Chapter Eight #2
Owen slipped her gown off. She had yet to hire a lady’s maid and Owen had urged her not to dress to the nines, so she hadn’t bothered with stays today, not thinking they were needed under her loose muslin dress. Owen groaned as his fingers clutched the fabric of her shift.
“I don’t want to leave you here,” Owen said.
“It’s truly all right.”
He nuzzled the space where her neck met her shoulder. “I could bring you back with me.”
“I want to stay here. I already told you it’s what I want.”
“I feel guilty leaving you alone.”
“Owen.”
He lifted his head and looked at her.
“I am allowed to have visitors, no?”
He nodded. “Of course. So long as they are not bachelors.” He looked at her sternly.
She laughed. “Never. I thought to invite my friend Penelope.”
“Penelope… Thistledown?”
“Yes. She is my dearest friend. I mean to write to her the next time I am near paper and a pen and invite her to stay at her convenience. She and Morfudd and your various employees can keep me company in your absence.”
“So practical.” Owen held Grace close to his chest. “I admit, I did not expect to like you as much as I do. I feel drunk whenever I am around you. You are so beautiful and clever and I cannot believe you are my wife.”
“It’s true.”
He smiled and kissed her. “Perhaps you have bewitched me.”
“I know of no witchcraft.”
“I suppose not.”
“Owen?”
“Mmm.”
“The time for speaking is over. Let us…how did you say it? Let us christen this house.”
“Indeed.”
*
In bed that night, Owen held Grace as she slept against his chest and wondered again if all of this was a terrible mistake.
He did like Grace. He’d never been with a woman like her, always curious and excited in bed.
His past lovers had always seemed to have ulterior motives or made him feel like he was one in a long line, but Grace always put her entire focus on him.
She was inexperienced but had good instincts, and Owen thought that if he could spend the rest of his life in her arms, inside her, he’d die happy.
But he had to leave soon. He’d gotten a letter that morning that Parliament was being called back into session in ten days.
He wanted to bring her back to London with him, but every time he brought it up, she insisted she wanted to stay back. That had always been the arrangement, after all.
She stirred now. Owen stroked her back, marveling in how soft and smooth her skin felt under his fingers. She propped herself up on his chest and looked down at him. “You are stubbornly awake.”
“Apologies.”
“What keeps you awake?”
Owen sighed. “Swirling thoughts, I suppose. I am trying to invent a faster conveyance than a carriage so that I might make the journey between here and London in a matter of hours instead of days.”
“Not looking forward to the long trip?”
“Wishing I could pass between here and my home in London faster or at a whim.”
“The trip is arduous.”
That wasn’t what he meant. What he wished was that he could go to London, take care of his business in town, and be back in Grace’s arms that same night. But perhaps that was just his lust talking.
“I know we’ve discussed this at length,” he said, “but I’ll take you back to London if you wish. Unfortunately, I must go because I have business in town.”
“I am certain.” She paused and looked to the side.
Her long hair cascaded around her shoulders, and Owen’s fingers itched to comb through it.
Then she said, “Imagine spending your whole life confined to one house, only leaving under intense supervision, having your every move watched like a hawk. Did you know, I always behaved myself? Kissing you at the Rutherford ball was the most scandalous thing I have ever done. One reason I wanted to marry you was freedom. And I recognize that I am tethered to you, and that I am now in Wales instead of closer to my home in London. But I am no longer under my father’s thumb.
I am no longer subject to my mother’s scrutinizing gaze.
And that is liberating. I do not relish the two of us being separated, but I—”
Her answer surprised Owen. “When we first agreed to this, that was essentially what you said. You wanted to live in the country.”
“I dislike London, to be honest. I dislike how loud it is, how smoky, how crowded. And spending time at your cottage on the sea today—it’s so beautiful, Owen. The sea air is lovely. I want to stay here. It’s better even than what I pictured.”
“And you want freedom.”
“Yes.”
“And to make sculptures.”
“Yes. I intend to convert part of the cottage into my studio. Just so you’re aware.”
“Of course.”
“And I feel like I made the right choice in husbands because you are allowing me to do that.” She smiled.
“Owen, hear me when I say that our arrangement is what I wanted and that you need not feel guilty for bringing me here and giving me a lovely home. Our arrangement… It has far surpassed my dreams. I will miss you, of course, and I hope you do not stay away too long, but this is what I want. I promise.”
