Chapter 14

"No visitors this morning?"

Looking up from where Wentworth was helping him put on his traveling cloak the following morning, Owen spared only a glance at Georgiana.

He found it better that way. If he got too good a look at her, it would be harder to take his eyes off her. What sort of grown duke would he be to be stuck on her skirts, staring at a woman who was none other than his wife? It was ridiculous. Preposterous.

"No visitors."

There was the familiar sound of her footsteps crossing the front hall. He found the sound annoying as it was comforting. Tall and confident, she didn't try to tip-toe or run. Rather, she glided like a queen across the rug, knowing she would catch her prey.

Which is none other than me.

"You're going out for more than a ride, aren't you?"

"You're perceptive."

"And you're avoiding the question."

Hearing her tone lighten, he glanced up to see her smirking. It made him freeze for a second. That mouth of hers was very expressive.

Feeling Wentworth's brush against his shoulders, Owen pulled himself together as Georgiana added, "Where are you off to today? Might I join you?"

Resisting the urge to scoff, Owen shook his head. "I'm off to Liencaster. My country seat," he added when she furrowed her brow in confusion.

"Oh. I didn't know…" she trailed off. Just as he was wondering if he had stunned her into silence, she asked, "And you're quite certain I'm not able to join you on this journey? Liencaster is a two-day ride."

He straightened. "You know it?"

"I'm an earl's daughter," she reminded him. "I should like to offer any aid I can. Are you packed for the journey? Perhaps the servants and I can arrange for a carriage so––"

"It's two days by carriage, but I can reach home tonight if I leave now," he corrected her. "I should be on my way."

Her footsteps followed him to the door. "Perhaps I shall join you in a few days' time, then," Georgiana said with more optimism than he'd ever felt. "I should like to see the country estate. We could take our morning rides together, and perhaps picnic when you have a spare moment."

"I don't have any spare moments."

Narrowing her eyes at him, she asked, "Is this because of the greenhouse?"

Of course, she would bring that up.This woman insists on having everything her way. I have never known anyone so insistent, so stubborn. Have I not given her enough that she cannot allow me space alone to breathe?

As Owen opened his mouth, he saw the quick blinking of her eyes that gave way to a secret she had yet to tell him. Between those shutters, he saw the vulnerability. She bit her lip, and that only confirmed for him that she was worried.

Benedict joked once that he didn't have a heart. For a while, it gave Owen hope. Being free of pain was all he desired. Wasn't that what peace meant?

But that heart of his bothered him now, beating quickly at the sight of Georgiana's worried expression.

"No. I hope you enjoyed your tour, and I expect you to stay out of it while I'm away," Owen added sternly. "There's a discrepancy in the books that I wish to investigate, and my bookkeeper is tied up with his newborn for the next week."

Her eyes widened. Her mouth opened and closed for a second, before she asked yet another question. "So you shall return soon?"

"Soon, yes, I suppose." As his impatience grew, he finally stepped onto the porch. "Might I go now?"

A bright, devious smile spread across Georgiana's face. "Yes, you may. Travel safely, Duke. I look forward to seeing you upon your return."

There was such pomp in her words that he felt inclined to bow when she bobbed a slight curtsey. He fidgeted, eyeing Wentworth, who looked just as stumped as he felt. Turning back to his wife, Owen floundered over anything refined to say in return.

"I… thank you."

And then, at last, he was free. The conversation with her could not have reasonably lasted more than a minute. Only five had passed since he arrived down the stairs and left his estate. He put his pocket watch away as his horse was brought around. Anders nodded to him from his own horse, then they were on their way north.

The journey was tedious but quick, with fair weather and few distractions. It wasn't long before Owen was collapsing into his familiar bed.

He couldn't be more relieved to be back there at his country estate. Though he liked his travels and was grudgingly growing accustomed to staying in London, this was where he found the most comfort. As he closed his eyes to sleep through the night, he thought again of Georgiana and how she expected him to return soon.

