A short laugh escaped the Duchess’s lips. It was good to hear her laugh. Better than he expected. Owen leaned against the wall and closed his eyes to enjoy the sound, liking the way her chuckle warmed his heart.
“You work for me, Mrs. Helen. I mean what I said. Argue any more, and I shall make it three days.”
“I don’t doubt you could manage just fine without me, Your Grace, but two days will do. I wouldn’t want you to do anything more than you must.”
Georgiana sighed. “We all have responsibilities, Mrs. Helen. The work never ends, not really.”
Frowning, Owen wondered what must have come to mind for her mood to shift so quickly. One second she was laughing, and the next she was sighing. What made her feel so heavy-laden?
He was trying to guess what it might be when he glanced over to see that Thomas was still standing at the three-way intersection of the halls. The young man glared at him. Or Owen thought he had, since Thomas quickly looked away.
“Goodness me, look at the time,” Mrs. Helen blurted out suddenly. “The egg delivery should be here by now. I’ll check on that, Your Grace, and then meet you in the kitchens if that pleases you?”
“Yes, yes, thank you, dear.”
Owen looked back at Thomas, but the footman carried on with his bundle, keeping his head down. It wasn’t the first time he thought a servant had tossed him a strange look as of late. Owen inhaled, ready to demand answers, before suppressing the urge.
His servants, after all, could think whatever they liked. It didn’t matter at the end of the day. He was still the Duke. If he didn’t care what the ton thought of him, he wasn’t going to worry what the servants thought of him either. They all did their jobs, and that was all he needed.
The front hall was finally clear. Grabbing his walking stick, Owen took his exit.
He would usually ride earlier in the day, but afternoon rides had become the fashion since Georgiana spent most of her mornings––before her meetings with Mrs. Helen––out with her horse. The groom usually went with her and informed Owen whenever she took a different route. But from what he understood, she either went to Hyde Park or strolled down the street past her family’s house.
While there was a voice in the back of his head telling him he should talk to his wife, Owen pushed it away. She didn’t need him. All she needed was her freedom. And staying away from her meant he made fewer mistakes.
Hastening out of the house, he reached the stables without seeing her. Soon Owen had enjoyed his daily exercise before making his way into his study, where he was able to avoid Georgiana again. He wasn’t a fan of having to change his schedule. Still, he did what he must.
But if I catch another footman frowning at me, I may need to do something.
Shortly after he had bathed and dressed again, he handled his most recent correspondence before deciding to visit White’s. He had made his way through plenty of mail. Besides, he had heard Georgiana would have guests over, and he didn’t want to be in the way. Or seen, in general.
“Is that you, Winchester?”
He glanced up from his newspaper to see Harold Tethering, the Earl of Evansdale, strolling along with two other men. Lord Evansdale had been with him at Eton for a period of time, albeit younger if Owen recalled correctly.
“We don’t see you about much,” the younger man on the Earl’s right commented. He cocked his head. “Worthington at your service. That’s Mr. Peter Richards there.”
Assessing the men before him, Owen slowly nodded.
William Worthington was the future Marquess of Burtle. He was the third son, but the last two had passed in unfortunate incidents. Peter Richards was untitled but a well-known barrister, well-liked by their peers.
“A pleasure,” Owen said at last. “I don’t have much time.”
“Join us for a game?” William offered as he pointed to the nearby billiards room. “Evansdale could always use another man. He’s hopeless.”
“Give me cards any day, and I will win,” the Earl muttered darkly before turning back to Owen. “You and your duchess wouldn’t by chance be attending tonight’s musicale at Lady Heather’s?”
The mention of Georgiana gave Owen pause. “I beg your pardon?”
Though the other two hesitated, William Worthington explained himself. “We enjoyed her company at the masquerade ball this past week. Good sense of humor. The Diamond of the Season doesn’t have to be unmarried now, does she? Lucky Duke as yourself, I’m surprised we didn’t see you hovering like everyone else at the ball. We’re being forced to join the debutantes tonight at Lady Heather’s and were hoping Her Grace would be joining as well to make it an enjoyable night.”
“Quite the dancer. You’re very fortunate,” Peter Richards added eagerly.
Fortunate to have Georgiana as my wife? What do these men know? Blast it, I don’t even understand what masquerade ball they are talking about.
When Owen frowned at them, William chimed in, “We mean nothing by it, of course. She’s a friendly face and very charming. Doesn’t attempt to sink her claws in us, if you know what we mean.”
“I don’t.” An ugly feeling welled up in Owen’s chest, almost consuming him. He struggled to stay put without squirming or snapping.
