He hadn’t been to many balls. One in London many years ago, and two out in the country. But country balls were an entirely different affair.
The thought of attending a fine event like that in London rattled him. Though he meant to toss away the invite, he couldn’t stop fiddling with it. The paper was quite nice, and he thought it smelled of roses. It was a personal invitation from Lady Marjory.
“A silly thing, a ball,” he mused.
His footman shifted. “Very well, Your Grace.”
“I shouldn’t waste my time at them,” Owen thought out loud.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
It was best if he threw it away. That was what Owen meant to do. He didn’t need balls, and his wife didn’t need balls either. There were plenty other ways they could spend their time. Besides, there were countless other events they could attend instead.
Then he remembered his promise to Georgiana. He wanted to keep it. Part of him was annoyed at what he had said, and yet there was another part of him that wanted this. Wanted a chance to get to know his wife, to see what she was so passionate about.
She didn’t hate him. He was certain of that, though it surprised him. Remembering the way she had intertwined their fingers made him wonder if she might do that again, if the opportunity presented itself.
Before he really knew what he was doing, he grabbed the other invitations and tossed them in his wastebasket. The footman glanced down with palpable confusion. Owen’s letters were also in that pile.
Then he put the invitation to the ball back on the silver platter.
“There. Take that to the Duchess,” he ordered before he could change his mind.
“Er, yes, Your Grace.” The footman bowed before taking his leave.
Returning to his seat, Owen stared at his desk before spending the next couple of hours attempting to make progress through his stack of bills, correspondence, and other such matters.
Mrs. Helen came in shortly after dark with a set of fresh candles which she placed on his desk. “I’ll have your supper brought up in the next hour,” she promised. “We’re having veal tonight.”
“Very well.” Then Owen paused, lifting his head as another idea came to mind. “Actually, Mrs. Helen, I believe I’ll take my supper in the dining room this evening.”
The housekeeper’s mouth dropped open, but she was quick to close it and stare at him through wide eyes. “You will, will you?”
She acts as if I’ve never done any such thing. It’s like she is determined to make assumptions about everything I do. Can’t a gentleman have his evening meal anywhere he likes in his own house?
He huffed. “I will. Do you have a problem with that, Mrs. Helen?”
Any hope he might have had that her smile would fade away quickly died.
She shook her head. If anything, that smile of hers only widened. “I don’t have any problem with that. I’d only like to say it’s about time you grew fond of that wife of yours. She’s a treasure, that one.”
“Fond?” Owen sputtered. “I wouldn’t say that––”
But then his words died in his throat, for his housekeeper had already curtseyed and started out the door. He fell quiet when it clicked shut.
Fond? Don’t be absurd. I’m not fond of Georgiana. Just because I like the way she smells and I’ve agreed to make our marriage work doesn’t mean anything at all. It isn’t as though she consumes my every waking thought.
Owen glared at his stack of papers. He’d replied to one letter and addressed one bill. Never before had it taken all day to do so little.
“Very well,” he told himself.
While he continued to reassure himself that he was not fond of his wife, he decided to dress for the evening. One should always ready themselves for supper. He assumed there would be several courses, and he would be prepared as a duke should. Hopefully, that would prove to everyone he wasn’t actually fond of his wife.
It was over an hour later when he paced in the drawing room. He hadn’t been in there for some time, since he had no use for the space. Though he couldn’t recall the last time he had been in here, he could tell it was slowly being redecorated. There was art missing from the walls, and he could smell the glue from the blue wallpaper. Owen studied it curiously, enjoying the plant print as he named all eight specimens, but then he paused at the nearby mirror.
There was a hair out of place. He frowned and brushed it back, wanting to look his best. If he was going to dine with his wife, then he was going to do it correctly.
“Owen.”
