Page 85 of Everything But the Earl
“I am an adult, Dr. Jones.”
“There was some tearing. She required stitches.”
Oh, God. “Is this why she bled so much?”
“Yes. It’s not unusual, I’m afraid. She lost a great deal of blood, and her recovery has been slow, although much better in the last few weeks. I imagine having you back home has been a help.”
Owen doubted that. He hadn’t been very warm toward her.
“But she is nearly healed now, you say?”
“If you are anxious to bed your wife, I would wait another week or two, but I am satisfied with her progress otherwise. She still tires easily and is at times overly emotional by her own admission, but that is all normal and she’ll be perfectly fine with a little more time.”
“It’s not that I’m anxious.”
Dr. Jones smiled. “It’s very common for husbands to ask. But trust your wife. She knows her body. She’ll tell you when she’s ready again.”
Well, then. Owen and Grace had done naught but sleep in their bed since he’d arrived back from London. Owen hadn’t known what to do. He didn’t want to pursue physical relations when they felt so estranged, plus she seemed so exhausted all the time. “She insists on taking care of the baby herself. I imagine that is a factor in her fatigue.”
“Is that why she has yet to hire a nurse?”
“She says she interviewed a few and found them wanting.”
Dr. Jones nodded. “If you are still looking for a nurse, I do have an excellent candidate in mind. The children she currently minds are old enough for school and she mentioned to me the other day that she is about to start looking for a new post. She is exceedingly patient and kind, like an aunt to many in the community. Too old to be a wet nurse, but that does not appear to be something the countess wants help with.”
“No, I do not believe so. It would please me to talk to your candidate.”
“Indeed. I’ll arrange something.”
“Thank you, doctor.”
Dr. Jones shook Owen’s hand. “It is good to see you, my lord. Come to Wales more often.”
“Yes. I have been in London too long.”
Owen saw Dr. Jones to the end of the drive and then walked into the house.
“Where is the countess?” Owen asked as Driscoll helped him out of his coat.
“Her bedchamber, my lord.”
As Owen climbed the stairs, he reflected on the fact that Grace had been sad since he’d arrived home. It was something he’d noticed but not really internalized. On their honeymoon, she’d had an easy smile and seemed to be made partly of sunshine. That light had dimmed, and Owen was likely the cause of it. He wanted to trust her, but she’d been through a lot, too.
He found her lying on their bed, staring at the wall but not asleep. When she noticed him walk in, she sat up abruptly.
“Don’t get up on my account,” he said, walking into the room. “Are you tired?”
“A bit, but I’m all right. The doctor just left.”
“Yes, I ran into him outside.” Owen walked toward the bed. “We should probably talk.”
The expression on Grace’s face was earnest and heartbreaking. She looked exhausted and dispirited. He believed that her remorse was genuine. He’d never get to witness the birth of his son. But maybe he could forgive her for that if they could build a life together. If that was what she wanted.
He realized he already had forgiven her for her vase-making alter ego. She made beautiful things and wanted to sell them. There was no shame in that. He was in awe of her talent, in fact.
He sat beside her on the bed. Softly, he said, “I do not mean to further plague you. I merely want to explain myself. The reason I was so upset is that I want to be with you, Grace. I do. But I want to be able to trust you, too.”
She settled into a sitting position on the bed. “I understand.”
