Page 45 of Marrying a Reluctant Lady
“My lord! My lord,” Mr. Crane called out as they ran to the house. The garden around the back of the kitchen was overgrown, tree branches bending low overhead to tangle in one’s hair and the lawn knee-high. Owen ignored it, hurrying up the stone pathway towards where Mr. Crane was waiting by the door.
“What is it?” he demanded. He had run back from halfway across the estate and he imagined that the bailiffs were confiscating the wealth of Ivystone right at that moment.
“I apologise, my lord,” Mr. Crane said at once. He was panting from the run too, and Owen felt sorry for his earlier anger. The fellow had put himself out to come and call them.
“What is it?” he asked gently.
“Lady Ivystone’s parents are here. Lord and Lady Walden.”
“What?”
“Sorry, my lord,” Mr. Crane stammered. “But they are in the hallway, and they wouldn’t go even when I told them you were on an outing all afternoon.”
“Oh.” Owen felt his stomach knot. He glanced sideways at Ophelia. Her hair had come loose in places, her cheeks flushedas red as the fabric of her beautiful cherry-red gown. He looked away, feeling a burning need to kiss her. “They’re in the hallway, you say?” he demanded of Mr. Crane.
“Yes. They said they would wait there for you. I offered to bring them drinks upstairs in the drawing room. But they said that, since you’d be back by four o’ clock, they would wait there until you came indoors.”
Of course, they did, Owen thought, inwardly making a wry face. He didn’t like Lord Walden. But he was Ophelia’s father, and as such he had to show outward respect. He glanced sideways at Ophelia. She was pale, her chest heaving from the run,
“Come inside,” Owen said gently. “Would you like to go to your room for a moment? I can bring them up to the drawing room myself quickly.”
Ophelia’s gaze met his and he saw it widen, as though she couldn’t quite believe he was offering her an escape. But she looked down hastily.
“I’m quite all right,” she said lightly.
“Very well, then,” Owen agreed. He knew she didn’t want to confront her parents and he could guess that she didn’t want them to see her disheveled state. As he watched, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and checked her skirt for dirt. He came and stood beside her, feeling protective. “We’ll take them upstairs, and we won’t sit for long over tea,” he promised.
Ophelia held his gaze, and he could see how relieved she was by that offer. “Thank you,” she murmured. “Let’s go.”
They walked into the hallway together. The entrance to Ivystone was grand in the old style, with black and white tiles on the floor and a ceiling that soared overhead. The stone-clad staircase was opposite the front door, while a narrow hallway, paneled in fine wood, led to the dining-room. It was there that they found Lord and Lady Walden.
“Lord Walden,” Owen greeted the fellow as he stepped forward. He swallowed hard. Lord Walden was intimidating—almost as tall as Owen, with the broad shoulders and belligerent walk of someone who is only too happy to fight. Lord Walden shook his hand.
“Good afternoon, Lord Ivystone,” he greeted him, voice loud and brash. “And Lady Ivystone.” He beamed at Ophelia. Owen glanced over at her caringly. She looked small and scared suddenly, biting her lip. He moved closer to her, protectively.
“Good afternoon, Father,” she greeted him. Her voice was a whisper, her eyes downcast. Owen let his hand rest on hers. She had been so confident all afternoon, talking with him on all manner of topics. She had even been confident enough to teach him about poetry just the previous evening. But here, in the presence of her parents, she seemed to shrink, becoming hesitant and frightened again. He felt anger rise in his throat.
“My lady,” he greeted Lady Walden, bowing low over her hand. She smiled, dropping a curtsey that was just right—not too deep, and not too shallow and hasty either. Owen felt uncomfortable seeing that. How much of Lady Walden’s soul had been replaced with the Book of Etiquette? And how much had Ophelia learned that it was right to do the same?
“Lord Ivystone,” Lady Walden greeted him politely. “Ophelia. My dear daughter! How good to see you.”
Owen watched as Lady Walden embraced her daughter. He saw how stiff Ophelia was and he wished he could comfort her. He tried to catch her eye, but her blue gaze was downcast, and his heart twisted.
“Shall we take tea in the drawing room?” he asked with just a hint of briskness. Lord Walden chuckled as they walked up to the drawing room together.
“Tea, young man? Why! We had thought of calling on you for dinner. We’re on our way to Lord and Lady Elmore’s home.You must know them? They live another four miles down this road. Too far out of London. But the fellow is very interested in shares in the East India company, and we thought we’d meet to discuss it. Can’t interest you too, I expect?” he asked with a grin. They reached the drawing room.
Owen felt his stomach twist and he paused just by the door. He was absolutely sure Lord Walden knew he had no money.
“Thank you, my lord,” he said hastily, not knowing what else to say. “I will send to the kitchen to let them know we have guests.” His heart sank as he went to pull the bell rope in the corner of the drawing room.
“Very fine. Very fine,” Lord Walden commented. His eyes were drifting around the drawing room and Owen had the uncomfortable feeling that he was adding up the wealth in the room. He glanced at Ophelia. She was looking at the hearthrug under her feet, and Owen could guess that she felt terribly embarrassed. He went and stood beside her.
“Are you going to stay overnight with Lord and Lady Elmore?” he asked Lord Walden politely as Mr. Crane hurried in, his mouth a thin line, brow creased with tension.
“Indeed,” Lord Walden said. “We plan to stay with them for a week. A fine place for outdoor parties. Escaping the Season would be no bad thing.”
Owen saw Ophelia stare at him, and he guessed she was hurt. Her parents had doubtless forced her to attend the Season, and he understood how resentful she must feel right now.
