With his second drink poured, Ronan started to pace the drawing room. The fire in the hearth flickered red and orange, casting dark shadows across the large space. Each step fell heavy on the floorboards, echoing across the room and throughout the near-empty castle he called his home. Empty… the way he liked it. The way he wanted it to be. But that, he was starting to concede, would soon be a thing of the past.
The mistake was his, and that made the situation all the worse.
When Ronan had seen Miss Carstone… he couldn’t say exactly what he felt. Curiosity seemed too simple an explanation. He had been drawn to her, pulled as if by an unseen force, unable to look away and wanting to learn more. He had found himself following the young woman outside.
But that was where it was supposed to end! Once Ronan came to his senses, he had every intention of turning and walking back inside—leaving the ball as he was supposed to do. Yes, she was beautiful. Yes, she was different. But it mattered little to him, and as Ronan knew well, she would not thank him for taking an interest. Likely, she would thank him to learn that he exercised control and left her be.
We would both be better off. Despite the little I have heard of Miss Carstone, even she is undeserving of being saddled with someone of my ilk. And as wretched as this situation is, I can’t help but wonder if still she would be better off were I to simply walk away…
Walking away was exactly what Ronan should have done. He threw back the second glass of whiskey as he pictured the events clearly. Lord Farfield refusing to leave the young woman alone, the wretched sense of honor catching fire and burning hot inside of Ronan, the need to protect and keep safe those who could not look after themselves… and actions taken which were right to do but resulted in… in the absolute worst outcome imaginable.
Ronan stormed to the drink cabinet, pouring a third glass of whiskey.
Then, he picked up that glass and stared into its contents as he considered what he had to do next. Even as he had fled the ball, he’d heard the rumors gather steam and chase him. And hiding all the way out here would do nothing to soften their blow. Soon, the entire ton would be speaking of Ronan and Miss Carstone, caught together in most scandalous circumstances, unbefitting of their stations.
He could ignore it, if he wished. What difference did it make to Ronan? Considering what was already said of him, it’s effect would hardly be felt. To hell with the opinions of the ton!
But my reputation is not the one that matters…
It was Miss Carstone who Ronan thought about as he stared into the golden-brown liquid. She would be ruined by this. A reputation that was already questionable, once rumors spread—she would become a town pariah and her life would effectively be over.
As much as he wanted it, Ronan simply could not do that to her.
It had been an accident. A situation that was unavoidable. No one was at fault, but that mattered not. Ronan was many things, but dishonorable was not one of them, and for that reason he knew exactly what he had to do. The only thing he could do.
Like it or not, he would marry Miss. Carstone and in so doing save her from the judgmental gossiping of their peers. She might not thank him for it. She might come to despise him. But it was the only way… and that had to be enough.
With this final thought decided upon, Ronan threw back the glass of whiskey and grimaced at the taste. After tonight, his life would never be the same again.
Although considering the life that he had, perhaps that was not such a bad thing? He supposed that time would tell.
Five
Thalia wasn’t certain what she was expecting on the day following the Winthrope Ball. She knew it was a day that would come to define her, but she was still uncertain which way fate would lead.
Is the duke going to do the honorable thing and present himself with the intention of marriage? Or is he going to do what many might say is the smart thing, refuse me and denounce the entire scandal as not being his fault.
Most strangely, Thalia could not say which one she wanted.
Yes, marriage was necessary and needed and she knew deep within her conscience that this was the only outcome she could accept. But then she would remember the duke, how he had made her feel, how scary he was and intimidating and… and… and powerful, such that when she thought about him a coldness ran up her spine.
When that feeling took her, she could not help but wonder if perhaps the duke denouncing her entirely would not be the worst of outcomes.
Nonetheless, when she heard her aunt’s footsteps hurrying down the hall toward her bedroom where she sat waiting, she knew the time for curiosity had passed. Someone had arrived at her aunt’s townhouse just now, and there was no need to guess to what it pertained.
“Thalia!” her aunt stumbled into the room.
Thalia was nursing Olivia on her lap, by the window and in the warmth of the sun. The little girl was snoozing peacefully, a smile on her face that told of a life without worries or hardships.If only I could relate…
“Yes?” she asked her aunt innocently, as if she had no idea what the cause of her aunt’s delirium might be.
Her aunt’s eyes widened at her. “What are you doing—why aren’t you dressed?”
Thalia frowned and looked down at her outfit, a simple gray dress that wouldn’t look out of place on one of the maids. Thalia had never cared much for dressing up, and she wasn’t about to change that now. “Dressed how?”
“Something better than that!” Thalia swept into the room and went for the wardrobe, throwing it open as if she meant to startpulling outfits from inside. But then she froze, turned about quickly while biting into her lower lip as her eyes grew ever wider with panic.
“There isn’t time…”Or is there?She half moved to cross the room but halted. “No, we can’t make him wait. I don’t thinkhewould like that.”
