But that heart of his bothered him now, beating quickly at the sight of Georgiana’s worried expression.
“No. I hope you enjoyed your tour, and I expect you to stay out of it while I’m away,” Owen added sternly. “There’s a discrepancy in the books that I wish to investigate, and my bookkeeper is tied up with his newborn for the next week.”
Her eyes widened. Her mouth opened and closed for a second, before she asked yet another question. “So you shall return soon?”
“Soon, yes, I suppose.” As his impatience grew, he finally stepped onto the porch. “Might I go now?”
A bright, devious smile spread across Georgiana’s face. “Yes, you may. Travel safely, Duke. I look forward to seeing you upon your return.”
There was such pomp in her words that he felt inclined to bow when she bobbed a slight curtsey. He fidgeted, eyeing Wentworth, who looked just as stumped as he felt. Turning back to his wife, Owen floundered over anything refined to say in return.
“I… thank you.”
And then, at last, he was free. The conversation with her could not have reasonably lasted more than a minute. Only five had passed since he arrived down the stairs and left his estate. He put his pocket watch away as his horse was brought around. Anders nodded to him from his own horse, then they were on their way north.
The journey was tedious but quick, with fair weather and few distractions. It wasn’t long before Owen was collapsing into his familiar bed.
He couldn’t be more relieved to be back there at his country estate. Though he liked his travels and was grudgingly growing accustomed to staying in London, this was where he found the most comfort. As he closed his eyes to sleep through the night, he thought again of Georgiana and how she expected him to return soon.
I should, I suppose. I told her I would, and I am a man of my word. And yet, if anything should require my attention and force me to stay… I cannot say that would be an unwelcome excuse.
For the next three days, Owen kept that thought in the back of his head. Just in case he could do something with it.
But the opportunity didn’t come. He was able to sort out the problem in his books before long. A letter was sent to London to alert his man of the correction. Along with it went a small request to Wentworth and Mrs. Helen to find a gift for the new father.
Owen took to breaking his fast outside on the terrace that fourth day, musing over an old book and his bookkeeper. Hawthorne was thrilled to be a father. When his wife went into labor, the man alerted Owen and sent a follow-up announcement that it was a boy and that they were thrilled. The alert was unnecessary, but Owen couldn’t deny the satisfaction in hearing about this.
A calm and collected man, wise and bright, Hawthorne would make a fine father. And a young boy would be fortunate to have him as a parent.
With that came to mind the idea of having a son of his own. Staring at his glass, Owen found himself picturing a long-legged, little boy stumbling across the lawn with outstretched arms. Of course, he would look like Georgiana, so he would have light blonde hair and green eyes that would sparkle earnestly.
Already Owen could hear the sound of laughter ringing in his ears.
He jerked back, dropping his glass. A familiar footman hurried to his side to investigate the crash. With the broken cup at his feet, Owen gritted his teeth.
“I’ll have this cleaned up at once, Your Grace. Is anything else amiss?” Peter asked. He was young but had been in Owen’s household for nearly half his life.
“No.” Owen tossed down his cloth napkin and stood up, feeling out of sorts. “Everything is fine. I just… yes, take care of that, would you? I think I fancy a stroll now.”
Peter nodded. “Yes, Your Grace.”
Eager to find that peace he had yet to discover since his return, Owen moved away from the terrace. He jogged down the steps and marched into the gardens with determination.
This was his home. His sanctuary. No matter what challenges he faced in the world, this was the one place that never changed. No one could do anything to his country seat without his approval. It was run and managed in just the way he liked. Whether he went to London or traversed the world, coming here was meant to be a comfort.
Which was frustrating because it didn’t feel as comfortable and calming as it usually did. Hadn’t he wished to get away from London? From Georgiana?
And yet there was something unsettled within him. He could feel it in his body, scratching at his spine and demanding his attention. Though he had been able to distract himself enough with the ledgers, he couldn’t ignore this unsettling feeling.
There was nothing amiss in the gardens. He looked about to see if something could have changed that would have caused this feeling in him. Yet the bed was the same, and the food was the same, and none of it helped.
It was a beautiful morning, and with summer around the corner, the flowers were blooming. He glanced across the pathway to see the rainbow of colors. And the rich scents wafted up, surely a good sign of something calming to come his way.
Blast gardenias.
He sighed, shaking his head. Even though Georgiana had never been here, she seemed to haunt him. Owen kept waiting for her to appear. To ask questions. To smile his way.
“I don’t need her,” he told the nearby bench, knowing even then how stubborn and ridiculous he must have sounded. “I never needed a wife.”
