Ronan’s eye twitched. He was hardly sleeping, leaving him more exhausted and rather listless. He didn’t even have the energy to care. Sinking deeper into his chair, he mumbled something about sending greetings back to the duchess.
As for Julian, he turned to give him a sardonic look. “Very well, what is wrong with you now? This is new. I’ve never seen you sulk like this before.”
“I’m not sulking!”
“How old are you again? Twelve? Eight?”
All Ronan could think to do was throw a pillow at him. But his friend easily caught it, setting it behind him for cushioning.
“I would like to help if I can, old chap,” Julian offered at a pause. He looked over thoughtfully, seeing Ronan. Or could he? Could anyone? It didn’t seem to do Ronan any good. Maybe no one really did see him. All the same, he didn’t like anyone staring at him. “What can I do to help?”
“Nothing.” Ronan turned his head away. He spoke coldly as he added, “It would be best if you make appointments for your arrivals in the future so I can be better prepared.”
He sensed the surprise in his friend’s tone when he spoke next, and had to brace himself against the guilt. “What the devil? Ronan, really. You’ve had your mourning period. You married. I should think you are right as rain. I was concerned something serious had happened. But here you are, pouting.”
“I’m not pouting. Or sulking. You can take your leave,” Ronan added as he rose with a sudden plan.
I don’t know why I didn’t think of it earlier.
Moving to the corner bookcase against the wall, he pulled out a book that opened a hidden panel that carried some of the only brandy in the house. He took out the goblet and a glass.
“Ronan! Truly?”
After filling the glass two fingers full, Ronan turned. This time he was ready to look Julian in the eye as he drank. It was a sweet burn tingling down his throat. How much he had missed this. He almost felt like he had never stopped drinking as he enjoyed the sensation of warmth trickling down his body.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Meanwhile Julian watched everything, slowly pressing his lips tightly together.
“Very well.” There was no farewell as the man swept out of the room.
Now left alone with the brandy, Ronan set down the glass. Then he took the goblet and carried it over to the sofa. He had stopped drinking when his sister passed. But that was a long time ago, and matters changed. He deserved a drink or two. Maybe even three.
His gaze settled on the burning embers within the fireplace as he took another sip. Time slowed down. Everything felt inconsequential for a spell. He sighed and leaned back, thinking to rest his eyes.
Then a door slammed.
“Ronan!”
Rubbing his eyes, he groaned. The drink was weighing him down. His thoughts were feeling slower. But when he opened his eyes, he still saw Julian striding toward him. “I thought you left.”
“Why would I do such a thing? I came all this way to see you, you fool, and I’m getting to the bottom of this.”
“This?”
“Yes, you. Your problem. And I think I found out what it is,” Julian added with a proud smile as he ushered in a chamber maid. “This is Elsie.”
Ronan looked to the chambermaid, both of them clearly uncomfortable. He vaguely recognized her. She was one of the few servants they’d hired in London and then brought back here. “Hello, Elsie.”
She managed a quick curtsey. “Your Grace.”
“Now that we all know each other, Elsie, be a dear and tell His Grace what you have learned. Because it took me talking to two household servants to discover that your wife took a hasty leave of you with, apparently, no intention to return.” Ronan dropped his head in his hands with a groan. “Yes, I see now. Elsie?”
“Oh. I… Well, my cousin works for Lady Vasiling. The lady and her husband, the Marquess of Lewton, hosted their annual ball a few days prior.”
Julian cleared his throat. “A ball you attended, I believe, with your duchess.”
“Don’t call her that.” It hurt too much to think about.
“Very well. Elsie, whatever did you learn amongst the gossip your cousin learned at the ball?”
