Chapter Eighteen
Owen’s first goal was making certain that Grace was all right.
He hadn’t thought this through entirely when he’d decided to leave London, but he’d had plenty of time to think along the way.
If his fellow Lords were going to send troops to put down a rebellion rather than do anything to solve the cause of the rebellion, well, it was out of his hands.
If the members of Parliament were going to treat him as an idealistic fool, then he didn’t need to be there.
But he did need to be with his wife, because two weeks had gone by with no letters at all. In the eight months since he’d left Wales, he’d received a letter every week.
Once he saw her with his own eyes and verified that she was of sound mind and body, he would ask her about her pottery, and GM. Well, maybe not right away, but at dinner, they would discuss it. He spent most of the carriage ride concocting a polite way to bring up the questions he wanted answered.
It seemed a small problem in the scheme of things.
She didn’t owe him much, and he’d told her that before he’d returned to London.
They intended to live separate lives. If his suspicions were accurate, he was disappointed that she hadn’t told him, but he understood her reasoning.
But the truth was that he wanted her to trust him, to care about him the way he was beginning to care about her.
Or, hell, the way he’d come to care for her in the weeks after their wedding. And he didn’t think it was entirely sexual.
The thing was, the letters had changed everything.
When he’d first committed to marrying Grace, they hadn’t known each other, and it was easy to agree to live separate lives.
But now that they did know each other—body, mind, and spirit, from Owen’s perspective—he wanted to spend time with her.
So he’d made plans to spend at least a month in Wales, exploring the intellectual connection they’d developed over their letters and to verify his hunch that the two of them could easily fall in love and have a true marriage.
He made the journey in four days, hastily writing letters to his various friends and colleagues in London and posting them along the way to explain his sudden absence.
It was a lot of time in a coach, or on a horse when he got tired of just sitting, and he made his stops as short as possible.
The members of his staff who had come along on this trip kept looking at him like he was crazy, but he had this burning need to get to Wales as quickly as possible.
At long last, his carriage rumbled up the drive at Caer Newydd. They should have known to expect him today, and a few staff members were standing in front of the house to receive him.
He alighted from the carriage and was met by Driscoll, the butler. He was conspicuously not greeted by Grace.
“Is the countess home?” Owen asked.
“She is, my lord. She has been a bit unwell, so she declined to step outside today, but you can find her in the parlor.”
“Thank you.”
“I will see to your things.”
Owen didn’t much care about his luggage.
Grace was alive, at least, although he wondered what Davis meant by unwell.
He wanted to run but held himself back. Instead, he walked straight to the parlor, knowing he probably smelled like horse and was covered in dust from the road.
He just needed to set eyes on her as soon as possible.
Grace was in the process of standing when he walked into the parlor.
God, she was a sight for sore eyes. She wore a simple muslin gown and her hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders, although she some hair pinned away from her face.
It was clear she was not ready for visitors, but then, he was her husband.
And if the staff knew to expect him, she must have, too.
“Owen,” she said.
Something in him melted. He crossed the room and took her into his arms. “Grace. My goodness. I am very glad to see you.”
“And I you.” She let out a heavy sigh and put her arms around him.
They held each other like that for a long time.
Owen stroked her hair. He was relieved to find her in one piece, and gratified that she was just as beautiful as he remembered, but the fear that she was still unwell tugged at him.
He stepped back so he could look at her face more closely.
She was a little pale but did not look sick. “Are you all right?”
“I am fine, my lord.”
“Let us dispense with formalities, Grace. I have been worried for weeks. Your letters always arrive at a dependable interval and I had grown to look forward to them. But when I didn’t receive any letters for two weeks in a row, I grew concerned.
And I’ve been wanting to see you for months, if I’m to be honest, but business kept me in London.
But that is not important, because you did not write me, and then Driscoll mentioned that you are unwell. What happened?”
“Oh. Yes, I was quite unable to write to you, and I apologize for that. I really should have, but by the time I felt strong enough to write a letter, we got word that you were on your way here so it hardly seemed worth it to… Oh, Owen, I have much to tell you.”
