Chapter 5
Chapter Five
“The Duke has informed me that everyone will have dinner separately this evening. If you require anything further, please be sure to ring the bell on the tray.”
Later that evening, shortly after her bath, a young footman entered, carrying a tray laden with hot food, bread, and a small goblet of red wine. He bowed respectfully as he set it on a small table near the roaring fire.
Isla’s brow furrowed. She looked at the tray, a sense of deep loneliness settling over her at the idea of supping separately, and on her wedding day.
“Separately,” she repeated. “Surely that is nae a proper practice in this household nor any other. I would like the dinin’ room to be set.”
The footman fidgeted with his hands, rubbing his neck and shaking his head. “His Grace has already dined in his study, Your Grace, and has asked to not be disturbed.”
Isla’s disappointment was a sharp pang, but her resolve was stronger. She could not allow the Duke’s cool habits to affect Oliver if she were to be a part of their household.
“Then, please set the dinin’ room for me and Lord Oliver. Tell his governess that I expect him there in an hour.”
The footman looked surprised, then nodded. “But of course, Your Grace.” He bowed, retrieved the tray, and left the room in a rush.
An hour later, Isla walked downstairs to find the formal dining room just as grand and cold as the foyer. She was grateful that a smaller table had been set near the hearth, two places laid with polished silver and gleaming crystal.
When Oliver entered, he was no longer the boisterous boy from earlier. He was quiet, his small frame looking even smaller in the vast room.
She smiled and pulled out his chair for him. “It is lovely to have company for dinner,” she said gently. “Especially on me first day here.”
“My governess says I should call you ‘Your Grace,’” he mumbled, fidgeting in his seat as he sat down.
“Ye may call me Isla,” she said, sitting down herself. “What a grand room this is. Do ye always eat in here?”
Oliver shook his head from side to side. “Only when Papa is home, but he usually eats in his study. We come in here for special occasions and holidays.”
“Do ye have any family that comes to call on those days?”
“Mostly just Lord Murkwood. He is so funny,” Oliver said as he smiled at her.
“I agree with that assessment,” Isla said with a small sip of wine.
A footman came into the room and set down two plates of fresh mutton, steamed potatoes and carrots, with bread. Famished, she began eating, savoring the rich buttery flavors and herbs. Isla watched as Oliver pushed his food around on his plate, his eyes downcast.
“I often eat in the schoolroom,” he said softly.
A pang of sympathy went through her. The Duke’s rigid formality was clearly affecting the boy, which was plain to her even on this first day of meeting him.
What kind of faither sends his son to eat in the schoolroom?
“Well, tonight we eat together,” she declared, her voice filled with a warmth she hoped was contagious. “Tell me, Lord Oliver. What is the most adventurous book you have read?”
His head shot up, his eyes suddenly bright. “Oh! A book about a man named Odysseus! He had a lot of bad things happen to him on his journey home after a battle. Have you heard of it?” He gestured with his fork, his timidity completely forgotten.
“It sounds familiar, but I cannae remember the details,” she said, hoping her white lie would coax him into sharing more. “Why not remind me of the story, lad?”
Isla listened then, a genuine smile spreading across her face as he spoke of Odysseus and Penelope, Circe, and the Cyclops. He was so bright and full of life, a stark contrast to the quiet boy she had seen minutes ago.
All he needs is a bit of interest shown in him, a wee encouragement to shine…
“And Penelope kept weaving and unweaving his burial shroud, as a trick! She was as smart as Odysseus was in all his years of wandering.”
“How did ye read this book all by yerself? Terribly impressive for a lad of yer age!”
“My governess helps me! I enjoy the stories so much, I cannot help but push myself to learn new words. Do you know what a dictionary is?”
His loneliness, she realized, the more he went on, was not just about the distance from his father but a hunger for connection. His curiosity, so rebuffed by the Duke, was endearing to her. In fact, he reminded her of herself as a young girl, curious and consumed by stories and studies.
By the time the footman came to clear the plates, Oliver was animated, laughing, and telling his own story about a Scottish pirate captain.
“And the pirate was about to make his way off with the treasure, his ship on the shores of Loch Ness when a beautiful maiden named Isla came to stop him!”
“Is that so?” Isla said as her heart swelled at the thoughtfulness of him to tell a story of someone from her home. “Ye are a wonderful storyteller.”
She had chosen to marry the Duke to protect her family, but now, sitting here in this room, she realized her purpose had grown.
