Chapter 1
The truth of the matter was that Ronan did frequent London. It was against his best judgement and his preference. But as a duke of England, he had a royal obligation. He attended his duties in Parliament and then he left.
Head down, lips shut, hands tight.
Life might have been different once but this was how he lived now. Nothing would change.
“One drink. Just one in the club. You still have your membership, don’t you?” Julian Ashcombe attempted to cheerfully wheedle out of him on the way out of their offices. Duke of Westvale he was a ridiculously content gentleman with a growing family and zest for life.
Behind the two of them trailed the other two dukes that composed their friendship.
Once they had jested about calling themselves the Compass Rose, as they were four dukes with country seats in all four corners of Great Britain.
Tristan and Sebastian were the more serious pair, whereas it used to be Ronan and Julian who jested and teased and laughed.
Another life, another person.
“I’m not interested,” Ronan told them while avoiding a friendly elbow to the ribs. “Stop it, Julian. I removed my membership.”
“They will still welcome you. I’ll make sure of it.” Tristan always acted as the lead for them as though they were still lads after their years together in Oxford. “Julian, it’s been too long. We want to talk with you.”
Sebastian sounded a small grunt. “The ladies miss you.”
“The ladies have their husbands,” Ronan reminded him pointedly, glancing over his shoulder. “I’m easily forgotten and that is my aim.”
Julian put a hand over his heart. “Forgotten? You, the friendly pirate? The heir of the gold mines? Never! Besides the ladies, we miss you. Aren’t we yet your friends?”
“My friends would listen to my request.”
“They would ignore a stupid request,” Sebastian muttered just loud enough for him to hear.
Everyone was crowding him again. Feeling them breathing down his neck, Ronan was glad he had opted for a lighter suit today. Or rather, his valet had done the deed for him. The awful wig and cloak were set aside. All he had to do was break free of these side halls to escape outside.
Side hall, outside path, stables, his horse. Then he could ride home and forget all of this for three days before London needed him once more.
“I’m not going to the club. I have a long journey home.”
“You still have a townhouse,” Tristan reasoned. “And so do we all. You have four homes to choose from, Julian.”
Homes. Funny word, that. I don’t like it. Not anymore. They don’t understand. They couldn’t understand. There is no real home for me.
“I have to go,” he repeated while pushing open the large, heavy doors. It was a momentary outlet for his frustration. He pushed them hard to fling all the way open and his friends had to grapple with them after him.
“At least let us see you to your horse,” Sebastian called. It sounded like he was scowling.
Ronan only paused to let two gentlemen pass them by, clearly headed in the direction of the building. He vaguely recognized the two as father and son, viscounts. The son looked young enough to still be in university.
The sight made his throat constrict. His own father had passed right before he finished at Oxford. What an overwhelming experience that had been, to prepare for his future while mourning his past…
“Westvale!” The younger man, Lord Winthrop, beamed. “My congratulations for the happy affair.”
As for his father, the Viscount frowned. “Shame, that. I was betting you never would.”
Something about their words made Ronan pause instead of ignoring them. He forced himself to speak up even as his friends crowded around him. “I beg your pardon?”
“You owe me twenty pounds,” the older gentleman grumbled, patting his sweaty forehead. “It should have been a sure thing.”
“Father, don’t be rude.” Lord Winthrop rolled his eyes before grinning at Ronan, not at all phased by his annoyance. “The wedding. Of course, Father won’t officially lose until the wedding takes place. Don’t mind him; he will survive the loss. That’ll teach him, I’m sure.”
The viscount just glared at his son.
As for Ronan, his confusion was only growing. There was a restlessness in his party that began to make him itch. Something was wrong here, and he was worried to ask. But not asking would only make it worse.
“My wedding?”
“I don’t know the lady well. Scottish girl was an unexpected treat, but it’s important we don’t judge harshly, eh? I heard she’s a fine dancer. And a fine thing to look at, too, if you don’t mind my saying,” the young man added with a wink.
“I do mind,” Ronan said before he could help himself.
There was a weight pressing into his left shoulder now, sharp and deep, that annoyed him. Even when he rolled his arm, it did nothing to abate the irritation. He tried to ignore while sorting out this unexpected mess.
At his right elbow, Julian was shifting too much to not be in the way. “What is this? How did you hear about it before us?”
