Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
“Yer Grace, may I have a moment of yer time?” She asked, her voice as sweet as a bonbon.
Isla was nothing if not persistent. After a week of solitary dinners in his quarters, she finally managed to corner Benedict outside of his study with a proposition.
“Yes, Duchess,” he said, averting his gaze from her eyes.
“It has been over a week since I came to Ealdwick…”
“I am aware of the passing of time.”
“Aye,” she said nervously, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. “Well, I was wonderin’ if tonight… ye could make time to dine with Oliver and me?”
“Fine.”
She immediately jumped in. “But ye never dine with us! Oliver would be overjoyed! It’s been ages since we’ve all sat together properly, and it’s far more cheerful than your usual solitary meals, I daresay. Ye mustn’t refuse!”
“But I didn’t refuse,” he raised an eyebrow, allowing the corner of his mouth to twitch.
She blinked. “Oh, ye did?”
He nodded.
Isla paused, a sudden, warm flush rising on her cheeks. She felt a mortifying little hitch in her breath as the realization hit her.
I practically leaped down me husband’s throat, demandin’ he agree to something he hadnae even begun to disagree with!
She felt a wave of foolishness wash over her, for railing at him when he had been nothing but accommodating, if a little stoic. It was a completely unnecessary burst, and she pressed her lips together for a moment of silent apology.
Then, she beamed, letting the relief and the simple joy of the victory win out.
“Thank ye, Yer Grace! Truly! I—well, I will see to all the arrangements meself, ye need nae worry!” She practically danced on the spot, her emerald eyes sparkling with excitement.
“I will see ye at six o’clock. And I will be sure to ask Mrs. Callahan that the main dinin’ room be set for all of us appropriately. ”
And with a burst of energy, she spun and ran down the corridor, eager to put her planning into action.
Later that evening, Oliver sat straight in his chair, his eyes alight with an excitement Isla hadn’t seen before.
The table in the grand dining room was set with a crisp white tablecloth and adorned with candelabras and beautiful displays showcasing holly berries, white feathers, and fresh cut sprigs of evergreen.
Isla savored the scent, breathing deep as she looked to Benedict.
He was stiff and formidable at the head of the long table, and clearly an unfamiliar presence there.
Yet, the young boy seemed utterly undeterred as he went on.
“Papa, Isla and I spent a lot of time at the library this afternoon!” Oliver burst out, a half-eaten potato forgotten on his fork as he set it down. “She knows so much about Ancient Rome! She told me how the soldiers wore their armor and why the aqueducts were built.”
“Did she now?” He commented, watching his son intently as he took a sip of red wine.
“And we practiced riding earlier this morning, too!” Oliver continued, turning to Isla, his voice full of childish adoration.
“I had expressly forbid riding, son,” he said, his mouth a tight line. “Were you careful? Were the stable hands present?”
“We were so careful, Papa! And I am getting so much better!”
“Really,” Benedict said with a pause, seeing how happy his son was and how well he looked. “Tell me more then.”
“Isla is so much better than my old teacher! She doesn’t shout at me when I can’t get on fast or make the horse trot the right way. She just tells me to breathe, and did you know that works?”
Isla smiled, gently encouraging the boy with a small wink.
“That is very interesting,” the Duke said, and for a moment, the atmosphere was genuinely warm. “What else does Her Grace say?”
“She had a very interesting childhood in the Scottish Highlands.”
“Well, that sounds interesting, surely,” Benedict said as he looked to Isla. “Perhaps Her Grace will share some stories with me.”
Isla raised an eyebrow in response as she took a small sip of wine. “If His Grace pleases,” Isla said softly.
“Oh, Papa, can we go to Scotland one day?”
“Perhaps.”
“I also showed Isla the portrait of Mama in the gallery last week,” Oliver mentioned casually, taking a sip of water. “She’s so pretty, Isla, isn’t she?”
Benedict stiffened immediately. The easy atmosphere shattered as the Duke set his goblet down with a thud. Isla watched as his spine went rigid, and the muscle in his jaw clenched.
