts,” she reasoned. “It is tradition, is it not? I could, perhaps, embroider something for you?”
“Or perhaps you can perform a song of my choosing.”
There’s one of his decisions. And a better one, because my embroidery is absolutely awful. Except I haven’t practiced on my harp in some time.
“I shall find myself a harp or could very well sing for you,” Isla reassured him, secretly glad she wouldn’t have to worry about a financial gift for the duke.
He led them across the lane once more to guide them into the park before he answered. “I’ll have a harp ready for you. You can practice to your heart’s content before you present to me. I’ll even provide the sheet music.”
“Should I prepare two songs for you? I should think the harp is another gift. And perhaps the sheet music a third,” Isla noted, biting her tongue to hold back a grin.
The way his face spasmed nearly made her laugh. But she reined in the urge, giving him her most innocent expression, while he attempted to understand if she was mocking him.
“That… will not be necessary.”
Turning away when she couldn’t resist the urge any longer, Isla murmured, “If you insist.”
He grunted. The two of them carried on for a short while in the quiet peaceful day. It was warm for March, with the sun shining and people scattered all about. Eventually, the pathways would grow crowded as everyone came to stroll and picnic and gossip with one another at the fashionable hour.
Just as Isla wondered if he might wish to linger that long, she noted him neatly tugging her off toward a quieter side path that allowed them to avoid a particular party of three women and two gentlemen. The strangers looked prepared to greet them but were stalled with the duke’s actions.
We’re not here to chatter, then, I see.
Isla supposed she couldn’t mind too much. Most likely, they were simply coming to taunt and mock her. What was a Scottish woman doing here with a duke? No one cared about her family’s name or past polish here in London.
“I have four estates.”
She nearly jumped with the duke spoke, having practically forgotten they were together. He glanced down and made her realize she had clutched him rather tightly on the arm.
“My apologies,” she muttered before clearing her throat. “Four estates, you say?”
“Yes, and of course the gold mines.”
It felt like he was tossing her off a cliff. “Gold mines? Since when?”
To her surprise, the duke’s lips twitched into a near smile. “Ah, I forgot you have not been long before us. You really didn’t know who you were naming, did you, when you shouted my name?”
“I did not shout your name,” Isla hotly corrected him. “And how should I know about gold mines? They don’t particularly thrive in Scotland. All we have are rocks. Does everyone in London know about the gold mines?”
“Everyone in England and more,” he corrected her with a wry expression. “It is how my father earned his dukedom. He made the Crown and himself extraordinarily wealthy. We weren’t born with blue blood like yours.”
“I assure you, I still bleed red,” she started before understanding what he was saying. “Ah. When did your father receive the title?”
He paused to help them move around a fountain. “When I was ten years of age.”
That surprised her. “Then you were already becoming a young man. Your world must have drastically changed, Your Grace. Was it wonderful? Terrifying?”
“Both. And please, call me Westvale. Unless you’d prefer my name. Ronan Ward,” he added when she stared at him blankly.
I really don’t know anything at all about him, it would seem.
Isla decided to change that. “Thank you for the honor, Westvale. You’re more than welcome to call me Isla. Do you have any siblings? Brothers or sisters?”
“I have the four estates, and manage small staff numbers at all times. It’s a personal preference as I have no need to be waited on for every single thing. What type of household works well to your satisfaction?”
Staring at him in disbelief at such obvious rudeness, Isla couldn’t help but point out, “You completely evaded my question.”
“I’m resuming our original conversation before we deterred,” he corrected her. “You may ask me another time.”
“But conversations flow naturally and may lead to other places.”
“And I’ve led it back to my household. You told me prior that you have experience in managing more than one estate, and I’d like to inquire on that topic more,” he said with a stubborn edge to his voice.
All Isla could see before her was a pouting child, someone who didn’t want to talk.
She studied his face for a minute to answer her unsaid questions on why he didn’t care for that topic.
The way he worked his jaw told her there was some pain tied to it.
Heartache, perhaps. There wasn’t a chance in the world he was going to tell her about his family right now.
So she heaved a dramatic sigh as it felt like her only justified response to his childish attitude. Then, pretending not to see the roll of his eyes, Isla managed to answer his question.
