Page 70 of Marrying a Reluctant Lady
They sat silently for a moment, then he cleared his throat.
“You know,” he said carefully. “Remember I said you could use my mama’s parlor for salons when we were at Ivystone?”
“Yes,” Ophelia said softly. She had loved the idea, but she couldn’t imagine the place without smelling smoke and hearing fire, now, and that always scared her to a point where Owen had to hold her.
“Well, I thought we could do better. We could design a room for that. Somewhere new. Something intended for the job, with room for books and seats and everything you might need. It’s certainly something for the architect to work on.”
Ophelia stared at him. “You mean it,” she whispered. “My very own place. Somewhere to have a salon. Somewhere for my poetry.” He had mentioned the idea before, and she had been awed then. Now, with so many plans and grand ideas for the house, it was even more probable, even more accessible, and she almost screamed with excitement.
She was really going to have her own literary presence.
“Yes. Of course,” Owen agreed. “Ophelia, you are extremely talented. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if you became famous one day. And I’d like to think I supported you.” He grinned. “Not just for that selfish reason, of course. But for the selfish reason that I love to hear your work and that’d give me more chance to.”
She giggled, flushing red. “Oh, Owen,” she murmured, voice tight. “You are dear.”
She reached up and rested a hand on his cheek. She looked into his eyes. He was so beautiful, so caring. She loved him with all her heart.
He looked at her and his eyes were solemn.
“I love you, Ophelia. I love you so much,” he murmured feelingly. He reached forward and embraced her, drawing her close, his lips finding hers, his arms so gentle. Her face heated up with shyness and longing and she held him close, her heart overflowing.
“I love you too, Owen,” she said softly. “I love you, too.”
They kissed.
Epilogue
The scent of flowers drifted through the window. Ophelia breathed in and her face lit with a smile. The scent was the scent of spring, and the season always brought joy to her heart.
The spring sunshine shone warmly on the green lawns, the daisies and lavender in the borders blooming in profusion. The trees that surrounded the manor were clad in bright green leaves and the air smelled fresh and warm.
“Open all the windows, please, Mr. Crane,” Ophelia instructed gently.
“Of course, my lady. In the hallway, too?” he replied.
“Yes. Please. It’s such a fine day out there, the air smells so fresh and clean.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Ophelia looked around the drawing room. The room was larger than it was before at Ivystone, the windows facing slightly more west than they were previously, so that warm afternoon sunshine flooded in from noon to sundown and the room stayed warm and pleasant. The furniture was of the latest fashion, with chintz coverings on the chairs by the fireplace and beautiful spindle-legged chairs. The walls were partly paneled, the floor wooden and covered with beautiful silk rugs near the fire.
“It’s a beautiful room,” Ophelia said aloud to herself as the butler exited to fetch tea.
Ivystone was beautiful. Since the fire four years ago, the house had been rebuilt. The part of it that had been standing was incorporated into the new design, but even the angle of the house on the property was different, and that made it lighter and warmer too.
The new design was more modern, with higher, airier spacesand the windows were cleverly placed to allow the maximum light and freshness in. The garden, too, was entirely redone—the rose-garden, the part of it that had survived the fire, was the main center. Paths radiated off from there, heading to the new pond, to the front lawns with their borders of flowers, or to different shaded corners that were filled with flowers and tranquil greenness. It was a beautiful garden and drew plenty of admirers from all around.
She felt a tingle of excitement in her heart. It was almost teatime. Owen had said he’d come back from his ride to London for tea. She always felt joy when he was about to return. She glanced about the room, seeing that the tea-table was only awaiting the tea itself, which would go cold if they brought it too soon.
She tensed, hearing what could be hoof-beats, and then went to the door as she heard what certainly was the sound of footsteps on the stairs.
“Ophelia!”
“Owen. You’re back!”
“I certainly am. Oh! You look gorgeous.” He laughed and lifted her up, making her giggle.
“Put me down,” she said, but her voice showed how happy she was.
