Chapter 14
When Owen saw his wife in the ballroom, his breath caught in his throat.
He had dressed for the occasion, wearing his very best clothing so that they could play their parts, but he had not expected her to do the same.
She stood before him in the best gown he had bought for her and with her hair pinned up in a way that must have taken hours. He could not take his eyes off her.
At least, he blamed the gown for his piqued interest.
“I have arranged for some musicians to play,” he explained. “I thought you might appreciate it… for realism.”
“I do. Thank you.”
The musicians took their cue, the first notes of a waltz beginning.
He stepped toward her, the echo of his boots loud against the marble, but he also knew that everything sounded louder when he was nervous.
He offered his hand, and she hesitated for a moment before placing her gloved fingers in his.
Her hand was smaller than he’d expected, warm even through the thin silk.
They began to move. There was an intimacy to it, and Owen knew in that moment why a waltz was considered scandalous in comparison to a quadrille.
Her eyes did not meet his often, and when they did something sharp and unsteady fluttered in his chest, something that he had not expected to feel at all, nor what he wanted.
“You dance well,” she complimented. “If I did not know any better, I would have said that you have arranged all of this simply to dance with me.”
She was more correct than he was willing to admit, because in truth he had gotten the idea from wanting to spend time with her.
He had suggested that it was to practice because it made it easier than telling the truth, though he was beginning to wonder if that was what he should have done in the first place.
“I was taught well,” he admitted. “Dancing one of the few things I managed to learn properly, much to my father’s confusion.”
That drew a faint laugh from her, and it startled him how much he liked it.
She leaned forward as she did so, and her step faltered just slightly.
He caught her waist instinctively, and when she looked up at him his words left him entirely.
All that he could think of, in spite of his better judgment, was that her father was wrong to ever make her feel lesser-than.
For a moment, they stood too close, the music playing on. Owen did not move, nor did she. He could smell the faint trace of her perfume, orange blossom, and the memory of their wedding day haunted him.
It had been too formal, too quickly organized, and though that had to be the case he wished that they had been able to take their time.
Knowing her as he was starting to, he wanted nothing more than to have given her what she deserved, because perhaps then she might not have been so certain that she was undeserving of what she had.
“Forgive me,” she murmured, continuing slowly.
“There is nothing to forgive,” he said, his voice lower now, his thumb brushing the satin at her side before he could stop himself. “That is why we are practicing, after all.”
They began to move again, slower this time, their rhythm no longer quite matching the music. The orchestra might as well have vanished for all Owen cared, for nothing existed to him but the lady in his arms, the one that he could not quite understand but that he so desperately wanted to.
When the final note faded, neither spoke. He bowed slightly, because it was easier than saying anything that might betray the feeling in his chest. She curtseyed, composed, and he wished that he could see something more in her so that he did not think that he was such a fool.
“Thank you for the dance,” she said simply.
“The pleasure was entirely mine. Now, might we try a quadrille?”
“Can you practice those with two people?”
He laughed, the moment dissipating. He was pleased to let the feelings go for the time being, for he could not stomach the thought of falling for his wife. Bad things happened to those he loved, and he could not allow that to befall her.
When their time together came to an end, and he bowed and she curtseyed once again, he noticed that she was looking beyond him, as if he were not there. There was a distance in her face that was not there before, and she could not quite meet his eye.
He wanted to ignore it, terrified that she was keeping something from him that would lead to another dispute, but he could not bear to look at her like that. He wanted her to feel better, and if that meant that he would have to bite his tongue and not pass judgment, then so be it.
“If something is troubling you, I would rather know.”
“I imagine.”
“And I whatever is on your mind, should you wish to share it with me, I promise not to become overly vexed. If there is something that you need to tell me, you must. I do not want you to keep things from me.”
She took a breath, stepping back.
“I believe that I know why I was never liked by my father.”
Owen blinked, turning his head to one side in surprise. He had not known what to expect, but it was not that. If she had been thinking about her childhood while they were dancing, then it meant that their time together did not mean nearly as much to her as it did him.
“Whatever you think it is, there is no excuse for you not being loved as you should have been.”
“True as that may be, I can understand it. Might we go for a walk?”
