Page 41 of The Duke’s Untouched Bride (Regency Second Chances #3)
“ Y ou look terrible, my dear boy.”
Owen glanced up from his breakfast—or rather, from the cup of coffee he’d been staring at for the past quarter hour—to find the Dowager Duchess of Richmond standing in the doorway.
She swept in without invitation. She was magnificent in deep purple silk and despite the early hour, her sharp eyes glittered brightly.
“Duchess.” He rose with automatic courtesy, though his head pounded from the previous night’s excess. “I wasn’t expecting visitors.”
“Clearly. When did you last shave? Or sleep, for that matter?” She sat down across from him with the authority of someone who’d been managing wayward dukes since before he was born. “Peters took one look at me and practically dragged me in here. The poor man is beside himself with worry.”
“I’m perfectly fine.”
“Nonsense. You look like death warmed over, and according to my sources, you’ve been absent from every social event this week.” Her gaze sharpened with maternal disapproval. “More concerning, your wife was seen yesterday looking like she’d been crying for days. What’s happened?”
Owen’s jaw tightened. Of course, the Dowager Duchess had sources. Half of London reported their daily activities to her, whether they realized it or not.
“Nothing that concerns you.”
“Everything concerning you concerns me, young man. You’re my grandson’s best friend, which makes you family.” Her voice softened slightly. “Not to mention that your grandfather was my dearest friend. I made him a promise to look after you.”
“I don’t need looking after.”
“You appear to be falling apart rather spectacularly, so I would say you do need some support.” She leaned forward and studied his face with discomfiting intensity. “What’s driven you to drink alone and avoid your wife? Trouble in paradise?”
The casual question hit closer to home than Owen cared to admit.
Paradise. Yes, that’s what the past months had felt like—a brief glimpse of happiness before reality intruded with its demands and complications.
“My marriage is none of your concern.”
“It is when I can see you’re destroying it through sheer stupidity.
” The Dowager Duchess’s voice carried the sharp edge of someone losing their patience.
“That girl adores you, Owen. Anyone with a pair of eyes can see it. Yet here you sit, looking like a man who’s lost everything instead of fighting for what matters. ”
“You don’t understand the complexities involved.”
“I understand that you’re acting exactly like your father.”
He did not appreciate the comparison, especially since Felix had said nearly the same thing the night before. Owen’s hand stilled on his coffee cup. Every muscle in his body became rigid with tension. “I am nothing like my father.”
“Aren’t you?” The Dowager Duchess’s eyes glittered with something akin to disappointment.
The Dowager Duchess was quiet for a long moment. When he didn’t answer her question, her expression shifted from irritation to something that looked almost like pity.
“Do you know why your grandfather inserted that clause in his will? The one requiring you to marry before inheriting the full estate?”
Owen frowned. He’d always assumed it was simple dynastic planning, ensuring the line continued. “To secure the succession.”
“To save you from becoming your father.” The words were delivered with gentle firmness.
“He was terrified you’d inherit his title and his hollowness in equal measure.
That you’d shut yourself away from human connection and fall into alcohol, cruelty, and debauchery, just as your father did.
” The Dowager Duchess reached across the table to cover his hand with hers.
“Your grandfather wanted you to have what he had. A partner, a family, people worth living for rather than simply existing.”
“And if I’m not capable of that?”
“You are. I’ve seen you with that precious baby and with Iris. You’re capable of extraordinary tenderness when you allow yourself to be.”
Owen pulled his hand away, unable to bear the kindness of her touch. “What if allowing myself to feel destroys everything? What if caring too much turns me into someone who hurts the people I claim to protect?”
“What if it doesn’t? What if love makes you stronger, rather than weaker?” The Dowager Duchess’s tone grew urgent. “Owen, you can spend your entire life avoiding risk, but all you’ll accomplish is guaranteeing loneliness. Is that really preferable to the possibility of happiness?”
He thought of Iris’s tears, of Evie’s trusting smile, of the warmth that had filled his empty house when they’d arrived. Was he really prepared to return to the icy silence that had defined his existence before? To choose safety over the chance of building something real?
“I need to think.”