It turned into another interview once again as Westvale led her through his questions, all of them practical, to learn more about her skills and to note his own expectations for this potential union.
His manners were polite. She couldn’t truly fault him for that.
But it was a beautiful day, and the questions never stopped, and soon Isla was too warm and tired of everything.
“No, I don’t know how I would handle finding a cook had completely forgotten to go shopping,” she finally snapped. Stepping free of him, she put her hands on his hips. “I’ve never encountered that situation, nor half the others you have proposed.”
Fortunately, they had gone off the path once more to avoid more people. Maybe that was why Isla felt she dared to address the duke this way.
“They are all reasonable incidents that a duchess should be prepared to encounter,” Westvale said.
She paused to give him a disbelieving look. “Then you have encountered all of them?”
“Well, no. But I’ve heard of them happening,” he reasoned.
“Where?”
“I don’t know the answer for every situation. Gossip, correspondence, stories… books, perhaps.”
Isla blinked. She needed to sort this out. “Are you reading scandalous stories, Your Grace, of dramatic dealings of the household staff?”
“There is no such thing,” he scoffed before pausing. “Is there?”
“There are books for everything. Including for housekeepers,” she added emphatically, “If that is whom you really need to hire. I feel as though I am one of them now going under review.”
He frowned. “You could never be a housekeeper.”
“Oh, how kind.”
“I’m not kind. Housekeepers aren’t supposed to be beautiful.”
Furrowing her brow, she craned her neck to look up at him since his expression had yet to soften. “Are you complimenting me?”
“Would it make you feel less under review?”
“I don’t know.” She tried not to smile as her attitude softened toward amusement. “It depends on what your next statement is. Because if it’s a question on how I check the staff’s sanitary habits, we might have a problem on our hands.”
“That is not my business to ask anyone,” he assured her.
Then he took a tentative step forward. She glanced down at their feet, noting how close they stood.
When she lifted her chin to him again, the duke was awfully close.
Almost like they were dancing again. “If it is any consolation, you are more than satisfactory in every way.”
Inhaling, she gave a slow nod without looking away. Those eyes of his held her still. There was a world inside them she wanted to explore.
Did he have more questions living in there? What was the story behind them?
“I’m glad to hear that,” Isla whispered.
She didn’t know why she spoke so softly, only that it felt right.
Her heart was beating too fast all of a sudden.
Being so close to him made it feel like she needed to be very careful.
If only her heartbeat would slow down. Her hands tightened into fists before relaxing as she added, “Do you think you’re almost done with all your questions for me, Westvale? ”
A strange expression crossed over his face. Just when she thought he was going to pull away, he told her, “Call me Ronan and I’ll stop my questions for today.”
“Ronan.” The name fell from her lips at once without thinking.
It was a pleasant sort of name. Irish in origin, she knew, so it was a fairly surprising name for a duke.
But it fit him. There was a wickedly charming energy to the man that his scowls and dark moods hid fairly well.
In a moment like this, however, it was harder to hide.
“Ronan.” She liked it the more she said it. “Ronan… Ronan.”
She thought he would turn away then, a note of vulnerability in his gaze as she saw the relief smoothing his brow. Instead, his hand rose to brush against her face. Isla froze. Her smile couldn’t move. She couldn’t event breathe while his hand gently brushed a strand of hair from her cheek.
It was an unexpected contact, much more intimate than she had expected. She felt a lump in her throat begin to form.
Why would he touch me? I didn’t even notice the hair. Was he watching me? Why was he watching me? What on earth is he thinking?
A soft sigh escaped his lips. “Thank you.”
Then the duke––Westvale. No, Ronan––turned away.
Isla swallowed hard three times to remove the lump and gather her breath again. He was busy fiddling with the reins for a long moment, long enough that she wondered if he was collecting himself as well.
Then the gentleman was turning back to face her, offering his arm.
Neither of them said a word as they resumed the walk and slowly made their return to her home. As he promised, there were no more questions. He hardly murmured a word as he bowed whilst taking his leave. The entire counter left Isla wishing she could ask a question of her own.
What on earth just happened?