Chapter 23
Ronan supposed he could have worded that better.
There were at least a dozen things he could have done better tonight when he thought about it. One mistake after another, toppled on to weeks of trouble.
I was… caught unawares. That’s all.
For a moment, he convinced himself she would come back to him. And then Ronan had to accept that she wouldn’t. No, Isla was a confident woman most of the time. Bold. Strong. If she walked away, then that was exactly what she meant to do.
“And who could blame me?”
Oliver let out a heavy sigh that Ronan felt in his heart. It was a fair reminder he didn’t belong here, and didn’t want to wake his boy again.
His tight grasp on the railing loosened bit by bit. He still felt frozen when he managed to move one leg, feeling like he might have to eventually crawl his way out of here. But then the other leg moved. And then he forced himself to go, closing the door behind him.
Setting the candle down on a nearby side table, Ronan paused to catch his breath. He rubbed his forehead. Regret was a bitter taste on his tongue. He hadn’t meant to… had he?
I can’t do anything right any longer, can I? I don’t even know where I went wrong to begin with. Only that I keep making everything worse. The plan. The plan was set to work so perfectly. So why isn’t it working? I did everything right.
Eventually, Ronan made his way to his study. He couldn’t bring himself to get to bed yet. The hour wasn’t that late yet, and he didn’t like the idea of lying there and listening to the storm.
“Drinking again, are we?”
He blinked to find Hobbes entering his study. The butler nodded toward the glass laid out before Ronan. Only three bottles remained in the estate. All hidden away. Two by Hobbes and one by Ronan.
“Not yet,” he responded with a baleful eye. “I’m considering it.”
Inching in further, the old man asked, “Are matters so dire?”
If Ronan asked him to leave, Hobbes would do just that.
He thought about it. But he couldn’t bring himself to.
Hobbes was a good man. He just cared more for Ronan than, well, anyone else did.
Ronan ran his tongue across his teeth and remembered the honeyed taste of brandy.
Maybe it was time he did start drinking again. Maybe Hobbes was wrong about him.
“I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.”
“That’s a shame to hear,” Hobbes commented before coming in further. He picked up the glass and sniffed it curiously. But he didn’t set it back down and instead moved it toward the bookcase. “I suppose the weather is getting to the heart of us all.”
Ronan sighed heavily. “Is it?”
“Yes. The household was quieter than usual. Oliver didn’t shout often. And even the duchess herself was withdrawn. Perhaps even sad,” he added slowly, gently.
Thinking about the woman who had left him a short while ago, Ronan brushed it off. It wasn’t his doing whatever she felt. “She’s merely adjusting. That’s all. The lady is a duchess now, isn’t she? There’s no reason for her to be unhappy.”
If he could survive all he had, then so could she. That was what Ronan told himself. He stared hard at the teacup before him and tried to forget the warm thick taste of brandy.
Never again would he enjoy a drop of heavy drink.
He couldn’t trust himself. He wouldn’t dare.
Not now that he had a child to care for.
Poor Oliver. If only his sister hadn’t died.
If only she was still there for them. What was Ronan even doing?
He didn’t have a clue. All his plans were coming together and yet nothing worked as he meant for it to happen.
I didn’t even say good bye to her.
“Your Grace?”
Ronan grunted, lost in thought while he stared at the cup. It wasn’t often he allowed himself to reflect on the past. Especially not when it came to her. He couldn’t bear to even think her name over the hurt it caused.
How a single argument could spiral out of control, Ronan hardly understood. He had been a drunken fool. He was a lost soul and his sister had grasped that better than him. It was her home, the cottage he had gifted her, but she had left. And one carriage accident later.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
Jerking his head up, Ronan scowled at his butler. “Do not talk about what you don’t know.”
“You think I know nothing?” Sympathy shined in the man’s expression, only making the heavy guilt in Ronan’s stomach weigh him down further. “I see you are trying, Your Grace. You have done your best for your nephew, and you take care of your estates and your tenants.”
He waved off the false compliment. “I don’t need to hear this from you. Besides, you’re not due for a raise, Hobbes. You can go now.”
Except he didn’t. The old butler chided him gently, “You don’t need to keep living in the past. You’re a married man now.
There is a future before you. All you have to do is open your eyes.
” He paused before eventually adding, “You are so close to having a good life, Ronan. She cares for you, you see. It’s clear to everyone but you. ”
Am I cursed to be haunted by these women for the rest of my life? Even for all my rapscallion ways, I attempted to make amends. Surely I don’t deserve this.
His stomach tightened. The world felt cold enough these days and he didn’t need this life to made into a mockery. Gritting his teeth, Ronan shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“How can it not?”
“It’s not a marriage for us. It’s a union for Oliver. He is the one who needs her, Hobbes. Nothing more and nothing less. We both know this to be true. Even if the ton and the household do not understand, you should.”
A long moment passed between the two men.
Long enough that Ronan’s anger shifted into discomfort.
He could feel the butler studying him. A second father practically, Hobbes had always been able to see him.
He had stepped up when Ronan lost his father, so there was always someone in his corner.
Someone giving him the courage to keep trying.
Perhaps it was once appreciated, back when Ronan was more of a boy than a man. He needed a voice of reason while he flaunted his charms and wealth about town.
But this was a different life now. He was a different man. A duke such as he didn’t have time for wants or desires. All he had now was responsibility. Accountability. He had estates to manage and a nephew to raise. Maybe Hobbes couldn’t understand that.
“A union,” Hobbes murmured softly, echoing Ronan’s words. “A union for Oliver. I suppose that is one way to put it. And yet it’s not Oliver she looks at that way.”
That way? What way?
He started to lift his gaze, open his mouth, to ask the question. To learn the truth.
But Ronan caught himself just in time. His hands gripped the armchair tightly. Shutting his mouth, he locked his jaw and bit his tongue. He was not going to ask. It wasn’t necessary. It wasn’t right. He didn’t need the truth, and he especially didn’t deserve it. No matter if he wanted it or not.
Although his butler bided his time, waiting, eventually he came to accept that Ronan would not do the asking.
Hobbes sighed then. “Are you certain she’s not what you want, too?”
Everything was suddenly too warm. Ronan couldn’t take it any longer, letting Hobbes talk about his marriage this way. The butler could never understand what he had been through, what he had to do. No one would understand.
In the last couple years, Ronan had learned what it meant to be alone. And he learned too this was what he deserved. His penance for all the havoc he had wrought in his youth. For living when Oliver’s mother did not.
He cleared his throat and spoke clearly, harshly, so Hobbes would have to listen. “Nothing will ever happen between us. This matter is over.”
The butler was prepared to meet his gaze. They stared at one another, a silent battle of wills.
But they both knew what would happen. It always happened eventually. It took a few minutes, but finally Hobbes managed a partial nod.
Then he left.
Once more, Ronan was alone. Just like he was meant to be.