Chapter 13 #2
Gregory’s gaze moved slowly from Augusta to Ronan, while Ronan became acutely aware that the remark revealed they had spent the previous evening together in some context involving lemon cakes.
Augusta seemed to realize the same thing, since the colour in her cheeks deepened.
“They were prepared for Sarah,” she added, and the explanation came with enough haste to make Gregory’s attention sharpen further. “We arranged a small evening for her with stories, and Ronan joined us.”
“How domestic,” Gregory said, and although his tone remained polite, his eyes gleamed with amusement. “I had not realized Ravenhill had developed an interest in stories and lemon cakes.”
“He has not,” Augusta replied. “His contribution was mainly to criticize the prince’s poor planning.”
“The prince failed to ask a woman’s name before she left,” Ronan said. “The criticism was justified.”
Gregory looked delighted.
“I already regret missing the evening.”
“You were not invited,” Ronan replied.
“I am becoming aware that invitations are difficult to obtain in this house.”
Augusta lowered her gaze, although Ronan saw the small smile she tried to hide.
He turned his attention towards the paper in her hand.
“What did you wish to ask about Sarah?”
The question restored some of Augusta’s composure.
“She asked whether she might take her breakfast in the smaller dining room tomorrow rather than in the schoolroom,” Augusta said. “I think she wants to feel that last night was not an isolated occasion, and I wondered whether you would object if the three of us ate together before her lessons.”
Ronan hesitated only briefly.
“I do not object.”
Augusta looked surprised.
“You have meetings in the morning.”
“They can begin later.”
“That was easier than I expected.”
“You expected an argument?”
“I expected you to mention her routine, your work, and the risk of encouraging habits that would become inconvenient.”
Ronan’s mouth shifted faintly.
“I can still mention them if you are disappointed.”
“I am not disappointed,” Augusta replied, and then she met his gaze again. “Thank you.”
The words were simple, although something in the way she said them made Ronan forget Gregory’s presence for a moment.
He inclined his head.
“Tell Mrs. Belling that Sarah will join us.”
“I will,” Augusta said. “And I shall make certain dinner is adjusted for your guest.”
Gregory bowed again.
“You are very gracious, Lady Ravenhill, particularly when your husband has spent the past quarter hour attempting to deny me the same hospitality.”
“I suspect Ronan refuses people more often than he truly wishes them to leave,” Augusta said, and her eyes moved briefly towards her husband. “Although I have not yet decided whether that makes him complicated or merely stubborn.”
“Both,” Gregory replied immediately.
Ronan gave him a cold look.
Augusta smiled, then moved towards the door.
“I shall see you both downstairs,” she said. “And Ronan, I will speak to Mrs. Belling now.”
He nodded.
“Very well.”
Augusta’s hand closed around the door handle, although she glanced back once before leaving, and for a brief moment her gaze met Ronan’s again.
Neither of them smiled.
Neither looked entirely comfortable.
Then she left, closing the door quietly behind her.
The study remained silent for several seconds.
Ronan reached for the document on his desk, although he no longer remembered which line he had been reading.
Gregory did not return to his chair immediately.
Instead, he remained standing with his attention fixed on Ronan, while a slow and deeply irritating smile spread across his face.
“Do not,” Ronan said.
“I have not spoken.”
“You are about to.”
“I was only considering whether I should begin with the way you looked at her when she entered or the speed with which you explained why I would be dining here,” Gregory replied as he lowered himself into the chair once more.
“Both were remarkable, although the silence after she mentioned the lemon cakes may deserve special attention.”
“There was no meaningful silence.”
“It was long enough for Augusta to offer an explanation that no one had requested, and it was followed by both of you avoiding one another’s eyes as though the word ‘cakes’ had acquired an indecent meaning overnight.”
Ronan picked up his pen.
“You are inventing amusement where none exists.”
“I am observing what occurred directly in front of me,” Gregory said.
“You have spent the morning insisting that there is nothing for me to notice, yet your wife entered the room, you forgot that you were tired, and then you began explaining yourself with such urgency that I nearly looked behind me to see whether another husband had appeared.”
“I explained the situation so she would understand why you were here.”
“She understood that I was here when she saw me,” Gregory replied. “She became surprised only when I said I would remain for dinner, and you reacted as though she might conclude that you had deliberately disrupted some private plan.”
