Chapter 8
The dining room had been prepared for only two people, although its proportions made the arrangement seem almost absurd, because the table could have seated twenty with room to spare, while Augusta and Ronan had been placed near one end.
Augusta paused just inside the doorway, because Ronan had already risen from his chair and then crossed over into the room.
“Good evening, Your Grace,” she said.
Ronan inclined his head, although his gaze did not leave her face. “Good evening, Duchess.”
Once the soup had been placed before them, Ronan dismissed the footmen to the edge of the room with a glance, and although the servants remained present, the space around the table felt private enough that Augusta could hear the faint scrape of his spoon against porcelain.
He ate only a little before he looked at her again.
“The housekeeper informed me that you visited Sarah this afternoon. She rarely offers information without expecting me to make use of it, I assume she wishes me to ask how the visit went.”
Augusta set down her spoon. She had been waiting for him to mention his daughter.
“She allowed me to read to her, although I suspect she agreed because she wanted the story rather than because she wanted my company. She even corrected me when I skipped a line.”
“That sounds like Sarah, because she remembers every word of the stories she likes, and although her governess believes this demonstrates an excellent memory, I sometimes think she only pays close attention when she expects someone else to make a mistake.”
“She chose her favorite one. The book has been handled so often that the binding is nearly gone, although there were several newer books on the shelf, which makes me think she has been reading the same story for years.”
“It was the first story her governess read to her after she became old enough to follow one, and although I have purchased other books since then, she continues to prefer that one.”
Augusta watched him for a moment, because the answer had been more specific than she expected. “Then tell me everything else you know, because if I am to become part of her life, I should know more about her.”
Ronan’s hand remained around the stem of his glass, and although his expression did not change, his shoulders appeared to stiffen.
“You ask that as though I possess an orderly catalogue of my daughter’s preferences.
I cannot pretend that I have spent enough time with her to know every small habit for myself. ”
“I did not ask because I intended to test you,” she said immediately. “Nor am I trying to embarrass you, although I would rather you tell me what you do know. Surely, you know more than me.”
He sighed, and then a contemplative expression formed on his face.
“I know that she is afraid of thunder, but she pretends she is not, because one of the maids told her that brave girls do not cry during storms; I also know that she likes pink, although I made the mistake of refusing to have her room painted a second time because it was already pink, and she interpreted this as proof that I objected to the color itself.”
Augusta tried not to laugh, although the image of Ronan being defeated by a six-year-old’s opinion on paint made restraint difficult. “There are many shades of pink, and perhaps the existing shade was unsatisfactory.”
“I was informed of that after the argument.”
“The fact that you remain unconvinced suggests that Sarah may have inherited your stubbornness.”
“She might learn that from you, as well.” he passed her a look.
“She has known me for two days, and therefore I doubt I have already altered her character.” Augusta couldn’t help but laugh.
“You stopped a ducal wedding after one glimpse of a cane, and so I am not prepared to underestimate the speed of your influence.”
Augusta lifted her wineglass, although she could feel herself smiling. “Continue, because you were telling me about Sarah.”
Ronan leaned back slightly. “She likes small animals, although she has poor judgement regarding which creatures ought to be brought indoors, and last summer she attempted to keep a beetle in a jeweler box because she believed the pattern on its wings was beautiful. Her governess threw it away after it died, and Sarah refused to speak to her for three days. She enjoys riding, although I cannot tell you the name of her pony, and before you ask, I am aware that I should know it.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“The stablemaster knows the name, and I know that the animal is well cared for, which seemed more important than memorizing whatever fanciful name Sarah chose.”
“The stablemaster is not her father, and although caring for the animal matters, knowing what she calls it would tell you something about her.”
Ronan’s expression tightened, and Augusta immediately wished she had softened the remark, although he did not turn away from it.
“You are right,” he said after a moment, “ It would be much easier to defend myself if your criticism were unfair. I know the arrangements made for her, yet those are the responsibilities of a guardian, while the things you are asking belong to a father.”
He paused for a moment then.
“I’m not sure I still understand the difference between the two, fully.”
Augusta’s irritation faded. There was no attempt at self-pity in his voice; instead there was something more difficult in the calmness with which he judged himself.
“Then perhaps you may begin now,” she said, “because children are not won through grand gestures but rather through small things repeated often enough that they begin to trust them. Sarah does not need you to become a different man before breakfast tomorrow, only that you show you more interest in her life.”
Ronan’s gaze remained on her face. “How is it that you are able to dispense advice when you don’t have any children of your own?”
Augusta couldn’t help but laugh at that.
“Your Grace, you know I have a younger sister,” she said, nodding. “Matilda has provided enough difficulty to educate the entire family.”
The servants approached to remove the soup, and Augusta lowered her gaze while the next course was placed before them, although the warmth in her face remained.
When the servants withdrew again, she looked towards the fire rather than at him. “Did Sarah’s mother like stories?”
Ronan’s fork paused above his plate, and the ease that had entered the conversation disappeared. “I do not know.”
The words were quiet.
“You do not have to speak about her,” Augusta said, “although Sarah asked me whether I had known her mother, and when I told her I had not, she asked what sort of lady she had been, which makes me think she has asked others before.”
