Chapter 3
“Och, nay! I mean aye! I mean, yes!”
Ronan forced his gaze to drop to the louder party member.
The woman before him was panicking. She fluttered her hands and danced about him as she shut the door, her wide eyes filled with alarm.
As she stumbled over her words to welcome him in, she tried to smile.
Gray-streaked brown hair with long cheekbones and small eyes, she had seen better days but seemed mostly sturdy.
Although a servant normally would open a door, Ronan had a small inkling she was no such person. Not when she had the same stature and nose on the more distracting party member ahead of them.
Leaning against the wall almost casually, the young woman stared back at him. Almost like she was daring him to be here. To talk. To acknowledge her.
What did she expect to happen when she used my name?
It was difficult to consider what else she might be like as she was partially covered in mud. Those big eyes of hers blinked, staring at him, but she didn’t say a word.
“Isla!” Finally she flinched at the sound of the woman’s frantic tone. “Can’t you see who has come to visit? At last!” Hastening away from him with a fearful look, the older woman went to the young one. “You must clean up at once. Make yourself presentable. Go, go!”
So it was her. He had guessed. Assumed. There was something of challenge in that gaze of hers that reassured him of who she must be, a stranger daring to entangle herself with him.
Hobbes had reminded him when he left early that morning. “If you won’t wait for an appropriate hour, can you at least be respectful upon your arrival?”
“Does she deserve it?” Ronan had asked in return, more sarcastic than serious. His butler had simply sent him a look before returning in doors.
Respectful. What is that supposed to mean here?
He didn’t have a chance to say a word as Isla suddenly darted away, flighty and gone in a heartbeat. A tension in his chest fizzled without her there. The fight he was ready to take on would have to wait.
Meanwhile, the woman was turning back to him. She was the mother, Mrs. MacLaren. Babbling about how they had lost their official title but not the family name of past nobles, she rambled as she led him into the nearest sitting room.
“Tea, Your Grace?”
“I would hate to bother you.”
“Oh, it’s no bother. We haven’t much variety at this time, but I’m sure we have something.
Oh, do you like it?” The woman noticed the way he eyed the fireplace.
Mostly because there wasn’t a fire going, but she mistook it for the tiled framework.
“This caught my eye the moment we arrived. I could stare at it all day. Why, I believe this was put in…”
Off she went, rambling again. Not his favorite sort of habit. Clenching his jaw, Ronan forced himself to sit through it.
He wouldn’t be rude. Not yet. He would prove Hobbes wrong; that was a favorite hobby Ronan once had. And besides, he wanted to save his energy for her. For Isla MacLaren, the young woman who had claimed for all and sundry that he had asked for her hand in marriage.
“There you are!”
Standing as the door to the hall widened, Ronan stared as Isla slipped back inside.
Her cheeks were flushed in a way that made the freckles on her face stand out.
It had been so long since he’d seen a lady with freckles.
The sight broke something in him. He clenched his hat tightly, not caring if it bent.
After Isla nodded to her mother, she breathlessly took another step in but stopped to glance at him warily. Like she was wondering if he might attack. Should he? But then she moved along to sit on another chair.
“Well!” Mrs. MacLearn beamed at her. Then at him. And then around again. “Well! Isn’t this lovely? And on such a bleary day. Such a treat.”
The woman wouldn’t stop talking and Isla wouldn’t talk. Whatever words Ronan had spent a long ride preparing this morning were gone. Everything was wrong. His skin itched and the damp infested his hair. That needed to be cut again as it tickled his neck.
What did Julian say last Twelfth Night? I’ve lost my appetite for conversation? I suppose he was right after all. I cannot imagine a single thing to say.
While his hostess extolled the virtues of her silent daughter––Isla is a gifted singer and pianist, loved by her younger sisters, and a graceful dancer––he subtly checked the tall clock behind Isla.
He waited for thirteen minutes. Ten minutes was too short and thirty were too long for a proper visit, so surely thirteen would do.
He lowered his gaze to see Isla watching him with a raised eyebrow.
Perhaps this was a fool’s errand.
Standing, Ronan announced, “I must go.”
“What? Already?” Their hostess startled and stared up with wide eyes. She wrung her hands before glancing at the clock herself. “But we haven’t had the chance to serve you tea. Might we serve a tray before you take your leave? I’m certain we could have something prepared for you.”
“No, I would rather not––”
Now Isla jumped in, scrambling to her feet. “He teases, Mother. The duke wouldn’t dream of leaving so early. He has twelve minutes more free before he must be on his way. He is, after all, a gentleman.”
She spoke British English perfectly. He had expected an accent, like the one he could hear in her mother’s voice. But the words were proper and gracious and very much unlike the wild creature he had first seen in the doorway a short time ago.
And she’s rather bold.
Curiosity made him think.
“Yes, I will have a cup of tea after all,” Ronan decided.
“Certainly! I shall straightaway…” Mrs. MacLaren trailed off as she reached the door.
He noted the hand pull in the corner that she didn’t even glance at.
Not only was she opening doors, but was she about to prepare the tea herself?
Then he noted her darting eyes, hesitant before making a decision with a slight nod.
“I’ll keep the door open and expect you two to mind yourselves, please. ”
Across the room, Isla inhaled sharply. But she said nothing as her mother took her leave so now only the two of them remained.
Ronan slowly turned his head around to meet her gaze. Having returned to her seat, she descended carefully back onto the cushion.
