Chapter 22

There were plenty of rumors, those he had heard and those he had carefully ignored. Owen wasn't entirely certain when they started. Probably back at Eton when he stopped attempting to make friends, keeping to himself and hiding away with books in the gardens.

It hadn't been his biggest concern growing up. There were bigger challenges he had to face. Once in a while, he thought about doing something to stop them.

He remembered the first ball he had attended, where he had defended himself against a matron who had since passed. She didn't want him at Almack's because it was believed he had done one thing or another. The accusations were so absurd that he had laughed in her face.

And I haven't been to Almack's since.

While these rumors—meaningless as they were—were not the reason why Owen preferred to avoid London, he had noted they didn't help. He limited his time amongst his peers and managed his seat in the House of Lords from a distance. Some had become distant, faceless friends, and others chose to ignore him.

All this time, he had told himself the rumors were futile and nothing but childish behavior. Over and over, he said they didn't matter.

But this moment with Georgiana mattered. It mattered more than he realized when she staunchly announced her support of him.

He thought of it like a warm, wet egg spreading heat from the top of his skull, through his chest and down his arms to his fingertips, and then down his legs to his toes. It was an odd yet comforting warmth as he stared at Georgiana in fascination.

"You don't believe them?" he asked, almost scared to believe her.

"I always speak the truth." She pouted slightly and put her hand on his arm. Her touch made his stomach flutter. "I mean it, Owen. They're not going to bother me. They shouldn't bother either of us."

"Of course not. I…"

Owen tried desperately to find the right words to say to her. He searched her face, trying to put his feeling into words. But the only thought coming to mind was that moment in his last spring at Eton, when he spent a day in the gardens to watch a particular yellow rose bloom. Every petal amazed him as he saw something wonderful unfurl.

Fortunate. That is the nearest word I can find to describe this feeling. I am a very lucky man to have her.

"Yes?" Georgiana prompted when he had yet to continue his statement.

The statement was long since forgotten. Owen felt his lips curl into a smile before he thought about what he was doing. But for once, he didn't push it away immediately.

"It's our waltz." The tempo of the music had shifted, and supper would commence after this. He offered her his hand. "Duchess?"

"Duke." She accepted his proffered arm with all the regality of a queen.

Failing to tear his gaze away from her, Owen considered what else there was about his wife he had yet to discover. He replayed several of their encounters where he had walked away upset. He had his reasons. And yet, he supposed if he had given her another minute of his time, or just another minute to talk, he would have learned much more.

"I do love the waltz," Georgiana murmured as they came into position. When his hand settled on her back, he thought he saw her smile widen. "Don't you?"

"I do now," he found himself admitting.

The first strains of the violin were slow, then were slowly picked up by the other musicians. They waited only a second before Owen started moving. Forward and back and to the side. There was limited interaction with the other dancers, something to be glad about when he would rather forget everyone but the woman in his arms.

As the other dancers moved, Owen mirrored them and led Georgiana into the steps. He twirled her and pulled her close again. The other dances required much more energy, whereas in this one, Owen could focus only on his dance partner. As he forgot about everyone, the waltz grew more enjoyable.

"You dance very well."

He tilted his head. "Are you surprised?"

"Earlier, I didn't think you enjoyed dancing," Georgiana explained. She sounded a little breathless. Seeing another couple veer in their path, he steered her away and they kept moving. "See? Oh, I think the waltz belongs to you."

"It is not my dance. I can't control it," he pointed out.

But she was still smiling. "Then you belong to the waltz, Owen."

Unable to find a response to that, he merely nodded before returning his focus to enjoying the flow of movement on the dance floor. It was a fine song, and the other dancers improved at keeping their distance. He could nearly pretend they were all alone again.

The memory of his garden ventures at Eton, studying the specimens and losing himself for hours sketching and reading, came to his mind. He'd worked hard to understand everything he could about the plants. It wasn't just the beauty of the flowers he sought, but the strength of the earth that was determined to grow.

