Chapter 22
“Absolutely impossible!”
Isla huffed angrily as she paced about the dark kitchen where she’d set some milk to heat up. A second candle was lit so she wouldn’t stub her toe. All was quiet except of the mad dash of her heart beat and her angry mutterings.
It couldn’t be helped, not really. She had married a most distracting and annoying gentleman. If he could even call himself that.
“A cur. A coxcomb. A fool,” she ranted.
First Isla tried to control herself by folding her arms together, holding them tight. But then she felt too bound. Too restricted. Just like the duke she had married was treating her.
Am I to have nothing to myself? The man hovers and stares and frowns at me like an angry governess. What does he expect from me? What does he want but to intimidate me?
“Scoundrel! I––Oh!” Isla reeled back, stumbling into a chair when she found she was not alone. She swallowed her pride hastily as she tried to smile at the butler who entered through the cracked doorway. “Hobbes. Erm, good evening.”
“I believe it is morning now,” he notified her apologetically. “And my sincerest apologies for causing you alarm. I mean no harm. May I join you?”
Feeling the heated warmth of her cheeks, Isla admitted, “I’m not certain I am fit for company at this time.”
“Ah. Something troubles you?”
She snorted without bothering to halt the unladylike reaction. “Do you mean you did not just hear me ranting and raving? Why else are you here at such an hour?”
“A midnight snack myself.” He gestured toward the covered bread. “Do you mind?”
“Please help yourself.” Isla gathered in a deep breath while tightening the robe around her waist. It was still rather chilly at night, and she was glad of these warm garments. “What will you tell him?”
The older man offered a kindly smile. He was a dear sort of fellow with a sense of humor that reminded her much of her father during his better years. “What shall I tell whom? And would you care for a piece?”
Accepting a slide of bread, she thanked him with a nod. “What I was saying about the duke.”
“Oh, were you talking about him?”
He pretended but she could tell. Of course he had heard her. Half the house might have even heard her. It wasn’t as though she’d suddenly come down here to whine. No, she’d been up her bed chamber stewing over her ruined evening––and afternoon––after storming out of the library.
One would think that pacing about and ranting would help. But no, it only fires me up more. Is it the Scot in me? Every Englishman is certain to be a scoundrel. And yet!
“Of course I was,” Isla said before she could help herself. Just thinking of Ronan had her pacing again. She chewed the bread furiously while she huffed and spoke. “The duke is an absolute cad! He’s impossible! Absolute infuriating. I cannot understand how the household manages!”
Taking a seat by the fire, Hobbes checked on her milk. “Nearly ready. And don’t tell me you’re already put out by the fellow?”
“Put out? More than put out! He is… oh, there are not enough words in the English language to define the fool. I cannot fathom a lifetime with Ronan. He is too much!”
“I had the impression you are oft apart?”
She scoffed. “And yet too close. The whole of England is not great enough to keep us at a fine distance. What is he even doing? This marriage is ridiculous. He is ridiculous. You cannot even imagine… What goes through that gentleman’s head, I haven’t a clue.
He is never there until he is. And all he does is watch me.
He stares! He won’t join me with Oliver.
He won’t join me through town. We say not a word at church.
All he does is stare at me from afar as though he’s determined to ensure I never enjoy myself again. ”
Standing, Hobbes glanced at the milk again. “Shall I?”
“If you please.” She brought forth two mugs in case he might be thirsty as well.
She’d prepared more than enough. “And the worst of it, Hobbes, is that when he does deign to speak to me, he is trying to tell me what to do. Trying, of course, because I shan’t let him.
Och, the man. It is as though he wishes to avoid me but only so long as I am doing right by his standards.
Impossible standards! And an impossible man! ”
Isla rounded the small table to meet Hobbes who stood there in her way. Inhaling deeply, she realized she’d fallen into her rantings again. With a servant who, from what she understood, had been with the family since the title came about.
Her face heated and she hoped he would think it was the fire. Accepting the offered mug, Isla slowly accepted it. There was a separate fire inside her that was dwindling. Hobbes’ kindly smile and the milk must have done it.
“Here you are, Your Grace,” he murmured.
“Thank you.” She swallowed hard. “I did not mean… I know I should not speak thus. He is my husband. I only… Marriage, I fear, is not what I expected. Please don’t… I wouldn’t want…”
The man gestured toward the table where they might sit, but she declined. It was best if she retired sooner than later before she made any matters worse.
