Page 42 of Everything But the Earl
Owen found his thoughts straying back to Grace as the men discussed the plans Hugh had for the new house. Presumably his mother would not live forever, so Hugh saw the house as an investment for the future of his family, perhaps a home he and Adele could retire to once their children were grown.
“Is Beresford joining us?” Fletcher asked, pulling Owen’s attention.
Lark shook his head. “I asked him to stay away tonight. He has been…too free with his affection of late. I am trying to remain inconspicuous.”
That didn’t surprise Owen. He didn’t think much of it until Fletcher said, “To what end?”
Lark let out a heavy sigh. “Wealth and power only provide so much cover. Anthony’s family is pressuring him to marry.”
“Why should that affect anything?” asked Fletcher.
Lark looked at Fletcher, appalled. “I know it may seem I have little regard for institutions, but I do in fact care for other people. And although Lady Caernarfon was spared the indignity of a farcical marriage with Beresford, whichever young miss his mother picks out will not be. And, well, I do not want to be the reason for her misery.”
“You know,” said Owen, “marriage seems like a formality until you are in it.”
Everyone turned to look at Owen. Hugh shot him a wry smile.
Owen tried to think of how to explain. “I barely knew Grace when I committed to honor her for the rest of my days. I expected to keep her in Wales while I continued to live my life as I always had in London.”
“You meant to pick up where you left off with that actress you were seeing last summer,” Fletcher said knowingly.
“Oh, no, that was disastrous and does not signify, but I meant… I don’t know. I can’t explain it now, but even though my wife is in Wales and has no way of knowing what I am doing in London, I find that my impulse is to stay faithful to her. That is, before we married and she was more of an abstract concept, it didn’t feel important to do more than the minimum to honor my commitments, but—”
“You needed to perform your marital duties, you mean,” said Lark. “Father children and the like.”
Owen hadn’t given much thought to children, but he nodded. “That sort of thing, yes. But I just spent a month with her, speaking with her every day, sharing my meals with her, and some other things of course, and I found that I quite like her. And so I do not want to betray her while I am here in London. I made a commitment to my wife and I intend to honor it.”
“Noble of you,” said Fletcher. He sounded a little sarcastic.
“Hugh understands me,” Owen said, gesturing across the table at his friend.
Hugh smiled. “I do, although my wife is actually here in London.”
The implication being that it was easier to stay faithful when one’s wife was in proximity. Owen shrugged it off. “My point is,” Owen said, “I did not expect to feel so beholden to my marriage when I agreed to it, but now I do, and I believe what Lark is worried about is that if Beresford—or if Lark himself—should get hooked into a marriage, they might feel similarly beholden, in which case they will no longer be with each other. Am I near the target?” He looked at Lark.
“Bullseye,” said Lark. “Should Anthony marry a young woman, I would need to respect that relationship. There will be pressure on Anthony to ensure his title is passed to a direct descendant. I would be the thing preventing that from happening.”
That puzzled Owen a little. “Forgive me if this is too intimate a question, but is Beresford the sort of man who is not attracted to women at all?”
Lark grimaced. “I fear he is. I have not been burdened with quite the same affliction, but…” He stared at the ceiling. “No, that is wrong, it is not an affliction. It is just how some menare. How we were created by God. I believe that. I believe that some men, and presumably some women, are attracted to only their own sex, or they are attracted to many kinds of people, or they are attracted only to the opposite sex. Anthony has this friend who never gave other men a single thought until he became a widower, and now he lives in Shropshire with another man, and they’re raising his children together. It sounds very quaint, but they lie that his lover is his butler so that no one expects, because they’d be hanged otherwise, so there is that.” Lark leaned his head back on the chair and placed a hand over his eyes. He groaned.
“I’m sorry,” Hugh said softly.
“I know. I apologize for sermonizing. I have just found myself struggling lately with this particular lot in life. I have fallen in love with someone I have no future with, and part of me thinks I should end the affair so that he can go off and get married and carry on with his life. But another part of me cannot bear to stay away from him, and it is a terrible place to be.” He sat up and looked at Owen. “I am glad you and Lady Caernarfon have made something together, that from the sounds of it, you get on well. I am happy for you. I hope that one of these days we will all get to spend more time with her and get to know her better. I do not mean to visit my own misery on this group, but Fletcher asked, and…”
“I do miss her,” Owen said. “I had not expected to. And then she sent me this letter.” He pulled it from his pocket. When Lark held out his hand, Owen handed it over.
Lark took a moment to look over the letter. “Oh, this is dreary.”
“What is it?” asked Hugh.
“It’s basically just an inventory. So many pounds for glass for windows at…your castle.” Lark glared at Owen for a brief moment. “Should we all have such burdens as a castle. But then it goes on to list things Lady Caernarfon bought. Curtains. A settee. Some…clay?”
“She likes to make pottery.”
“All right. And she can pay for all of that because, according to this letter, Owen is making quite a bit of money from a sheep farm?”
“I’ve been selling wool to a textile mill. But you see what I mean, right?”
