Chapter Twenty-Three
Mrs. Roberts, the nurse Dr. Jones recommended, turned out to be a woman of about fifty years who was one of the sweetest, kindest people Owen had ever met.
She instantly put Grace at ease, too, which is what made the decision to hire her relatively easy.
Once Mrs. Roberts made it clear to Grace that she didn’t judge her for taking care of her own son—apparently the other nurse candidates had found this choice bizarre, which had made Grace self-conscious—Grace seemed much more enthusiastic about hiring her.
Thus Grace felt all right leaving Dafydd with Mrs. Roberts while she and Owen rode out to the cottage.
Grace hadn’t been there since Dafydd’s birth, but she’d told Owen she was eager to have him see it. She wanted his opinion on the changes and improvements she’d made.
It had been an odd week. Owen felt like he and Grace were finding their way back to each other, emotionally, but they hadn’t come back together physically.
As each night passed, the ache Owen felt being unable to touch his wife became more acute.
But he was also terrified of hurting her, and she’d said she didn’t feel ready yet, so Owen kept his hands to himself.
He supposed there were other sorts of intimacy, but he was waiting for a cue from Grace.
In the carriage to the cottage, he put an arm around her and kissed the top of her head.
“Sometimes,” Grace said, “I can’t tell how well we know each other. We’ve spent all of six weeks in each other’s presence. That’s so little time.”
“Yes, but we wrote those letters.”
She sat up a little so she could look at him. “Do you suppose that means we know each other well now?”
Owen considered the question. “I imagine that, as we grow older, we will continue to discover new things about each other. I look forward to that, in fact.”
Grace nodded slowly. “Yes. I suppose that is true. And I promised to be honest with you.” She let out a breath. “I found suppliers for my pottery locally, and I’m working with a shop in Penmaenmawr that is both selling some of my vases and shipping them to London.”
Owen understood that this was Grace’s attempt to be completely honest about her work, and he appreciated it. “All right. I didn’t realize there were places locally from which you could acquire supplies.”
“There are potteries in the region. Small ones. It’s not like Staffordshire.
” At what must have been Owen’s blank expression, Grace added, “Stoke and a number of other towns in Staffordshire are where most British pottery is made. The dishes in your house? If you look at the stamp on the bottom of each plate, it says they were made in Staffordshire.”
“Oh. I suppose I never gave that much thought.”
“As I’m sure you’re aware, the Welsh like to do things their own way, so there are a few small manufacturers in the region. They have clay available for purchase as well.”
“I am glad you are able to find everything you need,” Owen said. “I love the vase you sent me. As I may have mentioned, I put it in a place of honor in the dining room. It’s beautiful and you are enormously talented.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll keep your secret, as long as you no longer keep secrets from me.”
“I won’t ever again.”
“I believe you.”
“I did spend some money on the cottage, although I buy my pottery supplies with my own money from the sales of my work.”
“That’s all right. I told you to furnish it.”
“I sometimes spend a full day at the cottage. Any food I left behind will have rotted in the many weeks I’ve been away, but I was keeping some there.
There’s a kiln in the backyard. And I furnished the bedroom.
I wanted a bed. Before I grew too large to operate the wheel, I sometimes got tired and needed to nap. Making a baby is hard work.”
“Indeed, it must be!”
“Hopefully you will not think I’ve wasted your money.”
“Impossible. I’ve seen the ledgers. You did spend money, but you were also more frugal than I expected you to be.”
“I suppose that is good news.”
They arrived at the cottage. Owen wasn’t entirely sure what to expect.
The main room was styled as a sitting room, with three large chairs and a low table.
The pottery studio was in the sunny room overlooking the sea, at the back of the house.
There were several cabinets and shelves lined with finished objects.
“I was teaching some of the locals how to make pottery, but Catrin was my only regular student. The bowls on that shelf? Those are hers. I don’t think I have much else finished here. I stopped being able to make vases some months ago and sold what I had to the store in Penmaenmawr.”
“How long does it take you to make one of those vases?”
“The whole process takes a few days. Usually I sketch it out first, then I need a couple of hours to shape a vase on the wheel, then I leave it overnight to dry. The next day, I do the detail work and fix any errors and let it dry again. The day after that, I apply glaze, which can be time consuming if I decide to paint a design instead of glazing everything white. Then I set up the kiln and bake the clay. Usually by then, the item is finished, but sometimes I do some additional painting.”
“So it’s an involved process. I had no idea.”
“I’ll show you how sometime.”
Owen shook his head. “I’ve no talent for anything artistic. But I’d love to watch you.”
Grace had to smile at that. “My favorite part is the sea. If we stepped outside, we could smell it.”
“I know. It’s why I bought the cottage.”
“I hope you do not mind that I have taken it over.”
Owen looked around. “I do not. It feels…homey. Lived in. You’ve made the space useful. That’s true of the estate, too. So many nobles feel their homes must be perfect all the time, but I think that makes the home feel like a museum and not a space where people live, with all their messiness.”
