When she met his gaze, he quickly turned to look elsewhere.
“Ah, not again!” A boy cried. The voice called Isla back to where Lucy had won the second match.
The girl was good. She won the third match as well. After a helpful hint to maybe share the fun to the girl, Isla found herself playing with everyone. Leaning forward, she tossed the marble and collected two more. Everyone groaned as she laughed at the small victory.
“Do you think I can win?” Isla turned to ask James, only to find the boy had left her side.
Surprised, she let the children play on while she climbed up onto her knees so she might scout the courtyard and find him. Wherehad the boy gone? He was quiet, surely, but had been content only moments ago. Maybe he was hungry…
There he was.
Isla inhaled deeply as she watched James near the main doorway. Even from this distance, she could see his troubled expression and worried lip. He pointed to his elbow to someone. The boy must have scratched himself at some point.
And there was Ronan, awkwardly kneeling down beside James.
Her breath caught as she watched his serious expression soften. Never leaving the boy’s gaze, he smoothly slid out a handkerchief and then laid out his hand. James let the tall duke tend to his scratch before tying the white fabric––now no longer that white or starched––around his arm.
There was no blood, but James must have been very sad. Maybe that was why Ronan was willing to let loose the handkerchief. But of course, he was a duke. A handkerchief was easy to replace.
Still, Isla watched them together and muttered for the children beside her to play without her. She easily forfeited to watch the duke behave so gently with the boy. It was a vulnerable sort of moment that no one else had seen.
But I did, and I don’t think I shall ever forget it.
Her heart was near full to bursting by the time Isabel was rounding everyone up to take their leave. Soon the children would have their supper, and their routines were more important than anything here. The chatter between the adults carried on once they left the youth, but Isla remained quiet as she thought about her time with them.
“Are you well?” Ronan asked once they had shared their farewells with the party. The carriage had been called back for them, the streets not safe enough to remain parked for long.
“Hm? Oh,” Isla murmured. “Yes, thank you. I’m quite well.”
He flexed his arm beneath her hand. “You’re quite. It is unexpected.”
A slight smile crossed her lips. “I suppose I am. I am only thinking of how much those children deserve better. Even with so little, they are happy. I think I admire them.”
“You are rather good with them,” he quietly said. She noted the way his gaze drifted over her dress, which her mother would definitely not be happy about seeing upon their return. Mrs. MacLaren would certainly have words for her.
Isla didn’t mind. She watched as their carriage came around as she told Ronan clearly, “Thank you. They’re easier than most grown men.”
He coughed as he helped her into the carriage, though she could have sworn it was nearly a laugh.
CHAPTER 13
Joining the Royal Army was a stroll in the park compared to his entering the MacLaren household the following evening for what was meant to be an intimate family supper.
He rarely ate with others and he rarely ate in a proper dining room, often preferring his study or the stables or anywhere else he might typically attend. And tonight he would need to act the part of a duke.
“Just think of the future, my boy,” his father had told him gleefully when he was hardly ten years old. “A dukedom passes through the family line. Do you know what that means? Someday you will be a duke. It’s the greatest blessing I’ll ever have in all my years.”
Only it wasn’t supposed to have happened so soon.
He was still finishing up school when his father passed. A heart condition, they said, brought on by excess. It couldn’t be helped. His father had been a hard worker but jovial, too, and too thrilled with his success to let anyone stop him from doing anything he liked.
Once, Ronan had been the same way. It felt like an entirely other person’s live sometimes.
“Good evening, Your Grace,” Mrs. MacLaren said pertly as she curtseyed to him whilst opening the door. “What a fine treat you are to come join us. Do come in. We’ll meet in the front parlor here before going into supper. I trust you have brought your appetite?”
“Certainly. You look well, Mrs. MacLaren,” he added after a short pause when she continued to stand there. The front parlor was only a dozen paces to the right, but she was too happily staring up at him to lead him on.
Then came a voice he hadn’t heard before, a spritely young one. “Is it him? Is he here?”
