Page 53 of The Wedding-Crashing Duchess

“You have already said more about him in that answer than you intended,” Charity said. “You sound as though you have discovered a difference between the man everyone sees and the man who exists in private, and I would like you to explain that difference without retreating into a discussion of his servants or his voice.”

Augusta lowered her gaze to the tea, although the shifting reflection on its surface offered no useful answer.

She had tried to prepare for this conversation during the carriage ride, yet every version of the truth had seemed either too intimate or too vague. Ronan was not the monster she had feared, although he was not easy, affectionate, or predictable either. He could sit through half a meal without offering more than a few words, then suddenly answer a question with such honesty that Augusta spent hours afterward remembering the exact expression on his face. He could make her furious with one arrogant remark and then listen so intently when she spoke that she became aware of every word before it left her mouth.

“He is difficult to explain,” Augusta said at last, and when Charity appeared ready to interrupt, she continued before her sister could speak. “He is not unkind to me, and I do not mean that as faint praise, although consideration from Ronan rarely resembles what one expects it to resemble. He asks whether I am comfortable as though he is inspecting the condition of a guest room, and he offers help in a manner that makes it sound like a decision he has already made on my behalf. Yet he also notices when I am uneasy, even when I have not said anything, and he remembers small things I mention as though they matter more than he allows me to believe.”

Charity’s expression softened, although she did not smile.

“That sounds like a man who has never learned how to show tenderness without disguising it as duty,” Charity said. “Does he speak to you openly, or do you only understand him through what he does?”

“Sometimes he speaks more openly than I expect, and then the following morning he behaves as though nothing unusual happened,” Augusta replied, turning the cup slowly between her hands. “We had dinner together, and I proposed a game in which we took turns asking questions, since I knew almost nothing about him beyond his title, his reputation, and the fact that he dislikes being contradicted. It began with harmless things such as favourite colours and food, although Ronan cannot answer a simple question without turning it into an argument about society, duty, or the foolishness of conventions.”

Matilda leaned forward.

“What is his favourite colour?” she asked. “And do not say black unless he truly chose it, since that would be so predictable that I might suspect you invented the answer.”

“He chose black,” Augusta replied. “When I told him that the answer lacked imagination, he said I had asked which colour he preferred rather than which answer would entertain me, and then he accused me of changing the rules whenever his answers failed to satisfy me.”

“That sounds like him,” Matilda said with obvious delight. “What did he ask you?”

“He asked the same questions at first, although he later wanted to know what I would choose to do if no one expected anything from me,” Augusta replied. “I told him that there is always expectation, especially for a woman, and that one cannot simply decide society no longer exists. He disagreed, naturally, and then he said propriety allows cruel people to disguise themselves as respectable, while harmless people are condemned for breaking rules that have nothing to do with kindness or honour.”

Charity sat back slightly, considering the answer.

“He is not entirely wrong,” she said. “Our uncle spoke constantly of duty and family while attempting to control every part of our lives, and no amount of polished language made his intentions less cruel.”

“I know that,” Augusta replied, feeling a trace of the same frustration that had followed the original argument. “Yet Ronan speaks as though anyone may simply disregard society whenever its expectations become inconvenient, which is easier for a duke who has spent years ignoring invitations and offending people without losing his position. A woman does not possess that freedom, and no amount of contempt for gossip prevents gossip from damaging her.”

“Did you tell him that?” Charity asked.

“At length,” Augusta said. “He remained unconvinced, and then he said society is only a collection of frightened people repeating rules to one another until everyone mistakes fear for morality.”

Matilda blinked.

“That is very good,” she said.

Augusta turned towards her. “You are eleven.”

“I am still capable of recognizing a clever thing when I hear it,” Matilda replied. “Did you have an answer?”

“Not immediately.”

Matilda’s eyebrows rose. “He left you speechless?”

“For a moment.”

“That may be the most impressive thing you have told us about him.”

Charity hid a smile behind her cup, although Augusta saw it.

“I did not come here so that you might celebrate my defeat in an argument,” Augusta said. “And I was not defeated. I merely changed the subject.”

“To what?” Charity asked.

Augusta hesitated.

The question she had asked Ronan had belonged partly to Sarah, although his answer had felt private in a way that made repeating it seem like a betrayal. She could tell Charity the shape of the conversation without exposing everything Ronan had confessed.