Chapter 16

If there was one thing Owen tried to avoid in his life, it was discomfort. Whether it came in the way of fear, pain, or embarrassment, he did his best to stay away from such occasions.

So after that afternoon in the stables, he resumed his efforts to avoid his wife.

There was a part of him that knew it was madness. It made no sense. Though he wanted to keep her around in order to sustain the change that their marriage had brought them, he didn't actually want to be around her. Owen wasn't ready for that.

Already he admitted too much to Georgiana. She knew more about him than she should. Even through her tears, she would have noticed it.

"Your Grace?"

He glanced up from where he was studying his new pocket watch. The footman, Thomas, looked at him curiously from the other side of the hall. Then they glanced at the corner of the front hall.

"Is there…?"

But the young man fell quiet when Owen put his finger to his lips to silence him. There were already voices down the next hall. Mrs. Helen and Georgiana spent most mornings talking there after their meetings in the kitchen to ensure the smooth running of the household.

All she had to do was wait another six minutes. Approximately.

He blamed the chambermaid for that. She had brought his breakfast a little earlier this morning, so he was ahead of schedule. Pushing back his irritation, Owen put the pocket watch away. He wouldn't admit it to the man, but Anders had been right. This one was a handy one to have.

"Sunday will be a quiet day, I think," Georgiana continued. She spoke confidently, managing the house as though she had lived in it all of her life instead of a month. "That would be the perfect time for everyone to have an extra day off. Are you certain you don't wish to join them?"

"Oh, not this time, but thank you, Your Grace."

"Mrs. Helen, I insist. If you don't take Sunday off, then you shall have Tuesday and Wednesday to yourself. I won't hear of you working. If you wish to stay on the premises, you may, but I won't let you lift a finger."

"That's very generous, Your Grace, but I'm not certain I can accept."

A short laugh escaped the Duchess's lips. It was good to hear her laugh. Better than he expected. Owen leaned against the wall and closed his eyes to enjoy the sound, liking the way her chuckle warmed his heart.

"You work for me, Mrs. Helen. I mean what I said. Argue any more, and I shall make it three days."

"I don't doubt you could manage just fine without me, Your Grace, but two days will do. I wouldn't want you to do anything more than you must."

Georgiana sighed. "We all have responsibilities, Mrs. Helen. The work never ends, not really."

Frowning, Owen wondered what must have come to mind for her mood to shift so quickly. One second she was laughing, and the next she was sighing. What made her feel so heavy-laden?

He was trying to guess what it might be when he glanced over to see that Thomas was still standing at the three-way intersection of the halls. The young man glared at him. Or Owen thought he had, since Thomas quickly looked away.

"Goodness me, look at the time," Mrs. Helen blurted out suddenly. "The egg delivery should be here by now. I'll check on that, Your Grace, and then meet you in the kitchens if that pleases you?"

"Yes, yes, thank you, dear."

Owen looked back at Thomas, but the footman carried on with his bundle, keeping his head down. It wasn't the first time he thought a servant had tossed him a strange look as of late. Owen inhaled, ready to demand answers, before suppressing the urge.

His servants, after all, could think whatever they liked. It didn't matter at the end of the day. He was still the Duke. If he didn't care what the ton thought of him, he wasn't going to worry what the servants thought of him either. They all did their jobs, and that was all he needed.

The front hall was finally clear. Grabbing his walking stick, Owen took his exit.

He would usually ride earlier in the day, but afternoon rides had become the fashion since Georgiana spent most of her mornings––before her meetings with Mrs. Helen––out with her horse. The groom usually went with her and informed Owen whenever she took a different route. But from what he understood, she either went to Hyde Park or strolled down the street past her family's house.

While there was a voice in the back of his head telling him he should talk to his wife, Owen pushed it away. She didn't need him. All she needed was her freedom. And staying away from her meant he made fewer mistakes.

Hastening out of the house, he reached the stables without seeing her. Soon Owen had enjoyed his daily exercise before making his way into his study, where he was able to avoid Georgiana again. He wasn't a fan of having to change his schedule. Still, he did what he must.

But if I catch another footman frowning at me, I may need to do something.

Shortly after he had bathed and dressed again, he handled his most recent correspondence before deciding to visit White's. He had made his way through plenty of mail. Besides, he had heard Georgiana would have guests over, and he didn't want to be in the way. Or seen, in general.

"Is that you, Winchester?"

He glanced up from his newspaper to see Harold Tethering, the Earl of Evansdale, strolling along with two other men. Lord Evansdale had been with him at Eton for a period of time, albeit younger if Owen recalled correctly.

"We don't see you about much," the younger man on the Earl's right commented. He cocked his head. "Worthington at your service. That's Mr. Peter Richards there."

Assessing the men before him, Owen slowly nodded.

William Worthington was the future Marquess of Burtle. He was the third son, but the last two had passed in unfortunate incidents. Peter Richards was untitled but a well-known barrister, well-liked by their peers.

"A pleasure," Owen said at last. "I don't have much time."

"Join us for a game?" William offered as he pointed to the nearby billiards room. "Evansdale could always use another man. He's hopeless."

"Give me cards any day, and I will win," the Earl muttered darkly before turning back to Owen. "You and your duchess wouldn't by chance be attending tonight's musicale at Lady Heather's?"

The mention of Georgiana gave Owen pause. "I beg your pardon?"

Though the other two hesitated, William Worthington explained himself. "We enjoyed her company at the masquerade ball this past week. Good sense of humor. The Diamond of the Season doesn't have to be unmarried now, does she? Lucky Duke as yourself, I'm surprised we didn't see you hovering like everyone else at the ball. We're being forced to join the debutantes tonight at Lady Heather's and were hoping Her Grace would be joining as well to make it an enjoyable night."

