Page 35 of Marrying a Reluctant Lady
“I enjoyed it,” Ophelia said sincerely. She felt her heart glow. She had not had so much fun for weeks. She liked nothing better than working with numbers—only poetry was more fun than that. She walked to the door, feeling energized.
“I’m very grateful for your help. His lordship will be delighted if we can save two or three pounds a week!” Mrs. Crane said with a grin.
“I’m glad.” Ophelia was glowing as she walked upstairs. She had enjoyed the morning thoroughly, and she’d also managed to do something to help Owen.
And to think, I thought I’d spend the morning mending clothes. She grinned to herself at the thought. She settled back in her seat by the window with her sewing-things. The sunshine felt almost hot now, and she put aside the dress she was working on and reached for a small novel she’d found on one of the bookshelves. The drawing room had very few books in it—someof the old works, like Milton and Bacon, and a few history books. There was almost no light literature and no poetry. She opened the little book, content to have something to read.
“My lady?”
A soft male voice made her look up, startled. The tone of it was like feathers on her skin, soft and enticing. She felt her heart race.
“Owen.” Her voice was tight, and she cleared her throat. “Your meeting was not that long after all today.” She felt her cheeks warm as he looked at her. His gaze was tender.
“Yes. I managed to make things a little faster today,” he answered softly. “Is that a poetry book?” he asked her, a warm smile on his lips.
“No,” Ophelia said, heart thudding...he remembered she liked poetry. “It’s a novel. I found it over there.” She hesitated, wondering if he’d be angry with her for reading the books—there were whole areas of the house that were locked, according to her maid, though she hadn’t inquired why. Owen didn’t seem angry, though: he was smiling.
“Well, I thought that maybe you’d like to read some poetry. I found some books. I was thinking—perhaps you’d read them with me? I know little enough about poetry. Mayhap you could select some works to read with me, and we could discuss them?” His gaze moved from her face and roved the room a little nervously.
“Owen!” Ophelia shrieked. “I mean, yes! Yes. That would be lovely.” Her heart soared. She couldn’t believe it. She stared at him. Had he really just offered to read poetry? With her? She hadn’t expected that. Not at all.
“I’m pleased.” He looked up, his gaze uncertain and seeming shy. She grinned.
“I can barely wait to start,” she confessed shyly. Heat traveled through her body—she couldn’t believe she’d just saidthat. He had barely talked to her for a week, so she oughtn’t really to be so open. She had thought he’d be offended, but he was laughing.
“Well, then, we can start tonight. Oh, botheration.” he uttered, then reddened. “Sorry. I just recalled Leonard is coming tonight. I can’t get word to him fast enough...” He trailed off, a frown on his brow.
“That’s all well,” Ophelia replied gently. “Mayhap we could read after dinner?”
“Before he arrives? Mayhap,” Owen agreed instantly. “Or once he departs. He intended to visit in the evening, play billiards and have dinner later. Would that be agreeable for you?”
Ophelia blinked in surprise. It was the first discussion they’d really had where they planned anything. She nodded. “Of course.”
“Well, then,” Owen grinned. “We will read this evening. If you’re not too tired, that is.”
“I trust I shall not be,” Ophelia said firmly. Owen chuckled. The gaze he directed at her was warm.
“Well, then,” he replied, “we will resume for poetry tonight. I need to go into town after lunch—solicitor's meeting.” He made a face. “Please accept my apologies. I am sorry to be always so busy.”
“Of course, Owen,” Ophelia replied gently.
He smiled. His eyes held hers and she felt her heart thud. She could not wait to see him that evening. And she could not wait to share poetry with him in just a few hours’ time.
Chapter 13
Ophelia sat in the drawing room. It was evening, and she’d dressed carefully—her favorite dress was pale green with a low, square neckline and the skirt fell to her ankles from a high waistband of dark green silk. Her hair was arranged in a chignon, some curls left loose to frame her face. Miss Cranford proved to be an excellent hairdresser, and she couldn’t help liking the style.
What will he think?
Ophelia shifted on the chaise-longue uncomfortably. She had never wanted to make a good impression like she wanted to right at this moment, and she didn’t know when Owen was going to arrive. He’d said they’d meet in the drawing room after dinner, and it was already seven o’ clock and she had no idea where he was. Her stomach grumbled painfully. She’d eaten a few sandwiches at teatime, knowing she might have a long wait, but it didn’t seem to be helping.
“My lady?” A female voice called.
“Oh!” Ophelia smiled as Mrs. Crane came in. “Do you need to check something?”
“Just fetching the tea-things,” Mrs. Crane replied warmly. “And I need to fetch some brandy for the men...they’ve run out in the billiards room.” She went to a cabinet and took a bottle out of it. Ophelia felt her brow crease.
“We have a billiards room?” she inquired curiously. There were so many rooms in the manor that she’d never seen. Besides her own apartment, the drawing room, breakfast room, and the dining room downstairs, she’d barely been in any of them. The manor was an unexplored mystery.