Just like Georgiana. She has not given up once, not really. One could almost think she enjoys the challenge. She is stronger than she lets on and works hard to get what she wants.

Even as Owen came to this comparison, he suddenly recalled a particularly nasty trick that was played on him. One of the older boys had attempted to convince him to leave the garden by setting some of the rose bushes on fire. Owen had managed to escape, covered in scratches, and was later blamed for it. He'd nearly been expelled from Eton. It was his promise to work in the gardens and fix the damage that kept him from being sent back to his uncle.

Though he'd gotten his revenge on the older boy at a later point, exposing a cheating circle that had begun in the school,

the damage from the fire did not completely go away. A few branches died for good, and he'd been forced to cut them away.

"Oh, that was lovely," Georgiana crooned when they came to a standstill as the song ended. But over her shoulder, he glimpsed the way two other ladies glanced at them and whispered behind their fans.

No matter what, he couldn't quash the rumors, they both knew that. But he had lived a lifetime with the whispers. His wife, he realized, had not.

It wasn't an easy thing to live with. One lost friends to too many rumors and found doors closed in their faces. This marriage was sentencing Georgiana to a worse life than she had agreed to. In fact, she had hardly agreed to any of this. Because this was all his fault.

Reality began to tear at the walls of hope he had started to build in his wife's company. He nodded, leading her away from the dance floor and away from the women. Everyone was preparing to go in to supper. Food was forgotten, however, as he tried to imagine some more of what this life meant for him and Georgiana.

Fewer friends. Less visits and less letters and less everything. All he could do in this marriage was take from her.

What is worse is that I have so little to offer Georgiana beyond my wealth. I do not have that much time to spare, not really. I cannot give her children or offer her friendship either. It isn't as though we can become any more friendly than what we are now.

The closer they became, the closer Georgiana would be to knowing every dark secret of his. That was something he could not risk.

As they followed the guests into the dining room for supper, he thought of a letter that his cousin had sent him once. Benedict had finished his schooling and was enjoying his first Season. The joy had been obvious in his words.

I cannot tell you how grand London is. You must see it for yourself! Haven't enough years passed since you turned your back on the city? I think you shall find it wealthy in the way of women, wine, and adventure. Besides, I worry about you hiding out like this. I don't imagine it being healthy. Having your plants and your horses cannot be enough of a life for a man such as yourself.

You mentioned slowing down your travels. Why not dedicate more time to others? While we may not have grown up witnessing an ideal marriage, I cannot help but imagine you making a fine husband and father. I can already imagine you scolding a little boy for cutting the wrong leaf off this plant or another.

Yes, I know you're thinking I am a romantic. There is nothing wrong with that, Owen, and I wish you would see that. The heart is a beating organ. It keeps us alive. That's what you told me, didn't you? I think you discount it too much. There will come a day when you regret not sharing it with another.

Owen wished his cousin was here tonight so he could tell him that he didn't know what it was like to have a heart such as his. He could not share it. Like his mind, too much weighed it down. It was a burden that could not be shared.

"What are you thinking about? You've been quiet, and you're not even touching your soup," Georgiana murmured.

Glancing about the large dining room, Owen tried not to play with his spoon. "Nothing. Only Peru."

"Peru?" She paused. "South America?"

"They have wonderful plants. I tried a native onion once and ate so much of it that I made myself sick." He shook his head when he realized he was rambling. "I was only thinking how I always wanted to return there again."

Georgiana's smile faded. "Are you thinking about leaving London?"

Neither of them needed to say aloud what she really meant. She was asking if he was leaving her.

Averting his gaze, Owen wondered if doing so would help their marriage. He could be friendly with her and then take his leave. That would confirm the status of their relationship more than anything he said. Besides, it would be safer for both of them. He could stay out of her way and maybe even stop thinking about her.

"Perhaps," was all he could say in response.

"Your Grace!" Owen felt a heavy hand land on his shoulder, nearly making him jump. Looking up from where they sat, he frowned at the stranger grinning at him. It was an older man with spritely white hair, heavy jowls, and bright blue eyes. "I know, you wouldn't recognize me without my signature, would you? But blast it, I don't have anyone to manage introductions, and I've been waiting all night."

