Chapter 12
“Do you think he will come?” Sarah asked as Augusta adjusted the ribbon at the waist of her pink dress for the third time. “Father said he had work after dinner, and when he says he has work, he usually stays in his study until everyone has gone to bed.”
“He said he would join us, and I intend to believe him until he gives me a reason not to,” Augusta replied as she smoothed the child’s skirt and then stepped back to inspect the result.
“Although I admit that your father has a talent for making even a promise sound uncertain, so I understand why you are worried. Still, we have prepared lemon cakes, sugared almonds, chocolate biscuits, and enough stories to occupy us until morning, and no sensible man would choose papers over such an evening.”
Sarah glanced towards the door.
“Father does not like sweets very much,” she said.
“Then he may sit beside us and watch while we enjoy them,” Augusta replied, lifting the plate of sugared almonds from the small table and placing it beside the cushions arranged before the fire.
“He need not approve of everything in order to participate, and perhaps he will discover that life continues even after one eats something covered in sugar.”
They had chosen the smaller family sitting room rather than the formal drawing room, since Augusta wanted the evening to feel private, and she had asked the servants to bring extra cushions so that they could sit near the fire.
Sarah’s favourite books had been placed in a small pile on the carpet, while the sweet dishes occupied a low table within easy reach.
Sarah had insisted upon wearing her favourite dress, although Augusta had pointed out that no one usually dressed for an evening spent on the floor. The child had answered that her father rarely saw the dress, and Augusta had abandoned the argument immediately.
“Do you think he will like my dress?” Sarah asked as she touched the pink ribbon.
“I think he will notice that you look lovely, although whether he manages to say so before you ask is another matter,” Augusta replied, and then she crouched until they were at the same height.
“Your father sometimes needs help finding the words that everyone else considers obvious, so you must not assume silence means he has failed to notice.”
Sarah nodded, although she did not look entirely convinced.
A knock sounded before Augusta could offer further reassurance, and Sarah turned towards the door so quickly that the curls around her face moved with her.
“Come in,” Augusta called.
The door opened, and Ronan stepped into the room.
Augusta had expected him to appear in the dark coat and carefully tied cravat he wore through most of the day, although he had evidently retired to his rooms before remembering the arrangement.
He wore loose dark trousers and a white linen shirt that had not been fastened completely at the neck, while his coat and waistcoat had been abandoned.
For several seconds, Augusta forgot to greet him.
The open collar revealed a narrow triangle of skin at his throat and chest, and although there was nothing improper in the sight, she had never seen him in anything less formal.
Without the high cravat, the severe lines of his face seemed less imposing, while the shirt stretched across his shoulders in a manner Augusta had never noticed beneath his coats.
Her gaze returned to the opening at his throat before she could stop it.
Ronan glanced down at himself, then looked back at her.
“Have I misunderstood the arrangement?” he asked as he stepped farther into the room. “You said this would be informal, although your expression suggests I have arrived dressed for the wrong occasion.”
“No,” Augusta replied too quickly, and then she forced herself to look towards Sarah. “You are dressed perfectly well for an evening of stories, although I had not expected you to have retired before joining us.”
“I had not retired,” Ronan said as he moved towards them, the steady tap of his cane sounding against the floor. “I changed after dinner, and when Mrs. Belling reminded me of the time, returning to formal clothes seemed unnecessary.”
“It was unnecessary,” Augusta agreed.
Her eyes moved towards his collar again. Ronan noticed.
“Are you certain?” he asked, and although his expression remained composed, there was a trace of curiosity in his voice. “You have looked at my shirt three times since I entered.”
Augusta felt warmth rush into her face.
“I was only wondering whether you might be cold,” she said, and she immediately disliked the weakness of the answer but knew that there was little use in saying anything else.
Sarah looked between them, clearly puzzled by the conversation.
“Father, do you like my dress?” she asked.
Ronan’s attention shifted to his daughter, and the change in his expression was slight but immediate.
“You look very pretty,” he said, his gaze resting upon the pink ribbon at her waist. “Is that the dress you prefer?”
Sarah nodded eagerly.
