Chapter 22
Owen was not a hateful man.
He liked to think that he was very agreeable, and difficult to anger. When he heard his wife’s story about her childhood, however, he felt for the first time in years the wave of fury that he had always sworn to suppress.
He did not care about Beatrice’s parentage. He did not care if she was the daughter of Lord Jennings or Lord Smythe or Mister Greene. All that mattered to him was that she was a good wife, and she far surpassed such an expectation.
They were eating breakfast, the ladies having been told the truth about it all, or at least what Beatrice knew, and as expected they did not care very much either.
She was the same lady they had known for years, and that was all that they cared about.
Owen was pleased beyond belief that his wife had such excellent support.
“They may come again when they like,” he told her gently as they boarded their carriages to leave. “I have enjoyed their presence.”
“As have I. I cannot believe that I assumed the worst of them.”
“How so?”
“Well, with all that has happened in the last few years, I thought we had grown apart. They had their husbands and their children, and until very recently I remained unmarried. They have all been wanting me to find a husband for a long time, but I could not do it, as you know. I thought that they would turn away from me eventually, but I was wrong. We are as close as ever.”
“That is all I wanted to hear. Now, I did not want you to be too nervous, and with all that we discussed last night I thought it best to tell you now, but there is a ball to be held tomorrow night, and I accepted the invitation on our behalf.”
She turned her head to one side, looking up at him curiously.
“Why did you not ask me?”
“I thought you might find a reason not to attend, what with the rumor. I do not want you to feel as though you cannot enjoy yourself because of some ridiculous scandal, and so I decided we would attend. Nobody will say a word to you when I am there, Beatrice.”
“You are right,” she giggled. “I would have found a reason not to attend. I do not know. It seems rather soon, do you not think?”
“We shall have to make our first public appearance together eventually, so why not now? We can tell everyone that we had a wonderful honeymoon and are now ready to reenter society as husband and wife.”
“Very well,” she agreed. “Is there a theme? Who is hosting it?”
“Lady Pembroke, and it is to be themed around Winter. I do not know why she has chosen that, but then nobody knows why she does a lot of things.”
She laughed softly again, then looked thoughtful.
“I do not believe that I have a gown that would fit such a theme. If everyone is wearing silver, I should like to choose something else. I– I am tired of trying to hide, Owen.”
It was a triumph, and he knew in an instant he would find a way to have a gown made for her overnight. He sent her to the modiste with a note requesting that anything and everything was done to assure she was dressed exactly as she wished to be.
When everyone, including Beatrice, had gone, however, the household was quiet.
“Too quiet,” he grumbled as he wandered the estate.
All their guests were on the road, and though he had been startled by the children he missed the sound of them playing together.
Once again, there was the thought that he needed an heir, which meant having yet another person to protect with everything he had.
It might not have been so daunting if he knew he could do it, but his life had proven the contrary to be true.
He entered his study, picked up the articles he had hidden in there and, for the first time, truly read them. They were written in terrible detail, so much so that it was no wonder Beatrice did not think that they could be the same person.
Each word made him more and more unwell, and by the time he reached the end he could not believe that Beatrice had remained unmoved by it all. Then again, he knew the truth, which made everything even worse.
“You have to tell her the truth eventually,” Mrs. Forsythe said gently, appearing in the doorway.
“I know that, but not yet. There has been enough sadness of late, and I do not want any more of it.”
“There would be sadness, yes, but also clarity. Right now, she hardly knows you at all, and that does not bode well. She told you something deeply personal yesterday, and you did everything right. You need to trust that she will do the same.”
He looked at her with a furrowed brow.
“How do you know what happened last night?”
“She told me this morning in the kitchens. That is why I came to see you.”
She withdrew a package, handing it to him.
Inside, there was a larger cake, iced in an off-white color and decorated with the very same style of flowers he had tried to make with her.
A note accompanied it, simply thanking him, and he put it into his pocket to keep.
Mrs. Forsythe had also brought a knife to cut it, and he made two slices.
“She is most talented,” he said as he bit into it. “In another life, she could have been a baker rather than the wife of some wretch.”
