It hadn’t been his biggest concern growing up. There were bigger challenges he had to face. Once in a while, he thought about doing something to stop them.
He remembered the first ball he had attended, where he had defended himself against a matron who had since passed. She didn’t want him at Almack’s because it was believed he had done one thing or another. The accusations were so absurd that he had laughed in her face.
And I haven’t been to Almack’s since.
While these rumors—meaningless as they were—were not the reason why Owen preferred to avoid London, he had noted they didn’t help. He limited his time amongst his peers and managed his seat in the House of Lords from a distance. Some had become distant, faceless friends, and others chose to ignore him.
All this time, he had told himself the rumors were futile and nothing but childish behavior. Over and over, he said they didn’t matter.
But this moment with Georgiana mattered. It mattered more than he realized when she staunchly announced her support of him.
He thought of it like a warm, wet egg spreading heat from the top of his skull, through his chest and down his arms to his fingertips, and then down his legs to his toes. It was an odd yet comforting warmth as he stared at Georgiana in fascination.
“You don’t believe them?” he asked, almost scared to believe her.
“I always speak the truth.” She pouted slightly and put her hand on his arm. Her touch made his stomach flutter. “I mean it, Owen. They’re not going to bother me. They shouldn’t bother either of us.”
“Of course not. I…”
Owen tried desperately to find the right words to say to her. He searched her face, trying to put his feeling into words. But the only thought coming to mind was that moment in his last spring at Eton, when he spent a day in the gardens to watch a particular yellow rose bloom. Every petal amazed him as he saw something wonderful unfurl.
Fortunate. That is the nearest word I can find to describe this feeling. I am a very lucky man to have her.
“Yes?” Georgiana prompted when he had yet to continue his statement.
The statement was long since forgotten. Owen felt his lips curl into a smile before he thought about what he was doing. But for once, he didn’t push it away immediately.
“It’s our waltz.” The tempo of the music had shifted, and supper would commence after this. He offered her his hand. “Duchess?”
“Duke.” She accepted his proffered arm with all the regality of a queen.
Failing to tear his gaze away from her, Owen considered what else there was about his wife he had yet to discover. He replayed several of their encounters where he had walked away upset. He had his reasons. And yet, he supposed if he had given her another minute of his time, or just another minute to talk, he would have learned much more.
“I do love the waltz,” Georgiana murmured as they came into position. When his hand settled on her back, he thought he saw her smile widen. “Don’t you?”
“I do now,” he found himself admitting.
The first strains of the violin were slow, then were slowly picked up by the other musicians. They waited only a second before Owen started moving. Forward and back and to the side. There was limited interaction with the other dancers, something to be glad about when he would rather forget everyone but the woman in his arms.
As the other dancers moved, Owen mirrored them and led Georgiana into the steps. He twirled her and pulled her close again. The other dances required much more energy, whereas in this one, Owen could focus only on his dance partner. As he forgot about everyone, the waltz grew more enjoyable.
“You dance very well.”
He tilted his head. “Are you surprised?”
“Earlier, I didn’t think you enjoyed dancing,” Georgiana explained. She sounded a little breathless. Seeing another couple veer in their path, he steered her away and they kept moving. “See? Oh, I think the waltz belongs to you.”
“It is not my dance. I can’t control it,” he pointed out.
But she was still smiling. “Then you belong to the waltz, Owen.”
Unable to find a response to that, he merely nodded before returning his focus to enjoying the flow of movement on the dance floor. It was a fine song, and the other dancers improved at keeping their distance. He could nearly pretend they were all alone again.
The memory of his garden ventures at Eton, studying the specimens and losing himself for hours sketching and reading, came to his mind. He’d worked hard to understand everything he could about the plants. It wasn’t just the beauty of the flowers he sought, but the strength of the earth that was determined to grow.
Just like Georgiana. She has not given up once, not really. One could almost think she enjoys the challenge. She is stronger than she lets on and works hard to get what she wants.
Even as Owen came to this comparison, he suddenly recalled a particularly nasty trick that was played on him. One of the older boys had attempted to convince him to leave the garden by setting some of the rose bushes on fire. Owen had managed to escape, covered in scratches, and was later blamed for it. He’d nearly been expelled from Eton. It was his promise to work in the gardens and fix the damage that kept him from being sent back to his uncle.
