Chapter 9
He needed to tell Isla about Oliver.
Whilst Ronan had known this complicated fact since he met her, he hadn’t known how to explain himself. He didn’t like talking about it. Or thinking about it.
Just the memory had his skin itching and his eyes stinging.
The past haunted him, hunting him through his dreams and unraveling him most mornings. All he wanted was to move on. But how could he? Even seeing Oliver, his own nephew, brought back too much for him to bear.
“Take care of him, won’t you? Should something happen to me––”
“It won’t!”
“But if it does––”
Had she known? Ronan tortured himself day after day, year after year, wondering if she had known what might happen. That she wouldn’t be here to raise her child, that she would leave Ronan all alone after all these years.
I took so much for granted. I shouldn’t have, I didn’t mean to. If only I could take it back…
“Your Grace, I’m terribly sorry,” Anne said as she descended the staircase where he was pacing below.
A glance at his pocket watch proved he might be late if he didn’t leave now.
The sun was nearly up. He didn’t like the idea of pulling Oliver and Anne out of their home into the carriage for such a long journey.
But Isla deserved to know, to meet him. This was finally going to happen and then Ronan would stop feeling out of sorts about the matter.
“There is no need to worry,” he assured the nurse. “Are you almost ready? We can only delay a little while longer. The carriage is ready.”
He had risen earlier than usual to inspect it himself, ensuring the current conveyance was sturdy.
It was small and was only meant for a small party and a driver.
But he didn’t mind driving them to London.
All he needed was the nursemaid and the boy.
Except no matter where Ronan looked about Anne, the boy wasn’t there.
When he looked back up to Anne, the woman was apologetic. “I’m terribly sorry. He fell ill. I don’t think the milk sat well with him. We were up half the night, we were, with a bowl. He just now fell asleep again and I’d hate to move him. Your Grace,” she added kindly.
“No, no, of course not,” he automatically replied.
Ronan exhaled as an overwhelming sense of frustration toppled over him. Clutching his hair, he began to pace again. This time he went faster.
What was he to do? It wasn’t as though he could not go to Isla now. A gentleman didn’t renege on a meeting. But the whole point was to introduce Oliver. When else would they do this, the wedding? That wasn’t a reasonable option; no, it was today, when he had made this plan.
“I’m sorry,” Anne offered as she watched him move to and fro.
“No, I know. It’s not your fault. Or Oliver’s,” Ronan chewed out. When else was he supposed to make this meeting happen? He tried to reassure the troubled woman a little more even though he didn’t believe a word. “It’s perfectly fine. I’ll sort out another plan.”
Except I liked that plan.
There was nothing to be done about this, however. The boy needed rest. As well as a physician, who was promptly ordered to attend the house.
While he had lost some time over the change of plans, Ronan still carried hopes of reaching the tea house in London proper on time as he rode on the horse. The weather was misty and dampened his hair, making it curl and fall in his face.
Arriving just in the nick of time, he saw her arrive from strolling down the other side of the street. At once Ronan presented himself with a bow and offered his arm to guide her inside.
“What a lovely little place,” Isla commented as he helped her to a seat. “Is this a tea house you enjoy visiting? There are so many in London?”
“No. I don’t frequent London,” he added, remembering the need to be conversational.
There was still a stalling moment before Isla nodded. Did she expect him to say more? Surely, he had expounded enough. She opened her mouth to speak only for the hostess to arrive, displaying a menu of their current options.
“I should love the coffee, if that might be acceptable?”
Ronan furrowed his brow when she looked his way. The hostess did as well. Had he not told her she could do as she liked? Though her choice made him wonder if she would like to try some chai. “Coffee, then, and some pastries. Whatever is freshest.”
“Very good. And for you, Your Grace?”
“Black tea, I suppose.”
The hostess finally took her leave, but Ronan didn’t feel any more comfortable afterward like he had hoped. Shifting in the seat, he ignored the occasional glances falling on them.
Once, he had enjoyed the attention. Who wouldn’t?
He had been a lad climbing the trees on the day his father returned home with a dukedom thrust upon his shoulders.
New wealth was filthy, to be sure, but a new title?
People were fascinated and couldn’t help themselves.
For years, he relished the attention and side eyes with amusement.
Having money and fame did much for a young man.
But he didn’t feel particularly young and the riches didn’t matter like they used to.
“Your Grace?”
He jerked his head up, realizing he had been lost in thought. “Hmm?”
Isla was studying him with a strange look. “You seem distracted. Is everything well with you?”
“I…” Yes, he was fine. Ronan was perfectly healthy. Only his nephew wasn’t and he didn’t like being away from the lad. His hand fell to his pocket watch as he pondered how long it might take him to return home. But he caught himself just in time from being so rude. “I’m fine.”
