Though he’d gotten his revenge on the older boy at a later point, exposing a cheating circle that had begun in the school,
the damage from the fire did not completely go away. A few branches died for good, and he’d been forced to cut them away.
“Oh, that was lovely,” Georgiana crooned when they came to a standstill as the song ended. But over her shoulder, he glimpsed the way two other ladies glanced at them and whispered behind their fans.
No matter what, he couldn’t quash the rumors, they both knew that. But he had lived a lifetime with the whispers. His wife, he realized, had not.
It wasn’t an easy thing to live with. One lost friends to too many rumors and found doors closed in their faces. This marriage was sentencing Georgiana to a worse life than she had agreed to. In fact, she had hardly agreed to any of this. Because this was all his fault.
Reality began to tear at the walls of hope he had started to build in his wife’s company. He nodded, leading her away from the dance floor and away from the women. Everyone was preparing to go in to supper. Food was forgotten, however, as he tried to imagine some more of what this life meant for him and Georgiana.
Fewer friends. Less visits and less letters and less everything. All he could do in this marriage was take from her.
What is worse is that I have so little to offer Georgiana beyond my wealth. I do not have that much time to spare, not really. I cannot give her children or offer her friendship either. It isn’t as though we can become any more friendly than what we are now.
The closer they became, the closer Georgiana would be to knowing every dark secret of his. That was something he could not risk.
As they followed the guests into the dining room for supper, he thought of a letter that his cousin had sent him once. Benedict had finished his schooling and was enjoying his first Season. The joy had been obvious in his words.
I cannot tell you how grand London is. You must see it for yourself! Haven’t enough years passed since you turned your back on the city? I think you shall find it wealthy in the way of women, wine, and adventure. Besides, I worry about you hiding out like this. I don’t imagine it being healthy. Having your plants and your horses cannot be enough of a life for a man such as yourself.
You mentioned slowing down your travels. Why not dedicate more time to others? While we may not have grown up witnessing an ideal marriage, I cannot help but imagine you making a fine husband and father. I can already imagine you scolding a little boy for cutting the wrong leaf off this plant or another.
Yes, I know you’re thinking I am a romantic. There is nothing wrong with that, Owen, and I wish you would see that. The heart is a beating organ. It keeps us alive. That’s what you told me, didn’t you? I think you discount it too much. There will come a day when you regret not sharing it with another.
Owen wished his cousin was here tonight so he could tell him that he didn’t know what it was like to have a heart such as his. He could not share it. Like his mind, too much weighed it down. It was a burden that could not be shared.
“What are you thinking about? You’ve been quiet, and you’re not even touching your soup,” Georgiana murmured.
Glancing about the large dining room, Owen tried not to play with his spoon. “Nothing. Only Peru.”
“Peru?” She paused. “South America?”
“They have wonderful plants. I tried a native onion once and ate so much of it that I made myself sick.” He shook his head when he realized he was rambling. “I was only thinking how I always wanted to return there again.”
Georgiana’s smile faded. “Are you thinking about leaving London?”
Neither of them needed to say aloud what she really meant. She was asking if he was leaving her.
Averting his gaze, Owen wondered if doing so would help their marriage. He could be friendly with her and then take his leave. That would confirm the status of their relationship more than anything he said. Besides, it would be safer for both of them. He could stay out of her way and maybe even stop thinking about her.
“Perhaps,” was all he could say in response.
“Your Grace!” Owen felt a heavy hand land on his shoulder, nearly making him jump. Looking up from where they sat, he frowned at the stranger grinning at him. It was an older man with spritely white hair, heavy jowls, and bright blue eyes. “I know, you wouldn’t recognize me without my signature, would you? But blast it, I don’t have anyone to manage introductions, and I’ve been waiting all night.”
Owen was about to ask what the man was talking about when Georgiana stood up. “Lord Blythe, you should have said something. I know we haven’t talked, but you’re good friends with my father. Lord Lincoln?”
“Lord Blythe?” Owen echoed and stood up as well. “The Earl of Blythe?”
“Only the eighth of the lot.” The Earl chortled. He hurried to take Georgiana’s hand in his. “That’s right! I remember you. You served me tea once at your home, oh, four years ago? What a lovely thing you have become. Good on you, Your Grace.”
He and Owen had been corresponding for years. John Doncaster, Earl of Blythe, was a traveler in his youth as well. One of his published journals had helped Owen discover a new genus of seeded fruit in Madagascar. That had been eight years ago, and they’d been writing to each other regularly ever since.
Gathering his thoughts, Owen straightened up. “You caught me unaware, My Lord. And you must know no introduction is needed after all these years of correspondence.”
“What is this?” Georgiana asked politely. “Have you written to each other often?”
“Often!” Lord Blythe laughed. Everything seemed to amuse him. It made Owen feel off-kilter, since they didn’t address chortling in their letters. But meeting the man in the flesh pushed his annoyances aside. “Oh, we’ve been corresponding for years.”
