Chapter 11

Georgiana bit her lip, eyeing the silver platter. "That's it?"

Already she held three invitations that had sat there a moment ago. But she had been expecting another one. Staring down at the plate in the hope that another letter might magically appear, she tuned out the sigh that Wentworth let out.

"I'm sorry, Your Grace, but that is all the correspondence that has arrived this morning."

"Did you take anything to His Grace? Perhaps something of mine was stuck to a letter he received? It's happened before. Or…"

She grew frustrated, trying to think up another explanation for why she hadn't received a letter from her sister.

Again, the old butler shook his head. He gave her a sympathetic smile. "I'm sorry, Your Grace. I shall let you know at once if anything comes from your father."

"Thank you."

She didn't care to correct him, as her mood grew despondent once more.

I know it has only been two days. Jean arrived yesterday with a drawing from Emma. But I thought she would send me a reply about when she could visit me. Maybe she wants to finish another painting first and send it along? Unless Father is barring her from writing to me. He's not that cruel, he can't be.

"Oh bother," came Jean's gentle voice as they met on the stairs. "I know that look. There's not a message from Emma, is there? If you wish, I could go back to the house and make some excuse to be there so I might talk to her."

Struggling to smile, Georgiana shook her head. "That's very generous of you, Jean. Thank you. But I won't put you in that position. Besides, I don't want a letter from her. I want her."

Her maid glanced around to see if anyone else was nearby before she leaned forward. "Have you talked to His Grace about inviting her to stay with you?"

"I haven't. He… he doesn't care for company much."

That was Georgiana's excuse for her husband, and yet it was more than ridiculous. She wanted to laugh at her own words. The Duke definitely didn't care for company, and he especially did not care for her company.

If yesterday morning's conversation in the yellow parlor had not confirmed that for her, the letter he had left her in her new study had done the trick.

The man was, as she had since noted, not a romantic. He was practical, cold, and unfeeling. He'd left a short note detailing her basic responsibilities and her access to money. The letter had ended by explaining that they did not need to attend social evens together or even dine together. Soon, he would return to the country estate, while she could do anything else.

Be anywhere other than there, I think he was telling me. Which is good, because I don't wish to be there at all.

"No, he does not," Jean scoffed and put her hands on her hips. "But he can be peculiar about it. If your father had heard the way some of his servants talk to him, goodness me, they would be out the door in a minute."

Georgiana blinked. "What is that supposed to mean?"

A delighted expression crossed her servant's face. Something had happened.

After Jean glanced about again, she tugged Georgiana off the stairs and into the nearby alcove for privacy. It was gossip. She always grew much too enthusiastic when she learned something she shouldn't.

"Jean…"

Did she want to hear the gossip? Georgiana thought she shouldn't. And yet it had to do with her husband. Shouldn't she know?

"I cannot believe you didn't hear it last night, because the entire household has been talking about it," her maid said quickly in a low voice. "Of course, I believe they were down in the study and not in the bedchamber, which would explain as much."

Georgiana gave her a stern look. "What exactly did I not hear?"

"It was his valet, Anders. Apparently, they've been together for a very long time. They traveled together and the like. So Anders is allowed to speak quite candidly to His Grace."

"About?"

"About being here, of course. His Grace wants to leave. I believe he prefers the country? Except Anders says they shouldn't go. Not until Benedict is safe—or that's what he said. The two of them got into quite a row about it, especially when Anders admitted to having Wentworth and Mrs. Helen send for the gardener."

Nothing about the story made sense to Georgiana. She tried to think it through before shaking her head. "What about the gardener?"

Jean clapped her hands together. "His Grace is quite the gardener. He has a massive greenhouse in the countryside. That's why he wanted to return so badly, to his plants and the like. But Anders requested the head gardener to arrive in town, so the man is on his way, and now His Grace is trapped here."

Which means I'm trapped with him.

"Lovely," Georgiana muttered bitterly. "What sort of master allows his servants to act so inappropriately?"

