Chapter 21

Exhaling slowly, Georgiana studied her reflection in the mirror.

She told herself this wasn't happening. It wouldn't. Owen would change his mind. She would be forced to attend the ball alone, where she would either hide in the shadows or, like last time, gather the strength to smile and talk and laugh until everyone believed she was more than she actually was.

"At least the gown is pretty," she muttered in her empty bedchamber while ignoring the heavy thumping of her heart.

It was her most beautiful gown. She hadn't worn it since she had gotten married. Most of her dresses were fashioned two or three Seasons ago, aside from some she had fixed up for this Season, wanting to stay up to date with the current fashions. But then she'd seen the cut of her gown in a shop window and had decided to spoil herself. The right time had never seemed to come.

Until now. Oh bother, it sounds silly, doesn't it? I mean, if it is so special, then I should have worn it for my wedding. It may be too much for this evening. No one wears such strong shades of green at balls.

"Here we are." Jean came through the side door with a victorious smile as she held out some hairpins. "I knew you had them somewhere! They may not be emeralds, but I think the pearls will work perfectly."

Georgiana bit her lip. "Are you certain it won't be too much?"

"You're attending a ball for the first time with your husband," her maid reminded her. "This is your chance to make a statement. Not in words but in your appearance. Everyone will be watching you."

I wish she didn't have to remind me of that.

Georgiana's smile was weak as she nodded. "I suppose so."

Sitting back down, she folded her hands in her lap to try to steady her nerves. She let Jean play with her hair as she stared blankly at her reflection in the mirror.

I cannot believe this is actually happening. I didn't think Owen would ever do this with me. Last night at supper, I was so anxious. I thought I was being too obvious.

Mrs. Helen had told her that her husband intended to join her for supper, and it had made Georgiana nervous. Then hopeful. And then nervous all over again. She didn't remember eating a thing last night, only trying to stay composed in front of her husband.

They had been married for weeks, and yet she still didn't know exactly where she fit next to him. It was maddening business.

"Here is your invitation, Your Grace," she remembered Thomas telling her before supper as he'd laid the silver platter with a single card on it before her.

"My invitation?" Picking it up, she had unfolded it to find it was indeed an invitation to a ball. Marjory liked to use special folds for her mail, not wax seals. "What do you know that I don't, Thomas?"

The footman had glanced about before confessing, "There were other invitations, but His Grace told me to only hand you this one."

Georgiana had taken her mail and stomped all the way to Owen's study, thinking he meant to control her. But she'd caught herself before flinging the doors open. She'd gone back to Thomas to have him recount his and Owen's exchange.

By the time supper came around, Georgiana knew she needed to learn what her husband was up to. She couldn't have been more surprised that he brought the invitation up before she did. It hadn't been as difficult as she had expected to convince him to attend with her.

She had spent all night lying in bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering if that was what Owen wanted all along—to attend the ball with her.

"Your Grace? Georgiana?"

"Hm? I'm here."

Jean tutted. "Are you? I've been finished for a good three minutes, Your Grace, and I hardly think you've even taken a breath."

Rising to her feet, Georgiana shook her head. "I'm only nervous."

She worried she was even more nervous than she had been on her wedding day. At least she understood what happened at a wedding ceremony. But a ball with her husband? That was brand new to her. They hadn't been out in public together before.

They'll stare. They'll point and they'll whisper and they'll wonder. I've forgotten all about those horrid rumors. Owen is nothing like what the ton makes him out to be. I know that now, but they don't.

"Do you wish to stay home tonight?" Jean asked her softly.

"I mostly certainly do not." Georgiana was surprised at how quickly her answer came.

She was nervous, but also thrilled. Owen was the one who had asked her about tonight. He was trying to make their marriage work. Now, she wanted to have a lovely evening and make him proud. She was dressed in her most beautiful gown. It was time they attended a wonderful ball.

Nodding, Jean tugged her gently toward the door. "Good, because Mrs. Helen was here a moment ago and said you had better hurry. His Grace is getting nervous."

"Don't be ridiculous," Georgiana scoffed. "Owen is never nervous."

"His Grace is only human. Go on!"

Wondering at her maid's manners, Georgiana shot her an odd look before moving toward the stairs. She was halfway down the steps when she paused, seeing Owen in the hall below.

He was pacing and fumbling with his cuffs. "Ridiculous," she heard him mutter. "What a mess I've made. I should retire before––"

Georgiana felt her heart skip a beat. She couldn't let that happen. She called out, "I'm sorry I kept you waiting, husband."

"Nonsense. I…" Owen turned around, watching her descend the final steps. She watched his throat bob even as he said nothing.

"You look splendid, Georgiana."

Her cheeks flushed. "Thank you. It isn't too much?"

