Chapter 10

"And here I had hoped to find you in the dining room, Your Grace."

Owen took off his reading glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose as his housekeeper strolled into the study, carrying a breakfast tray. Impatience reverberated through him. Forcing it down, he took a deep breath. He wasn't upset with her. She was only bringing him food.

"Thank you," he muttered as she laid the tray before him. It was piled high, higher than usual, but his usual foods appeared to be there. "That will be all."

Except Mrs. Helen stepped back and eyed him curiously, her hands on her hips. He was about to put his glasses back on to resume reading his correspondence but stopped when she didn't budge.

"Yes, Mrs. Helen?" Owen forced himself to ask.

"I don't have any trouble with you," she said, as though she were the sort of person to apparently have trouble with him. She sniffed. "But I must say, it's a sunny day for such a dreary household."

Holding back a groan, he asked, "Whatever do you mean? Is something wrong with the servants?"

"Oh, no. We all get along like we always have. There'll be more of us, too, before the end of the week. But the dining room… it could be such a cheery place were it not for Her Grace."

Owen frowned. He thought of Georgiana. They'd only talked a few minutes ago. He had been stern with her for eavesdropping, perhaps harder than he had needed to be, but it was for the best. He had been so close to falling apart or breaking the room into pieces. That wasn't for her to see. The rage that his uncle ignited within him was nearly enough to break a man.

Which is perhaps why she doesn't belong here. Or rather, I do not. The sooner I return to my country seat, the better. I'll have the fresh air, my plants, and a mostly empty household without a nosy wife.

"I thought you liked her?" Owen asked his housekeeper.

"I adore her." Mrs. Helen paused again, as if she wanted him to say something. Except he hardly knew what she was expecting him to say. "It's only that she's dreary this morning. One minute she's engaged in her bedchamber, making plans for the day, and the next she's eating toast and holding back tears." She sniffed again.

Leaning back in his chair, Owen rubbed his forehead.

So that's what this was about. His wife was unhappy, almost like she had been pushed into a marriage she didn't desire. Was he supposed to cry about it as well? He shook his head at the very notion.

"As unfortunate as that may be," he said, "that is hardly my concern. The Duchess may do as she likes. I am not her friend or a shoulder to cry on."

"But who shall she talk to about what upsets her?"

He waved a hand loosely in the air. "Anyone she likes to. I've heard her talk to others, so it isn't an impossible choice for her. She'll find someone if she hasn't already. I will not stop her."

Even after such a generous offer, his housekeeper was not yet swayed. Her expression soured further. He had hoped she would leave him be. Instead, Mrs. Helen clasped her hands together and took a step closer to him.

"Your Grace," she started. He couldn't help letting out a small groan, so she talked over him. "Your Grace, I believe you must consider Her Grace's feelings. I'm certain she meant nothing by whatever upset you. You'll find that she is very pleasant if you only talk with her."

"Did she tell you that she upset me?"

"No, but I surmised that something must have happened after she dressed and before she came down to the dining room."

He frowned. "And you surmised it was my fault?"

"It is always the man's fault," Mrs. Helen responded with a sage nod.

After staring at her for a long moment, Owen again shook his head. "This is ridiculous. We have nothing to talk about. I wrote her a note in her study—the one connected to the library. See that she reads it today, and all will be sorted. She'll have her money and her independence. I'm sure that's all she wants."

Now it was Mrs. Helen's turn to groan. "No matter your station, all of you men are the same. The money helps, but it is the connection in the marriage that women crave the most. You're married now. Surely that matters?"

If he had been stricter with his servants when he was younger, perhaps he would not have hired anyone who pushed back. But Owen couldn't even think about replacing his housekeeper. Mrs. Helen would remain even with her stubborn willfulness.

"Just because we are married," he articulated carefully in the hope she would begin to understand, "does not mean we must be anything more than legally husband and wife."

Those last three words rolled oddly off his tongue. He wondered if Mrs. Helen noticed the way they tumbled out of his mouth.

Husband. I'm a husband now. What an uncomfortable feeling.

"Your Grace…" Her voice softened as she came to stand at the edge of his desk. She offered a hopeful smile that he steeled himself against. "Her Grace is confident and kind. I think the two of you would get along quite well if you try."

