Chapter 14 #2
It took Owen a moment to recall the giggly blonde. “I’ve hardly spoken two words to her. As I’ve said, I am not looking for a wife.”
“Perhaps you should be.” Ethan took a swig from his tankard. “Setting down roots might be good for you. The past is over and done with, and it is time to look toward the future.”
Owen’s gut clenched the way it always did when his brother referenced letting go of the past. Ethan’s forgiveness felt nearly as hard to bear as his anger had been.
Owen glanced at Ethan’s right hand; clad in its usual black glove, it rested lightly on the table, looking almost normal until one noticed its stiff, contorted shape.
I did that. Ethan was a celebrated piano maestro at the height of his powers—and I took that away from him. How can absolution be possible?
When he met Ethan’s indigo gaze, the compassion there tore at him.
He forced himself to say lightly, “Not everyone’s future includes marriage.”
“That is true. But I will say that my marriage showed me the true meaning of happiness.” Ethan paused.
“Because of Xenia, I believe that everything happens for a reason. She’s made my manor a home, inspired me to compose music again, and soon will make me a papa.
I would not change anything about my past—not a single thing—since it brought me to where I am today. ”
Owen did not trust himself to speak. He was thankful his brother had found contentment. Even so, Ethan had been a genius at performing, winning over crowds and critics. While his compositions were earning praise, it wasn’t the same, and his magnanimity didn’t change the fact that Owen was to blame.
Owen’s brooding was interrupted by Molly.
She plunked a large golden-brown pie upon the table, along with bowls of potato mash and braised red cabbage.
The heavenly aromas mingled as the fellows helped themselves to hearty wedges of pie and heaping spoonfuls of vegetables, topping it all with ladles of rich gravy.
“You won’t get food like this in London.” Ethan mopped up gravy with his bread. “Best enjoy it before your trip.”
“I won’t be gone long,” Owen replied. “Sir Joseph and I are presenting my designs to the patron. If all goes well, the work will begin straightaway.”
“You are making quite a name for yourself, lad,” James said.
It was stupid how good his brother’s approval felt.
“Before you get too famous.” Grantley waved a fork at him. “I want to hire you to renovate the grounds of the old Pearce manor, and I don’t want to pay exorbitant fees.”
Through his financial prowess, Grantley had become the largest landowner in Chuddums. Most of the property had belonged to Abel Pearce, a once preeminent citizen who’d been unveiled as a bounder and criminal.
Pearce also happened to be a distant relation of Grantley’s, though there was no love lost between them.
In fact, Grantley’s maneuvering had been an act of revenge, and he now owned most of Pearce’s property, including the manor.
Owen cocked his head. “I thought you wanted nothing to do with the place.”
At least, that was what Gigi had told him. It represented too much bad blood, she’d said. While Owen understood the reason, he’d thought it was a pity because the estate had potential. It was set on a secluded lot not far from the village, where the land was fertile and ideal for growing.
“That’s right,” Grantley said flatly. “I’m only fixing it up so I can sell it at a premium.”
“I would be glad to sketch some designs,” Owen said. “Gratis, of course.”
“That’s no way to do business,” Ethan argued. “He’s a duke, for God’s sake, and rich as Croesus. Charge him double.”
Owen laughed with the others. Inside, he nursed a secret ember of hope. He finally had something to give back to his family; maybe one day, he might begin to balance the scales. He felt a strange yearning to discuss the possibility…with Finn. His instincts told him she would understand.
Molly returned with dessert.
“Mrs. Thornton sends her special custard tarts,” she said.
Despite the hearty meal, Owen’s mouth watered at the sight of the glorious pastries.
There were half a dozen of the beauties; the pale yellow centers were dusted with nutmeg and gave a slight wobble that confirmed their silky perfection.
A memory flashed in his head—of burying his mouth in Finn’s pussy, licking up her cream while her smooth thighs trembled beneath his hands…
Christ. Get a hold of yourself, man.
“I didn’t know custard tart was on the menu,” Ethan spoke in tones of reverence.
“As you are friends of Madame Seraphina, Mrs. Thornton made it specially,” Molly said.
After she crossed through the curtain, the men wasted no time grabbing their share.
“Bloody hell.” Ethan closed his eyes. “This tart is almost as good as you-know-what.”
“You are not doing you-know-what properly if you believe that to be true.” James took his first bite, and his jaw dropped. “By Jove. What magical ingredient did Mrs. Thornton put in this?”
“The nectar of the gods, perhaps?” Grantley had nearly licked his plate clean. “While it still does not compare to certain marital activities—”
“Grantley,” Ethan warned.
“—I take back everything I said about your medium, Owen.” Grantley winked. “She is worth the trouble.”
She is worth far more than that.
Smiling, Owen snatched the last tart.