"Certainly not." His eyes eventually met hers. "Find me a soul that dares to say such a thing, and I'll toss them out onto the street."

It was such a strong reply that she couldn't help but let out a short laugh of disbelief. Never before had Owen said something like that. He almost sounded protective of her. The thought was sweet and tempting, though she tried not to think on it too much.

"You're too kind. I'm very excited about tonight. Are you?"

"I…" He glanced at the door at the end of the hall. "I believe there will be plenty of festivities tonight, Georgiana. Food and drink and dancing. Games, too, I suppose."

She nodded. "Yes, that is usually what happens at balls."

Her husband hesitated before pressing on. "I don't typically attend balls, as you may have noticed." She decided against replying. "You may have figured this out by now, but I don't usually frequent the ballrooms of London. There is a fair chance you'll enjoy yourself more without my attendance."

"Don't be ridiculous. I want you to meet Marjory. Besides, I cannot confirm that until I've attended a ball with you," she added pointedly. "Then, tonight, I can tell you what I think. Does that sound fair to you?"

Owen's brow furrowed. He looked like he wanted to object. But without enough reason, he couldn't change his mind. She watched him war with his emotions before giving in. It wasn't until he nodded that she realized she had been holding her breath the entire time.

"The carriage should be here by now." He offered her his arm. "I suppose we shall be on our way?"

"Thank you," she murmured.

It didn't take long for them to be settled in the carriage. She sat on one side while he sat on the other. Once he knocked on the roof for them to start moving, she tried to find something to say. But she couldn't seem to start a conversation. She couldn't even look at him.

On the one occasion she did glance at Owen, Georgiana was surprised to see him looking at her. But he hastily averted his gaze, and she did the same.

How can I be more anxious than I was back at the house? Goodness, I think my heart will jump right out of my chest.

They arrived before she was ready. Sucking in a deep breath, Georgiana watched Owen step out and then offered his hand to help her. She clung to him more tightly than she knew was reasonable, but she needed the support.

Stepping onto the ground, she shifted and nearly lost her balance. She would have fallen had Owen not tightened his grip on her. He didn't complain when her elbow jabbed him in the ribs.

"Careful, wife," he murmured gently and then helped her straighten up.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what has gotten into me."

He shook his head. "Think nothing of it." Turning toward the nearby entrance, he asked her, "Are you ready?"

"I suppose I must be."

Owen glanced down at her. She had nearly forgotten how nice it was to have a tall husband. In the past, she had tolook down to talk with men. But now, Owen made her feel smaller and less big-boned. He made her feel delicate, like a woman.

"We can go home if you like," he promised her. "All you have to do is say the word."

"Thank you."

She pondered over his words. Back in their home, he had been ready to turn around and flee to his study. He didn't really wish to be here. She could see it in his pinched face. And yet he said nothing of it as he waited for her to decide.

"I should like to go in at least for a while. Marjory has been expecting me—well, us."

He nodded. "Then we wouldn't want to disappoint her."

Climbing up the steps of the large house, Georgiana hoped they were still early. She liked doing that for Marjory, who easily grew bored and was likely to squabble with her parents if forced into the receiving line. Only two couples were in front of them before it was their turn.

"Georgiana!" Marjory pulled her into a hug. "Thank heavens you came!"

Georgiana laughed as she pulled away. "Marjory, of course I came. It isn't every day that my cousin hosts a ball, after all."

Making a face, Marjory let her red curls bounce about her head. "Of course, it isn't. My parents are desperate for me to make a match. I told them it was useless, but they're convinced I can find a husband this very night. Silly, don't you think?" she said loudly and turned to give her parents a pointed look.

Georgiana hurried to her aunt and uncle's side to smooth over the blow. "Good evening! What a lovely ball you have planned here. And might I introduce my husband?"

That managed to distract them before an argument could ensue.

As her uncle inquired about Owen's country estate, Marjory tugged on Georgiana's hand. "I didn't believe it when you said he would come," she murmured. "How handsome he is! I cannot believe the gossip rags never talked about that. You certainly seem to have been lucky. Is it wrong of me to be jealous of you?"

Hesitating, Georgiana wasn't certain what to say. She supposed she was rather fortunate. So much in her life could have gone awry. But here she was, in a beautiful gown, with a handsome husband at her side. They might have been shouting at each other the other day, but it only served to show they were passionate and intelligent people.

That was what she told herself. She tried to focus on aspects like that instead of other things, like the way Owen's hair curled around his ear. She'd touched it earlier but with her gloves on. The impulse to touch his hair with her bare hands struck her—she had a feeling his hair was terribly soft.

"––climb them?"

She jerked up her head. "Climb him?"

