Page 3 of Marrying a Reluctant Lady
Ophelia chuckled. She was so glad to see her friend. Alice was always unconventional and seeing her lightened her spirits.
“I didn’t know I was going to come here either,” Ophelia admitted. “How lovely to see you,” she added, taking her friend’s hands in her own. She looked into her friend’s greenish eyes and felt her heart soar. She had missed her. Alice Thomson—Lady Alice, as was her proper title—was the daughter of an extremely wealthy earl, and the two girls had met at a house party at the Walden estate when they were just ten. Now, ten years later, they were like sisters.
“Have you read the latest Byron?” Alice asked her. They were walking towards the poetry shelves. Ophelia made a face.
“I love Byron,” she admitted. “But I don’t like reading when I’m writing. It displeases me.”
Alice chuckled. “I understand.” She grinned. “I daresay his verses do become entwined in your thoughts.”
“Terribly much, they do,” Ophelia agreed, feeling her soul lift at how readily Alice understood. Alice loved reading too, though she didn’t write. Alice’s chosen outlets were tapestry and painting. Ophelia loved her work and wished that she could learn to paint, too, but her parents wouldn’t allow it. They said painting was a silly pastime for a woman and that it wasn’t seemly.
Looking at her friend, Ophelia felt as though she could finally allow some of her anger at her parents to seep through. In her own house, with them there, it felt hard to be rebellious. Here, she felt some of that anger flare up.
“I suppose you’ll be going to the Assembly tomorrow?” Aliceasked, her expression amused and a little sad. Alice’s father was high in political circles, and Alice had to attend every party and impress people, like Ophelia.
“I’m going to a balltoday,” she murmured.
“What? Today?” Alice declared volubly, then held her hand to her lips and whispered an apology as she remembered where she was. Ophelia loved how free and expressive she was. She’d never had that punished out of her, it seemed. Her own mother was quite flamboyant and didn’t care overly much what society thought. Ophelia’s parents were the exact opposite and she hated it.
“Yes, today,” Ophelia answered softly. “Lady Haredale’s ball. Mama managed to get us invited.” She made a rueful face.
“I imagine it’ll be full of theBon Ton,” Alice said with a knowing grin.
“I’m sure it will.” Ophelia felt her heart twist. She felt nauseous at the thought and a little sad, too. She would much rather be sitting with Alice or Lily, reading a silly romance novel and giggling.
“Well, then,” Alice said, seeing Ophelia’s sorrowful face. “Since you don’t want to read Byron, let’s have a look at what else is here.” She gestured at the shelf in front of them. “I was reading a fascinating book last week. It was something about the history of sea-travel. I know, I know...that sounds awfully tiresome. But I assure you, it was most interesting.” She gestured to the shelf over her head.
Ophelia allowed her gaze to move down the row of books. As it did, she spotted something on a shelf two rows overhead with the poetry books. It was a leather-bound book with embossed writing in gold-leaf on the spine and, though she was too far away to make it out clearly, she recognized the look of it. They had exactly the same edition at home. She wandered over to fetch it.
As she reached for it, a man walked into her.
“Oh!” Ophelia shrieked at the impact. He had almost knocked her over. She grabbed onto the shelf, one hand flying up to her mouth, trying to stifle the yell.
“What in...” The man began, his voice angry. He looked down at Ophelia and she saw the expression change to one of shock. “Sorry. I’m so sorry, madam.” He held out a hand as though to steady her. “Did I hurt you?”
“I’m fine,” Ophelia said, with just a touch of anger. He had almost made her fall over and he’d also scared her by shouting so loudly. “And you can call me “miss”,” she added crossly. “Not madam.” She wanted to add “The Honorable Miss Worthington” to that, which was her full title, but she decided against it. Whoever this was, the less he knew of her the better. She instantly disliked him for his loud shout and apparent carelessness.
“Oh.” He blinked. He had a long, thin face, with high cheekbones and a nose that was ever so slightly hooked. His eyes had big lids and were just bracketed with the merest trace of crow’s feet. His hair was black. It was his eyes, though, that struck her. They were green, the same pale gray green as mossy stones, and she felt drawn into them at once. There was something magical about them. “I apologise.” His voice was low and resonant.
“I should think so.”
The man—she had no idea what his name was—blinked again in surprise. He had thin lips, and there was something hard about the set of them. He looked stern and she decided, enticing eyes or not, she truly didn’t like him; her first impression hadn’t been wrong. He couldn’t have been much older than her—she was twenty, and she guessed him to be around twenty-five. He acted much older. She turned around, looking pointedly at the shelf again.
He could at least ask to get the book off the shelf for me...If he’s really sorry, and not just saying it, I would accept that from him.
She stood on tiptoe, trying to get to it. She was not short, but he was far taller—he was at least six feet tall.
“Are you sure you’re unhurt, miss?” he asked.
She turned around, fixing him with a stare. “I’m fine,” she repeated. “Thank you for asking. I’m just trying to get that book there.” She turned again and tried to get the book overhead.
He cleared his throat. “I must ask you to accept my apologies,” he said smoothly. His face was unreadable.
“That’s all very well,” she said formally. “I just want to get my book and forget about the incident.”
“And I must be off. My carriage is waiting.” He turned around and hurried out and Ophelia stared after him.
“What on Earth happened?” Alice whispered from behind her, interrupting her reverie.
