Page 71 of Marrying a Reluctant Lady
“Mayhap. But first,” he teased, and pressed his lips to hers.
Ophelia went red. She laughed and kissed him, and he gently swung her around.
“There.” He stood her very gently on her feet.
“You must have ridden here so fast,” she told him, going to the bell-rope to ring for tea.
“It was a grand ride. Shadow ran so well.”
“I’m sure,” Ophelia answered. The horses were happier too—the new stables were big and airy, and the field at the back had been given to their use, providing them with a place to exercise.Benjamin had a small cottage on the property, and he worked with them daily, ensuring them a proper daily run. A happy youth, he seemed even happier to be living on the estate now.
“Bring the tea, please,” Ophelia requested as the butler appeared.
“Very good, my lady.”
Owen smiled at her.
“Mr. Crane looks even happier than usual,” he told her, laughing.
“He does,” she agreed.
Since Barrow was no longer in the house, Mr. Crane seemed to have become younger. He glowed. Mrs. Crane, too, was calm and lovely. Ophelia still enjoyed helping her with the accounts, though it was mainly because she liked planning what was for dinner.
The estate was prospering. The insurance had been ready to pay for some of the damage to the house, and so the building was partly financed. The rest was covered, or was being repaid, by the steady income from the estate, and that was far from small. Owen had been astonished to find that the estate investments had a far greater value than he’d thought, and profits seemed to be pouring in from all sides—from the rents, from the farms, and from the shares. They did not save intensely—life was easy and pleasant, and there was plenty of every good thing.
Ophelia went to sit with Owen at the table. The smell of fresh baking hit her, and she smiled as she saw Mrs. Crane had cooked Chelsea buns. She threw a glance at Owen.
“Share one?” she suggested.
“Fine idea.” He held out a plate and she passed him one and he divided it carefully, passing her one half of it. Ophelia bit down into the delicious raisin-filled bun, the sticky icing thick as honey on her lips.
“Grand, these,” Owen commented, swallowing hard.
Ophelia chuckled. She felt like a little girl. She reached for her napkin, sure that there was icing on her cheek. Owen laughed and touched her face on the side.
“You have a crumb.”
“Thank you.” She giggled.
Owen laughed and stroked her face, his fingers warm and caring. She felt her stomach tighten. She loved how he looked at her, how gentle he was, how empathetic. She also loved his humor and his swift mind.
“I should go to the nursery quickly,” Ophelia said, but Owen was already pushing back his chair.
“Let’s go together,” he said briskly.
They went out into the hallway and up the stairs. The nursery was built such that it caught sun on all sides, morning and afternoon, and it was always bright and warm in there. Ophelia knocked gently.
“Mrs. Walgren?”
“I’m in here,” the woman’s voice replied. It was muffled. She opened the door and Ophelia grinned, seeing that neither of her charges were asleep.
“Grantham! You’re awake. And Amelia.”
Owen smiled. Little Amelia ran to him, launching herself into his arms.
“Papa! Papa! You’re home.”
“Yes, sweetling.” Owen held her up, making her shriek and giggle.
