He woke up early. A novelty. He was busy all day. No devil of a head. By the end of the day, he felt a singularly unique feeling, one he’d never felt before. Owen felt … useful. Useful and productive, as if he were actually accomplishing something, doing something good with his time, with his life. And he had Alex to thank for it. What he realized now was that Alex had been right about him all along. She’d always been right about him. She saw him for something he didn’t even see in himself. She made him want to be a better man. And he realized that with her love and support, he could be a better man. Alex had been the one to point out to him the opportunity he had to do good, the unique position he was in to make a difference. And she was right. It was up to him—not his past, or his reputation, or even his father. No, it was Owen’s choice how he spent his time and whether tomorrow was the same as yesterday. He couldn’t wait to tell Alex, to thank her for what she’d done for him. Would she be proud of him? The idea struck him quite unexpectedly. He’d never wanted anyone to be proud of him before, not like this. But as he rode in his coach back toward Mayfair, he realized that he wanted not only for Alex to be proud of him—he wanted her to admire him, too. But first he had to become a man worth admiring. He knocked on the small door that separated him from the coachman.
“Yes, my lord?” the servant called.
“Take me to the Duke of Huntley’s town house.”
* * *
A quarter of an hour later, Owen was standing at attention in the duke’s study, his hands clasped behind his back, his chin lifted, his booted feet braced apart, while the esteemed man behind the desk narrowed his eyes on him.
“Your mind is made up?” the duke boomed.
“Yes.” Owen nodded briskly. “Entirely. Not only do Lavinia and I not suit, but I have every reason to believe that she is vehemently opposed to my courtship of her.”
Owen braced himself for a thunderous rebuke. He was surprised when the duke merely pushed back in his overly large leather chair, tossed his quill to the desktop, and sighed. “Damn it, Monroe. I hate to say it, but I fear you’re right.”
Owen exhaled the breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding. “I can’t tell you how pleased I am to hear you say that, Your Grace.”
The duke tugged at his beard. “Lavinia’s mother and I had hoped she’d see reason, but we’ve done all we can, hosted a ball, invited you to a dinner party, and heaven knows we’ve been touting your qualities around here for weeks. Apparently, all to no avail.”
“I know you wanted your daughter to make a love match, Your Grace, but I’m sorry to say it cannot be with me.”
The duke tapped the quill against his sand pot. “If only she’d take a fancy to someone. Someone eligible.”
Owen bowed once. “I sincerely hope she does, Your Grace.” The duke had no idea how much Owen truly meant those words. Without knowing Alex’s heart yet, he wasn’t prepared to ask her father for her hand, but he’d be back as soon as he knew. “You still insist upon your eldest marrying first?” he couldn’t keep himself from asking.
The duke’s eyebrows shot up. “You’ve no idea the squalling that would ensue within the walls of this home if Alexandra were to announce a betrothal before her sister.”
“Sometimes a squall isn’t the worst thing that can happen.” And with those cryptic words, Owen bowed to the duke. “Thank you for your time, Your Grace, and your understanding.”
Owen was nearly to the door when the duke’s words stopped him. “I’ve always believed you’re a good man, Monroe. I do hope you find the right lady one day.”
“Thank you, Your Grace. I think I’ve already found her. And she is magnificent.” He paused. “I only hope she’ll have me.”
The duke inclined his head. “She’d be foolish not to.”
Owen pulled open the door and stepped into the corridor. Lady Lavinia, in a quagmire of golden skirts, nearly fell atop him. Owen pulled the door closed behind him and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. Apparently, Alex wasn’t the only one in this household with a penchant for eavesdropping.
The lady scrambled to right herself and pressed one pale hand against her throat.
“My lady,” Owen said. “Are you all right?”
She straightened to her full height and patted her coiffure. “Yes, quite.”
He wasn’t certain how much of the conversation she’d overheard, but he thought it best to be forthright. “You might as well know that I’ve informed your father that we don’t suit. He agrees with me. You’ll no longer have to suffer my company.”