Page 53 of Unchaining the Heart of the Marquess
“I cannot return. I cannot,” she whispered in terror.
“You will return to save Father’s life if I have to drug you with a sleeping draught and carry you aboard that ship. There is no time to waste. We must make haste,” Frederick warned. He fully intended to make good on his threat if she did not cooperate this time. His father’s life hung in the balance and Frederick refused to take any chances with something so precious. No matter the secrets his mother was keeping, nothing could be worth such a price.
By the time they had packed all of their belongings, loaded the carriage, and made arrangements for the villa’s care in their absence the messenger had returned with news of the ship. He informed them that the ship had already set sail and would be making a stop in Naples before proceeding to France, then England. “We will set out for Naples immediately,” Frederick announced, taking his mother by the elbow and leading her over to the waiting carriage.
Frederick scribbled a quick note of farewell and instructed the messenger to deliver it to Paulo, thanking him for his friendship and hospitality. He had learned so much about life, love, and family during his time under Paulo’s roof, lessons he would cherish for the remainder of his days. Taking one last look at the view he had grown to love, Frederick mounted the carriage, and the driver urged the horses forward toward the Port of Naples.
* * *
Josephine laughed at Owen as she clung to his arms, attempting to regain her strength by walking up and down the corridor outside her sickroom. It was exhausting painful work, but he attempted to make it more tolerable by telling her humorous tales accompanied by animated facial expressions, displaying a wide range of comical character depictions. His grumpy old man face was her favorite.
“It appears that Mr. Greeves is quite entertaining,” her mother noted from behind her, carrying fresh linens for the bed.
“Yes, quite,” Josephine agreed, attempting to rein in her merriment.
“Should you not concentrate your energies on walking instead of laughing, my dear? I fear you are exhausting yourself needlessly,” her mother fretted, concern creasing her forehead.
“Laughter is good medicine, Mrs. Merton,” Owen reassured her. Her mother nodded and continued on with her duties without further argument.
“You could charm a billy goat,” Josephine noted.
“I have been known to do so on occasion,” Owen jested, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
Josephine laughed and took another step forward, clinging to his muscular forearms as if her very life depended upon it. She felt weak and shook uncontrollably as her muscles protested the strain. She took two quick steps in succession and lost her balance. Owen moved forward scooping her up into his arms before she could fall to the floor. “I have you,” he reassured her. Their eyes met and held for a moment, causing Josephine to blush.
“Thank you,” she whispered as he lowered her back to the ground, and they tried again.
“I will be here to catch you when you fall, Josephine, for as long as you wish me to be,” he pledged, brushing the hair from her eyes.
Josephine blushed again. She was unfathomably grateful to Owen for saving her life. She had almost died many times during her illness and had it not been for Owen’s knowledge of medicinal herbs and treatments for fever she would have perished most agonizingly. She owed him her life and knew she would never be able to repay the debt.
Taking another shaky step, she continued to move forward. Each day that passed Owen helped her to regain her strength, and with every step, their bond grew. There were rumors among the household staff of an impending engagement between them, but Josephine could not be certain that Owen had such intentions toward her. She had determined to move on from Frederick, and she supposed that marriage to Owen would not be the worst way to do so.
How often does a lass get to wed her savior?
Josephine missed Frederick, but she was happy to have found someone to move forward with. Owen had invited her to his family farm as soon as she had regained enough of her strength to withstand the journey north to the Irish Sea coast, and she was looking forward to it. His childhood tales of growing up there had gotten her through the darkest hours of her illness. He had helped her to cling to hope when all hope had been lost.
Distracted with her thoughts, Josephine stumbled once more, falling into Owen’s arms. He pulled her close to his chest and kissed the top of her head. “I have you, Josephine.” He said her name like the tenderest of caresses, provocative and yet reassuring. “Always,” he whispered into her hair and she closed her eyes as the sensation of his breath upon her skin swept over her body.
“I think perhaps she has had enough for one day,” her mother warned from the bedroom doorway.
“Yes, perhaps so,” Owen agreed and swept her up into his arms, carrying her to her bed.
“You are a good man, Owen Greeves,” she whispered into his ear as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
“It is you who makes me a better man, Josephine Merton.” He smiled and laid her down upon the fresh bed linens, covering her with a blanket.
“Not at all,” Josephine disagreed, but could not help smiling at his complimentary words. “You were a good man long before our acquaintance.”
“I am grateful you believe me to be so,” Owen replied leaning down to place a kiss on her forehead
They had grown so very close in the days of her illness, leaving all sense of formality behind. The open affection they shared now reminded her of what she had once had with Frederick when they were children and helped to take some of the hurt out of his rejection of her as a romantic partner. She had come to accept that what she and Frederick had shared was now gone and that any hope of future happiness lay with a man of her own station, a man such as Owen.
“I will return after my duties, and we will walk a bit further,” he promised as he left the room. “Rest well.”
Josephine’s mother bustled about the room tidying. “Mr. Greeves is a good match,” she remarked as she dusted the armoire.
“Yes, he is,” Josephine agreed, attempting not to laugh at her mother’s not so subtle attempts at matchmaking.
