Chapter Five
Owen regarded Grace skeptically as the last of her trunks were loaded into his traveling coach. “There are just so many,” he murmured.
“I am moving houses,” she explained. “I need all my things.”
She smoothed a hand down the front of her dress.
She’d changed out of her gauzy wedding gown and into a more sturdy traveling costume, although she missed the gown.
She’d felt beautiful in it. The expression on Owen’s face when their eyes had first met from opposite ends of the church sanctuary was not one she’d forget anytime soon.
Her parents and her sister emerged from the house then.
She’d told Owen she’d miss her family, but she wasn’t entirely sure that was true.
Her sister was only ten years old; they had never been close.
Her father was kind but distant, preferring to spend his time on business matters rather than with his family.
Her mother spent most of her time on her rigorous social calendar.
The person Grace had been closest to as a child had been her nanny, an older woman named Anne, who had died four years ago.
Perhaps that was why it didn’t seem like such a hardship to travel across the country to take up residence in her new husband’s estate.
She could build her own family there. The only thing keeping her in London were these people who barely knew her.
Her father petted her head and her mother made a big show of hugging her while her sister looked on indifferently, likely anxious to get back to whatever adventure her dolls had been on when she’d been interrupted to come outside to see her off.
She looked at Owen, who smiled and rocked on his heels.
It was not the way of aristocratic parents to give their children much love and affection, not when they could hire nannies and governesses to show off their wealth and status. But if Grace ever had children, she’d make sure they knew they were loved by their parents.
And now she was anxious to be off. She walked over to the carriage.
Owen shook hands with Grace’s father before he followed her over. Then he grasped her waist and lifted her inside. She settled into her seat, and once he’d climbed in, he rapped on the roof. The carriage slowly rumbled down the street.
Owen had changed as well, into simpler clothes. Sleek brown trousers, a brown jacket, a fine lawn shirt, heavy Hessian boots.
“A little later than I wanted to leave,” Owen said, sliding his watch back into his pocket, “but we should still make it to the first posting inn by dinner time.”
“You make this journey often?” Grace asked.
“A half dozen times a year, yes. Well, perhaps less frequently since I took up my father’s seat in Parliament. My sister’s husband owns a house in London and in Surrey, so I do not have to travel far to see her and her family. But the estate in Wales does beg my attention sometimes.”
“I was asking if your drivers know the way and where to stop,” said Grace. “My mother took us to Bath last year, but the driver had no knowledge of the way, and we kept getting dreadfully lost. The inn we stopped at to rest seemed…disreputable.”
Owen chuckled. “Yes, my staff knows the way, and more importantly, I only stop at reputable inns on my journeys west.” He winked.
Grace realized that they’d be spending their wedding night in one of those inns.
“This first inn,” Grace said, “the one we’re to stay in tonight. Is it nice?”
Owen nodded. “Yes. We’re getting a late start, but I anticipated that, so we’re only going as far as Oxford tonight.
I attended school there and know the town quite well.
The inn I’ve chosen is lovely. I’ve stayed there before.
And they are expecting us, so we will have the best room they have available. ”
“Wonderful.” She was nervous about the night, though. She’d never spent time in an intimate space with a man. She supposed she was allowed now that they were married—that this was expected of her—but it was different and quite intimidating.
“You’re nervous.”
“As I said earlier, I have a sense of what is expected of me, but, yes, I am nervous.”
“No need to hide that. I want you to be honest with me. I hope not to frighten or intimidate you, but rather that we grow close.”
The streets of London were…bumpy. The carriage rumbled and shook down the street. After one especially extreme bump, Grace felt herself fly off her seat. Owen caught her and held her close to his side.
“The streets of London are a travesty,” Owen said. “Parliament should spend the money to fix them, but Prinny needs a new pavilion or something, so we must take our own lives in our hands just to leave the city limits.”
Grace smiled and smoothed down her skirts. “I do not know much about politics, I will admit. Is that the sort of thing you vote for? To pay to fix the roads?”
“Among many other things, yes. The Crown, of course, has some say, but Parliament determines where the country’s money is spent. That is, we gather money when people pay taxes and then determine how to spend it. We should spend it on the people of England, but Prince George has other ideas.”