“She probably has, and they have probably offered kinder answers than I could. She died during childbirth; I suppose that is the most important thing you ought to know.”
Augusta listened without interrupting, because his sentences came slowly, yet each one appeared to cost him more than the last.
“She died before we had time to become anything other than strangers,” he continued. “She was younger than I was.”
Augusta held his gaze, and although the honesty in his words unsettled her, it also drew her towards him, because she had expected defensiveness.
“Then tell Sarah the truth that belongs to her,” Augusta said, “although you need not burden her with all of this while she is still a child. Tell her that her mother was gentle, and tell her that you wish you had known her better.”
Ronan looked down at his plate, although he had scarcely touched the food. “You have been in this house for less than a week, and already you speak as though you understand what everyone here requires.”
“I do not understand everyone, although I understand what it is to have questions about family.”
Ronan’s attention returned to her. “From experience?”
“My sister,” she nodded. “I didn’t know her for most of my life, really.”
“You did not know Charity was your sister?”
“Not until a few years ago; my parents believed she had died. It was a mess. Charity believed she had been abandoned, while in reality she had been taken away and raised in a nunnery. When the truth emerged, it was soon afterward our parents died. Matilda and I were left under our uncle’s authority before we had properly understood that we possessed another sister at all. ”
Ronan’s expression darkened. “Your uncle attempted to force Charity into marriage.”
“He attempted several things. When Charity escaped his plans, he turned his attention to me. He believed that if he married one of us to our cousin, he could preserve control over the estate and whatever else he thought belonged to him.”
“And Duncan intervened?”
“Eventually, although I did not trust him at first, because he was a duke and he was older than Charity. He seemed far too certain of himself, which I considered evidence of dangerous arrogance.”
Ronan’s mouth curved. “You distrusted a duke because he appeared intimidating and self-assured, and then you accused another duke of murder because he carried a distinctive cane, which suggests you have developed a remarkably consistent method of judging men.”
“My judgement of Duncan improved.”
“After how long?”
“Long enough.”
Ronan leaned back, and although amusement had returned to his face, his gaze remained intent.
“I would like a more precise measure. If your treatment of Duncan is meant to reassure me, I should know whether I am expected to wait weeks, months, or several years before you decide I am merely unpleasant rather than criminal.”
“I never called you unpleasant,” she drew a slow breath. “You think very highly of your ability to occupy my attention.”
“You have spent several mornings reading the newspapers before breakfast, and although you pretend to be interested in society notices, you always turn first to the reports concerning the murdered maid.”
Ronan continued watching her with a closeness that made the question feel personal.
“I have been checking because the constable said there had been no progress. A woman died after I saw someone standing over her, while everyone continues behaving as though the matter is no longer connected to us.”
“It may not be connected to us, although I understand why you cannot dismiss it, and I have already asked Gregory to arrange a meeting with the constable tomorrow.”
Augusta stared at him. “You have?”
“Yes, even if you were mistaken about the man’s identity, you were not mistaken about the body. I would prefer to know why someone carrying a cane like mine was near the place where the woman died.”
“You believe me now?” she said, surprised.
“I have always believed that you saw something, although I did not believe that something was me.”
“Well, I saw your cane.”
Ronan glanced towards the cane resting beside his chair, and although his expression remained calm, his eyes sharpened.
“This cane was made for me when I was fifteen; my father commissioned it after the injury to my leg, and the silversmith worked from the raven on our family crest. There should not be another exactly like it.”
“That is what I have been trying to tell you.”
Ronan’s fingers tightened slightly around his glass.
“My father ordered only one, and although the design may have been copied, a craftsman would have required either access to the cane or a detailed drawing, because the proportions are not common. I had assumed you saw something similar, yet if you are certain it was the same design, then I have more reason to speak with the constable than I realized.”
Augusta studied his face. “You do not think I imagined it?”
“No, although I think fear can alter details, and I think certainty becomes more dangerous when it is built from a brief glimpse, yet I also think you have repeated the description without changing it.”
“So you do believe me after all,” she said, shaking her head.
“I am trying not to encourage you too much. The last time you were entirely confident, my wedding guests were sent home before luncheon.”
“Your wedding would not have continued even if I had remained silent, because Phillipa did not wish to marry you.”
“Yes, and although I do not blame her, I find it interesting that you continue defending the consequences of your accusation while apologizing for making it.”
“I am capable of regretting the manner in which I acted without regretting that Phillipa escaped a marriage she did not want.”
“And are you equally certain that you did not enter one?”
The question was quiet, and because there was no teasing in it, Augusta felt the answer more deeply than she expected.
“I entered this marriage by choice,” she said, “although I will admit that I did not understand you when I agreed.”
“That does not answer whether you regret it.”
“Perhaps I have not yet decided whether you deserve an answer.”
Ronan held her gaze. Although the silence stretched, it did not feel empty; something unspoken moved between them with enough force that Augusta became conscious of the space separating their chairs.
At last, he said, “Then I will try to earn one, although I should warn you that patience has never been among my most celebrated qualities.”