“You were ill?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes. I had a bit of a scare. And I am still recovering. But I knew you were coming today, so I put the effort into being ready to greet you. I apologize for my appearance, but the last few weeks have been challenging.”
“Do not trouble yourself on my account. I don’t need to see you in fancy clothing to know how beautiful you are. I admit, I feared the worst, that some disease had claimed you and I would never see you again. You were ill in a manner of speaking? Were you injured?”
“Yes, you could say that. I will explain.”
“No, wait. Let me just look at you for a moment.”
She really was lovely. A flush came over her cheeks as she looked back at him with her sparkling blue eyes, and even dressed simply, she was gorgeous.
“I was so worried,” he murmured. He put his hands on her face, needing to feel that she was still warm and alive.
“I missed you,” she said.
He could wait no longer. He kissed her.
She put her hands on his shoulders and parted her lips and Owen dove in, needing not just to taste her again but to drink her up.
He’d been starving for her, and terrified for weeks, and now she was here in his arms again, and she was alive and by the look of it, mostly well.
She tasted like heaven, and she sighed into his mouth, as if she’d been waiting for this for as long as he had, like this kiss was for both of them like a cold drink on a hot day.
Owen was happy and relieved and enormously glad he’d decided to come back to Wales.
“I am very glad to see you,” she said, pulling away slightly. “But there is something I must tell you.”
“All right. Tell me.”
She opened her mouth and closed it again. “It’s probably easier if I show you.”
*
Grace was enormously happy to see Owen. And she was glad that he seemed so happy to see her, that he’d been worried about her when she hadn’t been able to write. His presence here, his eagerness to see her, that all gave her hope. But she knew she was about to destroy all of that.
She led Owen upstairs, encountering Mary on the way. “How is Dafydd?” Grace asked.
“Still sleeping, my lady,” Mary replied. “Did you need something?”
“No, Mary. I am taking the earl to our rooms now. You are dismissed unless I ring for you.”
Mary curtsied. “Yes, my lady.”
“Who is Dafydd?” Owen asked.
How could she ever explain? “Please have some patience with me,” Grace said instead of explaining.
“I should have written you sooner. I didn’t because I knew you were busy in London and I didn’t want to make you feel like you had to rush home.
When I did finally write to tell you about everything, well, something interrupted, and when I went to post the letter, I got word you were already on your way here.
Truly, I wanted to tell you about everything before you arrived home, but I ran out of time, and I do not have the words for how much I regret that.
” She didn’t know what else to say. She hoped that the sight of Dafydd would make Owen understand, although she feared he wouldn’t.
Everything had seemed so abstract and unreal until Owen was standing before her, in the flesh.
He looked confused. “What is going on?”
Grace couldn’t read Owen’s tone. He didn’t seem angry as such, but he was starting to act a little frustrated.
They arrived at the entrance of her bedchamber. “I’ve moved some furniture.”
“I told you that you could.”
“Yes, but the arrangement is…unorthodox. The staff think I’ve lost my marbles.”
“Have you?”
“I do not believe so. It’s just that this house is so big and…” She knew she could postpone the inevitable no longer. “I understand that traditionally, the nursery is on the third floor, but I could not bear to be so far from him.”
Owen’s eyes grew wide. “The nursery?”
“Owen, you have a son.”
That appeared to break something in him. He stared at her in disbelief for a long moment. “I…what?”
“It was a difficult labor and I have struggled a bit with recovery, but I am getting better by the day, and he’s so perfect. I could not bear to be apart from him much, so I turned the lady’s chamber into a nursery.”
He closed his eyes and then stared at her again. “A son?”
“I had a baby three weeks ago, Owen. I know this must come as a shock. I knew you were busy in London and was reluctant to urge you to return home, but… I was wrong, Owen. It was a mistake not to tell you as soon as I knew myself.”
“There’s a baby?”
“He’s asleep in here.” She pointed to the door.
“Can I see him?”
“Of course.” She held a finger up to her lips and opened the door.