"You've hardly known her a day."

She smiled. "I'm an excellent judge of character. The two of you only need to spend some time together."

Shaking his head, Owen said, "I don't think so."

"Consider how it's your wife's first day away from her home. Her family," the housekeeper urged. "It is difficult to suddenly be shipped off to a new home, away from family. A letter on a new desk will hardly be enough for her. Why, she's surrounded by strangers in a strange house. You're right that we don't know each other, and she doesn't know you either."

"Be that as it may, this is not a stranger's house. It's her house."

"And yours."

"Hardly." Rising from his desk, Owen decided that if his housekeeper was going to stay in his study, then he would leave. He couldn't continue this conversation. "She can enjoy the house as she desires. Do with it what she wills. But she has no right to claim my time or my attention."

Or any other part of me.

Mrs. Helen studied his face quickly, finally beginning to comprehend his words. Her lips pressed together into a thin line. But at least she bobbed a curtsy, as though she accepted his words.

"Yes, Your Grace," she murmured.

"Thank you, Mrs. Helen. I appreciate your dedication here."

She opened the door for him while he crossed the room. "Are you leaving? What about your breakfast?"

"Leave it. I don't mind it cold. But I find that I need that ride, after all," he admitted.

Although his housekeeper muttered something under her breath, it wasn't loud enough for him to hear. He decided not to dwell on it. Mrs. Helen had no qualms about speaking her mind to him, as this past conversation had proven. If she wanted to tell him something, then she would make sure he heard it.

Owen was annoyed by the conversation, but he respected his servants, and that included Mrs. Helen. She had a big heart, even if it was in the wrong place.

Perhaps his new wife did need time to get used to her new life. It had been a blur for him both coming to live with his extended family and then leaving them. Neither occasion was anything to compare to Georgiana's new life. If anything, she was most likely better off here than anywhere else.

What other lady will have money and freedom like this? I want nothing from her. Only the desire for her to keep her nose out of my affairs. I want my peace.

There was nothing Owen prized more than his peace. He needed the calm and quiet after the storms of his youth.

His childhood had proven that it was safer to stay away from people rather than to take any risks. Curses weren't real. He was just an unfortunate fool who had caused his parents' death, proving to himself that love was too costly. He couldn't love, not anymore.

The less he felt, the better off he was. It had been a mantra he'd kept in mind during his days at university before he had his growth spurt and was picked on, and afterward when he saw the backstabbing and the manipulators. He relied on it even now.

People are nothing but trouble. More than anything, I do not want to get to know Georgiana. First, we would talk about the weather. Then that would turn into conversations about the house and then families, and then she'll have me hog-tied while she sobs over her feelings.

He would have to brace himself for every conversation, especially more now that he knew how nosy she could be.

Having had years of experience in building these walls, however, Owen didn't worry too much. Georgiana would just have to learn to live without him. That couldn't be too difficult.

As he rounded the path toward the stables, barely remembering where to go, Owen found he was still wound tight. He reached the open doors in a huff. They had no need to be open this wide, not the two of them. But as he opened his mouth to tell whoever was in the stables to be more careful, he heard someone talking.

"Yes, you are a beauty, aren't you?" a gentle voice crooned. Owen stilled. "What beautiful black hair you have. That's a very fine mane. You would let me brush it, wouldn't you? Look at you, so wild and beautiful."

His mouth dried. Those soft words threatened to undo him in a heartbeat. Blinking, he found he needed to understand why someone was talking to him like this.

It only caused his ire to rise as he found Georgiana leaning over a stall while stroking the neck of his horse, Albert. Owen stared and listened to her whispering sweet nothings to his stallion.

He wanted to tell her to be quiet, that this was not the way to tame a stallion. Albert was a wild beast who deserved his peace and quiet, along with his right not to be bothered.

Except Owen couldn't find his voice. Or his words. He backed out of the stables, tripping over himself like a young fool.

"Blast it," was all he could muster as he turned around to go back to the house.

He couldn't go riding now. Not with her in there, talking so gently to his horse. Her voice threatened to undo him in ways he didn't understand.

I won't allow it, I won't. I just need to collect myself. Next time, she won't win.