Chapter 8 #2
Stephen raised his eyebrow again, waiting for Owen to explain further. It seemed that the truth was about to be revealed.
“I have heard that you call you a rake,” Owen’s tone was cautious now, as though he was careful not to offend. “But I know that rakes come in different breeds.”
“And you would know that because?” Stephen raised his eyebrow. “Surely, not by experience?”
“What else, if not experience?” Owen was grinning now. It was a sly grin that was unsettling, and Stephen would have ordinarily ended this conversation here if it were not for Maria.
For her sake, he had to find out a bit more. So, he let him speak.
“And you’re saying that you have experience in being one?” Stephen said. “Nothing of your reputation seems to suggest so.”
“Oh, I am rather adept at cleaning my reputation. It is quite spotless, if you must,” he said, unabashedly. “And frankly, I do not like to title myself as a rake. I would much rather prefer the term practical.”
Stephen did not turn his head, but his words had caught his attention.
“Do enlighten me.”
“Marriage is tedious,” Owen said cheerfully.
“I beg your pardon?” Alarm bells began to ring inside Stephen’s mind immediately. That was the last thing that he wished to hear from someone who was in the midst of pursuing Maria for marriage. Stephen would be careful not to show a reaction, though. There was still much left to be revealed.
You only get an honest answer out of a man if you pretend to agree with them at first.
“I admire it from a distance. I admire wives without wishing to endure them. So, I concluded early that I would not marry. Dull creatures do or men with titles to take care of. You have my sympathy.”
“How generous,” Stephen said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.
“I found a method that allows me all of the education without the tedium,” Owen continued, proud.
“A method?” Stephen was getting angrier by the minute. It seemed that everything that came out of Owen’s mouth seemed to be worse than the last.
What had Maria seen in him? Or perhaps he had just been so good at wearing a mask that Maria had not noticed.
“It is surprisingly simple,” he smirked. “I make a promise to them, and they agree to go with me down a road north.”
“Gretna?” Stephen said, surprised.
“Mm.” Owen smiled, “Romance is a language women behave as if they’ve never heard and then translate fluently overnight. You promise a girl a wedding; she meets you at midnight.”
Owen was laughing now, and Stephen suspected that he must be under the assumption that such behavior was impressive to him, that somehow it was a testament to what a true man he was. It could not be further from the truth, however. Stephen could only scowl at what he was being told.
“You promise them marriage, in hopes that they meet you at midnight?”
“It’s thrilling for them, too. I assure you. They always think of themselves as modern heroines, free from the troublesome bother of parents, uncles, and settlements. A night on the road in an inn with a lock on the inside and the matter is settled,” Owen concluded, looking pleased with himself.
Stephen could have dropped the reins for how steady his hands had suddenly decided to be.
“Settled?” he questioned.
“For me,” Owen said, and laughed, “You see, the trick is to sleep just past the border, where the road breaks into a clutch of inns. You let her hear the talk so she feels the Scotland of it, and then you rest. She thinks it is prudent. ‘We shall be married first thing, Owen,’ she whispers, as if I would object to such sensible measures. And then in the morning….”
He spread his hand as if displaying a magic trick. “...I am gone.”
Stephen felt his blood come to a boil, but he maintained a calm facade. In his mind, he was already imagining what it would feel like to knock Owen out cold.
Restrain yourself, Stephen told himself decidedly.
“You leave a girl alone, without marriage, her name spent, in a town that does not know her, with no more protection than the innkeeper’s mercy?” Stephen said instead.
“She is not truly ruined, if we like precision,” Owen clarified with a laugh.
“She went to Scotland; people assume the rest if she returns. But she will not confess the real stupidity of the thing, not to a father or a brother who will kill her with their pride. She will say we were wed and then discovered a disagreement and leave the particulars to gossip. It is an elegant solution. No harm done to me. Very little to her, if we are honest. She learns what she wished to learn. The better sort even thank me, later, for the experience.”
Stephen wanted to hit the man so cleanly that the world would not see the motion. He imagined it and then placed the fantasy back in its box because murder in daylight among dogs is frowned upon, even out of season.
“I do not make a habit of lecturing strangers about their souls,” he said. “But you are not describing experience. Rather, you are describing theft.”
“Only to the women that offer, Your Grace,” Owen looked amused. “For me, it is rather an enriching experience. Keeps life exciting, if you will.”
“You promised marriage to take what you wanted without paying for it,” Stephen replied.
“How pious,” Owen said lightly. “Forgive me; I mistook you. I had heard otherwise and thought that you might not draw such an issue with my methods.”
It boiled Stephen’s blood even more so that somehow Owen thought that the two of them were similar in any manner, and that he lacked principles.
“You heard that I am careless?”
“Something to that effect,” Owen nodded. “I do not think it is a bad thing, really. Some selfishness is required for a happy life.”
“You have heard wrong,” Stephen replied through gritted teeth. “It may be possible that I am careless about myself. But I am not careless with those who are smaller than me.”
Owen snorted.
“Women are hardly smaller than you think, Your Grace. They run households and entire dynasties of gossip. Spare me the chivalry, if you will. We are both men here, and we may speak candidly.”
“Chivalry is show,” Stephen said. “I prefer rules and principles.” He turned his head at last and let Owen see what he generally kept to himself.
“Here are mine: I do not seduce women to leave them lonely in rooms they do not know. I do not borrow a vow I won’t keep. If a woman means to sin, I allow her the courtesy of naming it.”
“You cannot expect me to believe you’ve never…” Owen was laughing now, as though he could not believe a word that was coming out of Stephen’s mouth.
“You want company,” Stephen said, “I am not it.”
They rode ten paces in silence, then Owen chuckled.
“Touchy,” he said. “I did not expect you to be so. Perhaps I had misjudged.”
“We are clear on where we stand,” Stephen said. “It would be good to dispel the delusion that you and I have anything in common.”
“I shall be careful not to confide further,” Owen returned. “Though I get the sense that you are behaving in this manner because I mentioned Miss Havenford. Perhaps you are sensitive about her."
“I consider her a friend,” Stephen smiled again, but it was a dangerous kind.
“Then, should I be careful around that friend of yours?” Owen questioned.
“If you choose to do so, you would have made the first good decision of your life.” Stephen’s tone was not to the point where he was yelling. But there was something unsettling about it, and he noticed the shift in Owen’s expression.
But Owen was quick to cover it up with a laugh. Often as cowards do.
“Is that a threat?” Owen asked, still laughing.
“That is a rule,” Stephen said. “And a suggestion. Men who break rules near me tend to discover how few friends they truly have.”
Owen’s horse shied at a shout and steadied it with competent hands and grinned at Stephen, uncertain whether to feel complimented or warned.
“This has been very instructive, Your Grace. I shall tell the story at my club.”
“It will not be told,” Stephen said, “Not by you. On this subject, you will discover a rare talent for discretion.”
Owen opened his mouth as if to protest and then seemed to think better of it. He tipped two fingers from his hat and dropped back to the center of the field.
Stephen watched him go with the even look of a man measuring distance for a shot he intended to take later. Then he turned his horse’s head toward the trees.
He could end it today. One push and Owen would be escorted off the property before supper.
But that would leave him free to tell a different story tomorrow in a different house.
It would leave ten girls to wonder whether they had been the only fools in the history of fools.
It would leave Maria exposed to the idea that her judgment had wandered near a cliff she had not seen.
No. There was a cleaner way.
And that was what Stephen was going to do.