“I have read and reread our letters to one another a thousand times over these last few days, hoping I will find comfort in them.”
“And did you?”
“It makes me feel the loss all the more keenly, so I have put them away. I hope, in time, I will be able to look at them again. There is a great deal of life confessed in those pages.”
“I know how he loved you.”
“I loved him, too.” Phoebe’s voice broke at this sentence and she bowed her head into her chest and wept.
Owen moved across the bench so that he might put his arm around her. Phoebe pushed him away.
“I know you are only trying to comfort me, Owen, but if anyone were to see us, they would not arrive at the same conclusion. A scandal at this time would be incredibly cruel to our families and a loathsome tribute to Evan.”
He stepped away. “They are talking of a funeral. I cannot come to terms with such a thing.”
“Because you hold out hope he is still with us?”
Owen shook his head. “Because an empty grave seems to me a senseless thing.”
“I should like somewhere to go where I can feel close to him.”
“You have your glass house.”
“Yes. I do. If Her Grace will allow me to visit.”
“If she ever tries to prevent you from visiting there, tell me at once. I vow I will not stand for it. That glass house was Evan’s gift to you and it is rightfully yours.”
“Thank you.”
They sat together in silent contemplation for some time. Eventually, Owen spoke. “Do you have hope he is still alive?”
“Would you think I were a fool if I said I did?”
“Not a fool, no. Love inspires belief in miracles.”
“I do not hope for a miracle but rather recall the capacities of Evan. I simply cannot believe a sailor as skilled as he would not have found some means to survive,” she said.
“Evan was a great gentleman, Phoebe, but even he was not invincible. This is one of those instances in which I believe hope will only cause you pain. I do not believe he will ever return. Other bodies have been found. There is no reason to believe he too has not perished.”
“How is your father?”
“Devastated.” Owen looked up at the sky and sighed. “As is my mother. As is everyone,” he paused. “as am I.”
“I know how you loved him.”
“He was loved by all.” Owen looked across at her and hoped that she would reach out to him. He desired her comfort above all else. “And now I am left with the knowledge that I must somehow learn to be more.”
“More in which sense?”
“In every sense. My father will rely on me now to take Evan’s place in his fleet.”
“Will you go?”
“Yes.”
Phoebe clenched her jaw. “Then I am losing you both.”
She inched her hand across the bench and briefly placed her palm upon the back of his hand, only for a moment. It was enough to send frissons of passion coursing through him, along with hope and the only comfort he had felt in these last few days.
“I cannot put my father through the pain of having his dreams die with Evan.”
“And what of your dreams?”
“They do not matter now.” Owen stood. “I will take my leave now. Pray get some rest.”
“Will you visit again?”
“In time.”
* * *
Owen stepped into his father’s study. It had always been an intimidating environment with its wood-paneled walls, huge oak desk and oil paintings of ships at sea. Those paintings made Owen uneasy now.
The Duke was sitting at his desk. He had aged twenty years in the last seven days. He was always a well-presented gentleman, but today there was gray stubble on his face. When he saw Owen at the doorway, he beckoned him inside.
“You wanted to see me?” Owen asked.
“Yes. Sit, sit.”
Owen sat down opposite the desk. This was the moment he had been expecting; the moment his father told him it was time he took Evan’s place at sea.
“You have kept your distance since Evan’s death,” the Duke stated. “We have had not had chance to speak.”
“It has taken me some time to come to terms with his passing. I’ve found it easier to grieve on my own.”
“Grief,” the Duke nodded slowly. “It has taken on its own presence in this house. I can hardly breathe for the grief in the air.”
He was the picture of grief. Owen noticed how his once straight-backed posture had become a slouch. Signs of despair were evident in the unusual clutter upon his desk: an ink stain that had not been cleared, the peel of an orange.
“I’m here now, father. And I’m ready for whatever duties you may be ready to lay upon my shoulders.”
“Duties?” the Duke offered a calm smile. “I imagine you think I wish for you to take up Evan’s mantle with his passing?”
“I am prepared to do whatever you would have me do.”
The Duke stood and stepped around the desk. He patted Owen’s shoulder and eased himself down to sit on the edge of his desk, crossing his arms over his chest.
“I don’t want you to sail anywhere, Owen.”
“Who will captain the fleet?”
“I can employ a multitude of captains, but I only have one son left.”
Owen’s throat grew tight. “You’re worried I would be upon the next wreck.”
“I would not risk it.”