“It is my favourite, although Miss Morton says it should only be worn when there are visitors,” she replied. “Augusta said tonight was special enough, and she helped me choose the ribbon.”
Ronan glanced towards Augusta. “She chose well,” he said.
Augusta’s face remained warm, although this time the sensation had little to do with embarrassment.
“We have made a place for you,” she said, gesturing towards the cushions. “You may sit in the chair if the floor will be uncomfortable, although Sarah and I have already decided that stories are better when everyone sits together.”
Ronan looked at the carpet, then at the low arrangement of cushions, while the scepticism in his face made Augusta expect an immediate refusal.
“You wish me to sit on the floor?” he said.
“Well, it is up to you,” Augusta replied. “I am offering a choice between sitting with us and watching from a distance.”
Sarah picked up the largest cushion and held it towards him.
“This one is for you,” she said. “It is thicker, so your leg will not hurt.”
Ronan looked at her for a moment, and then he set his cane beside the nearest chair before lowering himself carefully onto the carpet.
The movement was less easy for him than Augusta had expected, and she shifted closer without thinking, ready to offer support if he lost his balance. Ronan placed one hand against the floor, adjusted his injured leg, and settled against the cushions without asking for help.
Sarah sat beside him at once. “I am pleased that you came.”
Ronan turned towards her. “I said I would. Didn’t I?”
“Yes, well...” Sarah blushed. “You are often busy, and so I assumed that you might not.”
“I am never busy for you,” he replied firmly.
Sarah smiled at that, and Augusta watched the tension leave the child’s shoulders. It was a step in the right direction.
Augusta knew that the two needed bonding moments like this. In time, the awkwardness they felt would disappear as well.
“You may choose the first story,” Augusta said, pushing the pile of books towards Sarah. “Although I should warn both of you that Cinderella has been read so often that I may refuse to perform it unless someone else agrees to take half the pages.”
Sarah immediately selected the worn volume. “Father can read it.”
Ronan looked at the book as though it had presented him with an unexpected administrative burden.
“Do you wish for me to? I have not read aloud in many years,” he said.
“You only need to say the words on the page,” Sarah replied. “Augusta misses some of them, although I tell her when she does.”
Augusta gave the child a wounded look, but then turned to Ronan and gave him an encouraging smile. As if she wished to say, " You can do it.”
Ronan took the book from Sarah. “I will try to meet the required standard,” he said, opening it to the first page.
He began reading in the same measured voice he used when discussing estate matters, and Augusta pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. The king, the servants, and Cinderella all sounded equally solemn.
Sarah listened for a page before interrupting. “Why do all the characters sound the same?” she protested.
Ronan looked towards Augusta for an answer. “Um, well... do you wish for me to.. use different voices?”
“I believe that is what she would like for you to do,” Augusta jumped in. “Though I admire the effort that you are putting in. I would never interfere with another person’s interpretation.”
“And so how do you want the characters to sound?” Ronan asked.
“Kind.” Sarah shrugged her shoulders. It was a simple direction.
“Very well,” he said. “I shall attempt kindness.”
His second effort was so exaggeratedly gentle that the characters sounded half asleep.
Sarah laughed again. “She does not sound like that either.”
“I suppose this is the extent of my abilities.” Ronan looked at Augusta. “You may take over.”
“Oh, but it’s too soon for me to take over now.” Augusta shook her head. “I think you’ve only begun to improve, and I’m sure that Sarah appreciates the effort that you are putting in.”
“Really, you are giving me too much credit,” Ronan let out a nervous laugh. “I have used up all the reserves I have.”
“Then use your imagination,” Augusta encouraged.
Ronan studied the next line and began again, although this time he added a dramatic pause before every instruction the fairy gave Cinderella.
When he reached the transformation of the pumpkin, he lowered his voice and described the carriage as though the magic had produced something entirely suspicious.
Sarah giggled, and Ronan glanced at her before continuing.
By the time Cinderella reached the palace, he had begun altering the story slightly.
The prince was described as a young man with poor judgement who had invited every unmarried lady in the kingdom without first considering the cost of supper, while the king became increasingly irritated by the number of shoes abandoned on the ballroom floor.
“That is not what the book says,” Augusta protested, even as she struggled not to laugh.