Page 26 of A Duke in Her Fate
“Your Grace,” she tried to say in a low voice.
Already Ronan was cutting her off, a habit he wasn’t making intentionally. “I’ve said enough for today. You don’t need to know anything more.”
“Shouldn’t I be making that decision for myself?”
“It’s no matter.” He checked the time and decided he had stayed long enough. “Do enjoy yourself, but I must be on my way.”
She gaped at him. “You’re leaving?”
“I… I have other matters to attend to,” he lied. And he could see she knew it as well from the look she gave him. “Two weeks, Isla. We’ll sort it out in time.”
Although Ronan attempted to walk out of the tea shop confidently, head held high and confident in his decisions, he couldn’t be certain of what people actually saw. He didn’t know what Isla was thinking.
Because he was too busy consumed with his own thoughts and the unsteady beating of his heart, wondering if he was going to ruin everyone’s lives all over again.
CHAPTER 10
Isla cringed in her half-hidden windowseat when her mother entered the small library and went to inspect the haphazard fire in the corner.
“Were you burning paper? Again?” Mrs. MacLaren asked with a frown. “That is very expensive, Isla. Surely that is not an expense we can spare. Is it?”
“No, Mum. Mother,” Isla corrected herself. She forced a smile. “It was only a small scrap.”
The woman put her hands on her hips. “’Twas more than a few scraps. I’m not blind yet, dear. What is the matter?”
She gave a quick shake of her head before finding an immediate change of subject. “I’m only trying to work on my stitches again. It’s a handkerchief for my intended.”
“Oh!” Mrs. MacLaren hurried over with delight as thought Isla might actually be able to stitch something beautiful for once. “Oh dear. Hm.”
As her mother frowned deeper and tugged at the spare threads and knots that Isla was utterly helpless in fixing, Isla glanced toward the fire herself. It was true that burning paper was an expense they couldn’t toy with right now, and it wasn’t as though she should have been using paper for what she was writing…
Penning notes about my intended isn’t going to bring me any peace, that is for certain. It didn’t exactly bring me any peace. What else am I to do? The duke hardly tells me anything. I understand the man is private but I know so little of him. Any question I ask him is hardly well received… who else am I to ask? Everything I know of him only fills a scrap. As for the questions I have for him, they fill pages.
“Have you considered starting over?” Her mother asked with wide eyes.
Sighing, Isla reached back out for her items. “I suppose I should. Can you at least tell what it is supposed to be, Mother?”
“Oh, yes. It is… A crown and the letter W. Very nice dear, but if you want him to use it, it must be perfect. Should I call in Margaret to advise you?”
It was neither a crown nor a letter. Isla inspected her attempted horse for a moment before offering a sigh and an answer.
“I don’t think so. She is having a tea party outdoors with Lacey and I should hate to disturb them. I have some more time before the wedding, of course, so I suppose I must start over.” She looked around for the scissors before her mother handed them to her. “Thank you. What if we––”
There came a knock at a distant door that stalled her.
“Oh, let me see to that,” her mother announced. “I’ll come see you after and perhaps I can help, eh? Just a moment, Isla.”
Except the moment the woman had taken her leave, Isla dumped her embroidery supplies on the bench before rising to her feet. Already she had taken a lengthy stroll this morning to the market with their cook for weekly shopping, and chased Lacey about the house. But there was still a bundle of nerves dancing through her body. She had hoped to ignore it by writing about the duke and then embroidering a small gift for him when the lists and questions didn’t help.
Nothing seemed to help. Isla felt the tightness in her chest grow a little more every day with the upcoming wedding. None of this made any sense and yet it didn’t feel as though she had any options. There was no freedom in anything she did. Trapped under her own roof, she hardly knew what to do.
“Isla? Isla. Isla!” Her mother was quietly calling for her, the hiss growing frantic as they ran into each other at the hall. “You have a guest!”
“What? Who? The duke?” Isla hastily fiddled with her hair and dress, uncertain if she was presentable.
The look her mother gave her said otherwise. “Whatever is the matter with you? You’re about to be a duchess and cannot keep… oh, put your hands down. It’s helpless. No, it’s not the duke. Go on. Go! You cannot keep him waiting!”
“But…” Isla was already being pushed down the hall. She had little time to think as she found herself in the drawing room. Her mouth dropped open at the sight of Lord Percival Dunn, the Earl of Quinceton, watching her. She snapped it shut. “My lord. Hello.”