“You’re certain?”
There’s a little boy in my house, that’s what I need to tell you, Isla.
A little boy who doesn’t have a father or a mother and hardly has an uncle.
I don’t know what to do for him or with him or around him and I hate it.
I hate everything. I am so blasted alone and I cannot ask a soul for help.
I am perfectly certain that everything is all wrong.
“Fine.”
“All right. Well, I only wished to be sure. It is typical by now of our time together you would have a dozen questions for me,” she added with a light smile. “You’ve hardly said a word, Your Grace. Don’t you wish to continue the inquisition?”
That was what he should do. Ask her questions about how she manages children. What she thinks little boys should learn and do. How she plans to mother any sons or daughters that she could have someday, what she would do with the one he would give her who was in need of someone today.
Except Ronan’s tongue felt all knotted up and he didn’t know how to ask her any of those questions at all.
“Not particularly,” he admitted while the hostess returned with their offerings. He nodded his thanks before nudging his cup aside. “Do enjoy.”
“I shall, thank you.” She beamed after sniffing her coffee and then leaned forward to select a strawberry-covered biscuit with cream. It was a beautiful little pastry that disappeared in one bite between two lips redder than the fruit she ate.
It also rather matched her dress, he noted, the warm pink doing well in highlighting her ruddy cheeks. The warmth highlighted the small spattering of freckles high on her cheekbones that he always liked to count. There were twenty-three in total.
Yes, overall the pink was a fine color for her. She looked extraordinarily pretty in it, especially today. Her hair curled very prettily, looking extra shiny.
A few years ago, I would have been flirting outrageously to draw out every blush I could from a beautiful woman like Isla. How the devil did I even do it?
“Perhaps,” Isla said as she took no note of his distracted thoughts, “I should have a turn to question you.”
He blinked, not certain he understood. “I beg your pardon?”
“Tell me about yourself, Your Grace. You didn’t always know you would be a duke, isn’t that right? What did you pretend to be as a boy?”
His eyes couldn’t tear away from her face even as he tried. Watching her cool down the steaming cup of coffee with those curved lips did nothing to help him focus. “A pirate.”
“Ah, dashing and dangerous. Yes, I could see that very well,” she teased. “And does this pirate drink tea?”
“No. I prefer chai.”
She fluttered her eyelashes and like a scoundrel he was drawn in. “Oh? What is that?”
“A spiced tea blend from India. I served there… Well, almost.”
“Almost? I didn’t know you ever went into service,” she said, and then took a bite into another pastry. Crumbs covered her lips even when she attempted to catch them with her other hand. He started to move to help brush them away, but stopped himself just in time. “What compelled you to serve?”
“A friend inspired me and I was bored,” Ronan found himself admitting.
It was easy until it wasn’t. He forced some of the words out even as they twisted his heart.
But wasn’t this why he was here? To tell her?
“But that didn’t matter. My family needed me.
Oliver was born over two years ago, and I couldn’t stay away after that. ”
She paused. “Oliver? Who is that?”
“My… son. That is why I came to speak with you today,” he added.
“To,” she hesitated and set her hands down on the table, “to tell me about your son? I had no idea. I never heard anything. Were you wedded previously?”
His mouth dried. No, hardly anyone knew.
No one had really known him and they certainly hadn’t known his sister.
London was never the life she wanted, not when she could do anything she liked whilst her father and brother had everyone’s eyes on them.
So when Oliver was born, and when his sister died, no one knew a thing.
How do people talk about the hardest and worst days of their lives?
Shifting on her seat, Isla slowly reached forward to cover one of his hands with hers. The touch was gentle and tentative. Comforting, or almost. He wasn’t sure. He withdrew too quickly.
I’m doing this all wrong. Blast it. This isn’t right. I should have waited and now I’m ruining everything all over again.
“Your Grace,” she tried to say in a low voice.
Already Ronan was cutting her off, a habit he wasn’t making intentionally. “I’ve said enough for today. You don’t need to know anything more.”
“Shouldn’t I be making that decision for myself?”
“It’s no matter.” He checked the time and decided he had stayed long enough. “Do enjoy yourself, but I must be on my way.”
She gaped at him. “You’re leaving?”
“I… I have other matters to attend to,” he lied. And he could see she knew it as well from the look she gave him. “Two weeks, Isla. We’ll sort it out in time.”
Although Ronan attempted to walk out of the tea shop confidently, head held high and confident in his decisions, he couldn’t be certain of what people actually saw. He didn’t know what Isla was thinking.
Because he was too busy consumed with his own thoughts and the unsteady beating of his heart, wondering if he was going to ruin everyone’s lives all over again.