"I would never do that," Jean offered.

"Oh, I know. You're a darling. But perhaps Anders could teach me a thing or two about the Duke…"

Georgiana considered her options for a moment. After all, she couldn't be strangers with her husband. She had to know something about him. The man was determined to hide from her. Or the world, perhaps.

"What would the gardener do here?"

Surprise once again flickered across her maid's face. "Oh, you don't know? There's an old greenhouse on the roof here that could be revitalized."

"Really?" Georgiana tilted her head up. "Mrs. Helen didn't tell me about it."

"I could show it to you, Your Grace?"

An idea came to mind. "Don't worry about that. I can see to it on my own. Can you put these invitations on my writing desk? I need to decide whether or not I'll attend."

Although Jean appeared a little put-out, she nodded and obeyed. This left Georgiana on her own. She started back up the stairs as her curiosity got the better of her. Though Mrs. Helen had invited her to go out onto the roof during her tour the other day, Georgiana had declined. She didn't care for heights. But no one had mentioned a greenhouse.

It wasn't difficult to find the door on the top floor, shadowed and hidden in a dark alcove. Georgiana pushed it open and blinked as daylight hit her eyes.

Stepping out onto the roof, she paused. She couldn't help but grow jumpy when she saw a railing around the roof. But over to her right was the greenhouse that Jean had mentioned.

The glass was much too foggy and dirty for her to see anything but shadows through them. Noting the grime on the doors, she hesitated over opening them. Just as she reached out her hand, however, the door creaked open, revealing her husband.

They stared at each other. She tried not to note how he wore no coat. In fact, his waistcoat was open, and he was not wearing a cravat as well. A blush crept up her cheeks when she realized she could see his bare neck. This was hardly appropriate.

"Wife."

Or perhaps it was appropriate if they were married, she didn't know. Georgiana swallowed. There was no emotion in his voice or his eyes. She dimly recalled the mention of one of his supposed curses. He had fought the devil and lost, losing his soul. That was why he never went to church.

"Hus—" She couldn't say the word. "Duke. I just came out here to see the greenhouse, if you don't mind."

"Except that I do."

Caught off guard, Georgiana tried to think. She also tried not to look at him. "You do what?"

"I mind. The greenhouse is mine. Besides, it's dirty and dangerous in there at the moment. It needs to be cleaned up. There are broken pots everywhere. You must stay below the roof."

She couldn't help but huff. "Even now you presume to tell me what to do? You said I would have my freedom."

"Freedom to buy your frilly dresses, play your games, and attend any social events you care to enjoy," he corrected her with a hard look.

Those deep green eyes pierced her soul. She felt her heart beat erratically, uncertain of what that meant.

"You have the freedom to stay away from me. But I'm here, so you can't be."

"Because you don't have a soul?" she retorted. "Or because you lost the bet you made about marrying?"

That was another rumor. He'd made a bet with a gypsy in his youth to marry the gypsy's daughter, or else he would lose everything he cared for in this world. It made more sense than fighting the devil.

Georgiana searched his face in an effort to glimpse what he was trying to hide.

"Because I told you it's dangerous. And you don't have a key," he replied, before locking the door. "Go now."

Her mouth hung open in dismay, wondering why he had to be so stubborn. And handsome. But mostly stubborn and cold and unfeeling.

Whirling around, Georgiana huffed before taking her leave. She shouldn't have come up there. Even if she wanted to understand her husband, this was clearly not the right place. The only problem was that she didn't know if there was a right place.

"Your Grace?"

She looked down the stairs to see Wentworth there. "Did a letter come?"

"Not yet," he told her regretfully. "But you have a guest waiting for you in the front parlor—Lady Marjory Honeyfield."

Her cousin.

Marjory was a head shorter and a year younger than Georgiana, but the closest friend Georgiana had aside from her sister and her maid. Having been busy at a house party, Marjory hadn't been able to make it back in time for the wedding.