“What does he want to spend money on?”
“Mostly himself.” Owen sounded resentful.
“Have you met him?”
“Yes, once, and my impression is that he is just as ridiculous as the cartoons in the illustrated newspapers would have you believe. He is…well, he is a very large man. He likes to parade around in what look like military uniforms, although he has never served in any military capacity that I am aware of. And he is constantly asking Parliament for money to build new houses or buy art or whatever his whims dictate, as if he does not have enough.”
“I’ve never met anyone royal. Well, I saw Princess Charlotte from a distance at my debutante ball. She was…well, lovely is the wrong word.”
Owen chuckled. “Indeed.”
“I hate to say such things. You think of princesses as they are in fairy tales. Beautiful, graceful. Charlotte is…she is short. Her nose is too big for her face. Her clothes were beautiful, and she has a lovely smile, but…”
“I know.”
“My mother gave me this book, translated from the German. Grimm’s Fairy Tales. Do you know it?”
“I know of it. I have not read it.”
“They collected these folktales and published an anthology of them, and my favorites were about the princesses. In those stories, terrible things often happen to them, but they are always the most beautiful women, and the princes in those stories fall irrevocably in love with them. Often it is up to the prince to save them, in fact.”
“I would not have taken you as being fond of a damsel in distress narrative.”
“I am not, as such. That is, women should be able to make their own way in the world, although I am not so naive as to think that is possible with our current laws and customs, which is how I came to be in a carriage with my brand-new husband. But I am fond of the love stories. That is, in a story like ‘Cinderella,’ this girl has basically been forced to act as a maid for her evil stepmother, and she toils with little complaint, and then some magic occurs and she meets a prince. He is handsome, too, that is the key to these stories. Always the most beautiful people. A number of things happen in the story, but in the end, the prince takes Cinderella away from her wicked stepmother and they live happily ever after. That is what I like about that story.” Grace sighed, thinking of the first time she’d read the tale, and how satisfying the ending was.
“However, my point was just that, in these stories, the royalty are often the kindest, most beautiful people, but our royalty is…not that.”
“It certainly is not. Then again, they aren’t all bad. I have heard that King George is even rather kind and thoughtful when he is of sound mind. But they are not royals because they possess any innate qualities. They are royals because they were born into the royal family.”
“Yes, of course.”
The carriage hit another rut in the road.
Grace did not fly as far this time. She reached out for balance, and her hand landed on Owen’s knee.
She looked up and met his gaze. He gave her a soft smile, and then put his hand over hers.
They both wore gloves, but Grace appreciated the gesture.
He was trying to make her feel comfortable.
She said, “I will say, talking with you feels easy. It is the rest of it that makes me nervous.”
Owen looked like he wanted to say something but thought better of it.
Eventually, he said, “For now, we just need to speak. It is a few hours ride to Oxford, and we are, unfortunately, still in London.”
Grace settled into her seat. “I feel so foolish.”
“Why?”
“Because married couples who know each other even less well than we do have managed to get married and…have relations…since the beginning of time. I feel like nothing anyone has told me has prepared me for this. And I like you! And yet…”
Owen nodded. “I think I understand. Well, try not to worry too much. Most of…relations, as you put it, is instinctual. You more or less do what feels right in the moment.”
“Do you have much experience with women?”
Owen hesitated. “Some, yes. I don’t know if ‘much’ is accurate.”
“I suppose all men do. I am not jealous, to be clear. I was just hoping one of us would know what to do.”
Owen barked out a surprised laugh. “Yes, I suppose that would be helpful.”
“Because if I knew nothing and you knew nothing, we’d just be two people who knew nothing, fumbling around in the dark.”
Owen started genuinely laughing then. Grace laughed with him, a bit caught up in the mental image of two naked people flailing, not knowing what to do.
“I can assure you, I know exactly what to do,” Owen said.
He surged toward Grace and claimed her lips, kissing her deeply and cupping her cheek in his hand.
Grace felt overwhelmed. Her body went hot everywhere. She imagined there was a red flush spreading across her skin.