Page 40 of Her Tiger of a Duke
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 notnoticed 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, ratherthan 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.”