"Oh, wonderful!" Georgiana pushed back her concerns with the Duke to hurry down the steps and enter the parlor. "Marjory, you're here!"

"I certainly am. I cannot believe you are!" They met on the couch and hugged. "Two weeks, and everything changed. How could you?"

Georgiana scoffed as she pulled back. "What makes you think it was my choice?"

"Then it wasn't?"

"Father made me. How bad are the rumors? I haven't left the house yet," she added while moving to tug on the bell pull and order them tea. "I'm too nervous to even read the papers."

Marjory tutted. She fiddled with her dark red curls before offering a hesitant smile. "They're conflicting reports if that is any comfort. Some say Lord Egerton ran away when he saw you. Others said you conspired for the match, or that the Duke did when he saw your beauty. Another gossip rag said you two fell madly in love and insisted on breaking the first contract."

Georgiana shook her head. "Balderdash," she huffed.

"Then whatever happened? Do you at least love your husband?"

"I'm not certain I even like him," she admitted.

Upon realizing she was getting carried away, she quickly told Marjory everything that had happened over the last week or so. It was such a relief to share her feelings with someone else.

Her cousin's mouth hung open for a good part of it until they had tea in their hands. "I can hardly believe it! And yet he offered. He didn't have to, you know, but the Duke offered to marry you."

"More like demanded it," Georgiana muttered.

"Is he cruel?"

"Certainly not." She hesitated. "Well, not exactly. He's… well, he isn't kind. He is polite, but he is remarkably uncouth and stern. There is something about him that reminds me of my father. Maybe he too was once warmer before he got hurt. I get the feeling that he is… he is hiding behind some very tall walls."

He offers so little in our conversations. Even that letter. I've never received something so simple and plain and unfeeling. There was no emotion behind it. And yet he is human, is he not? He must have emotions. I just cannot reach them.

"Perhaps you can climb those walls. Or do you want to?"

"I don't know," Georgiana admitted. "I just wish he would let me get to know him a little better. The man is such a mystery. This may be a marriage of convenience and nothing more, but I've hardly spoken to him for more than a minute or two at a time. I hardly know anything about him!"

Marjory nodded thoughtfully before asking, "What do you want to know?"

"I don't…" Georgiana hesitated. "I suppose I should like to know enough about him to do away with the rumors. Sometimes it feels like the ton knows more about him than I do."

"Except half the rumors are ridiculous. They include ghosts, devils, and the like," Marjory pointed out.

"Well, yes, but… he doesn't address them," Georgiana attempted to explain. "What if some of them are true? Maybe he really did ride a green horse or maim a vicar. I don't know."

Scooting closer after putting her teacup down, Marjory wrapped her arm around her cousin's shoulders. "It cannot be easy, I'm sure. Perhaps you are right. He has many walls up. All I know about him is what my parents have said. He suffered a tragedy when he was a boy, remember? He inherited the title before he was of age."

Georgiana felt a little guilty then. Where was her pity for the man? If he would even want it. "Yes, that must have been difficult."

"Then ignore anything that comes out of the ton's mouths," Marjory suggested eagerly. "Put it all behind you, so you might learn from him who he truly is. I think it's best to learn who a person is by directly interacting with them. Look beyond his past and the gossip rags, and truly get to know the man."

The man, the Duke, the husband. Owen. His Grace. There are so many names to call him, and yet none of them feel right on my tongue.

Even as Georgiana worked through her thoughts, she could tell that her cousin was right. This was why Marjory was such a good friend—she always knew how to provide good comfort. She always knew what to say.

"Thank you," Georgiana told her. "I am so glad you came to visit."

"I can come every day if you like," Marjory teased.

As much as she would enjoy that, Georgiana was already thinking about how she might start learning more about her husband. Just because he might be cold and moody and standoffish didn't mean she had to do nothing.

She was determined to get to know the man she had married. Whether Owen liked it or not, Georgiana decided they could have as much freedom as they desired. But that did not mean they would stay strangers in their marriage.

All she needed was a plan.