Chapter Three
“Caernarfon is Welsh, isn’t he?” asked Penny.
“Yes,” said Grace. “And it’s Ca-nar-von. That’s how he says it.”
“Do you think he will offer for you?”
Grace flopped down on the settee. They were in the Midwood family sitting room, awaiting what promised to be a parade of female callers wanting the gossip on what had happened between Grace and the earl.
Penny had come over early to confer with Grace before the horde descended.
Grace stared at the ceiling now. “I do not know if he will offer.”
“I guess the more important question is, do you want him to?”
Grace had been thinking about this nearly nonstop for the three days since she’d been caught with Owen.
He was a handsome man, there was no doubt of it.
His dark hair was trimmed into the latest fashion, brushed forward toward his face, and he had unusual eyes.
She hadn’t been able to tell their color from the lighting in the Rutherford ballroom, but she supposed they were hazel or green.
He was quite tall, with broad shoulders and an athletic body.
He didn’t seem to care much about the latest fashion, and his dress, whenever she’d seen him, had been appropriate but simple. Only white cravats, no garish colors.
How would he be as a husband? What she knew of him indicated he’d be courteous and kind. But was that enough to build a marriage on?
“We hardly know each other,” said Grace.
“Do you think him handsome?”
Grace sighed and sat up. “Yes. Incredibly.”
“A fine start. Do you think he is a good man?”
“I do, but I only know that from his reputation.” And she only knew that much because she’d asked every person she came into contact with in the last three days what they thought of him.
Penny nodded. “Perhaps that is all you need.”
Grace disagreed. Marriage seemed like an altogether unwieldy institution.
Her own parents barely tolerated each other; they rarely spoke and were never affectionate.
It seemed to Grace that marrying a man who was practically a stranger to her would yield something similarly cold, which Grace had no interest in.
On the other hand, the kiss she’d shared with Owen had been anything but cold.
It had made her feel hot all over, in fact.
But how could she reconcile those two things?
Saunders, the Midwood butler, knocked on the doorframe. “Misses Elizabeth and Helena Hastings would like to know if you are in to callers.”
Grace stood. She glanced in the mirror above the fireplace to make sure her hair didn’t look too wild. “Yes, Saunders. Please show them in.”
The two sisters arrived in a cacophony of female giggles and tittering. Grace was already exhausted.
“We’ve heard the news.”
“Has he offered?”
“Is he handsome?”
“When is the wedding?”
“Ladies!” said Penny. “Calm yourselves. The earl has not offered yet.”
Elizabeth cleared her throat. “Apologies, but goodness! You must tell us what happened.”
“Nothing.”
“Come, Grace, that is nonsense,” said Helena. “Something happened.”
“I was chatting with the Marquess of Beresford, and then the earl walked over. He asked me to dance, and we waltzed, which was lovely. He is a sprightly dancer. Then he got me a lemonade and we continued to talk. We were looking for the terrace for some fresh air, but walked into the empty sitting room accidentally. Then he kissed me…and my mother walked in.”
“No,” said Elizabeth. “You have to tell us more than that. What was the kiss like?”
Grace sat back down on the settee. “It was a dream,” she said with a sigh.
Grace didn’t have a wealth of experience with kisses.
She’d only kissed one other man, in fact; he’d been a baron who had courted her the previous Season.
But that kiss had been naught but a peck on the lips.
But Owen’s kiss had made the Earth move.
Owen had kissed Grace like he was a starving man and she was a roast beef.
But in the best way. Owen had passion and strength and he’d made Grace feel things—tingles, warmth, desire—she’d never felt before.
Which made Grace circle back around to her current internal debate: she didn’t want her parents’ dead marriage, but she was curious.
All the ladies in the room said, “Aw” simultaneously.
Would he offer? That was the question. Grace hadn’t had the opportunity to speak to Owen since the ball, nor had he called on her. She’d written a short note the previous day just to say she’d enjoyed her evening with him, and he’d sent back a brief response:
The pleasure was all mine. I would like to call on you soon. –O
It was all so frustratingly vague.
