Page 29 of Marrying a Reluctant Lady
“Exactly.”
They looked at each other and Ophelia felt her heart flip as his gaze held hers. Just for an instant, it felt as though she was looking into the eyes of someone who understood her. She felt her cheeks warm again, but it was an utterly different feeling to when they had flushed with shame.
She cleared her throat, about to ask him who his favorite poet might be, but footsteps in the hallway made them both turn.
“My lord? You rang?”
“I did, Barrow. But it was for Mr. Crane, not you.” Owen sounded slightly annoyed.“Mayhap you could inform him that I need tea for myself and the countess, please; and something edible along with it.”
The man inclined his head fractionally. “Very good, my lord. And, my lord, you are needed in the study. An urgent matter.”
Owen glared at the man. “Are you positive it cannot be delayed?” he demanded. He sounded angry.
“I am, my lord. Stannard is here. He’s come in from London.”
“Oh...” Owen glared at the man, and she guessed he wanted to swear. “Well, then. I am needed in the study,” Owen explained, turning towards her. “Matters of business.” His jaw was tight, his words hard.
“Of course.”
“I apologise,” Owen said swiftly. “If you like riding,” Owen said tensely, “we have a very fine stable. I’m sure you’ll findhorses there to meet your needs. Otherwise, feel free to entertain yourself here until dinner.”
“Oh.” It was Ophelia’s turn to be surprised. The house didn’t look like they could afford a stable, or even any horses at all. She hadn’t expected him to be so abrupt—he had seemed sad to have to go to the meeting.
She sat in strained silence, sipping tea. Owen stood and walked briskly to the door, glaring at Mr. Barrow.
“He must be the steward,” she thought to herself. She stood up and went to the window. The dusk seemed already to be settling, though she was sure that was an illusion, since it was only three o’ clock. The house was dark and brooding, the trees thick around it. She could see down the bare ground, covered in leaves, and she felt her guts twist with a mix of nerves and confusion.
This is such a strange place,she thought wildly.And he is so strange.
She looked around the room and sent up a silent prayer that all would be well and that something would happen to make her life here easier.
Chapter 11
It was morning, the sky outside dusk-blue, and the sound of the spring chorus of birds was drifting in as Owen walked past the glass windowpanes. It was a week since his wedding and he blinked in the dark corridor, feeling an odd sensation he couldn’t quite identify at first. It was excitement.
“Dash it all,” he muttered under his breath as he walked into the breakfast room, fumbling for the curtains that hadn’t yet been opened. “That makes no sense at all.”
The excitement he felt made no sense. He was still in debt—though Lord Walden had promised he’d settle that soon and had shaken his hand meaningfully after the wedding dinner—and Ophelia still seemed scared of him despite a week of strained, awkward conversations with her.
He sat down at the table and let out a sigh as thoughts of Ophelia flooded into his mind.
Perdition take me,he thought warmly,but she’s beautiful.
He recalled her at dinner the night before. She’d worn a yellow gown, her long blonde hair pinned up elegantly with pearl pins, the candlelight shining on her pale, lucent skin. He’d stared at her for so long that he’d had to force himself to blink and look away.
That’s all very well,he told himself crossly,but she can barely say five sentences to you without looking like she’s going to burst into tears.
The silence at teatime was so loud that Owen often wanted to escape. He felt a twist of sorrow in his heart. He was no good at this. She was clearly an interesting person; he could recall seeing her chatting away to the red-haired woman—Lady Alice, she’d been introduced to him at the dinner—so she clearly hadplenty to say. But somehow, she didn’t want to speak to him.
Can you blame her?he asked himself with some annoyance.She doesn’t know you.
A week of conversing about London and the rain that was falling outside didn’t exactly help her to get to know him.
He stood up, feeling restless. This arrangement was not something he’d chosen, not really. He’d been cornered and he had chosen the one way out of the corner that seemed to make sense, or so he’d been convinced by Lord Walden, who had certainly made him feel as though this was his chance to repair the estate. So far, it seemed, he was making good on the promise, slowly paying off their debts. But those benefits didn’t help Owen to feel less awkward when he thought about the beautiful woman who now lived at Ivystone, and they didn’t help him to get to know her, either.
“Good morning, my lord!” Mr. Crane said, beaming as he came in with a tray of toast and tea, interrupting Owen’s reverie. “Why, it’s a fine day out there.”
“Yes, it is,” Owen murmured, glancing at the window. There was no sign of clouds and the blueish dark started to lighten to a pink-streaked paleness there on the horizon.
