Page 77 of Everything But the Earl
That was something. At least he was not in a hurry to leave.
“I think we need to talk.”
Owen nodded. “I’ve never found myself in a situation like this. That is, I have quarreled with my family before, but I am having a hard time deciding what to do here.”
She considered asking him to clarify, but of course she knew. Still, she said, “We are not exactly fighting.”
“No, I suppose not. There has been no shouting or exchanging of course words. But I find I am… I don’t know how to express what I am feeling. Disappointed. Sad. Angry.”
“I know.”
“I don’t know how to act around you, Grace. I thought I understood something about our relationship. But you kept things from me and now I feel like I hardly know you. I don’t understand anything.”
She nodded, because of course she knew that. “I am genuinely sorry. I should have told you about everything sooner. I regret that I didn’t. I thought… This is not an excuse, but I thought I had more time. And from the beginning I wanted to be independent.”
“Independent. So had I not come home, I might never have knownabout Dafydd.”
“No. I wrote a letter. It didn’t get it posted in time. The baby came early.”
Owen frowned. “Independence is one thing, Grace. We had an agreement. You wanted privacy and distance from London and I gave you that. But I also thought we were growing closer through our letters. I told you everything that was happening with me in London. About what my friends were doing, about what I was working on in Parliament. I left little out. I thought you were communicating with me using the same level of honesty. I thought we were beginning to truly get to know each other through our letters. But it turns out you withheld some very large things from me.”
“Yes.”
“He’smyson, too.”
“Of course, Owen.”
“Many noble marriages are mere formalities.”
“I didn’t thinkourswas. We… I enjoyed our honeymoon, and our letters back and forth.”
“Yes. I have never been anything but completely honest with you. But there’s so much you didn’t tell me in those letters. I thought I understood our relationship, but it was all lies.”
“Ineverlied to you, Owen.”
Owen looked directly at her. “But what I knew two weeks ago about my relationship with you… That was not true. And a lie by omission is still a lie. And this was such a big thing. I hope you know, I would have been at your side as soon as feasibly possible had I known. I thought we cared about each other, but you didn’t care enough to tell me.”
Grace knew exactly why he was upset. She didn’t need him to explain it to her. “I wanted to tell you. I wrote a letter to tell you everything, but the baby came early and then you arrived home before I could post it.”
“That doesn’t do me much good now.” Owen looked down at his plate. He hadn’t really eaten anything so much as pushed his food around. “Are you Gerard Makepeace?”
That was not what she expected to say. She was so surprised she dropped her fork. “How did you—?”
“Answer the question, Grace.”
“Yes.” But she had no earthly idea how Owen would have known that. “I meant to tell you that, too.”
“But you didn’t.” Owen gave up pretending to eat and put his fork down. “It was Beresford and that vase you sent me. He saw it and thought it was a Makepeace, and at first I thought that was ridiculous, but I looked into it. I went to the shop in London that sells your work, and there were definite similarities between those pieces and the one you sent me. The mark on the bottom, the initials GM? Gerard Makepeace. Grace Midwood. Your scheme only works because most people don’t assume a woman is capable of the kind of art you make, which is a foolish assumption because those vases are beautiful. And I can understand why you didn’t tell me. I’m not knowledgeable about art, so if it had not been for Beresford, I never would have even guessed. And a male artist is taken more seriously. I have no doubt that, if your dealer in London knew you were a woman, he wouldn’t be selling your pottery. And, as you say, you wanted your independence.”
“I still should have told you. I know that.”
He nodded. “I spent the entire trip here intending to confront you about Makepeace and the vases and intending to forgive you. When we parted all those months ago, I didn’t feel we owed each other much. You asked for your independence and I gave it to you. Hell, I gave you permission to redecorate my houses. And you did a marvelous job! This… I understand why you kept up the ruse. You want to be taken seriously as an artist. You didn’t know if you could trust me at first.”
“Yes,” Grace said hesitantly.
“Yes. The thing is, I thought we were growing closer. I thought we were sharing secrets in our letters. I told you things I haven’t told my friends. But you didn’t tell me about Dafydd or the pottery and now I find myself wondering what else you haven’t told me.”
“Those are all my secrets.” Grace could not have felt worse. Owen was, of course, completely correct. There was no reason he should believe her. “I promise they are.”