"The walls," Marjory said with an eyeroll. "You talked about him having walls of some sort. It looks like you have overcome them."

Georgiana pushed away the image that flashed in her mind. Ignoring the heat in her cheeks, she asked, "Why would you think that? I'm not certain anything has changed."

"Then has he always looked like he wants to worship you?"

She blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"Or perhaps devour you. Don't look now." Marjory tightened her grip on her. "He keeps looking at you. Goodness, now that is a fine gentleman. I don't know what you were complaining about."

Scoffing, Georgiana shook her head. "You're right, you don't know. There has been a lot for us to discuss. And he does not stare…"

She had made the mistake of looking over her shoulder at Owen. Having been so confident he would be ignoring her like she knew he always did, she was surprised when their gazes locked. His hands were clasped behind his back as he looked to be listening to her aunt. But their eyes met, and she could have sworn his lips quirked up.

When he nodded in her direction, she nodded back. Her heart fluttered, making her wonder what had just happened.

"Oh, now comes Lady Comtel. If she's wearing that dreadful pomade again," Marjory muttered at her side, "I'm going to throw up my lunch all over that orange dress. She looks like marmalade. What was she thinking?"

Pulling herself together, Georgiana cleared her throat. She had to stop obsessing over Owen. She also needed to remove herself from the receiving line now that other guests were showing up.

"She wants to get a rise out of you," she told her cousin. "Behave yourself and come find me later."

"Yes, yes, go on, then."

Georgiana left the receiving line on her husband's arm. They crossed the hall to enter the drawing room laid out as a wide entrance to the ballroom beyond. Her heart fluttered as they moved forward, feeling na?ve and young even though she'd played here before as a child and had attended plenty of balls in the past.

"You'll be all right."

She craned her neck up to meet his eyes. "I didn't say anything."

Merely raising an eyebrow, he then dropped his gaze to their arms. Her hand was squeezing his arm tightly. "Ah. I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He put her hand back on his arm when she started to pull away. "Arriving at such a large event does tend to make one feel as though they are walking right into the lion's den."

Georgiana nodded. "I usually enjoy balls, you know. The dancing and the music. But…" she trailed off, and he didn't ask her to continue.

Nothing more needed to be said. Tonight was different, and they both knew it.

Does everyone else know it, too?

Slowing down, Georgiana glanced around. The musicians were playing a soft tune, and the chalk art was still laid out beautifully on the dance floor. Trees and flowers in a garden, she noted. She liked attending early enough to see the work before everyone started dancing over it.

Even though there were not many people here yet, she noted how many of them glanced their way. Those arriving after them did the same.

"You mentioned liking country dances, did you not?"

"Hm?" Setting aside her glass of sherry, she nodded. It was rather silly how quickly Owen could distract her. "I do, why?"

He tugged on her wrist to take her dance card. Frowning at the two names already on there, he muttered, "Why do they get to dance with you? Never mind that. I'm claiming this dance and the supper dance. It shall be a waltz, from the looks of it."

Trying to ignore the fluttering of her heart, Georgiana nodded. "Yes, it's a waltz. Are you certain you wish to dance?"

"I should remember the steps, I think." He offered her his arm.

"I trust you to do so." She chuckled as she accepted it, allowing him to lead her to the dancers, who were taking up their positions for the country dance.

This one was simple. There was little touching but a lot of hopping, which meant she had to focus on her balance. On the few occasions she looked at her husband, she found him counting the steps silently with stiff shoulders. It was charming how hard he tried.

He doesn't dance much, I suppose. He never attends balls. Goodness, when did he last dance? But it's clear he took his lessons and worked hard to know what to do. Perhaps with another couple of balls, I can have him moving smoothly about with ease. He must be uncomfortable. How kind it was of him to accompany me tonight.

Everyone clapped as the dance came to an end. Of course, Owen was right at her side. He nodded toward the left, where they could retreat and catch their breaths.

"Your Grace! What a delight to see you again." William Worthington appeared before them.

Georgiana had nearly forgotten about him. She'd met the future Marquess of Burtle and a few of his friends when she was telling riddles in the hall at the last ball—a masquerade. Everyone had loved the riddles. She hadn't told them how she'd memorized countless ones to entertain Emma, but she didn't think they would mind.

"Would you do me the honor of the next dance?"

A cotillion would begin in a moment.

"What a delight to see you again, My Lord. I think my dance card…" She fumbled with her dance card but paused when she saw Owen's glower.

It wasn't directed at her, for once. Instead, it was directed at Worthington. Georgiana looked at the younger man, who was turning redder by the second, though he managed to stay standing. There was something going on between them.

She cleared her throat, wondering if she needed to lecture someone on proper behavior. Before she could do that, fortunately, Owen blinked and glanced away for a second to collect himself.

