Chapter 19

"Stick to what you know," Georgiana repeated to herself for the hundredth time the following morning. "Stick to what you know, Georgiana. What utter nonsense."

She was still stewing over her husband's words.

It's not just what he said yesterday. It's everything. I'm certain now he is avoiding me. His reaction was enough of an answer to that question. If only he would talk to me! That man is so stubborn that it makes me want to shake my fist at him. He's utterly ridiculous. What must he think of me? And yet I could have sworn, for a single moment, that we might have…

Shaking her head, Georgiana tried to push the thought away. It couldn't be true. Owen would not have kissed her. What a silly idea that was.

Since she hadn't seen him since their incident in the library, she had little hope of seeing him again for another week or so.

"Stick to what you know." She huffed. "I know many things, thank you very much. Stubborn man."

"Your Grace?"

Georgiana whirled around. She had forgotten she wasn't alone. Wide-eyed, she asked her housekeeper innocently, "Yes, what is it?"

Tilting her head, Mrs. Helen studied her for a moment. She finally gave a shake of her head. Neither of them had mentioned the incident either, for which Georgiana was grateful.

"I only wished to see if you had found whatever it is you were looking for," the housekeeper said at last. "I'm afraid it's rather dusty in here. Do you need another candle?"

One of the many things Georgiana was confident that she knew was managing the redecorating of the house. Since most of the staff wasn't particularly used to being here, it had taken a while for everyone to be able to find everything they needed. Like art.

Georgiana wanted to redecorate the front hall with art but would much rather use what might already be under the roof instead of having to buy something new.

Looking around the attic in which she stood, she slowly shook her head. Already she had sneezed more times than she could bother to count. It was quite dusty and filthy. There would surely be a layer of silt on her skirts. All she had were two small lanterns to light her way.

It wasn't much fun, but Georgiana thought she was beginning to enjoy herself. She eyed the large frames before her with great interest.

"Come help me with these," she instructed. "I think we're about to find what I was looking for."

"Oh, certainly." Mrs. Helen stepped up to her side, raising a candle for them to sort through the art.

There were seven assorted frames. All of them were covered in cloth to keep bugs and dirt away. One by one, Georgiana uncovered them, so she and Mrs. Helen could study them and decide what to do.

"I adore this landscape," she said. "Let's put this in the library. We'll move out the prince portrait. It's nice, but this palette is much more stately. And… goodness me. Let's put this out in the front hall."

Mrs. Helen beamed. "You found what you wanted! How wonderful. I'll have the servants assist you right away, Your Grace."

By the following afternoon, the paintings had been replaced.

Georgiana entered the library gingerly, attuned to every sound in case her husband might come upon her again, and decided she had been right about the landscape by the window. Then she traversed to the front hall.

Seeing the painting nearly made her cry.

It was a beautiful portraiture of a couple. Clasping her hands under her chin, Georgiana sighed. The woman seated in the chair gazed at her with what she believed was peace and contentment. Then there was the man standing over her with a hand on the back of her chair. Instead of looking out, he gazed down at the woman with what could only be described as utter adoration.

"What is this?"

She whirled around, eager to share her accomplishments. But her excitement died down at once. Keeping the smile on her face was a struggle as she wondered if she had somehow made another mistake.

It was Owen. And he did not look happy. He furrowed his brow. It was more than that brooding expression she had grown used to—it seemed to be something else.

"I've been redecorating," she reminded him. "It should be a home as much as it is a house. This picture should do nicely here, wouldn't you agree? They must be your family…" she trailed off as she glanced between him and the portrait again. Her heart skipped a beat.

While she had figured out that the couple had to be his relations, only now did she make the connection. He had the woman's angular face but his father's eyes and height.

"My parents," he murmured. She watched, stunned and still, as his face darkened. "I didn't think I would see this again."

And here I had been hoping he had forgotten about them and would be pleased.

"It must be nice to see them again," she offered when she could think of nothing else to say.

His glower turned toward her. "You found them in the attic, didn't you? You shouldn't have gone in there, Georgiana. You had no right."

"No right?" she sputtered.

"They were put away for a reason!" He reached forward and pulled the painting down. She gaped, her work this morning all gone. There was a giant gap on the wall now. She stared at it before turning back to her husband.

Owen was marching down the hall as fast as he could, with the painting in his arms. Georgiana hurried after him, not willing to let this go without an argument.

"This is ridiculous. They are your parents. They should be on display! And this is my house, too, Your Grace. I can go wherever I like. You can't tell me one thing only to change your mind!"

Pushing open the doors to his study, he set the painting inside and then faced her. "I can do as I like."

Then he closed the doors in her face.

Georgiana balled her hands into fists, unable to believe it. Her frustration mounted and turned into a furious rage. Staring down the doors, she considered everything that had happened. Her father had wanted to marry her off. The man who agreed to marry her had changed his mind.