“Because I do not have the same skills as Evan? Father, I will learn. I can become physically stronger. I can undertake naval training. I won’t disappoint you. I know your legacy is all that matters.”
“My legacy? Son, you are my legacy. Not fleets, or ships, or fortunes. It is you who bears my name. It is you who was raised in my household with the values and principles I took upon myself through a lifetime of experience. I care far more that you should prosper than any company. What will a company be to me once I have drawn my final breath?”
“I am sorry you lost him.” Owen’s voice was choked. “I wish only now to bring you as much pride as he did, to keep the reputation of this household in good stead.”
“These are not things to concern ourselves with now. Let us simply mourn him. Know, Owen, that I want nothing from you. I have no expectation for you to captain my fleet or join the army. My sons were a sailor and a scholar, and I always loved them both equally. I require no replacement for Evan. You are also my son.”
* * *
Dinner was a solemn affair. The Duke sat at the head of the table, the Duchess to his left, and Owen to his right.
Owen had not seen his mother since the day he was called to the drawing room to be told that Evan was lost at sea. He had heard her wailing in her room, but she showed no evidence of any tears now.
She was the only one among them who was not dressed in black. She still wore white, there were cosmetics upon her skin and her hair was in its usual severe style. She did not slouch; her back was straight and rigid as ever. There was no expression of sorrow on her face.
“Owen, it is good of you to join us at last although I must say I had expected your presence sooner. Do you not care about your father’s grief or mine?”
“I had grief of my own to overcome.”
“So it is overcome now, is it? You are accepting of your brother’s death and pleased to continue as before?”
Owen gripped his cutlery tightly in his fists. It was one of his mother’s most frequent tricks to take the words of her companions and twist them into another meaning entirely. He hated her for it.
“Nothing will ever continue as before.”
“And don’t you forget that. Evan’s death has left a hole in our hearts and in this household. The sooner you join the fleet, the better. At least then our family will continue to thrive.”
The Duke scowled. “We have already discussed this, Tabitha, and you know well enough that I am not sending Owen away from this house.”
“For Heaven’s sake! You are far too soft on him and too sentimental a gentleman yourself. Owen has a place in this world, as do we all, and it is not behind a desk on the frivolous pursuit of law so that he can defend criminals who deserve no protection.”
“Father knows that I am willing to do whatever he bids. I am prepared to captain his fleets.”
His mother shook her head. “You were not so keen to join the fleet when there was not so honorable a post available to you. Funny how enthused you are now that the fleet requires a captain.”
“Must you be so contrary?” the Duke asked. His expression contorted into one of fury and disgust. “You are poison, Tabitha. Our son has died.”
“And I seem to be the only one who has mourned him! The pair of you are embracing one another like schoolgirls when our Evan is dead and you have not held Lord Wycliff accountable for his part in his death.”
The Duke slammed his palm on the table. The sound reverberated around the dining room. He beckoned to a waiting servant.
“Her Grace will be taking supper tonight in her room. Please take her dishes there.” He fixed a stony stare on Tabitha. “Leave us.”
“What a manner in which to treat a grieving mother.”
“Leave.”
The Duchess stood without so much as a glimmer of remorse in her expression and walked stoically to the doorway. Owen watched her ascend the stairs and then heard her door slam shut.
There was a moment of silence before Owen spoke again. “I never wanted to be at sea. If I were to take the position of Captain, it would only be to please you, Father.”
The Duke held up his hand. “Your mother’s words fall on deaf ears here. I know full well how toxic her words can be.”
“I expected to see her crying still.”
“She has cried for days.”
“Yet as always, she will not show the slightest sign of emotion in company. Not even with her own husband and son.”
“It is not her way. I’ve been married to her for over twenty years, and I have never seen her shed a tear.”
“If there were ever a time for tears, it would be now.”
“You know your mother. If there is a way for her to turn her sorrow into anger, she will do so.”
“Who is her target this time?” Owen asked.
“The Earl.”
“Lord Wycliff? However is she to blame him for this tragedy?”
“The fleet was due to leave a week earlier than it departed but he arranged the delay so that Evan might attend an extra meeting before his return.”
“Storms are notoriously unpredictable. The Earl is not to blame.”
“As any logical person well knows. Lord Wycliff feels guilty enough. He has already begged my forgiveness and I told him there was nothing to forgive. Evan’s death has affected his household as much as ours. Poor Lady Phoebe was hysterical when she heard the news.”
“She has been in my thoughts. Her future was invested in him, and she has lost it all.” Owen took a sip from the glass of water in front of him. “That reminds me, we must give her access to the glass house. It is rightfully hers.”
