Page 27 of Marrying a Reluctant Lady
“It feels better than anything else right now,” Alice remarked vengefully.
Ophelia had felt her heart flood with warmth for her friend, but then she was getting into the coach, and they were heading off. She hadn’t had a chance to say anything else to her, or even to ask her to stay.
She stared up at the house. The front door was open, and a man in a black jacket was bowing to them. He had white hair and a thin face and his gaze, when he looked at them, was flint cold.
“Good afternoon, my lady. Good afternoon, my lord.” He bowed low to them both. His voice was mild and neutral.
“Barrow, good afternoon,” Owen said to the man, his voice cold and hard. ‘I would like Mr. Crane’s assistance.’ Mr. Barrow inclined his head.
“Of course, my lord.”
Ophelia looked up at Owen. He wasn’t looking at Mr. Barrow, and she detected a tightness around his mouth. He didn’t like the fellow, who was, she guessed, one of his staff members. She glanced at Mr. Barrow again, but she couldn’t guess what had caused the flash of distaste she saw—he seemed ordinary in every respect, quite inoffensive. She felt her frown deepen. Owen was a peculiar man—very cold and distant, but clearly perfectly able to take a dislike to someone. She walked beside him towards the stairs, wondering what the man had done to cause that frozen, cold expression on Owen’s face.
“My lord?” Another man, this one in dark brown livery, called him as he walked down the stairs towards them.
“Ah! Mr. Crane. Allow me to introduce the countess? My lady, this is Mr. Crane.” This time, Owen’s voice sounded much warmer, she noted. She looked over at the man who he’d greeted.
“My lady!” Mr. Crane beamed, his oval face lighting up as he gazed at her. He had brown eyes with wrinkles around them and his smile was genuine, brightening his gaze. She felt warmth fill her chest. Here, at least, was someone in the household who was friendly. She inclined her head politely as the man bowed low.
“Mr. Crane’s my butler,” Owen explained. “Mr. Crane? Is the fire lit in the west wing? Her ladyship will doubtless wish to retire there to rest awhile.”
“Yes. Yes, my lord. The windows are open to let in some clean air. I’ll go and close them now. The room will get too cold like that.”
“Very good.” Owen inclined his head.
Ophelia hurried to catch up with him as he strode on up the stairs. He had a long stride, and he didn’t wait. She drew in a deep breath as she caught up. He had stopped outside a white-painted door, a few paces down a long hallway at the top of the stairs.
“Here are your quarters,” Owen said softly. “If anything is not to your liking, please ring the bell. I’ve assigned a maid to your service. She’ll be up at once when you ring.”
“Oh. Thank you,” Ophelia murmured. Her heart ached. Lily wasn’t able to come with her—or, not yet, anyway. Mama had said she’d try and arrange for her to be transferred, but that it would take time. It would have been so nice to have a friendly person with her in this new, strange house.
“No trouble at all,” Owen said softly. He looked down at her and she felt as though he expected her to say something. She felt her heart thud as she tried to think what it might be. She’d thanked him, she’d said she’d go and rest...what else could it be?
“Thank you,” she said again.
“Um...I’ll be in the drawing room,” Owen said slowly. “If you would care for some refreshment.”
“Oh.” Ophelia stared at him for a second. Had he really said that? Did he really want her to join him in the drawing room? She frowned. “Well, um...”
“Only if you’d like to,” he said carefully. His gaze held hers.
She inclined her head, confusion making it almost impossible to think. “Yes,” she said softly. She didn’t know what else to say. “Thank you.”
He inclined his head politely and set off down the hallway as she opened the door to her bedchamber. She went inside and shut the door behind her, then leaned on it, feeling utterly exhausted.
I’m here in this strange house with an almost-silent manand I don’t know what he expects of me.
She gazed around, feeling drained.
The room was beautiful. She felt her shoulders relax in relief. Somehow, she’d expected it to be dilapidated and ramshackle, like the rest of the house was. Instead, the wallpaper was white flocked silk, the bed had a white silk coverlet, and the wardrobe was made of fine wood. There was a dressing-table and, though none of her things had been unpacked yet, she could imagine them all here.
This is my home.
It didn’t make any sense at all and she sat down on the bed, feeling exhausted.
This was her new home, the place where she was to spend the rest of her life. She gazed around it blankly. What was one supposed to think? How was one supposed to make sense of such a huge, unexpected change?
“Milady?”
