Page 23 of Everything But the Earl
Chapter Six
The next threedays and nights played out similarly. They spent their days in the carriage, although Owen insisted on stopping midday for luncheon. They found a safe place to pause, usually a field or wooded area where they could lay out a blanket, and they’d walk around, stretch their legs, and eat whatever he’d procured from the inn they’d left that morning.
Sometimes they napped, but Grace found it hard to sleep in a moving carriage. Often they talked. They talked about unimportant things, like the plots of novels Grace had read or some bit of gossip one of Owen’s friends had spotted in a scandal sheet. They talked about their childhoods, telling stories about trouble they’d gotten into or moments of triumph. Owen had struggled in school, until suddenly he didn’t; he’d had a teacher at Eton who finally made mathematics make sense, and another who helped him understand history. Grace wished she could have gone to school, but she’d taken to reading like a fish to water and had grown up reading whatever books she could get her hands on.
“This is what you do every time you travel west?” she asked on the second afternoon as the carriage rumbled over a difficult dirt road. It was almost bumpier than the ragged streets of London.
“Normally,” Owen said, throwing out a hand to brace himself against the carriage as it hit another bump. “I try to get there as soon as possible and only stop if I absolutely cannot stand to be in the coacha minute longer. You are unused to the trip, so I thought it might do us some good to have a more leisurely luncheon. And I am actually enjoying making this trip with you, so I find I am not in a hurry.”
Grace smiled at that. And she appreciated the long breaks, because all the sitting in the carriage was making her backside hurt.
They spent their nights in a series of coaching inns, making love in a progression of ricketier beds. Grace hadn’t slept much, but she didn’t regret anything, because being with Owen was maybe the greatest thing that had happened in her entire life.
Well, that was exaggerating a little.
Except no, it wasn’t. This whole trip had shown her more of the country than she’d ever seen before. And Owen seemed eager to show her all of it.
The journey had taken them not just through Oxford, but also through Stratford-on-Avon on their way to an inn in Birmingham. Owen explained that Stratford was where Shakespeare was born. They didn’t have time to take in a play, but they did stop at the church where Shakespeare was buried.
“His grave seems so modest for a man we have grown to revere,” said Grace.
“Yes, well, I suppose he had his preferences. No need to build a marble effigy if one is not a royal or absurdly wealthy.”
“Quite. But this is something. It says, ‘Blest be the man that leaves these stones, cursed be he that moves my bones.’ Astonishing.”
“He just wanted to be left alone. I have some sympathy for that.”
“Me, too.”
The stop in Birmingham was not so bad, because it was a small city, at least, and the inn was well appointed. It was hard for Grace not to admire the sorts of places Owen liked to spend the night. Grace didn’t know much about money or finances, but she could tell Owen had much more money than her parents, or at least, he was more willing to spend it.
Late that night, they lay in bed together, Owen absently stroking Grace’s arm. “I feel terrible for taking you from your family,” he said.
“Don’t.”
“Are you certain? My mother spends most of her time with my sister these days and I only see her a few times a year. I miss her sometimes.”
“You and your mother are close?”
“I suppose we are. She doted on me when I was a child.”
“My family and I are not close. My father is friendly enough, but rarely home. My mother is cold and standoffish. My sister is only now coming into her personality. I was often left alone as a child, so I had to learn to entertain myself. My family…they were not harsh or cruel or anything like that. I’ve heard of families who are. But I don’t feel like I’m leaving behind people who have much affection for me. I imagine I will see my family when I return to town and I will write them letters from Wales, but…”
“I am sorry to hear that you had so little affection in your home. But dare I ask, how did you entertain yourself?”
“Reading and art. It’s part of why I took up pottery. I can work for hours and not notice time is passing.”
“Oh,” said Owen. “I suppose I have some sympathy for that. I like to keep busy. And I’ve been living alone in London more or less since my father passed, so I have some familiarity with finding things to occupy my time.”
Grace nodded, feeling like he understood her.
After Birmingham, the scenery became much more rustic, but it was hard to deny how beautiful the countryside was. Most of it was flat, but there were farms and fields and little houses and inns.
They crossed the border into Wales, but it didn’t feel like much of a change. The terrain, even the accents of the people they encountered, were the same.
“You did not bring a valet with you,” Grace said as they rode one afternoon.
“No. My valet’s wife is about to have a baby, I could not ask himto be away from her. I can forego his services for a month. And as you’ve seen, I do seem to be able to dress myself.”