“Please sit, but I should… I only hope…” Isla faltered again.
“Your words are safe with me,” Hobbes promised without taking a seat. He settled the mug and his bread side by side on the table before offering her a kindly shrug. “It cannot be easy, entering a new world such as this. And I imagine it feels just as strange for His Grace.”
Isla scowled but bit her tongue, holding back any words she was tempted to say.
“Perhaps,” Hobbes suggested mildly, “The duke isn’t angry with you. Perhaps he could be curious.”
A laughable notion. “About what?”
“About you, I suppose.”
Isla blinked several times. “Me? There’s nothing to know about me. And if there was, he already knows it. I have never been courted through such a rigorous exam as the one he gave me.”
That managed to leverage a short chuckle out of Hobbes, which surprised her. She studied him for a moment and wondered if he would keep this conversation between just the two of them.
“The duke is a careful man. And he cares more than he would like to admit,” Hobbes noted.
Trying to make sense of what he was saying, Isla had to sound it out slowly. “And you think… he might… care for… for me?”
“It’s possible, Your Grace.”
Unable to help herself, she let out a scoff. “I wish that… I mean, that is, I don’t care. It doesn’t matter, I, erm, please don’t tell the duke any of this.”
“Any of what?”
Her stomach was in a tizzy now. She forced a tight smile and held tightly to her mug while leveraging her other candle. “Thank you, Hobbes. Good night.”
And Isla hurried out before she could say another word. She returned to her rooms in silent confusion over what Hobbes had just told her. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. She was still upset with the duke. But if he did care, what then? What was she to do?
She drank her milk, hoping it would calm her spirit. But she still spent the night tossing and turning until late morning.
Over the next two days, Isla decided to enact Ronan’s plan herself: avoidance. She scanned the halls and learned his schedule and ensured she was on the other side of the house whenever she could manage it.
What the household thinks about our union, I cannot imagine. But it’s not their business. Should Ronan wish to say anything, I suppose he could. What would he tell them? I cannot imagine it would be the truth. Either way, it is best that I avoid Ronan in turn to keep the peace.
Sunday rolled around and she even managed to avoid attending church because both Anne and Oliver were feeling ill. That should have continued her plan to avoid her husband.
Until he had a note delivered to her that very evening that their neighbors, a baron, invited them two days from hence to dine with him and his wife. The duke had agreed whilst at church. She couldn’t very well turn it down.
So two days later, Isla readied herself early only to find it wasn’t necessary: a storm blustered through within the hour.
“I’m afraid it won’t be safe for the horses,” Hobbes told her in passing while she stood at a hall window and watched the sleeting rain hit the glass. “I hope you are not too disappointed, Your Grace.”
Trying to hide a smile, she said, “Not at all.”
“Is there anything I can do for you?”
“No, thank you.” She turned to him. “I’ll have a supper tray in the library in the next hour.”
He nodded. “I’ll have a fire prepared there as well.”
“Oh, I don’t mind taking care of it.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Then what shall the chambermaids do?”
Chuckling, Isla shook her head. “Very well. If someone is free, I would appreciate it while I change into something less… sparkling.” She glanced at the gems in chagrin. It was a fine dress she had yet to wear. And would still yet have to wait for another occasion.
“You look very lovely, Your Grace, if that is not too bold.”
“You? Bold?” Isla grinned at him. She liked him a little more every day. “Not at all. Thank you, Hobbes.”
Off she went, changing into a warmer and simpler dress before winding her way around to the library. A fire was already prepared there. She built up the pillows and cushions on the rug just the way she liked it, and read until her dinner tray was brought to her.
Hector came to join her. He nibbled at the left-over tray before settling in her lap. He kept her warm as well, and she spoke softly about her thoughts of the book for some time.
“I can hardly believe someone would say such a thing in real life.” “Oh! Well, isn’t that a surprise, Hector?” “How shameful. I can hardly imagine such a thing.”
The dinner tray was taken from her at some point, replaced with tea. She hardly looked up. Hardly needing to shift back an inch to reach out for her cup, she was about to pour again when another hand covered hers. A large warm hand that she recognized.
Dropping the book, she whirled her head around to see Ronan seated on the sofa. His hand covered hers and he gazed right at her.