And then in came Owen like a hero, a knight in shining armor. A knight who didn't want anything to do with her. Every time she made an attempt to please him––redecorating the house, managing the servants, keeping out of his way––she managed to do it wrong because of his say-so.

I can't do anything right around him. Anything! He won't let me. What more do I need to do? I cannot win his affection, I can't even win his attention. Every time he looks my way, he seems to grow upset. But he is the one who picked me. He is the one who chose to marry me!

She hadn't stepped foot into his study before. It was like the greenhouse, a place she wasn't meant to be. That was a lesson she had learned long ago with her father—a study was a man's private space away from everything and everyone else.

"Not anymore," Georgiana huffed and pushed the doors open.

One of them banged against the wall. She cringed when Owen whirled around to face her. He glared at her, crossing his arms.

"You're rude," she announced. Her heart hammered so loudly in her chest that it was all she could hear. There had to be something more she should say, but those were the only words she could think of. "Very rude."

He stepped forward. "Did you have to barge into my office to tell me that?"

"I did." Gathering her strength, she nodded. "It was time I told you so."

Staring at her for a minute, he said nothing. Owen suddenly nodded. Just once. "Is that all?"

"No." The words came a little easier to her now. "You've been rude to me, and I'm not interested in continuing our marriage in the same run of things. I've had enough of your odd moods, Owen. All I've done is attempt to make this a better home for all of us. I have tried to be kind and courteous to you as well?—"

"By kicking in doors," he scoffed.

Her nostrils flared. Moving closer, she nodded. "It's better than what you have been doing! Because you have done nothing. Absolutely nothing! It's childish, and I'm not interested in being with a childish man."

This time, he didn't speak as she caught her breath. Georgiana ignored the deep rise and fall of her chest, though she noted his eyes glanced down once or twice. She didn't know what to expect of him. After all that had happened lately, she wouldn't be too surprised if he cast her out. There was probably some miserable dower house he could send her off to whenever he liked.

Silence fell between them just long enough for her to grow anxious. Owen wouldn't stop staring at her.

"Now that you're finished with your tantrum"—he paused when she huffed in annoyance—"you'll take your turn and hear me out. This marriage isn't what either of us sought. Nor did either of us want it. Already I have given you as much freedom as can be given to a woman in your position. It is a union meant for convenience and convenience only."

"But it isn't convenient," she pointed out, refusing to be run roughshod by him. "In fact, I have reason to believe you have made it more difficult simply because you wish for it to be difficult."

His mouth dropped open. "I did not!"

"How can I be certain of that?" she demanded.

Shaking his head, he huffed. "I don't know. And I don't know what you're talking about! You don't have to do anything, don't you understand? You don't have to redecorate if you don't wish to. I didn't ask you for anything. Not for your time, your attention, or your creative efforts around the house."

Every word Owen said only caused Georgiana to grow more upset. She couldn't believe it. She couldn't believe him. For all the good she had done, he only sought to drag her down to his miserable depths.

What a fat lot of good his looks do him with a mood like that. I cannot believe the scoundrel! I will not let him talk to me like this. He's done enough.

"I didn't do it all for you! I live here as well. I deserve to be comfortable. Have you had cause to complain about the other work I have done here?" she demanded, taking a step further into the room. She noted the way he glanced down at the picture. "Fine, one thing. But I don't know why you are upset about this. It's a very fine picture, Owen, and I thought you would be proud to have it hung in the hall for guests to see."

He turned away. "I'm not."

When he didn't elaborate, she sighed.

Georgiana pinched the bridge of her nose. She breathed deeply for a few minutes to try and compose herself. As Owen continued staring down the artwork, she began to wonder if something else was the matter here.

Maybe I missed it. He's taking shots where he can while evading the current subject. What is it about this painting that holds his attention?

It took her another moment to gather her focus. She straightened up and stepped closer to him. When Owen made no objections, she moved to stand beside him so she could gaze at the painting. Her skirts might have even brushed against his shoes. Whether they did or did not, her husband didn't react.

"Is it a good likeness?" she asked softly so she would not spook him.

Her heart shuddered as she wondered if she was crossing a line. But could she do that if she didn't know where the line stood?

"Yes. From what I remember, yes."

Blinking rapidly, she gave a short nod. He'd known his parents. But they were both gone now. She tried to remember what she knew about them. It must have been years ago. That was why Owen was close to his extended family.

"What were they––"

From the corner of her eye, Georgiana saw him shake his head. "I don't wish to speak about them."

"You never do," she remarked.

"Because I don't wish to," he pointed out in a curt tone.

