Chapter 4
Four
“Please tell me this is a joke, Thalia. Please tell me…” Her aunt was pacing her bedroom. “I often find your sense of humor strange, so if you tell me now that you are playing a trick on me. I doubt I will laugh, but I will at least feel relieved.”
“It is not a joke, Aunt Isadora. It is very much real.”
Her aunt winced. “Perhaps it is not too late…” Her pacing increased and she fidgeted nervously with her hands as she tried to deduce a plan. “Do you know the names of those who saw you?”
“Their names do not matter.”
“If I go to them tomorrow—beg them to keep it a secret—perhaps they will agree. Surely, they will understand…” Nodding her head now. “An accident, is all it was. You are a mere victim of circumstance. Your life should not be ruined for such things.”
“It is too late for that.” Thalia was feeling remarkably calm, which in itself was a problem. Guilt was what she should have felt. Shame, too. And most of all, terror at what she had done, and who she had done it to.
“It is not!”
“It is.” She was still on her bed, hands folded on her lap, fixing her aunt with a calm stare that she hoped would help soften the panic that was overtaking her. “Why do you think I rushed home the way I have done? Why do you think I am back so early?”
“You… Thalia… what are you saying…”
She sighed, stood from the bed, and then went to her aunt. There, she took her hands and held them, guiding her to the bed so she could sit down. And once she was seated, she kept a hold of her aunt’s trembling hands and looked into her eyes so there could be no mistaking how serious she was being.
“I left the ball because, if I had not done, I might very well have been strangled by the mob.” That was an exaggeration, but a necessary one. “Even before I was out of the front door, people were already talking about it. By now, I suspect that half the ton knows of what transpired.”
Her aunt winced. “But you didn’t do anything, Thalia.”
“Nonetheless, you know how rumors are and the power of them…” she scoffed with bitterness. “As do I, for that matter.”
“And the duke?” her aunt asked, her voice dropping to a whisper. “What… what did he say?”
Now, it was Thalia’s turn to wince. Her mind turned back to earlier, and when it did, a coldness trickled down her spine so that she started to shake.
I really did not think this through. But I suppose that is the point.
It was all a blur. The last hour or so of her life, watched by her as if she was not inside her own body… which made the whole thing easier.
Once she and the duke were found entangled around one another, the duke had been quick to separate himself and try to explain what had happened.
The words had fallen on deaf ears, accusations were made, and before long, the duke simply turned and stormed away.
The anger that poured from him still made Thalia shake.
Next, it was her turn. With a reputation like her own, there was no chance that she might justify her actions as a mere mistake and not what they seemed.
Not that she wanted to do such a thing. But still, it was slightly annoying that the assumption had been made so quickly that she and the duke were committing a most wicked deed together.
She too left quickly after that. No idea what might happen next. Wondering if her plan, as spontaneous as it was, would even work. She rushed home and told her aunt everything.
And her aunt’s reaction? It confirmed to her that her plan would likely work the way she needed. But now she was wondering if that was such a good thing.
“I have not had a chance to speak to the duke properly,” Thalia told her. “He…” She grimaced. “He left rather quickly.”
Her aunt groaned. “Thalia, of all the men you had to collapse onto. Why him? You know who he is, yes? You know what people say? And I am sure that by now you have managed to figure out what this will mean for you.”
Thalia swallowed. “I assume it means that…” An awkward smile. “That he will have to marry me, lest his reputation suffers for it.”
Her aunt’s eyes widened. “Thalia! Do not tell me that you did this on purpose—”
“What! No. Of course not…” She looked determinedly at her aunt, needing her to believe the lie. She felt terrible about it, but she could not bear to imagine what her aunt would say if she learned the truth. Chalk that up to one more lie she was forced to keep.
“Good.” Her aunt breathed with some relief. “That would be… if the duke was to assume such a thing...” She shuddered on the spot.
“It is just an unlucky coincidence,” Thalia said to confirm the lie, a stabbing pain of guilt prodding her insides as she did.
“Although, now that it has happened, I prefer to see the positive. I wanted a husband, did I not? And it looks as if I will have one. So, let us call this…” She tried a forgiving smile. “Fate…”
Her aunt’s face paled. “Fate? Was it anyone else, I might agree with you. But the Duke of Westvale… Thalia…” She swallowed and her body began to tremble more than it had been doing. “Do you have any idea what this means?”
Thalia thought that she had. Although to be fair, she hadn’t had much time to think too hard on it. She had been desperate. He had been there. And in her mind, who did it matter who she married? Were not all marriages equal? Equally terrible, that is.
Now that some time had passed, Thalia was able to consider the implications of the man who she had tricked and what this might mean for her. She thought back to the garden. She pictured the duke clearly in her head, and remembered those things she had heard of him. And when she did…
“I think I need to sit down…” Her legs began to shake and soon she was seated beside her aunt.
She knew little about the duke and even less of his reputation. At least the full extent of it. Perhaps a good thing, because if she knew more she might not have acted as she had.
And what was she to do now? The only thing I can do.
Ignore the rumors she had heard because, in Thalia’s experience, rumors were not always what they appeared.
