Chattering away, the young housekeeper––plain but friendly––started walking on. It wasn’t exactly proper, but Georgiana wasn’t certain what else to do beyond following.
The house didn’t grow any brighter. Just dustier and grayer. Her courage faltered with every new room shown to her, further proof of the state of disrepair the house had fallen in. Was this what her life would be like now? Gray? Lonely? And definitively forgotten by the Duke?
This must be the worst day of my life. Or second-worse compared to the day we lost Mama. How can this be my new home? The Duke had disappeared somewhere in here, probably to forget me forever.
Georgiana fought back the urge to pity herself once she had a quiet moment alone in the hall. She studied the curling edges of the faded green wallpaper, swearing to herself that it couldn’t happen to her as well. It couldn’t happen.
“For Emma,” she reminded herself. “I can do this for Emma.”
CHAPTER8
Moving was more work than he had realized.
Owen reasoned it was the suddenness that had put his valet in a sour mood. Aging Anders had been with him since he was eighteen—the first man he had hired. They’d strengthened their relationship through years of traveling.
Those years, and the loud grumbling, made it clear that Anders was not happy. His valet might be fifteen years his senior, just as tall but twice as thin. Still, Owen had offered to help with his trunks only to be refused.
“Can I help you with that one at least?” he asked.
“No, Your Grace.” Anders strained while he dragged the last trunk in. “I shall have these bricks settled in no time.”
Owen sighed. “They’re books.”
“Yes, Your Grace, that’s what I said.”
He scoffed and shook his head. “You don’t have to do this.”
That only made Anders glare at him, frowning before turning back to his work.
Owen heard some quiet grunting in the corner, but nothing more was said. Though he considered what he could do to help without injuring the man’s pride, he found few options.
“Isn’t it late, Your Grace?” Anders asked suddenly.
Lifting his gaze from his drink, Owen eyed his valet. “I suppose it is. Would you like to retire now? I wouldn’t oppose it.”
“It’s late, and it’s your wedding night.”
He lunged to his feet. “Yes? What do you presume to tell me? Don’t say you’re put out that you did not receive an invitation. I’ve already told you it was done to salvage a family name. There’s nothing to be done about it.”
That earned him a scoff. “Nothing to be done? It’s your wedding night.”
“I heard you the first time,” Owen insisted. “This is not that sort of marriage, don’t you see? Oh, why am I explaining this? You’ll only talk my ear off. I’m going to get another drink.”
His valet called after him, “You already have one in your hand,” on his way out of the room. “Wrong direction!”
“Right direction,” Owen shot back pointedly.
Then he closed the door. His servant could continue his work in the bedchamber while he cleared his head. It wasn’t like there was anything for him to do there. There wasn’t a chance in the world he could sleep with Anders working, let alone judging him. Nor was he going to his wife.
He still glanced at her closed door when he passed it in the hall.
Most likely, she’s sitting up in her bed, dreading my arrival, if she didn’t believe me earlier when I said this is a marriage of convenience. Otherwise, she is fast asleep after the long day we’ve all had. If it is the latter, then I am heartily jealous.
Sleep was elusive and rarely kind to him. Owen rubbed his face with both hands. He’d left his glass behind. It was mostly empty, so that was for the best. Besides, he could always find another drink elsewhere.
Going down the stairs, he winced at the creaking of the wood beneath his feet. This massive house must have fallen into disrepair ever since his parents passed with no one else to put in the orders, hire the help, and pay for the fixes.
Four and twenty years without any repairs. Just as it had been four and twenty years since he had lost his parents.