Page 30 of Marrying a Reluctant Lady
“Would you like an egg, my lord?” Mr. Crane inquired, putting the toast and tea out on the table. “Mrs. Crane makes a fine boiled egg. And perhaps one for her ladyship? We made extra toast this morning.”
“Thank you. An egg would be nice. And I am sure her ladyship would appreciate one too,” Owen answered politely.
“Very good, my lord. And I wish you a good appetite.”
“Thank you,” Owen repeated, waiting until Mr. Crane had retreated downstairs before he poured himself some tea. He sat looking out of the window, lost in thought.
The creditors had already received their first payments—and it seemed that in the kitchen they already knew, since Mr.Crane was feeling the new sense of abundance already. He’d never offered Owen a boiled egg before; not since the news of the estate finances had reached the ears of the household.
Even Mr. Crane seems relieved.
Owen shut his eyes. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all. But it was making a beautiful lady suffer, and he didn’t like that; not at all.
“Good morning?”
Owen jumped. He’d just been buttering some toast and the butter-knife slipped from his hand, clattering onto the floor.
“Good morning,” he answered at once. It was Ophelia in the doorway, standing there hesitantly. She was looking at him nervously, her peach-pink mouth an uncertain “o” shape. She was dressed in a white gown decorated with a pattern of blue flowers. Her hair was drawn back in a bun, wisps of it escaping to frame her face. If she had looked beautiful yesterday evening, now she looked stunning. He gaped and then realized what he was doing and shut his mouth.
“Good morning,” she said again, sounding shy. She came over to the table, standing hesitantly at the edge. “Sorry I disturbed you.”
“You didn’t,” Owen said swiftly. “Please, come and sit down. Mr. Crane is just fetching the rest of the breakfast. Would you like some toast?” he inquired. He blushed.
She’s going to wonder what on Earth the matter is with you, he thought crossly.
“Thank you,” Ophelia replied. She drew out the chair and sat, rearranging her skirt carefully as she settled in the seat. Owen gazed at her, thinking that he’d never seen someone so lovely, and then blinked, heat rising in his face, and looked swiftly down at the table.
“Tea?” he asked. He reached for the pot and poured her some, realizing as he did it that it was probably supposed to beher pouring for him and not him for her. He poured it anyway.
She stirred in some sugar and Owen poured tea for himself, then sat awkwardly, racking his brains for something to talk of while she sipped tea and stared at the window.
“What should we do today?” he asked her. His voice sounded tight.
“Are you very busy?” Ophelia asked him.
Owen blinked, not sure what to say. Yes, he certainly had intended to meet with Barrow about the creditors. But what answer did she want...That he was very busy, or that he had plenty of time to be with her?
“Um...” He paused, and the only thing that came into his head was that she might like riding. He was about to suggest that they went for a ride when the door opened and Mr. Crane came in, carrying another tray.
“A boiled egg, your ladyship. And for you too, my lord. And I brought a fresh pot of tea. I’m certain that must be cold by now.”
“It’s warm,” Owen commented lightly, annoyed at the interruption, but he let Mr. Crane swap it anyway. Mr. Crane gave them their boiled eggs, took a half-empty pot of jam off the table and then exited as suddenly as he arrived.
“So, what do you have to do today?” Ophelia asked him. She sounded interested and Owen coughed to clear his throat.
“I was thinking you might like to see the estate—would you like Miss Cranford to accompany you?”
Ophelia looked up at him in surprise. He thought she was angry with him at first, but then he realized that the wide blue eyes and the downturned corners of her lips were hurt, not angry.
“Are you too busy?” she asked softly.
Owen took a deep breath. He had intended to ride to London that day—the more vicious of the creditors needed his personal assurance that Lord Walden would repay them. He had thoughtthat she would prefer to view the estate unencumbered by what must be to her his odious presence. He felt his frown deepen. She seemed as though she would have liked him to walk with her.
“I am sorry,” he answered. “But I must go to town. Business requires it.” He drew a breath. He saw her stiffen and the expression that she had worn at the ball—that hard, empty smile—returned to her face.
“Well, then,” she said with a brittle tone. “I suppose I will accept your offer.”
“Thank you.”