“That was a most colorful tale!” She said when he had finished, as well as polished off the last of their after-dinner tea.
“Ye got the beauty of the Highlands just right, as well as the pirate’s countenance.
I think the heroine could use some work though.
Aye, ye ken what? I will send for some of me books from Dalrigh Hall, for us to read together. If you like…”
“That would be so exciting, Your Grace! Do you mean it?”
“With all me heart, Lord Oliver,” Isla said with a smile.
Her new family, this boy and this place, needed her as much as her siblings, as much as Dalrigh Hall. In his sweet, innocent presence, she felt a quiet, triumphant happiness.
This is a start.
Benedict was a man of routine and sharp, immediate focus.
He had finished his supper, a precise portion of venison and dry toast, alone in his study.
His accounts were spread before him on the mahogany desk, and he was deeply engrossed in dissecting a troubling dip in the quarterly wool exports when a tap came at the door.
“Enter,” he said, not looking up.
He knew by the sound that it was Flark, his long-serving valet. He was a portly, older gentleman whose efficiency Benedict prized almost as much as his discretion.
“Begging Your Grace’s pardon, but a small matter requires your notice,” Flark said, his voice a low monotone.
Benedict sighed, his lips thinning in annoyance as he finally lifted his eyes. “Out with it, Flark.”
“It is about Her Grace,” Flark began. “And Lord Oliver.”
Benedict raised an eyebrow. “What of them? Did they not eat? Is there some other issue at hand?”
“Quite so, Your Grace they did eat,” Flark agreed, without a hint of judgment.
“It is a wedding day, not a bloody carnival. Am I meant to entertain everyone, or get to work? What is the issue?”
“Well, it was upon the footman’s delivery of the meal tray to Her Grace that she countermanded your order.”
Benedict’s quill froze inches above the ledger. “She… did what?”
“She requested the tray be removed, and that the main dining room’s smaller table be set for herself and Lord Oliver.”
A cold knot formed in the pit of Benedict’s stomach, making him wish he had indulged in more sustenance. He leaned back in his leather chair, the sound of the springs protesting slightly in the room under his force.
“It is of no matter to me,” he said sharply, though slightly peeved at the change in his order. “It is good for them to become acquainted.”
“They dined at the small table by the hearth. And they were… enjoying a lively conversation, according to the second footman who cleared the plates. A most unusual amount of laughter was noted. Lord Oliver was telling a story, apparently.”
Laughter. Lively conversation.
How long had it been since his son had laughed so openly? The thought of his Scottish bride, sitting with his reserved, dutiful son, speaking of stories…
He rose slowly, standing to his full, intimidating height. “Fetch me my greatcoat, Flark. I require a moment of air in the gardens before I retire for the evening. These ledgers will need to wait for tomorrow, with a clear mind.”
“Very well, Your Grace,” Flark said, already turning to obey.
Benedict needed time to compose himself.
She had supper with my son. In the dining room. Something I might consider doing if I had the slightest idea of how to be a father, as if my own had given me any insight on what that may be…
He walked to the window and slapped his hands together in frustration, staring out at the impenetrable dark of the Ealdwick estate as winter began its descent on England. Flark met him moments later, putting on his greatcoat, then making his way to the door.
“And, Flark,” the Duke called after him, his tone clipped. “One last item to address.”
“Yes, Your Grace?” He said, turning to face him and retrieving a small notepad and charcoal.
In his old age, Flark had to occasionally make notes so as not to miss something.
“Inform the cook that Lord Oliver and Her Grace may dine together in the formal dining room. While I do not have time to do such things, it is… a sound decision.”
“I will see it done,” he said, not needing to make a note after all, and walking out the door.
Benedict took a deep breath and fastened his greatcoat tight around him, walking hastily to the door and slamming it shut.
He went down the hall, down the great stairs, and out the front door without a word to anyone.
He walked for a few minutes until he reached the great fountain that punctuated the entrance to the manor.
It was a large stone pool with a single woman in the middle, pouring a basin into it.
She was almost a fairy, if not so tall. When he was a young boy, wandering the grounds by himself while his father was on some bender or worse in London, he would make up stories about her.
Standing there, the stars beginning to twinkle above him like a celestial blanket, he felt a presence. He stared at the statue, worn by the years of English weather, yet just as beautiful as it would have been when it was carved. It reminded him of someone; someone he dared not name.
He turned on his heel and stormed into the house.
It is time for this long day to be an end, he thought as he set off to his quarters.