Chapter Eight
“I heard what happened,” Christian said. “It’s all over the garrison.”
The night, having been so clear at sunset, was starting to fog over as the mist from the sea began to roll in.
The dank, dark, mysterious mist was folding in over the uncertainty of all of Ravenscar.
Things were happening, people were in turmoil, and it had nothing to do with Dyce’s passing.
There was something beyond that grief, something that Marian had selfishly created, a maelstrom that had enveloped the quiet and peaceful manse and taken attention away from the man whose burial was to take place on the morrow.
Ronan had just come from the manse to the yard, his features lined with stress as he encountered his cousin.
“Where is he?” he demanded.
“Who?”
“That French knight,” Ronan said. “De Maurienne. He accompanied Lady de Wolfe from Middlesbrough.”
“Did you notice him when he was part of her escort?”
Ronan’s jaw flexed. “I did,” he said. “I do not interfere in Lady de Wolfe’s business of who she hires to ride escort unless he is a man of ill repute, but I knew nothing of de Maurienne.”
“Now, you know.”
“Now, I do. Where is he?”
Christian had the unhappy duty of telling him the truth. “Gone,” he said. “I saw the man with Lady de Wolfe’s maids not long ago, but he has since departed. He is long gone, Roe.”
Ronan didn’t seem too surprised to hear that. “I take it you heard that he was involved.”
Christian didn’t want a rehash of their earlier conversation about Marian and her infidelity, mostly because he didn’t want to gloat about his correctness in the face of Ronan’s shame. “I heard,” he said simply.
Ronan didn’t waste any time on a conversation that he didn’t want to have in the first place. He simply wanted to get on with it, with what he needed to do.
“I want you to have an escort prepared for my wife,” he said. “She is departing at dawn for London.”
Christian’s eyebrows lifted. “London?” he repeated. “Why?”
“Because she asked to go,” Ronan said, his jaw ticking faintly. “She wants to visit her cousin, Millicent, in London and I have agreed. Truthfully, I have given her little choice in the matter. It is best that she leaves and stays far away from me.”
Marian had been to London many times in her life, visiting her cousin on her father’s side, so it was not an unusual request. Millicent de Haydon was a spinster, rich and alone, and Marian loved to go to London and take advantage of her.
But Christian could tell simply by looking at Ronan that this request was different.
There was something in his expression that was different.
As if something, for him, had changed.
“Then I’ll make sure the escort is ready,” he said quietly. “How many men will you send with her?”
“Twenty.”
That was a shockingly low number for such a long trip, but Christian didn’t argue with him.
He was in full support of Ronan sending the woman away, alone if necessary.
But he felt very sorry for Ronan, a man with a stellar pedigree, a great family, and close friends, but a man who literally had no control over his marriage.
Life was a cruel jokester sometimes.
“The escort will be ready,” he said. “I’ll prepare a wagon as well. Provisions and all that.”
“And for her baggage.”
“Of course.”
Without anything more to say, Ronan simply turned away and headed back towards the manse.
He couldn’t even look Christian in the eyes any longer, knowing how the man felt about Marian and the situation in general because he was afraid he would see a lack of respect in the man’s expression.
A lack of respect for a husband with a wife who had no regard for him, who had never had any regard for him, and for a husband unable to do anything about it.
Ronan had always been the rather quiet type, congenial and much loved by his family, but the House of de Wolfe was full of assertive men.
Men who took life as it came and met it bravely.
Though Ronan wasn’t lacking in bravery in any case, sometimes his type of calm manner could be taken as a weakness.
Ronan had been dealing with that his entire life.
His greatest fear was that his family would see him as weak.
But he couldn’t dwell on that at the moment.
He had other things to contend with, not the least of which was a wife he’d locked up in her chamber.
Marian was bolted in for the night and he’d left orders that only he would release her in the morning so that she could depart for London.
Since he’d never seriously punished her for anything she’d ever done, because he simply looked the other way out of sheer indifference, she had been shocked that the man had actually taken a stand.
He could still hear her cries of outrage as he bolted her into her chamber.
Quite honestly… it had felt good.