“Are dreamy kisses enough to base a marriage on?” she asked her friends.
“I thought you didn’t want to marry,” said Penny.
“I don’t, but… Maybe it won’t be all bad.”
“Caernarfon has several properties in Wales, I heard,” said Elizabeth. “And his family owns a castle. A castle, Grace.”
Grace sighed. She hoped one of those homes had space for a pottery studio. A castle might serve as inspiration for some of her sculpture; likely the castle itself had some old gargoyles or statues of dead kings or something along those lines. On the other hand…
“Wales is so far from London.” And Grace had never been to Wales before.
“I’m sure it’s less than a week’s travel,” said Helena. “What do you say, ladies? If Grace marries the Earl of Caernarfon and moves to Wales, we could make a bit of a holiday of it and go visit her.”
“Yes, of course we will visit,” said Penny.
“I am grateful,” said Grace. “But do you really think marrying Caernarfon is the right thing to do?”
“You may not have much choice,” said Elizabeth. “But I think this is an opportunity for you. Caernarfon is a handsome, wealthy man. He’s not that old, less than five and thirty. You wanted to live at a house in the country, and he has more than one. This may be your best option.”
Grace remained unconvinced.
“What happened to the Marquess of Beresford?” asked Helena. “I thought you were betrothed.”
“He’s in love with someone else,” said Grace. “I saw them kissing at the Rutherford ball. That was actually what started this whole thing. I could never be his wife. I would hate to compete with that.”
“Will he marry her?” asked Elizabeth.
Unwilling to explain the truth about Beresford, Grace just said, “There are circumstances that make me doubt it, but I do not know.”
“Who is this lady?” asked Helena.
“I do not know and did not ask,” said Grace. “But I spotted them in a coat closet.”
Helena laughed as if this were the most delightful thing she’d ever heard. “Beresford has a secret lover! What a delight! I shall ask Patricia. She knows everything.” Patricia was the Hastings girls’ older, married sister.
“We should let it lie. Beresford is no longer my concern.” Grace hadn’t intended to set the gossip brigade on Beresford. She doubted even Patricia would know about Beresford and Lord Waring, but she didn’t want anyone digging too hard.
“So let us review,” said Penny. “Your engagement to Beresford is off.”
“Apparently he told Father that he and I do not suit shortly before Mother discovered me with Caernarfon.”
“And you kissed Caernarfon and it was dreamy. And it could be the solution to your problems. Your parents would leave you alone if you married him. You could make all the pottery your heart desires.” Penny looked off into the distance.
“Surely a castle is big enough to have a room you could use for that.”
“I suppose.”
“I think you should marry him,” said Penny.
“Caernarfon is also a politician and is often in town to attend to…whatever Members of Parliament attend to. So you’d have your privacy, at least most of the time.
And if your family is going to force you into a marriage anyway, I daresay Caernarfon is a far better option than many alternatives. ”
“He is quite handsome,” said Grace. “I just worry we won’t have anything to talk about.”
“But will that matter if he’s in London and you’re in Wales?”
A good point. “I suppose not.” Grace shook her head. “I hear what you ladies are telling me, I just… Well, I can’t think of any reason to say no to him if he asks.”
“So is that your answer decided?” asked Elizabeth. “If Caernarfon offers, will you say yes?”
“I…yes. Yes, I will agree to be his countess.”
*
Owen approached the Midwood residence with trepidation.
He’d never done anything like this before. He knew the Midwoods because his parents traveled in their social circle, but he did not know the marquess well and was worried how he would react to Owen’s presence.
It wasn’t that Owen never wanted to marry, it was just that he’d wanted it to happen at a time in his life when he felt more sure of himself.
In the three years since his father’s death, Owen had been struggling to adjust to simultaneously managing his family’s holdings and keeping his work in Parliament.
