Page 60 of Only By Grace
Westwood leaned back in his chair, his expression inscrutable. “You have come to confess your feelings, then?”
Ronan’s jaw tightened. “Yes,” he admitted, the words spilling out like a dam breaking. “I thought I was protecting her, sparing her from the life I might offer, but I was a fool. She is everything I’ve ever wanted, and I drove her away.”
Westwood’s lips twitched in what might have been a smile. “Well, that’s a place to start. Recognizing one’s mistakes is the first step to rectifying them. The second, of course, is action. Sitting here wallowing in self-pity will not win her.”
Before Ronan could respond, the door opened again, and Cunningham entered, his easy grin and impeccable attire a stark contrast to Carew’s dishevelled state. He paused, his sharp gaze taking in the scene, and then smirked. “Good heavens, Carew. You look as though you have just escaped from the gaol. Should I be alarmed?”
Ronan shot him a withering look. “I’ve no patience for your humour, Cunningham.”
“Humour?” Cunningham said innocently, helping himself to a glass of brandy. “I am entirely sincere. You could frighten small children in your current state.”
Westwood coughed, hiding a chuckle behind his hand. “Cunningham, perhaps now is not the time.”
“Yes, do have some consideration. I am being lectured by my oldest friend.”
“Why?” Cunningham waved a hand dismissively and took a seat. “What has happened? Lost your favourite horse? Or is this about Miss Whitford?”
Ronan considered his silence should be answer enough.
Cunningham’s grin widened. “Ah, I see. The great Carew, undone by a lady.How the mighty have fallen.”
The door swung open yet again, and this time Rotham entered, his formidable presence filling the room. He took one look at Ronan and scowled. “For God’s sake, Carew, what’s this nonsense? Sitting here like a whipped dog, pining over a woman?”
“Rotham—” Ronan began, but the older man cut him off with a sharp gesture.
“Spare me your excuses,” Rotham snapped. “You have no one to blame but yourself. If you want her, then act like it. Fight for her. Or are you content to let her slip through your fingers while you sit here brooding?”
Ronan glared at Rotham’s brusqueness, but his words struck a nerve. “It’s not so simple,” he muttered.
“Not so simple?” Rotham echoed, his voice rising. “Nothing about women is simple. Of course not. But they are worth every bloody ounce of effort. If you care for her as much as I hear, then stop feeling sorry for yourself and do something about it.”
Cunningham leaned back in his chair, swirling his brandy. “He has a point, you know. Women do like a man of action. Grand gestures, heartfelt confessions—all that romantic nonsense.”
“I confessed my love for her in the middle of the ballroom last night. Does that count for nothing?” Ronan protested.
Westwood, who had been watching the exchange with open amusement, finally spoke. “The question, Carew, is whether you’re willing to risk everything to try.”
Ronan looked around the room, his gaze moving from Westwood to Cunningham to Rotham. Their words, though delivered in vastly different styles, carried the same message. He had made a hash of things, but maybe the path to redemption was still open.
He stood abruptly, setting his glass down with a decisive clink. “You are right,” he said in a firm voice. “I have wallowed long enough. It’s time to act. Have you any suggestions?”
Westwood leaned back in his chair and fixed him with a pointed look. “Winning a woman’s heart requires more finesse than breaking a horse.”
Ronan hesitated, his hand on the door-case. “I hardly think Grace would respond to…tactics.”
“On the contrary,” Westwood said smoothly, “Grace is a thoughtful young woman. A simple declaration, no matter how heartfelt, may not suffice. You have hurt her, Carew, and she’ll need to see more than pretty words to believe you are sincere.”
“I concur,” Cunningham interjected, swirling his brandy with a casual air. “Something unexpected. Show her you’re willing to go to any lengths for her.”
“And do it quickly,” Rotham growled, his arms crossed. “The longer you wait, the more time you give her to decide she will be the better without you. And that my wife has to dote on her, not me.”
Ignoring Rotham’s jest, Ronan pinched the bridge of his nose. “A grand gesture? Unexpected? What exactly do you have in mind?”
Cunningham’s eyes lit up. “A serenade, perhaps? No woman can resist a heartfelt ballad sung beneath her window at midnight.”
Rotham scoffed. “You’ll have him arrested for a public nuisance. No, Carew needs to show her he understands her—truly understands her. Find out what she values most and prove you can give it to her.”
“And what does Grace value most?” Ronan asked, exasperated.
