Chapter 9

Georgiana blinked up at the large canopy of the large bed she had been provided the evening before.

Even though she had protested against having the stately room, the housekeeper had reminded her that the bedchamber befitted a duchess. And that was exactly what Georgiana had become.

She blinked again, running through the events of the day before.

Even though marriage might have been inevitable for a young lady of my standing, it is still difficult to comprehend that I'm here. That I'm anywhere but home. Which isn't even home anymore, is it? This is my new home. How utterly tragic. I think everything has been painted in gray.

Which wasn't true, and she knew it. But the concept of gray and the shadows around her fit her dreary mood.

She sank deep into the bed in the the hope that she might disappear. Although it was fairly comfortable, especially with such soft sheets, Georgiana hadn't been able to sleep for more than an hour or so at a time. She couldn't help it. She kept expecting to rise, leave, and retire to her bed.

"At least it's soft. A small blessing in all this," she muttered.

Rolling her head to the side, Georgiana watched the morning light filter through a crack in the curtains. She had retired early last night but not early enough to see the room by daylight. It appeared that the walls were actually covered in a rich green wallpaper with golden accents. The corners and sides were peeling. She spotted a few empty spaces where there should have been framed art hanging. Then she eyed the furniture, spotting a few missed streaks of dust.

Her new husband had been right. This place was practically an untouched museum, since he never seemed to be here. Did he like the somber atmosphere? The moodiness of the interior design, for the home seemed to fit his mood?

"Your Grace!"

Squeaking, she jerked up in surprise.

Mrs. Helen staggered back as well from the door. They stared at each other before the housekeeper collected herself to offer an abashed smile.

"I offer my humblest apologies, Your Grace," she said. "I hope I did not upset you."

"No, certainly not." Never one to lie abed around others, Georgiana pushed back the covers and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. The cold tiles beneath her feet made her flinch.

The housekeeper tutted. "We must find you slippers. I'm afraid we expected you to have a maid of your own, but I'll find one of the maids to assist you. Perhaps I can find you some slippers now before I do anything else."

Except she couldn't go far with a tray of what smelled like hot chocolate in her arms.

Georgiana stepped forward and ignored the rumbling of her stomach. "Please, do not bother yourself. I'll dress on my own today, and I can find my own slippers. There will also be more trunks arriving when my maid comes later today," she explained. "I don't like being beholden to others for every little matter, when I already know it requires so much of a capable servant such as yourself to manage the house."

The compliment was a simple one, but it made Mrs. Helen beam with pleasure. "Why, thank you for the recognition, Your Grace. It's been a delight working here."

"I can certainly see that. As we discussed yesterday, I'm excited to become involved in the household responsibilities and accounts. I think I'd like to make time to review the books later today if you don't mind?" Georgiana came forward, taking the tray despite the woman's blustering excuses. She set it on the nearby table. "Thank you for remembering my preferred drink. I think I would still like to go down to the dining room to nibble on something once I'm dressed. Will anything be laid out on the sideboard?"

"We always have a few items made available, yes," Mrs. Helen replied. She looked at Georgiana with what nearly seemed like reverence. "I'm afraid the butler has yet to arrive this morning, but the kitchen staff has everything under control."

"Is something wrong with Wentworth?" Georgiana asked while pouring herself a large cup of hot chocolate.

The housekeeper shook her head. "I believe His Grace invited Wentworth to spend the morning at home. He has a large family—Wentworth, that is, not His Grace. His Grace only has… well, you now."

"And his cousin."

Georgiana paused to smell the sweet scent of the hot chocolate, taking a moment that allowed her to see the hesitation on the housekeeper's face.

Mrs. Helen blinked several times before giving a sharp nod. "Yes, certainly. The Carlisles," she agreed.

Although Georgiana immediately opened her mouth to ask what made the woman pause, she was quick to change her mind. She wasn't certain she wanted Mrs. Helen gossiping too much like this, or else it might prompt the woman to gossip about her.

At least until they knew each other a little better, Georgiana decided she had best wait on such matters.

It is curious. She almost doesn't seem fond of them. How could that be? If the Duke is rarely here, then she wouldn't know the Carlisle family. She definitely wouldn't know about Benedict. The Duke seemed quite close with him when I saw them together in my father's house. And yet Benedict is the one who stood me up—that must be it, why Mrs. Helen has decided not to like them.

"Is there anything more I can do for you?"

With a shake of her head, Georgiana excused Mrs. Helen from her bedchamber. She took a seat near the large windows after tugging back the curtains, where she could see across the street and into the square.

Few people were up and about out there in the world. Sipping her hot chocolate, she enjoyed her view and tried to find pieces of her new life that she could grow excited about.

Opening the curtains helped greatly brighten her room, Georgiana decided. And yet countless repairs needed to be made to render it a respectable space. That included most of the other rooms she'd explored on her tour with the housekeeper yesterday afternoon.

I wonder if I would be permitted to make some changes. I know Father referenced some pin money that I shall have from my mother, but unfortunately, I will still need to speak with my new husband to confirm any numbers. I'll need to consider such budgeting to make decisions.

She changed into one of the morning dresses she knew she could manage by herself, and then loosely pinned her hair with the curls that had lingered from yesterday's affair. It was all done so quickly, readying for the day, that Georgiana soon stood in front of her bedchamber door, with her hand on the handle.

All she had to do was to pull it open. Then she would be out and about in the house. Her house. A simple thing, and yet it made her stomach churn. She swallowed her nerves to brace herself. Three deep breaths later, she bravely stepped out into the hall.

Nothing happened. She scolded herself for her nerves. As she convinced herself some food would help her courage grow, Georgiana started off toward the dining room. She made her way down the stairs, only to pause.

