Page 55 of Marrying a Reluctant Lady
“Please do,” Owen replied swiftly. “And tell him I’ll ride partof the way with him when he returns home,” he added, his mind working fast. He wanted to discuss the matter with Leonard, but without Ophelia there. She looked so nervous, and he didn’t want to distress her.
“Owen! Lady Ivystone,” Leonard greeted them both, bowing low to Ophelia. Owen saw her blush and he gave Leonard a firm look. It was all very well to tease Owen, but Ophelia was a sensitive soul. He should keep his wicked humor in check.
“Good afternoon, Leonard,” Owen greeted him fondly. “We just ate most of the things the housekeeper had made. I can send for more, if you like?” He glanced at the table, thinking of his friend’s big appetite.
Leonard laughed. “Not to worry, Owen. I took tea before I came. I just thought I would ride here to see how you are faring.”
“Very well,” Owen replied. He glanced at Ophelia, aware that his face glowed when he did so, and he felt no need to hide it. Let Leonard make light of it, if he would. There was nothing amusing about this feeling. It was the most wonderful thing in Owen’s life, the most precious thing in it.
They sat and talked, and then Leonard, stretching his long legs out before him, looked up at the clock frowningly.
“Is it so late?” he said at once. “Dash it! Sorry, Lady Ivystone.” He smiled at her in apology for his exclamation. “I have to ride back. I forgot that Danley is coming this evening.” He stood up and Owen walked with him to the door.
“I’ll ride part of the way with you,” he informed him, repeating his offer. Leonard nodded.
“I’d be glad of the company.” He bowed to Ophelia again. “My lady, it was grand to see you. Thank you for your hospitality.”
“Of course, Lord Alford.”
Owen walked downstairs with Leonard, saddling his horse in the yard. They rode back along the road, the sunshine beatingdown warmly, the birds making a fine chorus.
“You seem happy,” Leonard commented. Owen smiled.
“I am, Leonard. She is...she is wonderful,” he said, not able to hide the warmth in his voice.
“Well! That’s grand.” Leonard looked at him with round eyes. “I’d thought you two didn’t even know each other. You certainly never told me about her if you did.” He grinned at Owen teasingly.
“We didn’t,” Owen replied slowly, and he felt his lips lift at the corners. It was wonderful. He had thought that the most he could feel for Ophelia would be care and respect, but now he found that there was something deeper than that, that held care and respect inside it, but was something entirely different. It made his heart glow and whenever he thought of it, the woods seemed brighter, and the day seemed filled with joy.
It was love. He knew that. He wished he could tell Ophelia that, but he didn’t know how to start. His tutors had taught him all he needed to excel at law, but they had never taught him any sort of oratory that could help him say that to Ophelia.
I hope I can find a way,he thought, leaning forward to urge Shadow on.
He needed to tell her, however daunting that felt. She deserved to know.
Chapter 20
The small parlor was cozy, the fire burning warmly in the grate, the curtains drawn. Ophelia sat on the comfortable chaise-longue with its green velvet cover and waited for Owen to arrive. He’d retired to his workroom after dinner, saying he had to prepare one or two things to take to Mr. Albury tomorrow. She smiled, feeling a delicious excitement like a glow inside her. Soon he would arrive, and she could show him the poem she wrote. She’d never shared one of her own poems with him before. She glanced down at the paper she held—she’d copied it out of her notebook carefully, intending to give it to him as a gift.
“For my heart knows well its choice, and it has chosen you.”
She read the last line aloud, her cheeks blushing furiously. She wondered if she’d be brave enough to tell him that, to read those words aloud when he was there.
I have to,she told herself firmly. It was time to be honest with him, to confide in him the feelings that had been growing within her for weeks now. She sensed that he felt much the same way as she did, and it felt safe.
All she had to do was find the courage to read it.
The fire sputtered in the grate, and she stood up to stoke it, pausing by the bell as she did so. She wondered whether she should ring for some tea. Her throat felt dry and scratchy, but she smiled to herself. It was nerves that was doing it, not thirst. She was just nervous.
“Is someone there?” she called out, hearing footsteps in the hallway. The west wing was fairly isolated from the rest of the house and the servants rarely went there. She didn’t even know if they knew that Owen and she had been using the place—of the household staff; only Mr. Barrow and sometimes Mr. Crane everwent there.
Nobody answered.
Ophelia paused, listening further, but she heard nothing else and shrugged. It must have been one of them; perhaps coming to light the lamps. It would be odd, she thought, tilting her head to one side. Mr. Barrow was highly particular about which lamps were lit, in order to save money, and he never lit the ones in the corridor to the west wing. Usually after their poetry evenings they stumbled out into pitch darkness and, laughing, sought their way to the main house by touch.
She smiled to herself at the thought. Soon, Owen and she would have the same enjoyable time as always.
She went back to the chaise-longue, and then paused, smelling something. The fire had been sputtering, and the smell of smoke was getting worse. She stood up and went to stoke it again. The coal was bad quality—she knew that they had to save money, but it must be particularly bad to give off such thick fumes—if she looked around, it seemed as though the whole room was hazy.
