Chapter 16
Owen knew that he could not keep the truth from his wife forever, but he needed to do so for a short while longer.
His memories made him miserable, and it had taken him a long time to find peace. He could not lose it for the sake of telling her what had happened all those years before.
Fortunately, Beatrice was so preoccupied with changing their home that he hardly saw her in the three days that followed. He locked himself away, thankful that no changes were to be made to his study even if part of him wished that there were.
He saw her the night before her friends were set to arrive, her hair a mess and her dress spattered with paint. She was grinning, pleased with herself, but all that Owen could think of were his plans.
“I had planned to take you to the village tonight,” he explained, her face faltering.
“Ah. I could bathe, and I would soon be ready to leave.”
“Do not worry,” he chuckled. “I can see that you are enjoying yourself. We can do it another time, when you are not otherwise occupied.”
“Would you like to help?” she suggested. “I would like for you to make your own mark, just as I am.”
“There is no need. I have an entire study to myself that is to my tastes. It is your household to run, and so it is only fair that you make the decisions about it.”
He was being distant, and he knew it, but he could not help it. Once again, he had allowed her to get close to him and been frightened off. He needed to see his friend, for though he did not want his advice, he knew that he needed it.
“You cannot avoid her forever,” Stanton said as they drank at their club. “If you are to be married for the rest of your lives, there are things that she deserves to know.”
“And she will, eventually. I certainly do not want to tell her on the eve of her friends’ arrival. It shall be an enjoyable week, and it would only be ruined if she were to become aware of my past.”
“And are you certain that is all it is?”
“I am, as a matter of fact, and I do not like what you are suggesting.”
“Settle yourself, Panther.”
Owen rolled his eyes at the nickname.
“You know as well as I do that you cannot keep secrets. She is bound to learn of the truth sooner or later, and it is better that she hears it from you, rather than a servant or a mistake that you have made.”
“Well, thus far, she does not suspect a thing, which all things considered would suggest that she will not figure it out of her own accord. She has read articles and seen a painting of her, and still, she is clueless.”
“And does that make you proud?”
“It makes me more at ease.”
Owen wanted to be honest. Beatrice did not have to tell him her conjectures about her dubious parentage, but she had because she felt it was the right thing to do. In return, he had continued to keep a monumental secret from her, and he knew it was unfair, but he did not know what else to do.
“I will tell her, but only when the time is right. Knowing that your husband has blood on his hands is not something you should hear before a celebration.”
“You do not have blood on your hands. You made an honest mistake, and there was nothing that you could have done. In any case, forgive my assumption but will you not say that indefinitely?”
“What do you mean?”
“As of right now, you do not want to spoil the event that you have planned. Next, will you say that you do not want to spoil Lady Helena’s wedding?”
Owen grimaced, knowing that it had been an idea that he had had.
“Precisely,” Stanton continued. “I do not know your plans, but I do know you, and I know that you are an honest man. From what I know of your wife, she is very understanding. If you keep all of this from her for too long, however, and she is furious, I will not have much sympathy. We all make choices.”
Owen hated that his friend was right. It was only a matter of time before he could no longer pretend that nothing had happened, and he dreaded the day that he would have to be honest.
He returned home late, wanting to enjoy his final night before he was to play host, but when he entered, he hardly recognized his household.
It was entirely different, so much so that he wondered briefly if he had gotten lost and wandered into the wrong place.
It was beautiful, but he could no longer picture a younger version of himself running through it, laughing and joking.
He had not noticed just how much it had changed before then, and it was startling.
He made his way to his study, grateful for the darkness of the room.
He was not alone for long, however, because Mrs. Forsythe knocked on his door soon after his arrival.
“Your wife will be pleased to know that you are home,” she reminded him. “I assume that you have told her?”
“Not as yet. I needed a moment.”
She closed the door behind her, taking a seat across from him.
“It is all very different, is it not?”
“Indeed. I do not know what I had expected, but it was not this, especially not this quickly. I do not know how you all did it.”
“It was all her. She was determined to finish it before tomorrow, and there was no stopping her once her mind was made. She is very driven.”