He did not argue, taking her out to the gardens while they were still dressed in their finery. He steered her away from the forest, thinking back to that morning when he had set foot in it for the first time in years, and took her through the quiet streets surrounding the estate.
“I was enjoying the dancing,” she explained, “but I started to think about the way my mother and father looked when we attended balls, and they danced together. You would think that after having a child they would enjoy one another’s company, but they seemed to do it out of obligation.”
“That is not too uncommon,” he pointed out, but she shook her head.
“It was not that they had an arranged marriage. There seemed to be a real issue, and it only came from my father.”
“That is not your fault.”
“But it may just be.”
He turned to her, and he saw the certainty on her face. It was clear that she wanted to say something and was trying to find the words.
“I do not want you to see me differently,” she continued. “You are an understanding man, but if you wanted to, you would be able to annul our marriage, and I do not want that.”
There was a relief at her saying she did not want to lose him, for he was beginning to feel like a fool for feeling that way.
“I can assure you that, after all of the trouble I went to finding a wife, I would much rather keep the one that I have,” he joked, trying to lighten her. “Come now, I do not think that you could have done anything too terrible.”
“I do not think that I am my father’s daughter.”
He paused, as did she.
He thought back to the day he met them all. His first thought had been that Beatrice looked exactly like her mother, but there was not a single trait shared with Lord Jennings. That had been the case for many people Owen knew, himself included, and so he had not thought much of it at the time.
There was also the distance he felt between them. It was clear, and he knew that her father wanted to get rid of her. There was no pleasure in the knowledge his daughter was to marry well, nor any reaction at all other than mild happiness that she would be gone.
He had hated the man for it, for he could not fathom why he would possibly hate someone that was so undeserving, but as Beatrice explained it all he started to comprehend it.
Granted, he still could not understand why Beatrice had been treated so poorly, but he at least had a reason if it were the case.
“And, if you are right, how would you feel?”
“In truth? Relieved. Do you know, my father always said the same thing to me when he was upset. He was not supposed to be able to father children, which made me a blessing. That was why he had such high expectations, and yet I never achieved them. It hurt me greatly every single time, but now…”
“Now it only makes it more likely to you that he is not your father at all,” he finished for her.
“Precisely, meaning that I am illegitimate, and that you have every right to cast me out if you so choose, for my dubious parentage.”
“Then it is just as well that I have no intention of that. This is your home now, Beatrice. If I was willing to marry a lady carrying an illegitimate child and pass it off as my own, why would I be opposed to marrying one that may or may or not be illegitimate herself?”
She laughed sadly, shrugging her shoulders and continuing on.
“It is a shameful thing to admit. To be entirely honest, I do not know why you were so inclined to marry Lady Helena either, for there are many men who would pity a lady in her position, but that does not mean they wish to marry her.”
Owen thought back to the day Lady Helena told him of her situation. She had come stumbling into Everthorne Hall unannounced, terrified, and when his butler tried to force her to leave, she looked at him with her wide hazel eyes and he could not send her away, having seen those eyes before.
“I heard that you are unmarried,” she’d explained, “and I– I do not know where else to go.”
It was pity that he felt, but there was also something more. The sight of her made him feel brotherly, protective, and he knew he had to do something to help her.
“I suppose that I saw her as someone like me,” he said, his mind returning to his wife. “We all have times where we need someone, and it was not as though I had any loyalties toward anyone else. It was quite a neat arrangement, all things considered.”
“Until I spoiled it.”
He chuckled, his hand resting on hers.
“Yes, until you spoiled it. For what it is worth, I am pleased that you did.”
“Are you?” she asked, both surprised and pleased.
“Yes,” he replied, realizing what he had said. “It means that you are married, and Lady Helena has been afforded protection too.”
“How altruistic,” she replied, and he could hear the disappointment in her voice.
Owen refused to believe that she thought of him in the way that she was suggesting, because if she did then he would be at a loss.
He had not wanted to form such an attachment, but she had made it too easy.
He had been drawn to her from the start, and he knew that was why he married her, rather than finding a way to keep Lady Helena.
“Well,” he said brightly, “now that you know you will not be cast out, might we return home?”
“If that is what you want,” she agreed, her hand slipping from his arm.