Vague whispers of the duke being involved in his own father’s death.
Silly notions behind the reason he lived alone as he did…
Why he had vanished from the public eye and purposefully locked himself away from the world as if trying to protect others from himself.
Most of it is false. There is just no way he can be what they say…
Thalia nodded her head, trying to confirm this belief inside herself. She had to. There was no going back and having trapped the duke in a scandal she assumed that he’d have no choice but to marry her as she needed. And once he did…
A cold shudder ran up her spine as her mind turned back to earlier. She pictured the duke’s hulking frame standing over her, darkness emanating from it, his cool green eyes staring her down lifelessly, deep pools that were without emotion and from which she could not look away.
She remembered the way Lord Farfield had fled as if his life depended on it. Hardly a word said, and the repugnant lord had very nearly burst into tears.
And most of all, she remembered how she had felt that first time she saw the duke. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t a sense of danger. It was… something else. Her stomach flipping and her heart leaping through her throat. What was that?
“Perhaps nothing will come of this.” Her aunt stroked her hand in consolation. “Perhaps the duke… he is a strange one. Who knows what he will do?”
“No,” Thalia said. “I can’t allow for that to happen. The duke must marry me…” She looked at her aunt, her eyes pleading and desperate. “You know as well as I do that it is the only way.”
Ronan poured himself a glass of whiskey. Right to the brim, spilling a little on the table but caring not for the waste. He had bigger concerns to cause him worry.
This entire night has been a disaster. What was I thinking? Attending the ball in the first place. Allowing my curiosity to lead me outside. Getting involved when I should have turned and walked the other way. This is exactly why I have spent a lifetime in the shadows. Right where I belong…
He threw back the golden-brown liquid in a single mouthful, sucking through his teeth as it burned the back of his throat. And then, because at this point one drink would not be nearly enough to dull the worry that grew steadily inside of him, he poured another.
Not that drinking would solve anything.
As far as Ronan could see it, there would be no solving this catastrophe. No easy way out. No means to fix it. What was done was done and like it or not, he was left to pick up the pieces and pray the broken shards didn’t cut him.
With his second drink poured, Ronan started to pace the drawing room.
The fire in the hearth flickered red and orange, casting dark shadows across the large space.
Each step fell heavy on the floorboards, echoing across the room and throughout the near-empty castle he called his home.
Empty… the way he liked it. The way he wanted it to be.
But that, he was starting to concede, would soon be a thing of the past.
The mistake was his, and that made the situation all the worse.
When Ronan had seen Miss Carstone… he couldn’t say exactly what he felt. Curiosity seemed too simple an explanation. He had been drawn to her, pulled as if by an unseen force, unable to look away and wanting to learn more. He had found himself following the young woman outside.
But that was where it was supposed to end!
Once Ronan came to his senses, he had every intention of turning and walking back inside—leaving the ball as he was supposed to do.
Yes, she was beautiful. Yes, she was different.
But it mattered little to him, and as Ronan knew well, she would not thank him for taking an interest. Likely, she would thank him to learn that he exercised control and left her be.
We would both be better off. Despite the little I have heard of Miss Carstone, even she is undeserving of being saddled with someone of my ilk. And as wretched as this situation is, I can’t help but wonder if still she would be better off were I to simply walk away…
Walking away was exactly what Ronan should have done.
He threw back the second glass of whiskey as he pictured the events clearly.
Lord Farfield refusing to leave the young woman alone, the wretched sense of honor catching fire and burning hot inside of Ronan, the need to protect and keep safe those who could not look after themselves…
and actions taken which were right to do but resulted in…
in the absolute worst outcome imaginable.
Ronan stormed to the drink cabinet, pouring a third glass of whiskey.
Then, he picked up that glass and stared into its contents as he considered what he had to do next.
Even as he had fled the ball, he’d heard the rumors gather steam and chase him.
And hiding all the way out here would do nothing to soften their blow.
Soon, the entire ton would be speaking of Ronan and Miss Carstone, caught together in most scandalous circumstances, unbefitting of their stations.
He could ignore it, if he wished. What difference did it make to Ronan? Considering what was already said of him, it’s effect would hardly be felt. To hell with the opinions of the ton!
But my reputation is not the one that matters…
It was Miss Carstone who Ronan thought about as he stared into the golden-brown liquid. She would be ruined by this. A reputation that was already questionable, once rumors spread—she would become a town pariah and her life would effectively be over.
As much as he wanted it, Ronan simply could not do that to her.
It had been an accident. A situation that was unavoidable. No one was at fault, but that mattered not. Ronan was many things, but dishonorable was not one of them, and for that reason he knew exactly what he had to do. The only thing he could do.
Like it or not, he would marry Miss. Carstone and in so doing save her from the judgmental gossiping of their peers. She might not thank him for it. She might come to despise him. But it was the only way… and that had to be enough.
With this final thought decided upon, Ronan threw back the glass of whiskey and grimaced at the taste. After tonight, his life would never be the same again.
Although considering the life that he had, perhaps that was not such a bad thing? He supposed that time would tell.