Page 43 of Marrying a Reluctant Lady
“You would?” Owen looked at her, sounding surprised. “Well, then. I will be sure to have them refurbished. You must assist with designing them if you wish.”
“I may?” Ophelia stared at him in astonishment. Nobody had ever asked her something like that. Her taste and wishes had never been important at home—nobody's were. The head gardener made all the decisions for the garden, and the architect made all the interior choices. Nobody had ever cared what she liked or wanted before.
“Of course, you shall,” Owen said firmly.
She smiled up at him, her heart soaring. She wished she could find words to tell him how she felt, how that offer had made her feel loved and cherished like nothing else had ever done before.
“That would make me very happy,” she said simply.
He gazed into her eyes, those green depths warm and enticing. Her heart raced, and then they were walking on, laughing as a big wasp flew past, narrowly missing a collision with them.
At the stream, there was a rug of thick, hard-wearing fabric, and a picnic-basket that contained cold ham, a loaf of bread, a cold meat pie and little pastries stuffed with raisins and nuts.
“That’s the only horrid thing about springtime,” Owen confessed, as they settled down by the stream.
“What is?” Ophelia asked, feeling pleasantly sleepy as they started to unpack the food in the sunshine.
“Wasps,” Owen answered with a chuckle.
Ophelia laughed. “Yes! Flies, too. Although I have yet to see one.”
“They’ll be here,” Owen told her pessimistically.
Ophelia was still laughing as he poured lemonade and passed it to her. His fingers brushed hers and she felt her heart start to thud.
“Thank you,” she murmured shyly.
“An honour, my lady.”
She giggled and he laughed and then they were dividing the bread and ham and cutting slices off the pie. A butterfly flew overhead, white and delicate. Owen watched it wide-eyed.
“It’s pretty,” Ophelia commented.
“Yes,” he said softly. “It is.”
Ophelia sipped her lemonade and stared upwards. The sky was blue, here and there dotted with clouds that seemed likepuffs of satin. She breathed in, smelling the damp earth around them. Her soul soared.
“I do like to be outdoors,” she commented as she sampled a little of the pie. It was chicken pie, the gravy well-flavored and delicious.
“I am glad,” Owen replied. “I love it too. There is something so beautiful about being here. Truly lovely.” His gaze was on her, and her heart started racing. Was it her he meant? Did he mean that she was beautiful?
“It is,” she answered through a tight throat, barely able to get out the words.
Owen smiled at her, and she held his gaze and she had, once again, that feeling that he wanted to kiss her. Her heart started to thud, and she looked down, feeling flustered. The rug they sat on was black worsted, strong and sturdy and keeping out all the cold and damp from the ground below.
Owen poured more lemonade and their talk turned to the estate. He explained, briefly, how there had been a lot more wealth at Ivystone before his grandfather had lost it all.
“I have tried to be more careful with my investments,” he said with a grin. “But we still have a lot of debt to pay back.”
“And that’s why you’re so careful with the household accounts?” Ophelia guessed.
“Mm.” Owen nodded. “Absolutely. We have to save everything we can. I am still paying back all the refurbishments my father made...he spent quite lavishly, not knowing, of course, that Grandfather’s money didn’t exist.”
“Of course,” Ophelia said softly. She understood, now, why the place looked so ill-kept. She smiled. “I intend to work on the budget with Mrs. Crane every week. If I may, I will supervise the meal plans for each day. I am sure we could save some money while still eating just as well as we do now.” She gestured at the plate that lay before her, only crumbs remaining from where shehad eaten her fill of pie and sandwiches.
“I am sure that, if anyone can manage that, you will,” Owen said warmly. “And remember, all the ledgers are at your disposal. Should you be able to think of any other ways we could save money, please suggest them.”
“Owen!” Ophelia stared at him, warmth flooding her. He had mentioned it already, but it still took her breath away. It was a gesture of absolute trust, not to mention great respect. Very many gentlemen would have flatly disbelieved that a woman could even understand a ledger, much less add one up or be able to suggest good economic practices. She swallowed hard. “Thank you.”