Owen was about to ask what the man was talking about when Georgiana stood up. "Lord Blythe, you should have said something. I know we haven't talked, but you're good friends with my father. Lord Lincoln?"

"Lord Blythe?" Owen echoed and stood up as well. "The Earl of Blythe?"

"Only the eighth of the lot." The Earl chortled. He hurried to take Georgiana's hand in his. "That's right! I remember you. You served me tea once at your home, oh, four years ago? What a lovely thing you have become. Good on you, Your Grace."

He and Owen had been corresponding for years. John Doncaster, Earl of Blythe, was a traveler in his youth as well. One of his published journals had helped Owen discover a new genus of seeded fruit in Madagascar. That had been eight years ago, and they'd been writing to each other regularly ever since.

Gathering his thoughts, Owen straightened up. "You caught me unaware, My Lord. And you must know no introduction is needed after all these years of correspondence."

"What is this?" Georgiana asked politely. "Have you written to each other often?"

"Often!" Lord Blythe laughed. Everything seemed to amuse him. It made Owen feel off-kilter, since they didn't address chortling in their letters. But meeting the man in the flesh pushed his annoyances aside. "Oh, we've been corresponding for years."

Owen nodded to his wife. "Eight."

"I heard you had made it to London, but I fear I routed my most recent letter to your country estate. Oh, I'm sure you'll receive it, eventually. Handy it is I found you here this evening, Your Grace. You'll never believe what our hostess has in her garden."

Owen glanced at Georgiana and ignored her raised eyebrow. "I'm certain I could not guess."

"No, you could not! But you must. I'll give you a hint."

The Earl chuckled as he clicked his fingers and pointed at the centerpiece on the table. Owen had studied it a good minute before moving along, trying not to be in anyone's path.

"A pineapple?" Owen narrowed his eyes at the man. Excitement burst in his chest. "Good Lord, you don't mean to tell me they have a pineapple plant?"

"They do! I was just about to steal away to see it before I realized you were in attendance. We must see it together. The size, you know. It's unseemly. I've already borrowed a sketchbook." The Earl patted his pocket. "Shall we?"

Owen nodded eagerly, unable to help himself. He'd been reading everything he could about the tropical plant. But the one time he'd encountered it in the islands, the fields had been flooded because of the rainy season. It was a recurring topic of discussion between him and the Earl.

But then Owen stopped himself before he took a step forward and turned sharply back to Georgiana. "My apologies. But I––"

Covering her mouth politely with a hand, she nodded. "Go on. You can find me later."

"Ah, I remember the days of young love," Lord Blythe remarked as he glanced between them. "Always tethered to one another."

"We are married, so we are tethered for life," Owen pointed out. He couldn't explain it, but he didn't like Lord Blythe's remark. It seemed to insinuate something he wasn't certain about. He nodded to Georgiana before turning to the Earl, feeling his excitement growing. "Would you like to lead the way?"

The Earl nodded. "I shall do just that. Thank you for allowing me to steal your husband, Your Grace. I shall return him to you shortly."

"I would appreciate that," she called after them.

Glancing back, Owen tried to read Georgiana's expression. The way she said that left him unsettled. Was she trying to tie him down? She gave him a small wave before taking her seat again.

She would be left alone at the table. His steps faltered. As excited as he was to see the pineapple plant, he was less certain about leaving his wife on her own.

But then he remembered their earlier conversation. Georgiana was happy. And it was best that he not mislead her into believing their marriage would be anything more than friendly. Distance now and again would have to be good for them.

"Your Grace?"

He nodded to Lord Blythe. "Lead me to the plant. I'm eager to discuss the leaves with you."

Laughing, the Earl nodded. "Right down this hall, then. We shan't be long."

So Owen pushed away thoughts and concerns of his wife. He let his quest for knowledge take the lead. Falling into easy conversation with the Earl, they picked up where they had left off in their letters while making their way to study an exotic fruit.