Grace smiled. “I agree. My parents’ home was always spotless. I sometimes felt as if I couldn’t touch anything.”
“You must tend to this place yourself.”
“I do try. It’s…it’s a sanctuary, for me.”
“It’s yours,” Owen said.
“Yes, I suppose it is. But it’s yours, too. I wanted to bring you here to show it to you.”
Owen understood that it was technically true that he owned the cottage, but this was clearly Grace’s space. He also understood, therefore, that it was a gift that she was showing it to him. “It’s lovely,” he told her.
“Thank you. Let me show you the other rooms.”
There weren’t many, but Owen let Grace take her on a tour of what was there.
The pottery studio. The small kitchen in which all remaining food had indeed rotted.
And finally the bedroom. The bedroom was fully furnished, with a proper bed, several chests of drawers, and a trunk. This room also felt homey.
“This is nice,” Owen said, then moved toward the door, figuring they’d leave soon.
Grace stopped him by putting a hand on his chest. “Owen. Would you lie down with me here?”
“Do you mean—?”
“Yes.” She took both of his hands in hers. “I suppose I don’t actually know where our son was conceived, but I’d like to think it was here, on that old lumpy mattress. I think this little cottage by the sea has some magic.”
Owen leaned down and kissed her. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.
“I don’t believe you will, but I will stop you if it becomes an issue.”
Owen took in her face and how earnest she looked. She was asking them to come back together as a married couple, and he wanted to. She looked wonderful today, her blond hair pinned up, her simple dress doing nothing to diminish her beauty.
He kissed her. Warmth spread through his body. He’d been waiting for weeks to do this, months really, when all those nights lying next to her had not been enough. His hunger came alive as he kissed her, and her hands on his shoulders, on his back, told him she was just as eager.
He took her face in his hands and looked into her eyes. He cherished this woman. He longed for this woman. He thought about her constantly. And she was his. “I love you,” he said. “I don’t believe I’ve ever said that to you before, but it’s true.”
She smiled. Something in her seemed to melt a little bit. “Oh. Owen. I love you, too. Please come to bed with me.”
She pulled him over, leaving no question about what she wanted.
She wasn’t wearing much under her dress—a shift, but no stays—and he’d dressed simply that day, too, in just trousers, a shirt, and a jacket, so they were able to make quick work of their clothes.
It was the first time he’d seen her body since returning home.
It had changed, undoubtedly. But he loved that, too, because she’d had his child.
“I was nervous about this,” she said, gesturing toward her belly. “I feared you’d find me ugly.”
“I could never. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on.” He splayed his hand over her belly. “Your body has changed, but that makes you more beautiful to me.”
Grace kissed him. She pulled away slightly. “You look entirely the same,” she said with a laugh.
“Yes, well, women have the harder time of it, I suppose.”
He moved his hand up to cup her breast. He loved the feel of it against his palm. Her breath hitched as he touched her, as he got his hands on her the way he’d wanted to for months. They kissed, and she moaned against his lips.
She ran her hands through his hair. Lord, he’d missed this. Just the simple act of being with someone, but with this woman specifically, the one who had his whole heart and who he would never leave behind again.
And when at last he slid inside her, it was like coming home.
They made love and he met her gaze, their eyes and hearts connecting as they moved together, and Owen knew he’d remember this moment for years to come. He treasured it and treasured her and realized he’d completely forgiven her.
They’d both made mistakes. Now they’d get it right.
He felt her quake around him, and she shook and clutched at his shoulders. He rode through it until his own climax was nearly upon him. It was a close thing, but he had enough presence of mind to pull out. No new babies, at least not yet.
But who knew what the future would bring?
As he lay down beside her and pulled her into his arm, he thought to himself that he wanted a future, and that he wanted some it to be mysterious, but he wanted to experience all of it with Grace.
“Did you coax me out here today just for this?” he asked her softly, stroking the soft skin of her back.
“No, but it was a pleasant diversion.”
He chuckled. “A pleasant diversion? Is that all?”
She slapped his shoulder playfully. “It was very good and you know it. Don’t look so smug.” She lifted her head and smiled down at him. “Do you really love me?”
“I really do. And when I get called back to London, as I inevitably will one of these days, I want you and Dafydd to come with me. We will be back, of course, as I would not want to separate you from your art. Or, hell, we can buy a potter’s wheel for my house in London.
You can spend all of my money on it if you want to.
I don’t care, as long as you are with me. ”
She leaned down and kissed him. “I agree. Let us not separate unless necessary ever again.”
“You have a deal.”
Her stomach grumbled and she groaned. “We should probably get back so that we can eat dinner. And I want to check on Dafydd. This is the longest I’ve been apart from him since he was born.”
“Of course, of course. We shall leave in a few minutes. Although I assure you he is quite safe with Mrs. Roberts.”
“I know. I do truly believe that. But it is difficult to be parted.”
“Then we shall return posthaste. But only after I hold you for a few more minutes.”
She looked like she wanted to argue with him, but then she smiled. “Well, all right. If you insist.”