She pursed her lips. "The less you talk about it, the more it hurts, you know." He fidgeted. "Have you ever talked about them? To anyone? Not that you need to tell me. I'm sure they were lovely. One can see it in the way they look here. Especially the way he looks at her. They must have been a love match."

"They weren't, not at first. They—no, I don't want to talk about it," Owen muttered.

Sighing quietly, Georgiana glanced down before tentatively brushing her knuckles against his hand. He didn't move. Hope sparked within her, and she tried again.

"You don't need to say anything you don't want to. But I would love to know more about your parents."

"I don't talk about them."

"And yet we're not leaving. I'm not leaving." She slowly turned to face him. There was a troubled expression on his face. "Tell me about them, Owen. There is such heart in this painting… They must have shared their hearts with you. Didn't they?"

Dropping his gaze, Owen grudgingly nodded. "They loved me if that is what you are asking. They loved me so much that it cost them their lives."

That caught her by surprise. She inhaled sharply, forcing back the urge to speak. All she wanted to do was ask a hundred questions. But she waited.

Like Emma, Owen had to share his thoughts, his feelings, in his own time. Georgiana thought of her dear sister and how it would break her if anything happened to Emma. But no one had suffered because of her.

Owen didn't elaborate. She saw the way he fidgeted, struggling to gather his thoughts. But it was his feelings he struggled to rein in.

When she brushed her hand against his again, and he didn't move, she intertwined their fingers. Then she gave him a gentle squeeze.

"It wasn't your fault," she whispered.

Owen jerked back. Because of their linked hands, she went with him. "No. You don't know. You don't know, Georgiana. You weren't there. No one else was at the river."

"What river, Owen? What is it that scares you so?"

"I'm not scared, I… I only…" He glanced at the painting and then looked at their entwined hands in confusion. "The less I think about them, the better. It hurts less that way. I can forget about what happened at the river."

There was such pain in his gaze that she nearly wept. Was this the reason behind his anger with her? With the world?

"What happened at the river?"

He hung his head. "I shouldn't have been there. They said not to go on the days that it rained. But I was foolish."

"You couldn't have been more than a child."

"I was six. I was old enough to know."

Her mouth dropped open. "That is not old enough, Owen. Don't say that."

"They wouldn't have come after me if I had been smarter. But I liked the river, and they loved me. They saved me, but… but they couldn't save themselves."

What pain he must have endured. Georgiana searched his face for answers, and all she saw was a lifetime of heartache. There was such vulnerability in his dark green eyes. Was this the way he saw himself? Was it always the way he saw himself? The reason his parents were no longer with him.

"Owen." She faced him now, their toes nearly touching. Their hands were still entwined. Slowly, she lifted her free hand to cradle his face. Inch by inch she moved closer, waiting for him to flee. But he didn't. "You were only a child."

"I was a fool."

"You cannot blame yourself for that. Your mother and father wouldn't want that for you," she insisted. "They loved you. They loved you so much that they were willing to sacrifice every breath they had left to save you."

Watching his eyes open, Georgiana couldn't help but feel as though she were seeing him for the first time. She felt her heart flutter. His cheek was smooth against her hand. Smooth and warm. Never before had she felt so connected with him, until this moment.

But it ended just as quickly as it had started.

Owen sucked in a deep breath. He shook his head, freeing himself from her. As her hands were empty, she slowly dropped them to her sides.

"I… Well, now you know." He cleared his throat while looking away, straightening his cuffs. "Thank you for your, er, understanding. I'll reconsider hanging this painting out front if you'll allow me some time."

"Certainly," was all she could bring herself to say.

Offering a jerky nod, Owen stepped back. "Very good. Allow me to… to offer my apologies for my earlier words. They were harsh. I shall make an effort to do as you wish."

"As I wish?" She had already forgotten.

"Our marriage." After smoothing his hands down his coat, he straightened up to look her in the eye. The heartache had been buried down once more. But now, she knew it was there. He couldn't hide all of himself from her any longer. "You wish for more communication and companionship, clearly, and I shall see what I can do to provide it. Good day, wife."

Her reply was automatic. "Good day, husband."

Right then, she realized that she was in his space and not her own. She glanced around her before she nodded to herself and left the room.

Closing the doors behind her, Georgiana fought the urge to look back. But she stayed by the door for a long time. Telling herself she only wished to ensure that he was well, she listened for any sounds in his study. She heard him take a few steps, and then she heard the creaking of a chair. It was followed by a loud sigh.

The sound melted her heart, giving her hope that he was going to be all right.

Something had happened in there. Georgiana wasn't entirely certain what it was, but they had found some sort of mutual understanding. She nodded to herself and then turned away.

They had tomorrow. That was what mattered now. She didn't think Owen would lie to her about anything he had just said. Although she tried not to get her hopes up, she couldn't help but wonder what might come next for them.