"I shall not be far, wife," he murmured to her. Then he stared Worthington down. "I will not be far away at all. Do you understand me?"

Georgiana bit her lip to hold back a chuckle. "Yes, husband."

Worthington managed to say, "Certainly. Er, Your Grace?"

She accepted his hand, returning to the dance floor. A cotillion was a delightful dance, and she was glad to be here. Looking over her shoulder, she gave Owen a nod and hoped he understood her message that he had nothing to fear.

"What a pleasure it is to see you again, My Lord," Georgiana told the younger man. "I hope you are faring well. Do not mind my husband. He can be…"

"Concerned. Yes, I know that. I learned not to speak about you at the club recently. He's quite protective," Worthington grumbled. Then he gave her a sheepish smile. "I cannot blame him. I do not think any of us knew what a gem you are until it was too late. That is a fault I shall take to my grave, I fear."

A short laugh escaped her lips, and she shook her head. "You are much too charming, My Lord. Next Season, there shall be a clever young lady who turns your head. You will forget all about me."

"Never," he promised dramatically.

She only laughed again. He was a flatterer beyond anything else, she could tell. There were no overtures beyond the dramatic compliments. If anything, he held her hand too lightly and made sure never to touch her if he could help it. He was an honorable gentleman, as were the two men who danced with her next.

After that, Georgiana retreated from the dance floor so she might rest her feet and catch her breath. Owen was there immediately with a glass of sherry in hand. They stood in the corner, quietly observing the dancers.

"It was so nice to dance," she murmured absently. "What a nice evening it is here."

"Indeed," Owen replied after a moment's pause.

It was nice, to be certain, but soon Georgiana felt that prickling under her skin again. There were eyes on her. She tried to ignore them.

The night had been going well. She danced, greeted a few familiar faces to whom she introduced her husband, and even enjoyed a pause out on the terrace for fresh air. They did everything that ladies and gentlemen typically did at a ball.

But the longer she stood in their corner, the more she felt that prickling sensation. Soon she couldn't stop looking around the ballroom. There were people watching them. Everyone was whispering, giving them odd looks.

"Is there something in my hair?" she forced herself to ask Owen.

Perhaps I am too flushed. Or I ripped my dress without noticing. What a horrible thing that would be with a dress as lovely as this one.

"Hm? Why would you ask that?"

She huffed. The doubts were getting to her, and she could think of nothing else. It made sense that Owen wouldn't understand.

"Never mind. I'll go to the ladies' retiring room. There should be a mirror there. Maybe I have something out of place."

Before she could take a step away from him, Owen neatly tugged her closer while partially shielding her from the crowd. She wanted to think it was a mere coincidence. But as she looked up to study his serious expression, she realized it was done on purpose.

"You don't have a single hair out of place. Not a single thread," he promised her. The furrow in his brow deepened. He studied her face for a long time before sighing. "I should have warned you."

Irritation flared within her. "Warned me? About what?"

His gaze darted away for a moment. "You're not wrong. Everyone is looking at us. It's my fault, Georgiana. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable tonight. But this is one of many reasons I don't come to London."

It took a moment for her to understand. Inhaling sharply, she muttered, "All those rumors."

Owen grimaced. That reaction was enough to prove that was what he meant. Everything she had heard, lies she had nearly forgotten, came back to her mind. Some made her want to laugh while others made her want to cry.

"When they can't have the answers they want, they make them up," he said.

"That's ridiculous," she scoffed.

He frowned. "We can leave if you want."

Shaking her head adamantly, Georgiana said, "No, we are not leaving. I haven't had this much fun in ages!" Surprise flickered across his face. "Nor are you allowed to leave. We've come here as guests, and we are staying through the evening."

After her husband hesitated, he turned for a second to scan the crowd. She saw the tension building in his shoulders. All this time, she had been thinking about herself when it was him she should have been thinking about. Guilt niggled at her, and she wished she had been more careful.

"If you're certain," Owen mumbled.

"I am. Because we are not afraid of them, and we don't believe a thing they say," she said decidedly. "It's the ton. They only care about being judgmental. I hate it. They'll invent stories about others without truly knowing them, and it's awful. Everyone here is a bunch of flatterers and liars."

He met her gaze. "Do you really think that?"

"You should have learned to stop doubting me by now," she responded, poking his chest. "I don't believe any of the rumors, and I won't unless you confirm any of them. Which you don't need to do."

"I don't?"

"No. I know you, Owen. Most of those stories were nonsense from the beginning. Now that we're married, I can see that. I know you and what could possibly be true. We don't have to worry about their lies. If they wish to stare and whisper, then let them. But I'm enjoying this evening with you," Georgiana declared, "and I want to enjoy the rest of it with you."