Page 23 of The Duke, My Rescue


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Pushing away the painful memories, Owen rolled his shoulders back. He tried not to think of the river or the panic or the churning water or the worry or the fear or––

“Your Grace?”

He flinched and put a hand over his chest at the sight of his butler standing in the shadows. “Blast it all, Wentworth. What are you doing up here so late?”

The elderly man bowed slowly. Owen could have sworn he heard the man’s bones crackle.

Wentworth had cared for the family estate when he was young but came to manage the house in London when Owen was eighteen, since his family was here. The butler was the first person Owen had searched out in this old house after leaving his new wife in the capable hands of the housekeeper, whom Wentworth had hired a few years ago.

“I suspected you would be awake late,” Wentworth’s gravelly voice echoed through the hall. “The study has been tidied for you.”

Feeling the tension drain from his shoulders, Owen nodded. “You know me all too well, even though it has been years. You’re a good man, Wentworth.”

The butler offered another nod. “It was my pleasure, Your Grace. I only hope you can come to love this home again like you once did.”

“I was only a babe.”

“It is your family’s home.” The butler trailed behind slowly while Owen led the way down the hall toward the study. “Your parents, God rest their souls, would have been devastated to hear how you’ve stayed away.”

Then they should not have drowned.

This was the home Owen had been raised in. Where he had been born. A home where his parents had hoped to grow a family. His mother’s frequent illnesses and miscarriages had made it difficult to travel, so Owen had stayed here with her even when his late father went out into the country.

Then they had finally gone out there, only weeks after his birthday. Only two days had passed before he lost his parents forever.

Exhaling, Owen shook his head. “It matters not.”

“I hope you do not stay out there to punish yourself.”

He raised an eyebrow at the butler’s stern tone, more fatherly than that of a servant. “That isn’t a decision of yours to be concerned about, Wentworth.”

“You cannot force a man, even a servant, not to worry.”

“I suppose that is true,” Owen grudgingly conceded before shaking his head. “But all is well. I am here, am I not?”

“And married.”

He pushed open the door of his study harder than he had intended, wincing when it banged against the wall. “I wish everyone would stop reminding me of that.”

“Her Grace is a very pleasant young woman.”

“Is she?” Owen tried to push down his curiosity. Making his way over to the desk, he paused at the sight of a hot toddy placed in the middle of the papers. “Ah, you were serious.”

His valet’s insolence was rubbing off on the household—something that amused Owen more than he was willing to admit.

He heard Wentworth scoff quietly under his breath before speaking aloud, “I am always serious, Your Grace.”

“Sure you are.”

He sat down in his chair, picking up the drink to take a sip. It was reminiscent of the first one Wentworth had prepared for him on their first night together. The butler had had little company in the country house for those twelve years. He and Owen hadn’t known how to talk but spent half the night sitting, drinking, and talking.

“Will you stay?”

Wentworth glanced around the room before fixing his gaze on Owen. The old man had more wrinkles around his eyes but seemed content here. His lips quirked up. “Not this evening, I’m afraid. My wife is waiting for me, at home.”

“Of course she is. You should go back to her. Enjoy the morning with her as well, would you? The housekeeper can handle anything you would usually do.”

“Yes, she would. Thank you, Your Grace. That’s very generous of you.”