Page 13 of A Duke in Her Fate
The two of them paused to watch Anne collect the boy in her arms, the two of them laughing. It was her daughter, Mary Anne,who had nursed Ollie through his first year of life. Then she had left for the Americas and now Anne, with no family thereabouts, had accepted the roll. She was slowing down these days with her old bones but reassured Ronan that the boy kept her young.
Of course, that could be a lie, Ronan realized. He watched her hold the boy for only a moment before setting him down. As the lad took off once more, she was stretching her back.
"Anne," he said in a low voice. “How does she fare? Does she complain oft?”
Hobbes came closer to give him a wary look. “She is three and sixty, Your Grace. It can be a difficult age, especially for managing a spray young master. But she does well. You can see for yourself.”
“Blast it, Hobbes, I mean that I am concerned for her welfare. If she injures herself, then Oliver…” Ronan clenched his jaw. “I will not put her out. There will always be space for her. You should know I would never be so cruel. But does she need help? Help she will never ask me for?”
The sternness in Hobbes’ face softened. Too much. Ronan turned away, hunching his shoulders. He was not here for kindness, for sympathy, or even understanding.
“I beg your pardon for any assumptions,” his butler said at last. “You have always been considerate, Your Grace. A good man. I believe soon, yes, Anne might appreciate some help. It may takeeven three maids to manage the spry young master,” he added on a lighter note.
Ronan gave a short nod. “Thank you.”
I suppose then that everything will sort out just the way it would. I was right.
“That being said, I did note your distinctive avoidance to my prior attempts to talk with you about the young lady. What did you find today during your short morning in London?”
Careful not to look the man in the eye, Ronan answered, “I may have found the woman I’m going to marry.”
“What?” Hobbes dropped his paper and pen. Harrumphing, he attempted to bend down for them. But his knee was clearly bothering him. It was a struggle to sort out, a once spry man of military experience now weathering the later years. “I say, Your Grace, if I… erm, hold on…”
Unable to watch him struggle like that another second, Ronan retrieved the fallen items. The paper was dampened by the ground. Still, his list remained legible of all the requests he started to make. The townhouse was to be cleaned up and filled with a few servants, some of his luggage brought there, and a room updated here at this estate.
“Here.”
Hobbes scowled at the help but accepted it nonetheless. He nodded his gratitude, straightening the papers and brushing off some dirt and melting snow. “Thank you, Your Grace. Might I inquire as to why you would be choosing a wife all of a sudden?”
“Why not? I am a duke. It is expected.” Ronan nodded to Anne who was glancing back at them. He gestured back toward the house and turned, pausing only for Hobbes to join him.
His servant was still pulling himself together through the shock. The older man wasn’t known for his stammering. “Yes, but… You don’t simply… Your Grace, surely a matter as serious as a marriage should be taken carefully. Seriously.”
That was an old lecture Ronan hadn’t heard in a long time. Surely the entire household could recite the lectures he once received from his father. Marriage was important, marriage was brilliant, marriage was necessary. It was mentioned once after his father passed, by a solicitor, and Ronan had promptly let him go.
I rehired him the next week, but it did a fine job in silencing the topic for good. Or at least for a few years.
“You told me last month I was the most serious man you know.”
He started walking again, picking up his feet, as the cold began to get to him. It seeped through his boots and gloves and scarf. Most of the snow was beginning to melt here. But there was a chill inside of him that he couldn’t seem to thaw. Havinguncomfortable conversations such as these did nothing to help the matter.
“Which begs the question about this impulsive choice.” Hobbes collected himself through deep breaths. “I know you like your games. Or used to. But this… marriage isn’t just about a clever match like your father always desired. It’s not about appearances amongst the ton and it’s not meant to solve problems you think you might have. Choosing a wife, that should be about heart. About trust.”
Ronan frowned. “Do you not trust me?”
“I would never say such a thing.”
“Then trust me now.”
“I do, Your Grace,” Hobbes’ terse voice came through, raising Ronan’s hackles as it was abundantly clear his servant still had something more to say. “But it’s not simply about you anymore. You are more than just Ronan now.”
He turned back with a frown to his servant, but paused. Hobbes nodded behind them as they both glanced at Anne cooing to Oliver who had agreed to be put back in his pram. He must have finally settled down. Soon, he would have his bath and be put to bed.
No, it’s not just about me any longer. It hasn’t been for years. What haven’t I done to make amends? To try to fix the past?Hobbes doesn’t understand yet but this is why I am doing it, why I must wed.
“It’s not for me,” Ronan admitted, his voice low and raw. “It’s for him.”
Hobbes inhaled deeply, his voice shaky when he managed a quiet note of understanding. “Ah. I see.”