“Believe me, I can tell.”
She chuckled softly, looking around the room.
“Would you perhaps like for this to be changed eventually?” she asked. “I know that this is how your father had it, but you do not need to be the same man as him in order to be a good duke.”
“I am happy for it to remain as is. It has nothing to do with my father. It is a good way for a study to be.”
“When it is so dark that you can hardly read?”
He gave his housekeeper a stern look, and she gave him one in return.
“You need to be honest with yourself,” she said firmly.
“Then, you must be honest with your wife. I had to lie to her earlier, tell her that the missing painting had never been there to begin with, and that she must have been confused. I cannot believe that I had to do that, and I feel terrible guilt about it.”
“What else could I have done? I cannot have that portrait sitting there.”
“You could, if you were able to explain why it is so important. I am not expecting you to tell her everything about you within a month of meeting her, but I expect you not to keep such important things secret from her for no reason. She has a right to know, Your Grace.”
“Yes, and Stanton has only just said the same thing. It might be nice for someone to be understanding of my situation, rather than you both pushing me to do something that I am not ready for.”
“You took a wife,” she replied, standing to leave. “You knew what would happen, and you married her anyway. It is up to you how much you keep from her, but you will not blame me for your inability to talk to her.”
She left, and Owen wished he was able to scold her.
He would have done just that, had he not had to admit that she was right.
He only had himself to blame for his predicament, and it was not their fault that they were defending his wife.
Not wanting to leave Beatrice alone for the rest of the night, he went to search for her, finding her sitting at a new pianoforte.
She was playing it tentatively, and for the first time in years the room was filled with playing. Owen took a seat beside her, pressing a few keys alongside her.
“You have done brilliantly,” he said softly. “I cannot fathom how you did it.”
“It was what I needed, and so it hardly felt like work. Not only that, but I had the assistance of the entire staff. We enjoyed ourselves. I wish that you had been here to join us.”
“Given how my day went, I do too.”
Their fingers brushed against each other, the heat lingering.
“Did you want to talk about it?”
“I do. I suppose you know how it feels to have everyone expecting things of you that you cannot do.”
“Indeed.”
“Well, how did you manage?”
She laughed sadly, her playing slowing slightly.
“I did not, for the most part. I had my friends, but they did not help in the way that they thought they did. They simply told me that I was brilliant and capable, as though that made a difference.”
“And then they told you all of the reasons why you should do what is impossible?”
“Precisely,” she agreed, only to then look at him with a puzzled expression. “But you are capable of almost anything. What is it that people expect of you?”
“It is rather silly, in the grand scheme of things.”
“Nonsense. If it is a burden on you, then it is important.”
She stopped playing, folding her hands in her lap and looking at him innocently.
“If it is the household, I know that it is a large change, but I assumed you would be happy with it.”
“And I am. It is a lot to take in, but I will come to love it entirely. You have done very well, and Ella has done well to clean it all off you.”
She giggled; her body pressed against his in order to fit on the seat beside him.
It was the perfect time to tell her the truth, that she had not gone mad and imagined a painting, and he had kept something from her for entirely too long and she needed to know, and he hoped that she could forgive him for hiding something so important from her.
But he could not bring himself to. Once again, she looked at him and all he could think of was every bad thing that he had ever done, and the guilt consumed him.
“You have already met my friends,” she said excitedly, “but I am most excited for you to truly come to know them. I know that I said they were of little help when it came to my father’s expectations, but they meant well.
They are, in truth, excellent friends, and you will love them as much as I do, I am certain of it. ”
“And what of their husbands?”
“They are utterly undeserving of my friends,” she joked. “No, they are great in their own rights, though they tend to be rather brooding at first. You have that in common with them.”
“Do you think I am brooding?”
“No, you are more mysterious. I do not know what it is, but I always have a feeling that there is something that you are not quite telling me.”
He felt as though her eyes were burning into him, but she simply laughed and took a book, sitting unceremoniously on a settee and beginning to read.
She had no idea how right she was about him.