Owen hung his head, feeling a kind of ache in his chest. There was something so awful about the idea of the woman before him being wed simply to protect the reputation of her father. It was not a strong enough reason to marry.
“With my father’s name connected with the duke, it moved him up in the world. Such standing was something he could only have dreamt of!” She scoffed at the idea, shaking her head. “It startled me that the duke accepted the idea of a marriage between us.
My father was more than happy to explain on my wedding day that he had won a windfall at a gambling table. The windfall was my dowry in the end. Though I rather see it as a bribe that was paid to the duke to make him marry me.”
Owen lifted his head again, seeing the tightness of the duchess’ jaw as she said the words; he caressed her hand as he had done before, drawing those small circles across her skin. It had the desired effect, for her jaw softened, and she smiled a little, looking down at what he was doing.
“I think you rather like it when I do that, Your Grace.”
“I cannot describe what it does to me,” she whispered softly into the air.
“It is small comfort, I know, with what you have faced.”
“You have brought me a lot of comfort.” She looked up with a great smile on her cheeks. “There is something I want to show you.” She released his hand and reached for where her book sat on the pedestal desk, liftingThe Castle of Otrantooff some pages and placing it down at the side.
“What is this?” Owen asked as he took the pages that she proffered to him.
“I am writing again,” she said with a kind of glee. “You do not have to read it. I am well aware it needs work, not to mention it has many errors in it. That seems to happen when I am writing quickly, but I cannot tell you how happy it has made me. Writing again.”
“It has?” Owen asked, sifting through the pages, delighted to see this new smile in her features.
“It is like a world that is just my own. One that I can escape to, away from here.” She gestured to the four walls around them. “A world of my creation. I haveyouto thank for it.”
“I am not so imaginative. I cannot create an entire world like this,” he said with a laugh as he held up her pages. “Good Lord, you have written a lot. Look how many pages there are.” She giggled at his amazement.
“I still have you to thank. Had you not encouraged me to do it, I would not have found my escape. So … thank you.”
Owen grew lost in staring at that smile for a minute or two. It was the kind of smile that should have always been in her features from the day she had arrived in this house.
“I am glad I could help,” he said, placing the pages down on the desk again. “Now, how about I get you that drink?”
“If you will stay and have it with me?” she asked.
“If you wish it, then of course.” He found he couldn’t resist her anymore. “How about that dessert wine I gave you to try?”
“Oh, that was delicious. Yes, please.”
He stood from the chair and hurried out of the library, hearing paper crumple behind him, though he thought nothing of it. He crossed the hallway to the drawing room and the adjoined chamber where the drinks cabinet was before returning a couple of minutes later, carrying the carafe of dessert wine with two glasses in his grasp.
As he stepped back into the library, he found the duchess sat in the same seat, clutching a scrap of paper between her fingers. This one had been folded and was now unfurled, with something blackened across the surface.
“What is that?” he asked as he placed the glasses down on the desk beside them and poured the wine.
“It fell out of your pocket,” she said a little breathily, then turned the paper so he could see what it was. He nearly spilled the wine in surprise.
It was another charcoal drawing he had made of her the night before. Since he had found her in the snow-covered forest, there had been this image of her in his mind he had been determined to capture, though he had never imagined she would see it.
Across the page, he could see the drawing he had made. Her face was sketched perfectly, focusing on the large eyes and the turn of her chin to the side, with escaped tendrils of golden hair down by her chin. She was wearing the same pelisse and gown she had been wearing in the snow, but he had not drawn her human.
Once again, she had those fairy wings behind her, the ones he liked to think belonged to her. Yet, they were torn, damaged, and fragile. She was wandering through the trees, clawing at the bark as if looking for an escape; meanwhile, the wings stretched behind her were practically falling off her back.
Owen covered his face, feeling a wave of embarrassment take over him.
“Why are you hiding?” she cried, giggling as she reached for his hand and tried to prise it away from his face.
“I never thought you’d see that!” he said hurriedly. “That was intended to be private.”
“Is this how you see me?” she asked. She eventually managed to pull Owen’s hands off his face, where he found her smiling greatly. “I look … rather pretty. I do not really think of myself like that.”