"Left?" she mumbled, tapping her bottom lip. "Or right?"

No one was close enough to answer. Georgiana hesitated a moment before turning left. She only made it to the next corner before she heard voices that made her slow down.

"It wasn't your place!" an unfamiliar voice snapped. Something about it made her skin crawl, and she drew to a halt.

The other voice was the Duke's. He spoke harshly, his voice almost shaking. "That's what you came to say? To what, accuse me of manipulating your son? To conspire against you?"

Georgiana leaned against the wall. She couldn't even think about not listening. Something was going on, and her gut told her that she was involved.

"Tell me it isn't true!"

She could feel the tension from the hall where she stood. The air itself crackled with an uncomfortable energy that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

A cold, harsh laugh escaped the Duke's lips. It almost sent shivers down her spine. "You had mad machinations before, Uncle, but this goes far beyond anything you'd ever accused me of."

Her mouth hung open as she realized who her new husband was talking to. This had to be the Marquess of Carlisle, Benedict's father.

"Get out."

"Not until you tell me the truth! You knew what Benedict was planning, and you helped him get out of this. It's your fault he's weak. You ruined everything!" the Marquess hissed.

Georgiana couldn't bring herself to move even as footsteps started in her direction, growing louder by the second.

The man who had nearly become her father-in-law appeared. He stood at her height, with a bulbous nose and oiled black hair glued to his scalp. His looks were not aided by the putrid yellow day coat he wore.

As he stepped into the hall, he shot her a cold glare. But he said nothing as he stormed past her and disappeared. All he left behind was the scent of cheroot and an unsettling feeling in her stomach.

Putting a hand over her heart did nothing to quell its wild beating. Although Georgiana tried not to be upset over what she had just heard, she couldn't stand there and do nothing.

Mama always said I must act how I see fit, didn't she?

She was breathing a little unevenly on her way to the parlor the Marquess had left. She stepped into the room before she spotted Owen. Her husband had moved to the mantlepiece to rest his arm against it, over his head. He stared at the unlit fireplace with tight shoulders.

"Your Grace?" Georgiana squeaked.

He whirled around. His free hand had been on his forehead, she realized, but now it dropped down to his side. Then he dropped the other. She watched him try to compose himself, suppress the emotions roiling within him.

All she saw was a glimpse, but it was enough. He was upset.

"I… Are you all right?"

That wasn't what she had meant to say. Georgiana didn't know what his answer might be, nor what he might be willing to say. She dropped her hand to her side to focus on reading his closed expression.

Those dark green eyes of his flashed when he glanced up at her, and then he turned his face away. "Everything is fine."

Except it wasn't, and they both knew it. The only problem was that he couldn't accept the truth. She frowned and moved a step forward. It made her think of similar occasions with Emma when her sister was upset but was too frustrated to talk. If only everyone would talk––then everything could be fixed.

"Your Grace…"

"We're married, you may call me Owen." His words were sharp and clipped. "But I assure you, all is well."

She inhaled deeply. "Then what is the truth?"

Jerking his head up to look at her, he asked, "What truth?" Then he narrowed his gaze.

It was an intimidating expression, but she refused to be cowed.

She lifted her chin even as he stepped forward. "Were you eavesdropping on my conversation?"

"The door was open."

"That doesn't mean it's acceptable to have bad manners."

She pursed her lips. "I was on my way to the dining room to break my fast."

But he gave a sharp shake of his head. "It's in the other direction."

"Blast." She paused when she realized she'd said it aloud. Owen's reaction was slight, but still suspicion flickered in his eyes. "Then I took a wrong turn. That's not my fault, I haven't been here long enough to get used to my surroundings. This wasn't intentional, Owen."

He nodded slowly, but his intense gaze never let up. "That's right, it wasn't intentional. You merely found your way over here to listen to a private conversation. You had no right. No right to listen in on a private matter. Should this happen again, I'll––"

The scoff escaped her lips before she could help it.

Owen hesitated, but before he could say anthing else, she said, "You would punish your wife for moving about her own house? Tell me, Duke, what am I allowed to do?"

The sarcasm in her voice wasn't lost on him.

Stepping forward, Owen loomed over her. He was more than upset now. He was angry. Although Georgiana found herself thinking his rage had more to do with others, she couldn't help feeling intimidated. Her lips thinned.

"Do not," he told her harshly, "ever do that again."

And then he stepped around her, disappearing down the hall.

This left Georgiana standing alone in a yellow room with green curtains and faded artwork. She clasped her hands together and found them to be shaking. She bit her lip, listening to the thumping of her heart.

Something tickled her cheek. Hastily wiping her eye, she found her finger damp. A stray tear must have spilled over.

Georgiana shook her head. No, this had not upset her. It couldn't have. It wasn't like she cared about Owen or what he said to her or what he did to her. She couldn't be bothered with him even if they were married.

"No," she told the empty room. "I will not be upset like this. He shall not control me. Not my body, not my time, and certainly not my heart."

With that, Georgiana sniffed and composed herself. She left the room with her head held high, turning back to find her way to the dining room. She would break her fast and send a message to Jean, though she had no idea what she might write to her sister.

I'll have to talk with Owen some other time when he's in a better mood. Or perhaps we shall become the type of couple who doesn't ever talk or know what the other one is doing. Clearly, he doesn't care about making this marriage work. He had not wished to marry. I shall do as I like, perhaps, and find a way to keep my independence.

Georgiana understood that women in London Society had their limits. But she refused to allow them to manage her. Instead, she would manage them. She would manage the rest of her life however she saw fit.

And she would begin with eggs, toast, and more hot chocolate.