Page 1 of A Duke in Her Fate
CHAPTER 1
The truth of the matter was that Ronan did frequent London. It was against his best judgement and his preference. But as a duke of England, he had a royal obligation. He attended his duties in Parliament and then he left.
Head down, lips shut, hands tight.
Life might have been different once but this was how he lived now. Nothing would change.
“One drink. Just one in the club. You still have your membership, don’t you?” Julian Ashcombe attempted to cheerfully wheedle out of him on the way out of their offices. Duke of Westvale he was a ridiculously content gentleman with a growing family and zest for life.
Behind the two of them trailed the other two dukes that composed their friendship. Once they had jested about calling themselves the Compass Rose, as they were four dukes withcountry seats in all four corners of Great Britain. Tristan and Sebastian were the more serious pair, whereas it used to be Ronan and Julian who jested and teased and laughed.
Another life, another person.
“I’m not interested,” Ronan told them while avoiding a friendly elbow to the ribs. “Stop it, Julian. I removed my membership.”
“They will still welcome you. I’ll make sure of it.” Tristan always acted as the lead for them as though they were still lads after their years together in Oxford. “Julian, it’s been too long. We want to talk with you.”
Sebastian sounded a small grunt. “The ladies miss you.”
“The ladies have their husbands,” Ronan reminded him pointedly, glancing over his shoulder. “I’m easily forgotten and that is my aim.”
Julian put a hand over his heart. “Forgotten? You, the friendly pirate? The heir of the gold mines? Never! Besides the ladies, we miss you. Aren’t we yet your friends?”
“My friends would listen to my request.”
“They would ignore a stupid request,” Sebastian muttered just loud enough for him to hear.
Everyone was crowding him again. Feeling them breathing down his neck, Ronan was glad he had opted for a lighter suit today. Or rather, his valet had done the deed for him. The awful wig and cloak were set aside. All he had to do was break free of these side halls to escape outside.
Side hall, outside path, stables, his horse. Then he could ride home and forget all of this for three days before London needed him once more.
“I’m not going to the club. I have a long journey home.”
“You still have a townhouse,” Tristan reasoned. “And so do we all. You have four homes to choose from, Julian.”
Homes.Funny word, that. I don’t like it. Not anymore. They don’t understand. They couldn’t understand. There is no real home for me.
“I have to go,” he repeated while pushing open the large, heavy doors. It was a momentary outlet for his frustration. He pushed them hard to fling all the way open and his friends had to grapple with them after him.
“At least let us see you to your horse,” Sebastian called. It sounded like he was scowling.
Ronan only paused to let two gentlemen pass them by, clearly headed in the direction of the building. He vaguely recognizedthe two as father and son, viscounts. The son looked young enough to still be in university.
The sight made his throat constrict. His own father had passed right before he finished at Oxford. What an overwhelming experience that had been, to prepare for his future while mourning his past…
“Westvale!” The younger man, Lord Winthrop, beamed. “My congratulations for the happy affair.”
As for his father, the Viscount frowned. “Shame, that. I was betting you never would.”
Something about their words made Ronan pause instead of ignoring them. He forced himself to speak up even as his friends crowded around him. “I beg your pardon?”
“You owe me twenty pounds,” the older gentleman grumbled, patting his sweaty forehead. “It should have been a sure thing.”
“Father, don’t be rude.” Lord Winthrop rolled his eyes before grinning at Ronan, not at all phased by his annoyance. “The wedding. Of course, Father won’t officially lose until the wedding takes place. Don’t mind him; he will survive the loss. That’ll teach him, I’m sure.”
The viscount just glared at his son.
As for Ronan, his confusion was only growing. There was a restlessness in his party that began to make him itch. Something was wrong here, and he was worried to ask. But not asking would only make it worse.