Somehow, in that small action, he felt as if he’d reclaimed some of his dignity.
Marian had been running all over him since the day they were married and his position had been to ignore it.
To pretend it didn’t bother him. At first, it had bothered him greatly but as the years passed and children were born who clearly weren’t his, he’d grown numb to it.
He told himself it didn’t matter and, eventually, it didn’t.
At least, he thought it didn’t until he’d locked Marian in her chamber and had felt the smallest twinge of satisfaction.
That told him that he wasn’t as numb to it as he’d pretended to be.
Entering the manse, his destination was Isabeth’s chamber.
He wanted to assure her that Marian was leaving on the morrow, as he’d promised.
He made his way up to the living level of the manse where there were generous rooms with fine views.
It was late, and he suspected she might be asleep, but he was willing to take the chance that she wasn’t.
Perhaps she was waiting for confirmation that her horrible guest was indeed leaving.
Reaching the big double doors of the master’s chambers, he lifted a hand and knocked softly.
The reply was immediate.
“Who comes?” came the muffled response.
“Ronan, my lady,” he said quietly.
A few seconds passed before he heard the bolt thrown.
The door creaked open and he found himself gazing into Isabeth’s beautiful face, illuminated by the single taper she held in her right hand.
She was in a heavy sleeping shift with a thick shawl pulled around her shoulders.
It was strange… he’d always thought the woman to be beautiful but, at that moment, there was something more he was thinking.
How Dyce had been a very fortunate man to look upon that face on a daily basis, to love a woman so completely that she consumed his entire being.
He could clearly see why Dyce had loved her so much.
There was everything to love about her, at least in Ronan’s opinion.
He found himself wondering what it would be like to love a woman so completely that she would be part of him and he part of her.
He must have been daydreaming a little too long because Isabeth’s eyebrows rose as she looked at him.
“Well?” she said. “Did you want something?”
Shaking himself from his thoughts, and slightly embarrassed for it, Ronan nodded.
“I came to inform you that Lady de Wolfe will be departing on the morrow,” he said. “I have made the arrangements. She is locked in her chamber for the night, so you needn’t worry. She and her women will not be roaming the halls during the night.”
Isabeth was visibly relieved. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. When he nodded briefly and turned to leave, she stopped him. “I am sorry it came to this, my lord. I truly am. I know you tried to do something fine for me and I appreciate it.”
He looked at her. “Trying and failing,” he said. “For that, I am sorry. I hope you will not hold it against me.”
She shook her head and opened the door wider. “Nay,” she said. “In fact, please come in. I would like to speak with you.”
He did. The chamber was almost unbearably warm as he entered, but he didn’t comment on it.
She was comfortable and that was all that mattered, even if he was already starting to sweat.
She left the door open, however, so that old Gerta in her alcove could keep watch as she went to sit near the ridiculously blazing hearth and indicated for him to sit opposite her.
He came to sit down, discreetly moving the chair away from the fire so he wouldn’t melt. He saw Isabeth grin.
“Too hot?” she asked.
He smiled weakly. “A little.”
“Dyce used to move the chair all the way across the room.”
Ronan chuckled softly. “May I?”
“Of course.”
He moved it far enough away so that he wasn’t in danger of heat stroke but he was still close enough to have a normal conversation with her. No shouting across the room, as it were. Isabeth watched him get comfortable.
“As you can imagine, I have had a lot to think about,” she said. “This evening in particular.”
“I can imagine,” he said with a tinge of irony. “The return to Ravenscar has not gone as planned.”
She shook her head. “You misunderstand,” she said. “I have not been thinking about your wife. You will forgive me, but she is not worth the effort. I mean no disrespect to you, my lord, but your wife is not like you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that you are kind and dedicated,” she said. “Your wife… she is a selfish woman. I am certain that I am not telling you something you do not already know and I am sorry if my honesty offends you.”
He shook his head. “It does not,” he said.
“She is very selfish. But in fairness to her, she was raised that way. It is her father’s fault.
He raised her to believe she could do no wrong and to do as she pleased, in any situation.
I am sorry that she has shown no restraint while a guest in your home. ”