Aye, I could get used to this part of me new life at least,Isla thought as she pulled herself out of the tub and reached for a plush towel.
Chapter Five
“The Duke has informed me that everyone will have dinner separately this evening. If you require anything further, please be sure to ring the bell on the tray.”
Later that evening, shortly after her bath, a young footman entered, carrying a tray laden with hot food, bread, and a small goblet of red wine. He bowed respectfully as he set it on a small table near the roaring fire.
Isla’s brow furrowed. She looked at the tray, a sense of deep loneliness settling over her at the idea of supping separately, and on her wedding day.
“Separately,” she repeated. “Surely that is nae a proper practice in this household nor any other. I would like the dinin’ room to be set.”
The footman fidgeted with his hands, rubbing his neck and shaking his head. “His Grace has already dined in his study, Your Grace, and has asked to not be disturbed.”
Isla’s disappointment was a sharp pang, but her resolve was stronger. She could not allow the Duke’s cool habits to affect Oliver if she were to be a part of their household.
“Then, please set the dinin’ room for me and Lord Oliver. Tell his governess that I expect him there in an hour.”
The footman looked surprised, then nodded. “But of course, Your Grace.” He bowed, retrieved the tray, and left the room in a rush.
An hour later, Isla walked downstairs to find the formal dining room just as grand and cold as the foyer. She was grateful that a smaller table had been set near the hearth, two places laid with polished silver and gleaming crystal.
When Oliver entered, he was no longer the boisterous boy from earlier. He was quiet, his small frame looking even smaller in the vast room.
She smiled and pulled out his chair for him. “It is lovely to have company for dinner,” she said gently. “Especially on me first day here.”
“My governess says I should call you ‘Your Grace,’” he mumbled, fidgeting in his seat as he sat down.
“Ye may call me Isla,” she said, sitting down herself. “What a grand room this is. Do ye always eat in here?”
Oliver shook his head from side to side. “Only when Papa is home, but he usually eats in his study. We come in here for special occasions and holidays.”
“Do ye have any family that comes to call on those days?”
“Mostly just Lord Murkwood. He is so funny,” Oliver said as he smiled at her.
“I agree with that assessment,” Isla said with a small sip of wine.
A footman came into the room and set down two plates of fresh mutton, steamed potatoes and carrots, with bread. Famished, she began eating, savoring the rich buttery flavors and herbs. Isla watched as Oliver pushed his food around on his plate, his eyes downcast.
“I often eat in the schoolroom,” he said softly.
A pang of sympathy went through her. The Duke’s rigid formality was clearly affecting the boy, which was plain to her even on this first day of meeting him.
What kind of faither sends his son to eat in the schoolroom?
“Well, tonight we eat together,” she declared, her voice filled with a warmth she hoped was contagious. “Tell me, Lord Oliver. What is the most adventurous book you have read?”
His head shot up, his eyes suddenly bright. “Oh! A book about a man named Odysseus! He had a lot of bad things happen to him on his journey home after a battle. Have you heard of it?” He gestured with his fork, his timidity completely forgotten.
“It sounds familiar, but I cannae remember the details,” she said, hoping her white lie would coax him into sharing more. “Why not remind me of the story, lad?”
Isla listened then, a genuine smile spreading across her face as he spoke of Odysseus and Penelope, Circe, and the Cyclops. He was so bright and full of life, a stark contrast to the quiet boy she had seen minutes ago.
All he needs is a bit of interest shown in him, a wee encouragement to shine…
“And Penelope kept weaving and unweaving his burial shroud, as a trick! She was as smart as Odysseus was in all his years of wandering.”
“How did ye read this book all by yerself? Terribly impressive for a lad of yer age!”
