He pretended but she could tell. Of course he had heard her. Half the house might have even heard her. It wasn’t as though she’d suddenly come down here to whine. No, she’d been up her bed chamber stewing over her ruined evening––and afternoon––after storming out of the library.
One would think that pacing about and ranting would help. But no, it only fires me up more. Is it the Scot in me? Every Englishman is certain to be a scoundrel. And yet!
“Of course I was,” Isla said before she could help herself. Just thinking of Ronan had her pacing again. She chewed the bread furiously while she huffed and spoke. “The duke is an absolute cad! He’s impossible! Absolute infuriating. I cannot understand how the household manages!”
Taking a seat by the fire, Hobbes checked on her milk. “Nearly ready. And don’t tell me you’re already put out by the fellow?”
“Put out? More than put out! He is… oh, there are not enough words in the English language to define the fool. I cannot fathom a lifetime with Ronan. He is too much!”
“I had the impression you are oft apart?”
She scoffed. “And yet too close. The whole of England is not great enough to keep us at a fine distance. What is he even doing? This marriage is ridiculous. He is ridiculous. You cannot even imagine… What goes through that gentleman’s head, I haven’t a clue. He is never there until he is. And all he does is watch me. He stares! He won’t join me with Oliver. He won’t join me through town. We say not a word at church. All he does is stare at me from afar as though he’s determined to ensure I never enjoy myself again.”
Standing, Hobbes glanced at the milk again. “Shall I?”
“If you please.” She brought forth two mugs in case he might be thirsty as well. She’d prepared more than enough. “And the worst of it, Hobbes, is that when he does deign to speak to me, he is trying to tell me what to do. Trying, of course, because I shan’t let him. Och, the man. It is as though he wishes to avoid me but only so long as I am doing right by his standards. Impossible standards! And an impossible man!”
Isla rounded the small table to meet Hobbes who stood there in her way. Inhaling deeply, she realized she’d fallen into her rantings again. With a servant who, from what she understood, had been with the family since the title came about.
Her face heated and she hoped he would think it was the fire. Accepting the offered mug, Isla slowly accepted it. There was a separate fire inside her that was dwindling. Hobbes’ kindly smile and the milk must have done it.
“Here you are, Your Grace,” he murmured.
“Thank you.” She swallowed hard. “I did not mean… I know I should not speak thus. He is my husband. I only… Marriage, I fear, is not what I expected. Please don’t… I wouldn’t want…”
The man gestured toward the table where they might sit, but she declined. It was best if she retired sooner than later before she made any matters worse.
“Please sit, but I should… I only hope…” Isla faltered again.
“Your words are safe with me,” Hobbes promised without taking a seat. He settled the mug and his bread side by side on the table before offering her a kindly shrug. “It cannot be easy, entering a new world such as this. And I imagine it feels just as strange for His Grace.”
Isla scowled but bit her tongue, holding back any words she was tempted to say.
“Perhaps,” Hobbes suggested mildly, “The duke isn’t angry with you. Perhaps he could be curious.”
A laughable notion. “About what?”
“About you, I suppose.”
Isla blinked several times. “Me? There’s nothing to know about me. And if there was, he already knows it. I have never been courted through such a rigorous exam as the one he gave me.”
That managed to leverage a short chuckle out of Hobbes, which surprised her. She studied him for a moment and wondered if he would keep this conversation between just the two of them.
“The duke is a careful man. And he cares more than he would like to admit,” Hobbes noted.
Trying to make sense of what he was saying, Isla had to sound it out slowly. “And you think… he might… care for… for me?”
“It’s possible, Your Grace.”
Unable to help herself, she let out a scoff. “I wish that… I mean, that is, I don’t care. It doesn’t matter, I, erm, please don’t tell the duke any of this.”
“Any of what?”
Her stomach was in a tizzy now. She forced a tight smile and held tightly to her mug while leveraging her other candle. “Thank you, Hobbes. Good night.”
And Isla hurried out before she could say another word. She returned to her rooms in silent confusion over what Hobbes had just told her. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. She was still upset with the duke. But if he did care, what then? What was she to do?
She drank her milk, hoping it would calm her spirit. But she still spent the night tossing and turning until late morning.