“You are not a wretch,” she chuckled. “You have a secret, and you must tell her it, but that does not make you anything less than a good man. Consider how long it would have taken her to tell you about her father, had the Duchess of Urkinshire not told you beforehand.”
“And yet here you are telling me to hasten myself.”
“Because it is about time that you did. Your Grace, you have carried this guilt with you for ten years now. Throughout all those years, even after you became the duke, those few fatal days have loomed over you. It is not fair, especially when you did nothing wrong.”
“That is where you are mistaken, Mrs. Forsythe. I am at fault for what happened. I could have done more; I could have done better. It is my fault that–”
Even after so many years, he could not bring himself to say it. It was too shameful, but it was more than that. When he tried to speak, all he could see was the girl’s face. It was the first thing he saw in the morning and the last thing he saw at night for years, and it had only recently changed.
Instead, he saw Beatrice. She was smiling at him, or laughing, or touching his arm affectionately.
Once more, there was someone that he had to protect, and he wanted so desperately to do it, but he knew he would fail eventually.
In spite of what was said of her, she was not some meek little thing.
Now that she was in a better home, where she was safe and free of ridicule, she was becoming someone willing to speak her mind, and to do as she pleased.
She was just like another girl he knew, and that had ended in tragedy.
“One day,” his housekeeper said kindly, “this will all come out, and you shall have no choice but to explain. When that happens, and your wife is accepting of it, and she does not see you any differently, you will wish that you had done it sooner. Do try not to let too much time pass before that happens.”
She left him to his thoughts, and he looked at the rest of the cake that she had made for him.
It was as excellent as the other things she had baked, but this one felt more special.
She had not made it for any reason other than to thank him, and it was precisely that sort of selfless act that drew him to her.
She truly was a most special lady, and he wanted to show her that he felt that way, but he did not know how.
He had sent her to purchase a gown, but that was not enough. Every husband was responsible for his wife’s wardrobe and ensuring that she remained in style. He wanted to do something special, something that she never would have expected.
And yet, he could not think of a single thing that was good enough for her.
When she returned later that afternoon, she could not stop smiling.
She was holding some sketches, but she would not let him see them.
It was clear to him that she wished for it to be a surprise, and that was something he was all too happy to play into.
He was most looking forward to seeing what she came up with when the choice was hers entirely.
“Did you enjoy yourself?” he asked, once the papers were hidden away.
“I had an incredible time. We have made so many designs, which is what I have brought home. The seamstress suggested that they are saved for future events, though she has asked for more time in future.”
“She will be given it,” he chuckled. “Will there be any issue with having your gown ready for tomorrow?”
“No, we are fortunate in that she is making a special allowance for us. I do hope not to do this again, however. I do not want to use our family name to be treated differently.”
“We will not,” he assured her. “I am not one to ask for favors, which is why people are usually happy to do so when I ask for one. If it makes you feel better, though, we shall not ask her of this again.”
“It is my preference. I must admit, though, that I felt most special when she agreed to do it. I have hardly ever felt as important as I did there.”
“Then I am most excited to see what gown has been made for one as important as you.”
“Owen, I am not that important.”
“You are now, my Duchess. Everyone in attendance tomorrow will be expecting my wife to be confident, and that is something that I would also very much like to see.”
She laughed, rushing off to prepare other things. Her skirts rustled as she left, and Owen looked at the doorway long after she was gone.
He had not wanted her to be as important to him as she had become, and even worse she was liked by the village.
It was supposed to be a joyous thing, proof that she had taken to her role well, but that was not how he felt.
Instead, his fears came flooding in at once.
If something were to happen to her, the village would have to grieve a second time. He could not do it, not again.
And so, he drew up plans for a fence. It would border the forest and be too tall to jump over.
He would not put a gate in, either, for it was for the best that nobody ever entered it again.
He refused to admit how afraid he was when Beatrice entered it, because it would have meant admitting other things alongside it, but he knew he had to do something about it.
She could not enter it again, because he could not let her risk her life.
He liked her far too much to allow it.