Chapter 25
“Are you certain nothing came?” Ronan asked again.
Hobbes sighed, a little dramatic for his taste, and glanced through the correspondence again. Like he and Ronan hadn’t already checked through the three piled spread about his desk.
“I’m certain. There won’t be much post today to come what with the weather turning,” his butler pointed with a glance toward the window behind Ronan.
As if to prove his point, lightning flashed beyond them. Thunder followed with a heavy rattle. It appeared they were in the middle of the storm.
Huffing, Ronan sat back down in his chair. “Now I can’t finish the accounting without that bill.”
“You’re the only duke I know who cares to manage his own accounts, and manage them in a timely manner,” Hobbes said with mild exasperation. “It’s a dreary enough day, Your Grace. Can you not find another way to entertain yourself?”
“Like what?”
“I’m your butler, not your director of life. Do as you see fit. Do what you will. Do anything other than squinting at numbers during a storm.”
Ronan frowned. “What if it’s fun?”
The old man rolled his eyes. “I’d believe it if I didn’t personally know you were kicked out of three of your mathematics classes during your earlier years.”
“It was for other reasons, not because of the equations,” Ronan said in his own defense.
Not that it garnered any sympathy now from Hobbes. It had once. Oxford had been a bit of a tangle for him. No one knew what to make of a future duke raised as a simple merchant boy. Those who did used their fists and mocking tongues––including over half the professors.
Leaning forward, Hobbes told him, “I know the reasons, my dear boy, every one of them. And they are no longer justifications on how to run your life. Just like there is no need for you to be hiding out here like this.”
“Hiding? I’m not hiding.”
“Aren’t you?”
There was warmth on his cheeks. Not a blush. Definitely not a blush. Simply…warmth. He eyed the nearby fireplace. It was roaring in the effort to keep this room warm so his fingers wouldn’t grow frozen and stiff.
“It’s nothing. Besides, I already spent some time with Oliver.”
“You checked in on his eating habits,” Hobbes corrected him. “Why don’t you go play a game with him? He does love his toy soldiers you brought him.”
For a moment, Ronan imagined doing just that.
He could go up and see Oliver. His nephew liked him well enough, and even had begun to run to him every time they interacted.
Something had shifted recently, bringing them slowly together.
Oliver was noisier than ever as he chatted away in his limited vocabulary and gibberish.
He still managed to make Ronan smile, though, and perhaps they could spend some time together in the nursery…
But thinking of the nursery made him think of her.
He jerked back in his chair. Their last interaction had been messy. It had not gone the way he intended; part of him knew he owed her an apology, and yet the thought of talking to her made him tongue-tied.
They needed some time, he decided, and then he would talk to Isla. So he needed to avoid her. Just for a few days. Which meant he might also need to avoid Oliver.
I don’t like it, but it cannot be helped.
“Ronan?” The exasperation in Hobbes’ voice told him the butler had been trying to get his attention for a while.
“What? What is it?”
Sighing, Hobbes collected his luncheon tray. “Very well. I shall leave you to your moody ways, Your Grace. Ring if you have need of your staff.”
Ronan knew better than to take this personally. Still, there was a part of him that knew Hobbes was right in using that scolding tone. Only Ronan didn’t want to do anything about this. He merely wanted time to himself, and yet he couldn’t even hear his heartbeat with this rainfall.
Crash!
“What the devil is going on?” Ronan picked himself up immediately and went to the door. He opened his mouth to scold Hobbes but paused when he noticed the man was whispering to the footman, not caring about the tray and broken items at his feet.
What could be more important than this?
Hobbes hadn’t noticed anything. He had a hand on the footman and he gestured down the hall. “What do you mean, hours ago?”
“I just heard it from Sally who delivered to the stables,” the young man was explaining. He didn’t notice the tray and had raised his hands in defense. “I swear! No one knew. Doreen, the lady’s maid, was napping and she said her lady had given her leave for some time.”
Ronan’s blood ran cold.
“What about the stables? No one realized she never returned?”
The pieces of an awful story were coming together too quickly for Ronan’s liking. He stormed forward, his shoulders stiff. “What is happening? Where is the duchess?”
Both of the servants whirled around with wide eyes. “Your Grace,” Hobbes started apprehensively.
But Ronan could tell he was about to pacify him, which he didn’t want.
