Page 49 of Everything But the Earl
“Yes,” said Lark.
“So my mother cannot foist any unwitting unmarried young ladies on me here? I am safe?”
“For now.”
“Anyone want to vouch for me that I can find my own wife without my mother’s intervention?”
“No,” said Lark without hesitation.
Owen must have been glaring, because Fletcher said, “You’ll have to excuse Caernarfon. Marrying your fiancée seems to have worked out for him and he’s acting like a lovesick fool because she’s in Wales.”
Beresford smiled ruefully. “Is it bizarre that I think it’s good that she has someone who wants her like that?” He sat on the arm of Lark’schair. “I’ve always been fond of Grace, albeit not in a romantic way. She has a good heart.”
“Yes,” Owen muttered miserably.
“What I mean is, I like her and have long hoped she could find what I could not give her. It’s unfortunate she’s in Wales and you are here, Caernarfon, but she deserves to have a husband who genuinely cares for her.”
Owen nodded. “I appreciate that, but it does not solve any of my present predicaments.”
“He feels obligated to see through his various endeavors in Parliament,” Lark said to Beresford.
“I’ll happily vote against that road bill,” Beresford said. “Most of the House of Lords is trying to stay in Prinny’s good graces, but the road plan is foolish and pointless. Why no one is interested in your compromise bill, which would make the roads more passable foreveryone, I do not know, unless the point is to ensure that the poor suffer as if they caused their own misfortune, and horrible roads are just the sacrifice we make as the aristocracy to make sure no one enjoys them.”
Owen nodded. “I agree, obviously. It just feels like an uphill battle. Whenever you show the smallest bit of compassion for the less fortunate in Parliament, the other members begin to look at you as if you are threatening to walk into their vaults and steal their money yourself.”
“The thing with money is that it is never possible to have enough,” said Beresford. “It’s like gambling. Or cake. Once you have a taste of it, all you want is more.”
“Making money is like cake?” said Lark, deadpan.
“I know you understand me. I am making an observation.”
“Do you want more money?” Lark asked.
“I don’t think about it much because I’ve hired people to worry about my money for me. But honestly, who doesn’t?”
Fletcher cleared his throat. “If we’re done with the politics lesson, I believe we were discussing Owen’s problems.”
One by one, the men of Owen’s close social circle started to leave, until Owen was left with just Fletcher and a snifter of whiskey.
“You do seem sad,” Fletcher observed.
Owen wanted to laugh with how obvious an observation it was. He knew Fletcher meant well, though.
Owen and Fletcher had been close since they’d roomed together at Eton. Fletcher had things he was passionate about—art, his family—but he loathed politics. He cared deeply about his friends, but he often acted like he hadn’t a care in the world. Owen felt privileged to know his friend’s true character underneath his nonchalant surface. And now Fletcher was looking at Owen like he was actually concerned.
Owen took a deep breath. “When I agreed to marry Grace, I didn’t think it would be this difficult. Maybe I should go back to Wales.”
“It would take you a fortnight just to get there and back. Can you spare that much time?”
“Not if I’m the only one in Parliament who cares about what happens to anyone who doesn’t have a mound of coin and an entailed estate.”
Fletcher frowned. “I won’t pretend to know much about women or love, but maybe if you plan to return home as soon as this vote occurs, it might help alleviate some of what you are feeling.”
“That is a possibility.”
“That way, you won’t feel like you are abandoning your work, but you can see the light at the end of the tunnel, as it were.”
That made some sense. Seeing Grace as soon as he could would be something to look forward to. “Thanks, Fletcher.”
