Georgiana nodded. “I usually enjoy balls, you know. The dancing and the music. But…” she trailed off, and he didn’t ask her to continue.
Nothing more needed to be said. Tonight was different, and they both knew it.
Does everyone else know it, too?
Slowing down, Georgiana glanced around. The musicians were playing a soft tune, and the chalk art was still laid out beautifully on the dance floor. Trees and flowers in a garden, she noted. She liked attending early enough to see the work before everyone started dancing over it.
Even though there were not many people here yet, she noted how many of them glanced their way. Those arriving after them did the same.
“You mentioned liking country dances, did you not?”
“Hm?” Setting aside her glass of sherry, she nodded. It was rather silly how quickly Owen could distract her. “I do, why?”
He tugged on her wrist to take her dance card. Frowning at the two names already on there, he muttered, “Why do they get to dance with you? Never mind that. I’m claiming this dance and the supper dance. It shall be a waltz, from the looks of it.”
Trying to ignore the fluttering of her heart, Georgiana nodded. “Yes, it’s a waltz. Are you certain you wish to dance?”
“I should remember the steps, I think.” He offered her his arm.
“I trust you to do so.” She chuckled as she accepted it, allowing him to lead her to the dancers, who were taking up their positions for the country dance.
This one was simple. There was little touching but a lot of hopping, which meant she had to focus on her balance. On the few occasions she looked at her husband, she found him counting the steps silently with stiff shoulders. It was charming how hard he tried.
He doesn’t dance much, I suppose. He never attends balls. Goodness, when did he last dance? But it’s clear he took his lessons and worked hard to know what to do. Perhaps with another couple of balls, I can have him moving smoothly about with ease. He must be uncomfortable. How kind it was of him to accompany me tonight.
Everyone clapped as the dance came to an end. Of course, Owen was right at her side. He nodded toward the left, where they could retreat and catch their breaths.
“Your Grace! What a delight to see you again.” William Worthington appeared before them.
Georgiana had nearly forgotten about him. She’d met the future Marquess of Burtle and a few of his friends when she was telling riddles in the hall at the last ball—a masquerade. Everyone had loved the riddles. She hadn’t told them how she’d memorized countless ones to entertain Emma, but she didn’t think they would mind.
“Would you do me the honor of the next dance?”
A cotillion would begin in a moment.
“What a delight to see you again, My Lord. I think my dance card…” She fumbled with her dance card but paused when she saw Owen’s glower.
It wasn’t directed at her, for once. Instead, it was directed at Worthington. Georgiana looked at the younger man, who was turning redder by the second, though he managed to stay standing. There was something going on between them.
She cleared her throat, wondering if she needed to lecture someone on proper behavior. Before she could do that, fortunately, Owen blinked and glanced away for a second to collect himself.
“I shall not be far, wife,” he murmured to her. Then he stared Worthington down. “I will not be far away at all. Do you understand me?”
Georgiana bit her lip to hold back a chuckle. “Yes, husband.”
Worthington managed to say, “Certainly. Er, Your Grace?”
She accepted his hand, returning to the dance floor. A cotillion was a delightful dance, and she was glad to be here. Looking over her shoulder, she gave Owen a nod and hoped he understood her message that he had nothing to fear.
“What a pleasure it is to see you again, My Lord,” Georgiana told the younger man. “I hope you are faring well. Do not mind my husband. He can be…”
“Concerned. Yes, I know that. I learned not to speak about you at the club recently. He’s quite protective,” Worthington grumbled. Then he gave her a sheepish smile. “I cannot blame him. I do not think any of us knew what a gem you are until it was too late. That is a fault I shall take to my grave, I fear.”
A short laugh escaped her lips, and she shook her head. “You are much too charming, My Lord. Next Season, there shall be a clever young lady who turns your head. You will forget all about me.”
“Never,” he promised dramatically.
She only laughed again. He was a flatterer beyond anything else, she could tell. There were no overtures beyond the dramatic compliments. If anything, he held her hand too lightly and made sure never to touch her if he could help it. He was an honorable gentleman, as were the two men who danced with her next.
