Page 32 of Marrying a Reluctant Lady
“My lord,” Mr. Crane murmured, brow knotted tightly. “Lady Haredale is here. Her coach is around the back. She insisted I let her in. I didn’t know what to do.”
“You did well,” Owen answered, taking a deep breath in. His aunt had said she would visit within a week, and she had clearly kept her word. He swallowed hard. He didn’t feel ready to face her. Not only did he feel foolish, but he also felt angry with her—this was her idea and her fault, after all. He glanced at his pocket-watch and stifled an expletive. It was almost luncheon.
“I’ll go to the drawing room directly,” he told Mr. Crane. “Please inform Mrs. Crane we have an extra visitor for luncheon.”
“Of course, my lord.” Mr. Crane bowed low.
Owen hurried up the stairs, brushing his hand through his hair. He was sure he looked a mess—he'd just ridden the two miles to London and then back again and he badly needed to put on a clean shirt.
“Aunt!” He called out to her as he hurried upstairs. “I did not expect you.”
“Owen.” She smiled at him, her long, serious face lit by a grin. Her dark eyes did not look quite as severe as usual. “I didn’t mention my visit, so I am unsurprised.”
“Yes, Aunt.” He grinned at her, amused by her comment despite his annoyance with her.
“Well, then,” Aunt Julia continued. “I shan’t stay...I merely wished to visit to see how you are faring.”
“Oh.” Owen glanced around. “It’s almost luncheon, Aunt, so of course you should stay and partake of a meal with us.” He hoped that would divert her interest—he didn’t want to discuss matters with her.
“Oh, Owen. That’s kind, but I shan’t stay more than a few minutes. My coachman is waiting. I just wished to drop in and see you. I will visit for luncheon another day.”
“Oh.” Owen’s throat tightened. “Well, I’m faring well,” he told her, deciding that the best course was to avoid the topic. “The tenant farmers have been producing well so far, and the sheep have lambed and...” he trailed off, meeting her gaze. She held his stare and he sighed.
“Aunt, I think...”
“Nephew, you don’t need to tell me,” she said gently. “You seem distracted. I understand. It is not easy, getting to know someone you have only met once.”
“No,” Owen said, just a faint touch of annoyance showing. “No. You’re right there.”
His aunt smiled. “I know, Owen. After all, I’d never met the earl of Haredale—well, I suppose that’s not right. We had some suppers at the estate and that means I hadmethim before.” She grinned but it wasn’t a friendly smile. Her eyes were sad.
“Aunt...” Owen began, but she smiled and this time it did reach her eyes.
“Owen, you’re a fine young man. If anyone can manage to make this a pleasant experience, you can. You’re kind and gentle and you’re by no means a bad sort.”
He looked down, feeling awkward. “I don’t know, Aunt,” he told her slowly. “I really don’t.” He met her gaze, feeling discomforted. The last week hadn’t led him to believe he was much to be recommended.
“Owen,” she answered softly, “you are a fine man. I would not have recommended this course to anyone who I felt would cause someone suffering.”
“You wouldn’t?” Owen stared at her. This was something she’d not said before. He had assumed she hadn’t even thought about Ophelia and her suffering. It appeared that she had, andshe thought Owen wasn’t going to make someone suffer.
“I was married in much the same way you have been,” she told him in a soft voice. “With no apparent regard for my feelings, to settle debt. I felt confused, too. And angry. But I know that you will make this better than what many would make of it.”
“I don’t see how I can, Aunt,” he murmured. “I’m not interesting, or dashing, or anything that a lady might find interesting.”
“Owen!” She sounded surprised, a small laugh brightening the tension between them. “Owen. If I may say so, you’re clearly no judge of what is interesting.”
“No?” Owen was laughing, in spite of his anger at his aunt. She was funny—she'd always managed to make him laugh and she still did now.
“No. You’re well-taught, a fine rider, an earl and—if it is seemly for me to mention—rather fine-looking.”
“I am?” Owen felt himself blush.
“You are,” his aunt confirmed. “There’s no reason at all for a young lady to feel anything besides interested.”
“Well, she doesn’t seem interested to me,” Owen admitted, shyly.
His aunt chuckled. “Have you talked to her?” she asked.
