Page 58 of Everything But the Earl
“Right, of course,” said Fletcher. “Boys, you all are like brothers tome, and thus you should know by now that while I do patronize the arts, I am hardly an expert. And the only reason I go to the opera as often as I do is because Lady Louisa often asks for my escort.”
Owen made eye contact with Lark and raised an eyebrow. Lark nodded.
Fletcher sighed. “I hate all of you.” Then he pointed at Owen. “Can’t we go back to mocking Owen for being besotted with his wife.”
“I am not…” But Owen couldn’t finish the sentence. It was true. He was besotted.
“I do not see why this is a reason for mockery,” said Hugh. “The poor man has been alone for an indeterminate amount of time. I’m sure it is a struggle.”
“The letters are nice,” Owen admitted. “She’s a better writer than I am.”
Beresford interrupted him then, brandishing a bottle of whiskey and five glasses held carefully in one hand. Without saying a word, he put all five glasses on the center of the table and poured a finger into each.
“Drink up, gents,” Beresford said. “I nicked this whiskey from my cousin Stephen’s plentiful cabinets. Best drink it before he notices.”
“You are incorrigible,” said Lark.
“Perhaps, but this is very good whiskey.”
Owen reached for the glass closest to him and took a sip. It was indeed smooth.
Beresford pulled over a chair and settled into it. “Now, what were we talking about?”
“Nothing,” said Fletcher.
“Oh, good. Did you hear the latest about Lord Edgerton?”
Owen mostly tuned out Beresford’s tale of gossip and woe, preferring instead to sip whiskey and think about Grace.
Chapter Fourteen
Dearest Owen,
I am as ever enjoying your little cottage by the sea. The weather here has been lovely, and I adore the sea breeze as I know you must. I find it inspiring to be here, so you need not worry about me. I’ve been so productive at my pottery wheel that I recently sold some pieces to a little shop in Penmaenmawr. It’s not much money, but it was enough to buy a new chair for the cottage in which I can sit and watch the sea.
You have seemed distressed in your last few letters, bemoaning the fate of your various works in Parliament, and for that, I am sorry. I wish I could help in some way. But I do understand if you need to spend additional time in London. I suppose it is more than we had originally planned. Be assured, I am enjoying my time here and do not want you to worry about me.
I do miss you, though. I almost wish I had something more substantive to tell you beyond chairs and vases, but that is taking up most of my life at the moment. Your work seems so important, and so I do not wish to pull you away from it, but instead I wait patiently for your return at your earliest convenience. I’m eager to show you what I’ve done with the cottage. I think you would like it. But of course, it can wait.
In the meantime, I shall soldier on. Morfudd and I bought a new rug for the castle, and she has a keen interest in doing something interesting with the courtyard, perhaps making it a space for performances. This seems a farfetched idea to me, but a part of me wants tosee if Morfudd can follow through with her plans. It might be interesting to bring a bit of culture to Caernarfon. Can you imagine the local folk crowding into the courtyard for a bit of Shakespeare? It seems fantastical to me, but…
Owen told himself that he liked beautiful things, and that was why he was in a shop in London that sold fine goods with which to decorate one’s home. When Owen had expressed interested in Gerard Makepeace, Anthony had directed him to this shop.
When he walked in, he was instantly overwhelmed. Well-lit shelves held trinkets and vases and fine dishes and glasses. Paintings hung from every available bit of wall space. Even though Owen had no doubt everything here was well made and expensive, there was something gaudy about having so much of it in crammed into a few square feet.
“Can I be of some assistance, my lord?” the shopkeeper asked.
“I wondered if you had any pieces by Gerard Makepeace. You see, the Marquess of Beresford has a piece that I thought was quite lovely, and I wondered if—”
“You are in luck, my lord. We had a bit of a delay in new pieces. I believe Mr. Makepeace went on holiday for a couple of months and then moved somewhere a great distance from here. I can’t recall where. Scotland, perhaps. But it is of no consequence, because we just received three new pieces, and they are his best work yet, I believe.”
Owen let the shopkeeper escort him to three pillars in one corner of the store, on which stood three elaborate vases. One of them was tall and narrow, with violets painted on it. The style of painting could be similar to the vase Grace had sent him, but Owen was not enough of an expert to know. Another of the vases was wide and had handles at its sides that were made to look like ivy vines. The third had a mouth that was painted and shaped to look like a lily.
“These are striking,” Owen said. “Do you mind if I take a closer look?”
The shopkeeper glanced at Owen’s hands, which were gloved. “Please,” he said in a way that indicated he was nervous Owen would destroy one of them.
Owen carefully picked up the one with ivy handles. He looked inside, then he turned it over to see the mark at the bottom.