“Don’t think. Feel . For once in your stubborn life, let your heart guide your decisions instead of your head.” The Dowager Duchess rose, gathering her reticule with brisk movements. “Whatever’s happened, whatever’s driven you to this state, fix it. Before you lose something irreplaceable.”
After she left, Owen sat alone in his dining room allowing her words to echo in his mind.
He rose abruptly, his decision crystallizing with sudden clarity. The Dowager Duchess was right. It wasn’t too late to change course and choose courage over comfort.
He strode toward the morning room with words of apology and determination already forming on the tip of his tongue.
He would tell Iris that he’d been a fool and that he wanted to fight for their family regardless of the risks.
He would confess that losing them was infinitely worse than any legal battle they might face.
But the morning room was empty, as was the nursery upstairs. A quick inquiry revealed that Iris had taken Evie out for a visit with Grace.
Owen cursed his timing and the precious minutes he’d wasted on self-pity when he should have made amends.
The day passed with excruciating slowness. He attempted to work, only to end up staring at the same contracts for hours without comprehension. Every sound in the house made him hope for Iris’s return, but the afternoon stretched into evening without a sign of his family.
It was nearly sunset when Cranston finally arrived, disheveled and uneasy.
He had sent the man out that morning with specific instructions to investigate the circumstances and the days leading up to Adele’s death, though he’d held little hope for useful information after so much time had passed.
Owen received him in his study, noting the man’s obvious agitation.
“What have you learned?”
“More than you might like, Your Grace.” Cranston settled heavily into his chair. “That boarding house where the French woman died? She had visitors in her final days. One of them was the Duke of Richmond.”
Owen went very still. “Jasper visited Adele?”
“According to some of the cleaning staff, a gentleman matching his description came by three days before she died. Paid for her room for another week and left some money for medicine. Seemed very interested in her condition.”
“What kind of interest?”
“The kind that worried the landlord enough to remember details. Asked a lot of questions about whether she’d mentioned family, anyone who might come looking for her.” Cranston paused meaningfully. “Also asked about the child she’d supposedly given birth to.”
Owen’s blood turned to ice. If Jasper had known about Evie’s existence, if he’d connected her to Nicholas…
“There’s more, Your Grace. That solicitor, Holt? I did some digging into his background. He’s legitimate enough, but his recent clients include several business associates of the Duke of Richmond. The ones involved in shipping ventures and import licenses.”
The pieces fell into place with devastating clarity. Jasper hadn’t stumbled upon convenient relatives in France. He’d orchestrated the entire situation, using Adele’s death as an opportunity to remove the living evidence of Nicholas’s indiscretions.
“Where is Holt now?”
“That’s the concerning part. He left his hotel this morning—told the desk clerk that he had urgent business to conclude before leaving London tonight.”
Tonight. Owen’s chest tightened with sudden panic.
If Jasper intended to remove Evie permanently, if Holt was already en route to collect her…
“Saddle my horse. Immediately.”
“Your Grace?”
“Jasper. I need to find Jasper before he destroys what’s left of my family.”
Owen found his quarry at Richmond House in the elegant study where Nicholas had once planned their youthful adventures.
Jasper sat behind the massive oak desk as if he belonged there, reviewing papers with the satisfaction of a man whose plans were proceeding smoothly.
“Carridan. This is unexpected.” His smile was all sharp edges and calculated charm. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Adele Martel.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know the name.”
“Don’t you? Strange, considering you visited her just days before her death.” Owen moved closer to the desk, noting how Jasper’s fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on his quill. “Paid for her room, asked about her child.”
“I visit many unfortunate souls in the course of my charitable work. One can hardly be expected to remember every name.”
“This one you’d remember. She was carrying Nicholas’s locket when she died.”
For just a moment, Jasper’s mask slipped. Something cold and calculating flickered in his eyes before his pleasant smile returned.
“My brother had many indiscretions. I can hardly be held responsible for cleaning up after all of them.”
“But you are cleaning up after this one, aren’t you? Through your associate Holt and his convenient French relatives.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
Owen leaned forward and placed his hands flat on the desk. “I know what you’ve done, Jasper. The question is whether you’ll admit it before or after the constables arrive to question Holt.”
“Constables?” For the first time, a genuine alarm crossed Jasper’s features.