“I don’t love her.”
As he looked out the window, Owen considered the stately buildings they drove past. Though he’d thought they would ride on a rarely pleasant day in London, it appeared that Benedict had wanted to stay out of the sun. Owen had half a suspicion that his cousin didn’t want to be seen.
London was just as it had ever been: crowded, loud, and drenched in smog even on a sunny day like this. Or mostly sunny.
Then he thought about what Benedict had said.
“Lady Georgiana Honeyfield?”
“No. I mean, yes.”
The idea was nearly enough to make Owen laugh. He shook his head. “You don’t need love. It’s only marriage, Benedict. Few among the ton marry for love. Your father told us that only a hundred times when we were lads.”
Those last words rolled awkwardly off his tongue. Wincing, he realized he was following his uncle’s advice. His stomach churned at the thought. Is this what London did to a gentleman? Turned him into something horrid?
His uncle Ralph, the Marquess of Carlisle, the nightmare of his youth that he had attempted to spend the last twelve years forgetting, had left his mark on them both. In more ways than one, and much more than Owen wanted to remember.
He ground his teeth while turning away from the window. It was the beginning of spring. The trees were beginning to blossom, and soon they would have a few more sunny days.
But Owen wouldn’t be in London that long. No, that would surely kill him. He had rented rooms across town for the evening and would be back home within a few days.
“You’ll stay, won’t you?”
I swear he must have read my mind. Stay? For what? This is not my marriage. Benedict signed the marriage papers. Everything is prepared. Next week, he’ll have his wedding… Ah, I suppose that is what he was asking for.
He balled his hands into fists. “Next Thursday?”
Benedict hesitated, his eyes darting away before he nodded. “Yes, next Thursday at St. Luke’s. Father wants to host a large wedding brunch afterward. You know he’ll have all of his friends there. Don’t tell me you would leave me alone on a day like that?”
It only took half a heartbeat to realize that attending the wedding of his cousin would mean standing in the same room as his uncle. A feat Owen had managed for years. That was a record he had no interest in breaking.
He straightened in his seat. Suppressing the overwhelming emotions threatening to bubble to the surface, he coughed.
“I should return back home,” he said
His cousin grunted, shooting him a desperate look. “Owen, really. Just one week! It’s the least you can do. You don’t need to talk to him. I know how he… We both know how awful he is. But please, I could use your support.”
“You will have your wife. She seems…” Owen hesitated.
There were a few words he might use for Lady Georgiana. They might have only been in each other’s presence a moment, but that was enough for Owen to assess another’s character.
She’s pretty in a handsome sort of way. Taller than Benedict, but they would not be the first couple to appear in that way. I’ve never seen eyes that look so much like emeralds before. As for her character, she appears stubborn. Even when she accepted her father’s harsh behavior, I could see her tempted to resist. I doubt they’ll be entirely compatible, but they should be comfortable. Benedict will appreciate that.
“Owen, please?”
“Fine.” He jerked his head up. “For the wedding. But after that, I’ll need to be on my way back home. If the roads are clear, then I could reach my estate by nightfall.”
That made his cousin grumble. “You’re always out in the country. Or out of the country. You and those cursed plants.”
“They’re not cursed.” Owen rolled his eyes. “But perhaps they are if I am touching them,” he added sarcastically.
“Not that again. No one really believes you’re cursed, Owen. I mean, they can’t. Curses aren’t real.” Benedict paused. “Are they?”
Owen shrugged. “Does it matter? If the ton believes…”
How or when the rumors had begun, he couldn’t recall. The first Season he had attended had been over in a month due to boredom and a few doors being closed to him. It was his valet who finally told him of the rumors.
Every one of them was more ridiculous than the last. They all made him roll his eyes. The ton were notoriously fickle, proud, and petulant. He didn’t have time for their games.