He’d thought about marriage, but had saved it for a perhaps mythical time when he’d feel less overwhelmed, at which time he’d feel prepared to settle down.
Instead, he found himself in front of the Midwood house.
He steeled himself and climbed the stoop.
The butler immediately showed Owen to the Marquess of Midwood’s study on the house’s second floor.
The marquess was a thin, delicate man with graying hair and a kind face. He had a reputation for getting on well with everyone.
“Ah, Caernarfon,” he said, standing and butchering the pronunciation of Owen’s title.
“Hello, my lord.” Owen doffed his hat. “I suppose you know why I am here.”
“Come in, come in. Please, have a seat.” Midwood smiled.
Perhaps this would be all right. Owen swallowed. “I admit to being a bit nervous.”
“Ask me the question.”
Might as well just get this over with. “I’ve come to ask for your daughter’s hand.”
Midwood nodded. “Yes, I expected you would. She’s a beautiful girl, Grace is. I’m enormously proud of her, and I want her to have a good husband. I want her to be provided for. Tell me, my lord, can you do that?”
“Yes, sir.” Owen paused to formulate a way to express his wealth without bragging.
“I own an estate in northwest Wales that is quite profitable. Sheep farming is our main industry, and we’ve been selling wool to textile factories and the like.
I also own a house here in town and recently purchased a cottage on the north coast of Wales.
Oh, and there’s drafty old Caernarfon Castle.
Technically I own that, too, although my aunt is currently overseeing its upkeep.
But my point is, yes, I can provide Grace with a comfortable home and whatever she needs. She will never want for anything.”
“What of your obligations to Parliament?”
“I come to town when Parliament is in session. I often stay in London, in fact. But I do travel out to my estate to handle the business there with some regularity.”
Midwood nodded. “Would Grace travel with you?”
“If she desires. I intend to let her choose where she feels most comfortable living.” Owen decided to omit that her predilection for the country and his for the city meant they’d likely be spending time in separate residences.
Before he made any vows, he intended to discuss that with Grace, to find out if she meant what she’d said when she expressed a desire to live in the country, apart from any hypothetical husband.
Since his stomach was still in knots over the prospect of going through with a marriage, that arrangement suited his purposes.
Midwood gave Owen a long look, and then said, “I have been asking around about you, and everyone has only the best words. I feel satisfied that you will make a good husband for my daughter. I can offer a modest dowry.”
Midwood stated the figure, which was more than Owen expected. He didn’t much care about the dowry; he had no need of Midwood’s money. Perhaps he would set the money aside for Grace’s use, however she decided to use it.
They shook on the deal, which bothered Owen a bit. It was like a financial transaction, not like a major, life-changing event.
Midwood stood and said, “I have a connection to St. Paul’s. I believe I could reserve the church for the wedding in a month’s time, unless there’s a reason the ceremony needs to happen sooner.” He shot Owen a pointed look. “Is there?”
“No, sir. A month will be fine. Or however long you need to arrange it.”
Owen stood. Midwood grasped his hand and shook it again. “Welcome to the family, son.”
Thus emboldened, Owen asked about Grace’s whereabouts, feeling like she should be a part of this decision. Midwood escorted Owen to a sitting room down the hall from his study. Lady Midwood appeared as if from nowhere as well.
Owen’s heart pounded. Everyone’s eyes were upon him. He’d hoped to have a conversation with Grace without everyone watching.
“Do you think I might have the opportunity to have a word with Grace?” Owen asked. The “without her family staring at us” was left implied.
“No need,” said Midwood.
Perhaps they could speak once the betrothal was official. “All right.”
Grace stood, looking at him expectantly.
He stepped forward. “Lady Grace, I…” Well, here went nothing. “I’ve come to ask for your hand in marriage.”
She hesitated. Owen imagined he could see the same conflict in her eyes that he felt in his own heart. But she took a deep breath, smiled, and said, “Yes. I will marry you.”