Their gazes met, her boldness showing through. He tilted his head back to give her careful consideration. There were few who would dare counter him so. While it wasn’t particularly a trait he admired, Ronan did have respect for her.
Part of him was relieved to find she wasn’t a shy little rabbit. No, not with those eyes. Sea-green and big, those eyes stared right back at him like she was issuing a challenge.
What does she know? I’d pay a pretty pound to get inside that head of hers. Bold to remain silent now. I expected her to fold by now. Apologize. Panic. And yet…
“Here we are!” Mrs. MacLaren beamed as she returned.
Ronan and Isla jerked in surprise, the two of them sharing a glance before looking away. How long had they been alone? It only felt a moment. Ignoring the speed of his heart, he forced a deep breath before calmly telling them how he took his tea.
Which he didn’t, but now wasn’t the time to be rude.
“Would you also like some biscuits, Your Grace?” Mrs. MacLaren said with a nod to the tray.
They looked fine, edible even, but he had no appetite. And there were only five put out which seemed an odd amount. He gave a shake of his head. “Thank you, but no. I’m afraid I won’t have the time.”
Such an announcement made the woman slump her shoulders. “Oh? I was very much hoping to speak more with you. It’s so very strange having a duke for a future son-in-law, I must admit. Isla only told me of your secret engagement yesterday. But I suppose I shall adapt in time.”
A light cough sounded from her side as Isla stared down at her cup of tea, eyes blinking rapidly.
Ronan paused with his own cup only inches from his mouth to stare at her. It was the strangest thing, the way her cheeks grew pinker and pinker. He hadn’t seen a blush this lovely in a long time.
Then Isla darted her gaze up at him and away, the blush growing as it spread to her ears and down her neck.
Only then did he realize he was staring at her.
Hastily turning away, he nearly spilled the tea.
A small sip or two was managed before he set it down.
Turning over the words that Mrs. MacLaren had just said, Ronan realized he had his window to refute whatever claims Isla here believed she had on him.
“You have come, haven’t you, about the engagement?” Mrs. MacLaren went on when he said nothing. “I should think an announcement in the paper might be best now.”
She chattered on for a minute as Ronan took another look.
There Isla sat, pert and blushing. She was a petite young woman with auburn hair fluttering around her shoulders.
It reminded him of the trees back home. They had a fine little grove filled with tall trees where he had always loved to wander since the day he arrived there.
He used to spend hours daydreaming of adventure among the trees.
What if Isla was there? He mused that she might like the trees. Hadn’t she just been covered in mud?
And she wasn’t shaking or breaking apart now that he could bring the truth to light.
While Ronan didn’t condone lying, he saw something in her eyes that made him reconsider his plans.
His long conversation with Hobbes last night had reminded him of a few matters he was reluctant on, to say the least.
Something Isla made him dare to hope. If she could survive being in the same room as him, then she could manage elsewhere, too.
While Ronan weighed his options, he made certain to glance around the room again. Mrs. MacLaren was talking about dates for something. He noted the thread worn curtains, the lack of servants, and the water tea. Yes, the family clearly needed him.
And it would seem I have need of her. Very well. My plan shall be set in motion. There is much to do and I had best start now before someone annoying like Julian or Hobbes gets in my face.
“Very well.” Ronan rose to his feet. The ladies hastily followed him up as he gave a nod. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. MacLaren. Isla.”
“Certainly, yes, of course, anything for you,” Mrs. MacLaren said. She stumbled forward before hastily moving backward and grabbing for her daughter. “Dear, why don’t you walk him to the door? The two of you can have another moment together.”
Good lord, she’s pushy. I’m going to actually have to talk to her now, aren’t I?
He nodded. Picking up his hat and cloak that were never hung up, he turned away and started down the hall.
How quiet it was here. But a different sort of quiet than his home, he realized, and he didn’t know what to think about that. He mused over it as he put his coat back on by the doorway.
The young woman had trailed far behind like she was wary of him before finally darting forward.
He had wondered if she was even there. Her footsteps were soft, just like her mother’s.
It irritated him for a reason he couldn’t explain.
The gloves were in his pocket, so he pulled them out just as Isla reached him.
Even though they weren’t outside, he could smell fresh rain and flowers. Something about the scent left him unsteadied. It took him a moment to even out his breathing.
“Why?” She demanded in a hushed tone.
He paused to give her a look. Knowing his expression gave nothing away, he couldn’t help but enjoy the wildness in her gaze. She was confused and scared and hopeful all in one.
When he said nothing, Isla went on to clarify her question. “Why didn’t you say anything? You could’ve told her it was a mistake.”
I could have. Maybe I should have. And yet something about her…
My instinct has said little in a very long time.
But something about Isla is right, I can feel it.
Besides, the union makes enough sense right now; this will solve more than one problem of mine, and I’d like to stop having problems for once.
“That’s the reason I came back to London,” he told her in plain terms. While Ronan still didn’t know what he was doing, the tightness in his chest was lessening.
He had a plan. He liked having a plan. And now Isla was part of it.
Soon, everything would be sorted out for good.
“I need a wife. You have saved me the trouble of announcing that.”
“What?”
Tired of explaining himself, Ronan put on his other glove before reaching for the door. “I’ll contact you soon with the details. Expect an announcement in the papers tomorrow. We don’t need a special license; three weeks will do.”
“You can’t just come here and say nothing to us before you tell me we truly are to wed—” she started.
“I’m leaving, Isla,” Ronan interrupted. “We’ll speak soon.”