He looked to the footman. “She went riding, is that it? Who gave her a horse? Which grooms went with her? When did she leave? And why the devil did no one think to stop her with this weather?” He was shouting by the end of his tirade.
“We’ll do our best to––” Hobbes started, blinking ferociously fast.
“Find my cloak now.” Ronan stormed to his room to switch out shoes for his boots. It only took a minute. By the time he stomped off to the back door, Hobbes was holding his cloak and cap for him.
The butler swallowed, watching him pass by. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”
“Prepare a hot bath. And a switch, because someone is going to learn a hard lesson,” Ronan huffed before descending into the storm.
Judging by the grunt from his butler, Hobbes didn’t believe him about the punishment. Which was fair. Ronan didn’t believe in that, just as his father hadn’t. But this had him sorely tempted now. He strode quickly through the lane to the stables where his horse was already waiting for him.
“Your Grace, might I––” Liam started.
Ronan was too angry to be kind. “Where does she frequent?”
“All over, Your Grace,” the young man stammered. He wouldn’t meet Ronan’s gaze. “The town and the fields and lake.”
“She didn’t say?”
“I… she turned right, I think. I believe she went to the lake.” He phrased it like a question.
Ronan grimaced. Clenching his teeth, he stormed off at once. His horse was a fine rider for distance or speed or weather. They had been together for many years now, and he was particularly fond of the creature. This was the only horse he trusted.
He hadn’t thought to ask about Isla’s horse.
Although he supposed it was normal for her to ride, as any lady might, Ronan hadn’t thought about ordering her to stay away from the stables.
Gifting her the carriage should have ensured her safety on the roads; but how could he have missed this?
A risk, a foolish risk. A grave mistake on his part.
He had forgotten his gloves. The reins were slippery in his hands, and he had to clench them tightly. Anger kept him warm. He was furious at Isla for having gone out like this, furious at himself for not warning her away from horses and danger, and angry at everyone else for not preventing this.
A sickly feeling reached through his veins like a winter chill. What if she was hurt? What if something worse had happened?
Old memories were coming to mind. He squinted through the rain fall. Was there any more lightening? Was the rain letting up? Perhaps the worst of it was over. Still, it felt dark. Cold and dark just like that night he had come upon the wreckage…
“Hiya!” Ronan pushed his horse faster, hoping he could outrun fate.
They made it down the lane and around the hill. Another hill had to be climbed, where his horse slowed down, before finally the lake came into view. More horrible images came to mind––and one appeared before him.
Slowing his horse, he forced calm after spotting gray between a few trees.
He recognized that hide. Pearl. He was fond of the pretty horse, who was too spirited in his view to do anything with.
The expenses weren’t a concern and he was happy to let her live here as she desired, unwilling to change a thing about her.
Except now. He was never letting another saddle on her. Grasping the reins, he paused to collect his breath.
“Where is she?” Ronan asked, even knowing the horses couldn’t answer him.
He turned about slowly keeping his eyes peeled.
If he wasn’t careful, his heart was going to beat right out of his chest. He needed to slow down but couldn’t.
Not until he found her. Isla had to be nearby.
He had to help her. “She has to be… has to be somewhere.”
But where? Panic clawed at him from the ground up, threatening to bury him alive. Ronan fixed the reins from Pearl to his saddle and nudged them along. If she was here, then perhaps Isla was nearby.
They would have taken this same trail toward the lake. Ronan aimed to think logically about this. He brushed back his damp hair, curling about his forehead now, and glanced warily at the lake. If he couldn’t find her soon, he would empty the entire thing.
Soon the trees gave way to flowers and shrubs alongside the lake. The trail continued there over the uneven ground. It wasn’t the best trail for riding, though the view was splendid. One would have to be careful to watch for the pitfalls and be mindful of their horse. Especially during a storm…
A splotch of red caught his eye. Ronan’s breath caught.
Fabric, he realized with mild relief. It was fabric. Surely that was Isla. He nudged the horses into action at once so they rounded the bushes to the tall grass. The moment he was close enough, he slid from the saddle.
Thank god its her.
“Isla? Isla!” He fell down at her side. She was fallen on her side and didn’t flinch when he touched her.
Ronan moved quickly after gently turning her onto her back. Isla had never appeared paler. Her eyes didn’t open, and worry stretched into something worse.