Page 33 of A Gentleman Never Surrenders
“I do. What happened to you, Jack, that’s within my power to stop. Therefore, you are coming back with me and what’s more you will pay a visit to Ms. Brandon.”
At this Jack froze. “Scarlett?”
Owen nodded as he collected his own travel case. “Yes. One visit. If you wish to see her again after that, I would be glad of that, but you owe the woman one visit.”
During the last ten days, Jack had been wild, weak, screaming until his voice had broken, but with just one utterance of Scarlett’s name and the man looked like a light breeze could have knocked him off his feet.
“I don’t—” Jack raked a hand through his hair and shook his head.
“You will.” Owen told him. “My wife and I argued over Scarlett because she didn’t know the full story. You will visit Scarlett because you owe me.”
Jack swallowed. “Very well. Are you ready?”
“Yes. The cab should be waiting for us.”
He settled the hotel bill and then he and Jack climbed into the hired cab. The entire drive from London to Wesden, Owen rehearsed a thousand things in his mind and reread Milly’s letters. In the last ten days, she had slowly opened herself up to him, shown that soft, compassionate, intelligent side, but he’d also seen what her father had said to look for. A partner. She had single-handedly reorganized the accounting of the house, hired new staff, and was restoring his childhood home to its former glory. How could he not appreciate a woman who was capable of doing that?
By the time the cab arrived at the house, it was late in the evening. Owen nudged Jack in the ribs, rousing his friend from sleep.
“What? Oh.” Jack yawned and stretched before he climbed out ahead of Owen.
Mr. Boyd was there to meet them at the door. When they entered the hall, Owen halted. The lamps were dim but glowing, the musty scent was gone, the carpets looked bright, and the bannisters and floors were glossy with polish.
“Sir?” Boyd prompted, his dark brows lifting in concern and question.
“The house…” He knew Milly had been making progress, but he couldn’t believe how visible the work was. Even the old grandfather clock by the base of the stairs was ticking away. The clock hadn’t worked in years.
“Mrs. Hadley has been most effective, sir.”
Owen laughed in delight. “I can see that.” Having his home look warm and welcoming again…he hadn’t thought it possible.
“Where is Mrs. Hadley?” He glanced around, disappointment knifing through him. He had hoped—foolishly so—that Milly would have been waiting up for him.
“The mistress is in the library, sir.”
“The library?”
Mr. Boyd’s face turned ruddy. “Yes, sir. She’s taken to falling asleep in there every evening since you departed.”
“Ahh…” Owen cleared his throat. “Why don’t you see Mr. Watson settled and I shall go find her.”
“Very good, sir.” Mr. Boyd led Jack up the stairs while Owen removed his coat and gloves, handing them to a waiting footman. A new one he didn’t recognize.
“What’s your name?” he asked the lad.
“Stephen Parker, sir.” The footman took the coat and gloves.
“Stephen, good to meet you. Would you have Cook send a dinner to Mr. Watson and a tray for two to my chamber?”
“Of course, sir.” The lad dashed off.
Owen grinned at the younger man’s exuberance before he headed to the library. It was the least used room in Wesden. His family had never been much into reading for leisure, but he had a new appreciation for it now. Having spent the last ten days helping Jack, watching over him as he got free of the influence of drink, Owen had been forced to read to pass the time. He’d sent Leo to the nearest bookshop to have him buy a collection of Haggard novels. He’d taken Milly’s copy of She with him but wanted to read others by the same author. Reading She had changed him, or rather the way he understood Milly. The story of She was beautiful, yet tragic. It was more than a simple entertaining novel. Milly had excellent taste in literature and he planned to let her build the library at Wesden into a room they would both enjoy.
When he reached the library, he found the door ajar. Firelight flickered against the walls and shelves as he nudged the door open. Milly slept curled up beneath a woolen blanket in a chair by the fire. Owen tread softly on the carpets as he approached her. Her hair was loose about her shoulders in luscious chestnut waves. His hands twitched with the need to bury his fingers in the soft coils. A book, the one he’d sent her, Allan Quatermain, was open on her lap. His lips curved into a smile as he leaned down, set the book aside, and collected his wife into his arms. He started walking and was halfway to his chamber when she stirred.
“Owen?” She covered her mouth as she yawned and blinked, gazing up at him. He adored her eyes, the way the bright blue could soften to such rich velvet black when she was in the dark.
“I didn’t mean to wake you.” He apologized just as they reached his bedchamber. Thankfully Evans was there, holding the door open to allow them in.