"Quite the dancer. You're very fortunate," Peter Richards added eagerly.

Fortunate to have Georgiana as my wife? What do these men know? Blast it, I don't even understand what masquerade ball they are talking about.

When Owen frowned at them, William chimed in, "We mean nothing by it, of course. She's a friendly face and very charming. Doesn't attempt to sink her claws in us, if you know what we mean."

"I don't." An ugly feeling welled up in Owen's chest, almost consuming him. He struggled to stay put without squirming or snapping.

"Ah." William swallowed loudly.

The three men exchanged wary glances before they excused themselves.

Returning to his newspaper, Owen could have sworn he felt eyes on him. But he looked up and found no one glancing his way. His stomach churned as he replayed the conversation he'd just had.

They knew his wife. Not only that, but they had enjoyed her company. She'd attended some masquerade ball without him. Now alone, he thought it sounded familiar. Yesterday or perhaps the day before that. But they hadn't gone together.

We don't have to go together. I told her not to expect anything more from me. But if she is making an impression in Society… surely, I must do something about that, mustn't I?

He tossed the paper aside and left White's. It was too loud in there to think. Deciding to walk home, Owen wandered the streets, trying to make up his mind about what to tell Georgiana.

She couldn't do anything that might worry him. Nor could she embarrass the family name and title. But he did want her to do the family proud, didn't he? He couldn't very well expect her to sit around the house. Then he would have a harder time avoiding her.

"Welcome home, Your Grace."

"Hm?" He glanced around to see he was standing on his house's doorstep. Frowning, he asked his butler, "How long have I been standing here?"

The older man bowed. "Not more than a minute."

"That's a lie." Owen stepped inside. Removing his hat, he ran a hand through his hair. Half the evening must have passed already. He didn't have a clue how long he had been out walking. "Is all well?"

"Indeed. Supper has just been laid out in the dining room, should you be hungry."

"I suppose that couldn't hurt," Owen said, making his way down the hall.

He grabbed his pocket watch to check the time. His head was still down when the doors to dining room were opened for him. Only upon hearing the delicate sound of someone clearing their throat did Owen finally realize he was not alone.

Across the room sat Georgiana. She set her glass down and nodded, eyeing him. "Good evening… Owen."

Owen took a step back with the thought to leave, before realizing how foolish that would be. His heart pounded in his chest. He was caught. How had that happened? Why had no one warned him? Speechless over his folly, he spotted a place setting next to her.

Either he could be incredibly rude or he had best have supper with her.

Resigned to his fate, Owen took his seat. "Good evening, Duchess," he murmured.

"You may call me Georgiana, you know," she said as the next course was served. She nodded her thanks before looking at him. "It's nice to have you here. For supper, I mean. You never… Never mind. How was your day? You looked troubled when you entered."

Owen glanced at his plate of steamed fish. "It's nothing that concerns you."

"I'm your wife. I would think everything concerns me." She let out a loud breath as he avoided her gaze. But then she continued. "I thought we could make this marriage work, Owen. We can't do that if you won't speak with me."

"Everything is fine. As is our marriage."

She didn't bother pretending to eat. Her hands remained in her lap as she asked him, "Do you mean that everything is fine now because you have taken to avoiding me?"

Dropping his fork on his plate, Owen grumbled. "Are the servants spying on me for you? I hired them."

"They all have your best interest at heart. Mine as well."

"Then maybe they should mind their own business."

Georgiana took a minute to reply. He couldn't fault her, he hadn't meant to be so rude. "They're only concerned for my welfare. Both the Duke and the Duchess should have peace of mind here, don't you think?"

"Of course, I think that."

"Then why won't you talk to me?"

"I am talking to you," he countered. "What else would you consider this? Dancing?"

Exhaling loudly, Georgiana stared at him. "You're being childish."

"I am not." He paused and shook his head, trying to convince himself he was right. His heart pounded. This woman was going to drive him mad. Why had he thought he could dine with her? "We are talking, are we not? Yet, even when we do talk, there is no guarantee of honesty."

A short laugh of surprise escaped her lips. "Honesty? What does that mean?"

"I think you know exactly what that means," he said sharply.

He rose at once, pushing back his chair with a heavy thud. When the napkin in his lap started to fall, he quickly reached out to catch it.

From the corner of his eye, he watched Georgiana jump.

Was that a jump? Or a flinch?

The question made Owen freeze. He watched the napkin pool into a wrinkled heap on his boots. A memory from his childhood came to mind. He'd dropped his napkin once before at supper in front of his uncle. The Marquess had risen, lifted a hand, and slapped him across the face.

Except now Owen wasn't in that position. He wasn't shrinking back in his chair. He wasn't even seated. Blinking, he considered his black polished boots and remembered the way his uncle had towered over him. No longer the scared boy, he could very well be the titled tormentor.

"I…"

"Owen?" Georgiana asked quietly.

"I'm sorry." He couldn't meet her gaze. "I… I have to go."

And out of the room he ran. Owen stretched his long legs in desperation, trying to get anywhere so long as it was out of there. A mess of emotions trailed along to torture him. Was he turning into his uncle, the one man he had sworn never to emulate? Was Georgiana scared of him? Could he hurt her if the opportunity arose? Would he?

I don't know. I don't know. All I know is that I have to get out of here and away from her. This is wrong. Everything I've done is wrong. Why am I even here? I should leave. Leave for the country, leave for the Continent. Anywhere I am safe and free. And if I am gone, then she, too, is safe and free.