I should, I suppose. I told her I would, and I am a man of my word. And yet, if anything should require my attention and force me to stay… I cannot say that would be an unwelcome excuse.

For the next three days, Owen kept that thought in the back of his head. Just in case he could do something with it.

But the opportunity didn't come. He was able to sort out the problem in his books before long. A letter was sent to London to alert his man of the correction. Along with it went a small request to Wentworth and Mrs. Helen to find a gift for the new father.

Owen took to breaking his fast outside on the terrace that fourth day, musing over an old book and his bookkeeper. Hawthorne was thrilled to be a father. When his wife went into labor, the man alerted Owen and sent a follow-up announcement that it was a boy and that they were thrilled. The alert was unnecessary, but Owen couldn't deny the satisfaction in hearing about this.

A calm and collected man, wise and bright, Hawthorne would make a fine father. And a young boy would be fortunate to have him as a parent.

With that came to mind the idea of having a son of his own. Staring at his glass, Owen found himself picturing a long-legged, little boy stumbling across the lawn with outstretched arms. Of course, he would look like Georgiana, so he would have light blonde hair and green eyes that would sparkle earnestly.

Already Owen could hear the sound of laughter ringing in his ears.

He jerked back, dropping his glass. A familiar footman hurried to his side to investigate the crash. With the broken cup at his feet, Owen gritted his teeth.

"I'll have this cleaned up at once, Your Grace. Is anything else amiss?" Peter asked. He was young but had been in Owen's household for nearly half his life.

"No." Owen tossed down his cloth napkin and stood up, feeling out of sorts. "Everything is fine. I just… yes, take care of that, would you? I think I fancy a stroll now."

Peter nodded. "Yes, Your Grace."

Eager to find that peace he had yet to discover since his return, Owen moved away from the terrace. He jogged down the steps and marched into the gardens with determination.

This was his home. His sanctuary. No matter what challenges he faced in the world, this was the one place that never changed. No one could do anything to his country seat without his approval. It was run and managed in just the way he liked. Whether he went to London or traversed the world, coming here was meant to be a comfort.

Which was frustrating because it didn't feel as comfortable and calming as it usually did. Hadn't he wished to get away from London? From Georgiana?

And yet there was something unsettled within him. He could feel it in his body, scratching at his spine and demanding his attention. Though he had been able to distract himself enough with the ledgers, he couldn't ignore this unsettling feeling.

There was nothing amiss in the gardens. He looked about to see if something could have changed that would have caused this feeling in him. Yet the bed was the same, and the food was the same, and none of it helped.

It was a beautiful morning, and with summer around the corner, the flowers were blooming. He glanced across the pathway to see the rainbow of colors. And the rich scents wafted up, surely a good sign of something calming to come his way.

Blast gardenias.

He sighed, shaking his head. Even though Georgiana had never been here, she seemed to haunt him. Owen kept waiting for her to appear. To ask questions. To smile his way.

"I don't need her," he told the nearby bench, knowing even then how stubborn and ridiculous he must have sounded. "I never needed a wife."

And yet the bench was wide enough for two.

While he had done his best to avoid Georgiana in their London house, there was no denying she had left her mark on it. The house was bright and cheerful. The rooms were beginning to look pleasant and less dreary. Even his meals became noteworthy. Though he only saw his wife a few times a day, if at all, it was apparent she had had quite an effect on him.

This irritated Owen. He resolved to push past it, past her. He waited out that fourth day and a fifth until he was forced to accept a new fact: his country home was not the comfortable sanctuary it had once been.

"What a cloudy day," Anders remarked on their return to London that sixth day. The sun was setting, and they'd just crossed the final hill to reach the city. "I do miss the sun."

"The sun is here as well," Owen grumbled.

His valet sighed loudly, following after him. "Certainly, but it stays away most of the time. Do you believe we'll be here through the summer as well?"

