Something had happened in there. Georgiana wasn’t entirely certain what it was, but they had found some sort of mutual understanding. She nodded to herself and then turned away.
They had tomorrow. That was what mattered now. She didn’t think Owen would lie to her about anything he had just said. Although she tried not to get her hopes up, she couldn’t help but wonder what might come next for them.
CHAPTER20
Owen gave himself an evening followed by a quiet morning to consider what had transpired in his study the previous afternoon.
It was time he pulled himself together. He still didn’t know how it had happened, telling his story to Georgiana. Or most of it. He’d kept his uncle out of the conversation because that wasn’t the time or the place. The less he thought about the awful man, the better off he was. He was tired of his uncle always winning.
But the other day in his study, with the painting and his wife, Owen wasn’t certain if someone had won. He had felt like he lost, but upon waking up that morning, his shoulders felt lighter.
She would be thrilled to hear she was right.
As soon as he had that thought, he quashed it. Thoughts like that only got him into trouble.
He had promised her he would try. As a gentleman, Owen knew he needed to try harder than he had as of late. Georgiana asked for much from him, whether she knew it or not. But he wasn’t about to break his promise.
Once more, the memory of her touch on his face came to mind. Her soft hand had been so gentle. No one had been that gentle with him for so long. It had brought back an old memory of his mother wiping dirt off his cheek while they were laughing.
When he thought of that, he couldn’t remember why he kept fighting Georgiana.
She wanted to be happy in her home. Didn’t he want the same? This place haunted him with the past, but he was beginning to realize that he was sick and tired of that. The past hurt in ways he could not explain. Perhaps it always would. Talking with his wife in his study had made him reconsider his strategy.
Though Owen was committed to the notion, it still unnerved him. He wasn’t used to changing his mind. In particular, changing his mind for Georgiana left him rather unsettled.
Sitting at his desk once more, he found the pile of papers had only increased since yesterday. He hadn’t made it through a single one. As he glanced at the one laid out before him, he didn’t have a clue what it might be about.
“Your Grace?”
“Yes?” he asked with a resigned sigh. Rubbing his eyes, he heard nothing. He dropped his hands back to his lap to see the footman standing in the doorway with a silver tray. “Do not tell me I have more correspondence.”
The footman glanced about warily and then nodded. “This is not correspondence for you, Your Grace.”
“Is it?”
“Some of it,” his footman admitted. “Most of these are invitations. Mrs. Helen said that all invitations should be handed to Her Grace. Is that acceptable, Your Grace?”
“Yes. No. Wait. I want to see them,” Owen said suddenly. He rose to his feet, itching for a distraction. “Hold on a moment.”
He picked up the larger pile that the footman referenced, curious about the sort of invitations that were sent to them. It wasn’t a normal business to concern himself with. London held no interest for him, so he saw no need for others to have an interest in him.
“There are quite a few,” he noted as he opened the third invitation.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Do we receive many invitations?” Owen paused as he held one, turning to his footman. He frowned when he remembered the conversation at White’s, where those three fools talked about how charming Georgiana had been.
She was allowed to do as she liked. It was the freedom they had spoken about. But, he realized now, it meant that she did this without him. Everyone else could see a part of his wife he had not seen before.
That shouldn’t bother me. This is exactly what I wanted. So why does it make my skin prickle?
“Quite a few, Your Grace,” his footman responded. “I believe you and Her Grace are in high demand. Few other houses on the street receive so many invitations.”
“Is that so?”
Owen supposed that it was a good sign, that he had not been shunned like he sometimes assumed. He opened the last invitation to find it was for a ball. There were invitations for two musicales, an opera, two picnics, one evening at Vauxhall Gardens, and one ball.
The ball. She had been charming at the ball. It was a masquerade ball where she had worn that bright gown. I remember it. She had practically glowed in the evening light. A peacock, I believe she must have been. Does she like all balls?