“We dine together most evenings.”
“Yes,” Gregory said slowly. “I gathered that.”
Ronan’s eyes narrowed.
“There is nothing unusual about dining with one’s wife.”
“Nothing at all, although Augusta clearly expected the two of you to be alone, and you clearly cared that she knew the alteration had not been your choice,” Gregory replied.
“That is not scandalous, Ronan, yet it is interesting, particularly when added to the fact that both of you became awkward the moment your eyes met.”
“We were not awkward.”
“You were so awkward that I briefly wondered whether I had entered the wrong room and interrupted a conversation that had begun before Augusta knocked.”
“She came to ask about Sarah.”
“I heard her.”
“Then stop inventing another purpose.”
Gregory leaned back and folded his arms.
“I am not inventing anything, although I admit I am curious about what happened during the evening of stories and lemon cakes, since Augusta appeared unable to mention it without blushing, while you suddenly became fascinated by the papers on your desk.”
Gregory stared at him.
“I have known you through grief, injury, duty, and more bad tempers than I can count, yet I have never seen you offer such a weak defence with so much determination,” he said. “You could simply admit that something has changed between you and your wife.”
“Nothing has changed.”
“Then perhaps the two of you have always looked at one another as though a private thought passed between you and neither knows what to do with it.”
Ronan’s pen stopped above the page.
Gregory noticed.
“You see?” he continued. “I have not even met Augusta properly until today, and I already know enough to understand why you have delayed the introduction. You were not protecting her from me, and you were not protecting me from her. You were protecting whatever quiet arrangement has formed in this house from being observed by someone who knows you too well.”
“That is absurd.”
“Possibly,” Gregory said. “Still, you should prepare yourself for dinner, since I intend to enjoy every moment of watching you both pretend that the atmosphere I witnessed does not exist.”
Ronan set down the pen with controlled force.
“You will behave respectfully.”
“Towards Augusta, certainly.”
“And towards me.”
Gregory smiled.
“That would deprive the evening of its only entertainment.”
Ronan looked towards the door through which Augusta had disappeared, then back at his friend.
For the first time that morning, his exhaustion had been replaced entirely by dread.
Dinner had begun pleasantly enough, and Gregory was at his most agreeable.
Ronan had seen his friend employ that particular manner countless times over the years. Gregory could make conversation with almost anyone when he chose to. Within half an hour of meeting someone, he often behaved as though they had known one another for years.
Augusta, apparently, was not immune to whatever charm he possessed.
“And I assure you, Your Grace, I did attempt to be patient with him,” Gregory was saying, “For several years, in fact. There was a time when I genuinely thought Ravenhill might eventually develop some appreciation for society, provided he was exposed to it carefully. I invited him to dinners, all manners of events, and I even convinced him to attend a musical with me. I believed I was making progress until I looked beside me halfway through the evening and discovered that he had fallen asleep.”
Augusta stared at Gregory for a moment before looking toward her husband. “You fell asleep during a musical?”
“It was a terribly boring affair,” he scoffed. “The woman had been singing the same aria for what felt like several hours.”
“Oh, it was only a few minutes.”
Augusta laughed, and Ronan looked up despite himself. She had been laughing more often since Gregory joined them.
Gregory leaned back in his chair, pleased with himself. “You see what I have endured, Your Grace? And still I remained his friend. That is loyalty of an unusually noble sort. I hope, when you come to know me better, you will remember how much I have sacrificed for your husband.”
Augusta’s smile lingered as she reached for her wineglass. “I shall remember it, although I confess I am not entirely convinced that you have suffered as much as you claim. You seem to enjoy provoking him far too much.”
“Enjoy it?” Gregory repeated, his hand settling dramatically over his chest. “My dear Duchess Ravenhill, I consider it a public service. If I did not provoke Ronan occasionally, he would go entire weeks without experiencing half the ordinary range of human emotion. Someone must remind him that irritation is not the only feeling available to him, and who better to do it than myself?”
Ronan slowly set down his fork. “I’d be careful; you’re speaking about me to my face, and I would like to think that you should show me some level of respect here.”
Gregory turned his attention toward him. “I have been exceedingly restrained. There are at least three stories I have deliberately chosen not to tell her.”