"We shouldn't be here in the first place," Owen muttered, but his voice was too low for his servant to hear.

As they approached the house at nightfall, Owen couldn't help but slow down. A knot of anxiety formed in his stomach and made him hunch over in the saddle.

That familiar sense of dread had returned to him. There was a reason he never came to this house, after all. It didn't have his parents here any longer. All it represented now was a husk of a memory, gloomy and musty no matter how much the servants cleaned.

"Your Grace?"

He must have stopped on the road. Sighing, he nudged his horse along. "I'm coming."

It was with great reluctance that he handed over the reins upon their arrival at the side of the house, before he walked to the front doors and stepped inside.

Mrs. Helen held the door open with a bright smile. "Good evening, Your Grace," she greeted cheerfully. "How wonderful it is you have returned to us. Did your travels go well?"

"Fine, fine." He took off his cloak and hat before turning to the hall. "What happened here?"

Chuckling, the housekeeper handed his belongings over to a footman. Wentworth must have retired early.

The older woman waved a hand about before answering. "Isn't it lovely? It's much less cluttered now, and the extra lamps go a long way to brighten up the hall. We've got a new polish, too."

That was only part of what had been done. He glanced about, studying the intricate tiles now no longer hidden so much by the outdated rug. There was still art on the walls, but it didn't consume everything. And yes, everything had been properly polished.

"This is quite well done," he commented. "Well done, Mrs. Helen."

She nodded before closing the door. "I appreciate the sentiment, Your Grace, but I assure you I merely helped Her Grace bring her vision to life. She was determined to have this improved by your arrival. It's been done for three days."

That felt intentional.

"To move so quickly and efficiently is quite the talent. She is fortunate to have you at her side. She's… She has done very well," Owen said.

The compliment fell awkwardly on his tongue, but Owen felt it needed to be said. Though he supposed he should be saying this to Georgiana herself, he wasn't certain he was ready to be so honest with her.

"Thank you, Duke."

He froze as his wife glided around the corner. Unable to take his eyes off her, he noted the stunning gown covered in bright beading. Georgiana wore a matching headdress, and he could have sworn her eyes sparkled more than the glass she carried in her hands.

"Ah. You're… here."

"Yes, Duke. We both live here. I've just returned from a masquerade ball," she supplied when he couldn't stop staring at her. A hesitant smile crossed her lips as he slowly met her gaze. "It was quite the event. You were missed, Duke."

He straightened. "Owen. You may call me Owen. We discussed this."

Slowly shrugging one shoulder, Georgiana murmured, "You come home a week later and want to argue?"

"No, I'm not arguing. I'm only…" He paused. Was this awkwardness as evident to her as it was to him? Frustration tugged at his insides. "It's late. You should retire. I shall do the same. Good night, my wife."

"Good night," she whispered when he passed by her.

Georgiana's voice was so soft that he nearly stumbled on his way. Grasping the railing, Owen tried to shut off her voice in his mind. He wouldn't be able to sleep if he didn't. Off he hurried to his bedchamber to collapse in his bed.

He stared up at the canopy curtains in the darkness, feeling the exhaustion from his journey seeping into his limbs. Georgiana's face flashed before his eyes. Thinking of her helped him relax, even though questions flooded his mind.

Yes, he had come back. Later than he expected, and yet he was there all the same.

Was Georgiana glad of that? It hardly seemed likely, though the way Mrs. Helen mentioned their redecorating work made it sound as though his wife wanted him to come home sooner. He could have done so, and yet he had been hoping for peace.

But what Owen felt now was not peace. The only problem was he didn't know exactly what this was. There was a pounding in his heart, and his stomach seemed a little unsettled. There was a warmth in his head, and he still saw Georgiana when he closed his eyes.

I've returned because of my wife, and yet I haven't a clue what to do with her. What sort of madness have I fallen into?