“Oh. Does it make you too sad to talk about Mama? I did not mean to upset you…”
“I am not upset. We shouldn’t dwell on the past, Oliver,” Benedict said, his voice flat and stern. The warmth in his eyes was replaced with a cold, impenetrable distance. “The past is done. Men look only to the future.”
“But it’s so unfair,” the boy protested, a tiny thread of defiance in his voice. “You haven’t told Isla anything about her. She’s your wife now, and she doesn’t even know Mama’s favorite flower or anything.”
He says Isla… but I ken he means himself…poor lad…
“Enough,” Benedict clipped, his tone rising sharply. “You will not talk back to me at the table. You will remember your manners in this household.”
Oliver’s lower lip trembled, and his eyes pooled with tears. “May I be excused, Papa?” he whispered.
“Yes,” Benedict replied.
Oliver pushed away from the table, his chair scraping loudly on the marble floor. He rushed from the room, his small body favoring his limp as he scrambled away, clearly fighting back a sob without a backward glance.
She waited until the sound of his quick, uneven footsteps had faded before she spoke.
“Ye think ye are protectin’ him,” she said, her eyes fixed on the Duke. “I can see that. And that is why I am tellin’ ye this.”
“Duchess—”
“By keepin’ him in this tight, secluded space… by pushin’ away every time he seeks a deeper connection, you think you are safeguardin’ him from more loss… But I can assure ye that ye are not. Ye are only going to make him resent ye.”
Benedict looked away and remained silent, but Isla could feel that his fists were tight beneath the table, the way that his forearms tensed. Isla stood up, her hand pressing against the edge of the polished mahogany as she leaned toward him.
“He wants a faither. He will remember that when he finally felt safe enough to be himself, ye scolded him and sent him away. And he will remember this night.”
Isla did not wait for his reply. Turning swiftly, she followed the trail of her stepson, her dress swishing in her wake as she hurried out. The Duke was left alone in the great room with his untouched plate.
Isla found Oliver hunched on the top step of the grand staircase, his small body shaking with miserable sobs. His hands were clasped over his face like a mask.
She sat down beside him on the cold stone step, close enough to offer comfort but without touching him.
“That was a tasty dinner, was it not?” she said softly. “I made sure the cook prepared the potatoes just the way you liked. Maybe we could go get some for ye in the kitchens? Just ye and I?
Oliver sniffled, his voice muffled against his palms. “He hates me, Isla. He really does.”
“Nonsense,” she replied quickly. “He loves ye fiercely. In fact, if he didnae love ye so much, he wouldn’t be so utterly terrified of failin’ ye.”
He dropped his hands, revealing his wet and splotchy face. His eyes, the same intense blue as his father’s, were wide and searching. “My papa is not afraid of anything though! That does not make any sense to me!”
“Oh, he sure is. All adults are afraid of somethin’ and yer papa, he fears what all faithers fear,” she said, smoothing a stray lock of his hair back from his forehead as she smiled at him.
“What is that, Isla?”
“Of all the terrible things that can happen to the wee people they love. And so, he tries to wrap ye up in rules and silence, thinkin’ that will keep ye safe. He is a stubborn man, but nae a cruel one. I ken that yer faither loves ye.”
“But he shouted at me.”
“Aye. He did. And he was wrong to do so,” she agreed, not wanting to excuse the Duke’s cool temper. “But we all make mistakes, even adults. And ye had every right to ask about yer mama. She sounds lovely, Oliver and I like when ye take me to see her portrait.”
“She was lovely,” he whispered.
Isla put her arm around his thin shoulders, pulling him gently against her side then. “And ye will always remember her. No one can take that from ye. Not even a grumpy, over-protective Duke.”
Oliver gave a watery giggle. He looked up at her, the tears in his eyes already beginning to dry.
“Do you really think so?” he asked.
“I ken so,” Isla said, meeting his gaze. She wiped a tear track from his cheek with her thumb. “Now. Why don’t we sneak down to the kitchens and get ye a bit more to eat? And maybe I can tell ye another story as we walk?”
Oliver’s eyes lit up again. He scooted down one step, facing her, his earlier misery completely forgotten in the face of a new story. “Go on, please, Isla. Tell me!”
They both rose, arm in arm, as they descended the stairs in search of potatoes.