Chapter 11
“Before you tell me that Ravenhill is comfortable, the servants are attentive, and your husband has behaved with perfect civility, I should warn you that none of those answers will satisfy me,” Charity said as Augusta entered the morning room.
“You have been gone long enough for me to wonder whether you are happy, whether you feel at ease with Ronan when no one else is present, and whether the marriage still feels like something you accepted only to repair the damage caused by the wedding. I have tried not to interfere, although restraint has never removed worry, so I would rather you sit beside me and tell me the truth than spend another week imagining that you are concealing some misery out of pride.”
Augusta stopped with one glove half removed, while Matilda looked up from the window seat and immediately closed the book in her lap.
“I have scarcely crossed the threshold, and already you have asked enough questions to occupy the entire visit,” Augusta said as she pulled off the glove and crossed towards the settee.
“I had imagined that I might be welcomed, offered tea, and permitted to inquire after my nephew before you demanded a complete account of my marriage, although I see that becoming a duchess has not earned me even five minutes of peace in my own family’s house. ”
“You are welcome, the baby is sleeping, and the tea has already been poured, so you have no reason to delay,” Charity replied as she took Augusta’s hand and drew her down beside her.
“I know you chose this marriage, and I have not forgotten that you insisted no one had forced you, yet the circumstances were unusual enough that concern is hardly an insult. Ronan began as a stranger you believed capable of murder, then he became the man whose wedding you destroyed, and shortly afterward he arrived here asking for your hand. I trusted your judgement when you agreed, although trusting you did not make the arrangement less alarming.”
Matilda abandoned the window seat and moved into the chair opposite them, while the eager expression on her face made it clear that she had been waiting for Augusta’s visit with even less patience than Charity.
“I would also like to know whether he still carries the cane everywhere, whether he speaks to you in that voice that makes ordinary words sound like a command, and whether the servants scatter when he enters a room,” Matilda said, folding her hands in an exaggerated imitation of a proper lady.
“I have not included any questions Charity would consider unsuitable, although I think it is unfair that everyone expects me to understand marriage one day while refusing to explain any part of it now.”
“Nothing about that speech encourages me to answer you,” Augusta replied as Charity placed a teacup in her hands.
“Ronan uses the cane when he requires it, his voice sounds commanding even when he is asking whether I would prefer tea or coffee, and the servants do not scatter, although they do become very efficient whenever he looks displeased. None of that is nearly as dramatic as you hoped, so I fear you will have to abandon whatever gothic tale you have invented about my life.”
Matilda studied her closely.
“You defended him before you had even taken a sip of tea,” she said. “You did not say that he frightened the servants, and you corrected me when I described his manner, which means you have already begun protecting him from criticism.”
“I am not protecting him,” Augusta replied, although the speed of the answer made both sisters look at her more carefully.
“I am only correcting an unfair description, since Ronan may appear severe and he certainly has very little talent for sounding gentle, although that does not mean everyone in his household spends the day trembling whenever he enters a room.”
Charity lifted her cup, yet she continued watching Augusta over the rim.
“You have already said more about him in that answer than you intended,” Charity said.
“You sound as though you have discovered a difference between the man everyone sees and the man who exists in private, and I would like you to explain that difference without retreating into a discussion of his servants or his voice.”
Augusta lowered her gaze to the tea, although the shifting reflection on its surface offered no useful answer.
She had tried to prepare for this conversation during the carriage ride, yet every version of the truth had seemed either too intimate or too vague.
Ronan was not the monster she had feared, although he was not easy, affectionate, or predictable either.
He could sit through half a meal without offering more than a few words, then suddenly answer a question with such honesty that Augusta spent hours afterward remembering the exact expression on his face.
He could make her furious with one arrogant remark and then listen so intently when she spoke that she became aware of every word before it left her mouth.
“He is difficult to explain,” Augusta said at last, and when Charity appeared ready to interrupt, she continued before her sister could speak.
“He is not unkind to me, and I do not mean that as faint praise, although consideration from Ronan rarely resembles what one expects it to resemble. He asks whether I am comfortable as though he is inspecting the condition of a guest room, and he offers help in a manner that makes it sound like a decision he has already made on my behalf. Yet he also notices when I am uneasy, even when I have not said anything, and he remembers small things I mention as though they matter more than he allows me to believe.”
Charity’s expression softened, although she did not smile.
“That sounds like a man who has never learned how to show tenderness without disguising it as duty,” Charity said. “Does he speak to you openly, or do you only understand him through what he does?”
“Sometimes he speaks more openly than I expect, and then the following morning he behaves as though nothing unusual happened,” Augusta replied, turning the cup slowly between her hands.
“We had dinner together, and I proposed a game in which we took turns asking questions, since I knew almost nothing about him beyond his title, his reputation, and the fact that he dislikes being contradicted. It began with harmless things such as favourite colours and food, although Ronan cannot answer a simple question without turning it into an argument about society, duty, or the foolishness of conventions.”
Matilda leaned forward.
“What is his favourite colour?” she asked. “And do not say black unless he truly chose it, since that would be so predictable that I might suspect you invented the answer.”
“He chose black,” Augusta replied. “When I told him that the answer lacked imagination, he said I had asked which colour he preferred rather than which answer would entertain me, and then he accused me of changing the rules whenever his answers failed to satisfy me.”
“That sounds like him,” Matilda said with obvious delight. “What did he ask you?”
“He asked the same questions at first, although he later wanted to know what I would choose to do if no one expected anything from me,” Augusta replied.
“I told him that there is always expectation, especially for a woman, and that one cannot simply decide society no longer exists. He disagreed, naturally, and then he said propriety allows cruel people to disguise themselves as respectable, while harmless people are condemned for breaking rules that have nothing to do with kindness or honour.”
Charity sat back slightly, considering the answer.
“He is not entirely wrong,” she said. “Our uncle spoke constantly of duty and family while attempting to control every part of our lives, and no amount of polished language made his intentions less cruel.”
“I know that,” Augusta replied, feeling a trace of the same frustration that had followed the original argument.
“Yet Ronan speaks as though anyone may simply disregard society whenever its expectations become inconvenient, which is easier for a duke who has spent years ignoring invitations and offending people without losing his position. A woman does not possess that freedom, and no amount of contempt for gossip prevents gossip from damaging her.”
“Did you tell him that?” Charity asked.
“At length,” Augusta said. “He remained unconvinced, and then he said society is only a collection of frightened people repeating rules to one another until everyone mistakes fear for morality.”
Matilda blinked.
“That is very good,” she said.
Augusta turned towards her. “You are eleven.”
“I am still capable of recognizing a clever thing when I hear it,” Matilda replied. “Did you have an answer?”
“Not immediately.”
Matilda’s eyebrows rose. “He left you speechless?”
“For a moment.”
“That may be the most impressive thing you have told us about him.”
Charity hid a smile behind her cup, although Augusta saw it.
“I did not come here so that you might celebrate my defeat in an argument,” Augusta said. “And I was not defeated. I merely changed the subject.”
“To what?” Charity asked.
Augusta hesitated.
The question she had asked Ronan had belonged partly to Sarah, although his answer had felt private in a way that made repeating it seem like a betrayal. She could tell Charity the shape of the conversation without exposing everything Ronan had confessed.
“I asked him why he never speaks to Sarah about her mother,” Augusta said carefully.
“Sarah is curious, and she has almost no memories or stories to help her imagine the woman she never knew. Ronan did not want to answer, although he eventually admitted that he had known his first wife very little, and that he feels ashamed of how distant their marriage remained.”
Charity’s amusement disappeared.