Because the man is obviously lying. But what does a gentleman like more than gossip?
“Oh, everyone knows. The young lady announced it today, I suppose, to half of London,” Lord Winthrop added cheerfully.
“You don’t have to do it, you know.” The viscount narrowed his eyes at him. “You’re not the marrying type. I can see that clear as day.”
Tristan glowered over the shorter fellow as he said, “That is hardly your business, Troldiff. Gambling is hardly appropriate for a manner such as this, as are your own manners.”
“I’m telling you that he won’t go through with it,” Troldiff said defensively. “I could very well be right.”
The light in his son’s eyes were fading as he realized the merriment had not reached across the group like he must have anticipated.
His smile slipped for only a second before growing strained.
“Perhaps we should carry on, Father. We have a meeting in a few minutes and it appears we’ve stopped these fine dukes from other important matters.
My apologies for any disrespect, Your Grace,” he said to Ronan pointedly.
“I only meant well for you. I hope it shall be a happy and satisfactory match.”
All he could do was nod.
“I don’t think––” But the older man was being led away by the elbow while his son muttered under his breath. Their chattering grew faint as they reached the door and entered.
Although they had taken their leave, Ronan still felt a strong and irritating buzzing around his skull. It felt like his brain was taken over by a beehive. He could hardly focus on anything except for one word. Marriage. Someone thought he was betrothed. Someone else thought she was engaged to him.
I haven’t spoken to any ladies recently enough to confuse anyone. Or is there someone pretending to be me? Perhaps she is mad, escaped from Bedlam.
“Well,” Sebastian said as the rest of the men were silent.
“Don’t,” Ronan instructed. Then he started quickly walking away as he originally planned.
Any hopes of outpacing his friends, however, could not be done.
The four of them had yet to turn into the overweight and slow copies of dukes that England could boast of.
Someday, perhaps. But currently, all four of them enjoyed various means of exercise and all forms of physical activity.
This meant they all could keep up very easily with him.
He thought about running and decided it would be too much effort.
“That was jolly entertaining,” Julian announced loudly. His smile could be heard in his words. “What do you make of that, Ronan? You sly dog, you’ve been about London without us.”
“You’ve all cornered me for every visit in London,” Ronan corrected him. “I haven’t been able to escape any of you for years now.”
Sebastian scoffed. “You’re welcome.”
Waving a hand, Tristan brushed off the distracting conversation. He could always bring them back to the topic. A stern and stoic gentleman once nicknamed the Iron Duke, he could be awfully focused when he desired something.
“We will be happy with whomever you’ve chosen, of course,” Tristan started in a magnanimous tone. “Only we might have liked to have been told.”
“Hardly any of you have confessed your own upcoming nuptials,” Ronan felt the need to call out. He accused them with darted glances because he had hardly been in attendance for any of their weddings.
Only Julian had been in attendance for Tristan’s. And none of them counted Julian’s wedding because the man had escaped her and London to join the Royal Navy the very same day, leaving them all for over a year. As for Sebastian, he too had married his wife in a rush due to an imploding scandal.
The memories made him huff. “You should be so grateful.”
“Then you are to wed?” Sebastian asked.
“No!”
“Winthrop is not the sort of fellow to lie,” Tristan pointed out to everyone. “His main flaw is his habit for making all sorts of ridiculous bets.”
“And his obnoxious father,” Julian muttered.
Sebastian nudged Ronan as they reached the stables. Already his horse was prepared for him, thank heavens, so he could be gone within two minutes. But he couldn’t climb up when Sebastian gripped his elbow. “Well? What are you going to do?”
“It’s hardly your matter. And hardly mine,” Ronan decidedly shortly. After he wrenched himself free, he climbed into the saddle and offered a tip of the hat to his fiends. “Good day, gentlemen.”
“Friends,” Tristan corrected him.
Julian nodded. “Friends.”
As for Sebastian, he crossed his arms and gave a pointed look.
Ronan snorted but forced a short nod. “Friends. Good day.” And then he skirted the three dukes to make his way to freedom.
Leaving them behind, he buried himself in the crowd as just another gentleman on another horse. There were people everywhere. But no one could place him here, no one cared. For a minute, he let go of the weighty feeling on his chest where everyone settled their expectations for him.
And then he was on the move.