“Of course. Evan would have wished it.”
“I fear Mother will try to prevent Lady Phoebe from visiting there.”
“She will do no such thing. You have my word.”
Chapter 15
Phoebe stepped into the glass house and her heart was immediately filled with sorrow and affection in equal measure. It was bittersweet to see the symbol of perished love so clearly in front of her.
She could smell the damp, earthen scent of the soil and see the dozens of pots filled with soil ready to receive cuttings that would never come. The space was bare and barren, just like the love that was never given chance to blossom.
Owen appeared behind her. “I told you nobody would keep you from this place.”
She turned back to look at him and her heart was filled with gratitude. “Your father visited this morning to leave me with the key and told me I could come whenever I wish with no need to ask for permission.”
“And here you are.”
“Here I am.”
She turned in small circles, the dust of the bare ground circling around her ankles. All around her was lifeless dirt. It was incredibly warm. The glass had trapped all the heat from what little sun had made its way through the clouds.
“I always imagined this glass house as it would be when it was complete: full of life and color. It is a sad, sad thing that Evan died before I could even receive my first cutting.”
“I trust you will not give up on the cultivations you planned in this place.”
“There is nothing to plant. Evan was going to send me flowers from around the world, but I will never receive any. It was supposed to be the tribute to our love.”
“Then ensure a tribute it becomes,” Owen urged her. “There are many flower shops in London. I will encourage all your friends and peers to gift you seeds. I know you loved him. There should be some kind of place where that loves remains.”
“I had not heard from you for many weeks before now,” Phoebe said. She looked at Owen and took in the pale pallor of his face, the dark circles beneath his eyes, and the eternal love for her that never diminished. She also saw the unmistakable shadow of grief that haunted his features. “Why is that?”
“I have been courting the Lady Ann, as you know. In order to be faithful and loyal to her, it was necessary for me to separate myself from you.”
“I feel so separated from everyone these days.” Phoebe blinked and a tear rolled down her cheek. She wiped it away and let out a frustrated breath. “Damn these tears. There is no end to them.”
“I thought there would be far more tears from my eyes, but tears have not yet come,” Owen replied. “I simply carry this darkness within me. There is something missing from me now.”
“How can a gentleman who was so seldom with us be so sorely missed?”
“He was so valiant and generous that one meeting was enough. For those of us who knew him well, there will be no end to the sorrow. We have lost someone irreplaceable.”
Phoebe ran her thumb along the edge of the ceramic pot and then laid it back down in its place. There was a fine dust over every surface that hurt her to see. Owen was right. This place should be a glorious tribute to Evan.
She turned back to him. “When will you leave with the fleet?”
“I’m not going.”
Her heart soared in her chest. She had not realized the weight of worry she had been carrying at the prospect of Owen meeting the same demise as Evan until the burden was lifted.
“What changed?”
“My father.” Owen leaned against one of the glass panels. “He is fearful of what might happen if I follow the same path as Evan.”
“He loves you.”
“I’m certain he does, but I can’t help feeling that part of his fear stems from a belief that if Evan, as capable and strong as he was, could perish, that I would certainly die. It makes me feel weak.”
He laughed at himself and shook his head before continuing, “A selfish and childish sentiment. What does it matter if my father thinks I am strong or weak? One son has died and he wants the other to live.”
“You never imagined Evan wouldn’t be here,” Phoebe said. She understood Owen; she had known him for a long time and they had always shared a way of thinking that, at times, had seemed unique to them. “You felt no pressure to be more than you are because Evan was there to fulfill that role for your father and for your family. Now he is gone, you don’t feel as if you are enough.”
Owen turned to her and smiled. There was recognition in his eyes; it was the same kind of closeness that Phoebe felt. It spoke of a lifelong bond that time nor tragedy could not break. Through every high and low of life, their friendship endured.
“You put it into words in a way I cannot. It is a petty thing to feel, is it not? My brother is dead and all I can think about is how small it makes m
e feel.”
“You admired and loved him. Everything else you feel is to be expected, and I am guilty of the same selfish thoughts.”
“How so?”
“I’ve been wondering what becomes of me now.” She drew the shape of a bird on the grime of a pane of glass, her expression woeful. “All my life I have known I was promised to Evan. My life had been planned without me ever having to question it or worry that any single thing was not already decided. Now nothing is certain. Will I be pushed into another arrangement? Will I grow old alone?”
An Immoral Dilemma For The Scandalous Lady (Steamy Historical Romance) Page 13