Owen nodded and tried to internalize that.
Perhaps he was imposing his own sadness about their parting on her, something she did not seem to feel.
She wanted to be here. She was satisfied with their arrangement.
Why was he fighting this? He’d wanted a marriage with minimal interruption to his life, and that was exactly what he was getting.
“Just promise me,” Owen said, “that no other man but me will warm your bed.”
“I promise,” she said, not even pausing to think. “You are my husband.”
“All right.” He leaned up and kissed her forehead. “I did not anticipate us being together in bed like this, though, even when I agreed to this marriage. It is a happy bonus. You are so beautiful.” Owen cupped her cheek. She leaned into his touch. “Perhaps I am a little sad to leave.”
She laughed softly. “You want me to go back with you to London so that we can keep doing this. You want to use my body.”
“Well…yes.”
She lay down beside him. “Perhaps this will serve as an incentive for you not to leave me alone too long. I do enjoy your company. I shall not be sad if you choose to visit more frequently than you originally proposed.”
“Good to know.”
“And we can write letters when we are apart. My friends have said I am a good writer. I had the best governess money could buy.”
“Oh.” He supposed he should not have been surprised by that, given how much she read.
She spoke and had the quick-thinking skills of someone who had gone to school, even though she hadn’t.
“I am not the strongest writer, but I will happily respond to letters from you, especially if you wish to keep me up to date on your plans for my estate.”
“I promise not to change too much.”
Owen found he was astonished by the talents of his new bride, not just in bed, but the fact that she wrote letters—there were some aristocratic women who were barely educated because of old-fashioned notions of women being docile servants to their husbands—and she made art. What couldn’t she do?
“Change whatever you like,” Owen said, “except my study. I decorated that myself and would like for it to stay as-is.”
“I don’t see much in this house that needs changing, but the cottage is like a blank canvas.”
“Then paint away on that canvas, my dear.”
She smiled again and snuggled up to his side. “Thank you, Owen.”
“For what?”
“For giving me exactly what I wanted. I am grateful. You will never know how much.”
“Well. This has all been unexpected. But you’re welcome.”
*
Toward the end of Owen’s time in Wales, he took Grace on an extended tour of the grounds around Caer Newydd.
“One thing you’ll note about Wales,” Owen said as they walked arm-in-arm, “is that the Welsh have a tendence to cover any open bit of land with sheep.”
“I had spotted quite a lot of sheep.” There were indeed several milling about on the grounds around them as they walked.
“My family has been selling wool to textile mills for generations. The work is handled these days mostly by Arthur Williams and his family.”
“Your employees?”
“Yes. Although I believe Arthur and I are distantly related as well. His house is just over the way here.”
Grace hadn’t known what to expect. Whenever she’d read about tenant farms on these large estates, mostly in novels, there were always tales of rotting roofs on crumbling cottages, a sure sign that the landlord was neglecting his tenants.
However, Arthur Williams lived in a sturdy-looking cottage on the estate with a thriving garden beside it.
“I sent a note yesterday that we were coming so Arthur would know to expect us.” Owen knocked on the door.
A man with graying hair answered the door. His face lit up when he saw Owen.
“Ah, Owen, my boy. I am glad you are home.” He pulled Owen into a bear hug.
“Just for a few more days, but I wanted to introduce you to my wife. Grace, this is Arthur Williams. Arthur, this is the new Countess of Caernarfon.”
“How do you do?” she asked.
“Well, you’re a pretty one!” said Arthur. “Please come in. The whole clan is here.”
Grace quickly found herself overwhelmed with the sights and sounds of Arthur’s large family.
“Arthur’s sons and nephews do most of the labor on the sheep farm these days.
They’re responsible both for the maintenance of the farm in terms of things like the shelters we use in bad weather and the fences and those sorts of things, and they tend to the sheep and shear them on regular schedules.
Then the wool is bundled up and shipped off, thanks to Arthur. ”
Grace nodded, eyeing the people filling the room.
In quick succession, she was introduced to two of Arthur’s sons, their wives, and several of Arthur’s nephews.
Arthur’s wife, Bryn, offered Grace refreshments, and although Grace and Owen had eaten lunch before walking here, she did help herself to a biscuit.