Chapter Eleven
Ophelia stood on the steps of Lord Worthing’s home with Trudy by her side and smoothed her skirts ready for today’s first lesson. She had made small cards to remind her of the key points and she fiddled with them in her hands.
‘You will do well, Phelia. Do not fret. It is not an exam,’ Trudy teased and briefly squeezed Ophelia’s forearm before letting go.
Harriet and Trudy had practiced with her as they had every day in school. She had always needed extra practice with learning her lessons, but this strategy always worked, and she could hardly wait to share her suggestions regarding small talk with Lord Worthing today.
‘I know,’ Ophelia lied. It felt exactly like an exam, and her future depended on her success today.
And she had also lied a bit to the others about what kind of lessons they were having, so guilt niggled at her.
She’d described it as socialising rather than flirting to achieve her goal of continuing to meet with him somewhat ‘alone’ with the study door left cracked open for propriety’s sake as Trudy waited in the parlour, just as they had agreed to do before.
The butler greeted them and guided her into the study and Trudy back into the parlour.
Ophelia sat quietly on the sofa and stared around the room.
When she noted there was no tea set out, a warning lit up her spine.
Surely, he was not already breaking his part of the agreement?
She waited for what seemed ages and finally Yates entered the room.
‘From the Viscount, miss,’ he said. He handed her a note, nodded, and left.
After he closed the door, she slumped in the sofa, her shoulders rolling in.
The defeat felt palpable before she had even opened the note.
What would everyone think if she failed so early on in her endeavor?
How could she find him a match if he would not leave his home or listen to her advice?
The man was impossible. If he had not already paid her half of a handsome fee and she was not in dire need of making a name for herself, she would have tossed the unopened note on the table and left.
Surely, he would not dare treat a marriage broker this way?
She grumbled as she finally gave in and opened it.
Dear Miss Granger,
Today’s lesson is on how you allow yourself to be treated. No woman of means or standing would allow herself to be brought to a room alone, with no refreshment, and left waiting for over a half hour, let alone open a note such as this which she had received from her host.
I am disappointed you did not abandon your post here entirely and travel back to Westchester Manor with Miss Hastings.
This concludes my lesson for you for today.
Viscount Worthing
Ophelia huffed in frustration, threw the letter to the ground, and stood, pacing to and from the window in hopes her anger would cool. ‘How dare he?’ she seethed. ‘What sort of self-absorbed fool of a man would do this to me?’
‘So, you enjoyed my lesson, did you?’ he asked from behind her.
Somehow, he had entered the study without her even hearing him, which made her even more flustered.
The man was quite trying. She pressed her lips together, schooled her features, released a breath and turned in the hope that she looked calm, cool and—
‘My, I did upset you. I have never seen your colour quite so high.’ He gestured to her cheeks.
He had the nerve to appear pleased with himself, which made him quite annoyingly handsome.
‘I am glad my lesson was successful. Do not ever allow yourself to be treated as if you are not a treasure, Miss Granger. You must always remind yourself you are a fine gem and a delicate flower that needs attention…and care.’
His words took the sting out of his lesson and made her stomach flip, which irritated her even more.
It was going to be a long afternoon, and now that he had teased her in such a manner she planned to make her lesson for him as vexing as possible.
Looking at Miss Granger, with her pretty flush caused by the ire coursing through her, and his body’s acute reaction to that made Lucas realise the error of his ways immediately.
Now he would have to sit with her alone in his study for another hour without a chaperone to engage in whatever lesson she had brought him, and he found he wanted to touch her quite desperately.
He clenched his hands into fists by his sides.
Dash it.
He should have known better. Miss Granger was no wilting flower, but a passionate, fiery slip of a thing, and his game had created a challenge she would not back down from, nor would he have ever wanted her to.
Her resilience and determination not to rise to his bait mustered his own admiration for her in a way he hadn’t felt in some time.
To his surprise, he realised Miss Granger would be a worthy opponent in a game he was almost excited to begin.
But when she pulled a pair of masquerade masks from the small parcel she carried, his excitement came to a screeching halt. ‘What are we going to do with those?’ he asked, knowing full well exactly what she planned to do with them.
‘We are practicing introductions, greetings and how did you describe it…’ she paused, looking at the molded crown ceilings and then back to him ‘…“tedious small talk” for the masquerade ball this Saturday, which is a mere two days away.’
He grunted. ‘Don’t remind me.’
She had landed a solid one-two combination punch in less than a minute.
She extended a mask to him, but he refused to come to her and take it.
Instead of becoming frustrated, she approached him, thrust it in his hand and smiled knowingly.
‘Put it on, my lord. It is my turn to teach you a bit of something today. And the first thing shall be that grunting or growling, as you are prone to do, is not a form of communication.’
Now she was truly baiting him. His pulse increased and he commanded himself to stay unaffected.
‘Noted,’ he said tightly as he made a bow of the ribbon behind his head to secure the mask over his face.
Soon, she did the same, and he found her features quite changed.
Her blue eyes were even more piercing framed by the brilliant blue feathers and green sequins surrounding them.
Before he knew what was happening, she took a simple pocket mirror from her reticule and turned it toward him.
‘Do you see, my lord? You are dashing. Now all you must do is say something pleasant, kind or encouraging, and the ladies will all be aflutter around you this weekend like butterflies to a pollenating flower.’
He averted his gaze from his reflection. ‘I do not like mirrors, Miss Granger.’ His chest tightened, his pulse ticking up speed again. Why must she push so hard, so soon?
‘I am well aware, as you do not have one nearby. But that is why I brought my hand mirror with me, so you could see for yourself.’
He resisted.
‘Go on,’ she said softly.
When he didn’t move, she gently reached over, her fingers skimming his palm, eliciting a trail of heat and longing he had not felt in such a long time that loneliness threatened to overtake him.
Delicately, she placed the mirror in his hand, and as soon as her touch had come, it left, the loss an immediate rawness, like a gaping wound in his chest.
He was a fool.
He clutched the mirror tightly, hoping he would not break it.
But still he resisted looking at himself.
He did not want to know what the women would see when they looked at him, or how faulty and ridiculous his demand of finding a match in thirty days was.
Looking at himself would make him face all those things.
But Miss Granger seemed hell-bent on staying fixed to the spot she stood in until he did just that. She had not moved but simply watched.
Stop being a fool. It is just a mirror. It is you. Best you face the truth. It is time.
Finally, he lifted the mirror, risking a peek at his reflection, expecting to see the familiar scars and reminders of all his failings. He stilled.
Today. Now. He didn’t.
He looked like…himself before all the horrors of the war had overwhelmed him. Like a man on the cusp of his life, eager to begin. He put a finger to his face and felt the slight pressure on his skin. It was him. The way the mask fell across his cheeks covered the worst of his scars.
For just a moment, he could imagine how he was before, when he still felt the world was full of hope and potential.
And for a brief flicker of time, he liked himself again. The self-hatred drifted away for a heartbeat, and he saw himself as something other than the man he despised.
‘A fine fit if I do say so myself.’
Miss Granger’s words pulled him back from the sanctity of his memories and thrust him into the harsh present.
That flash of something akin to feeling alive and confident, bits of the old Lucas, had disappeared, but at least he’d felt it, however briefly.
Perhaps he could bring it back again? Was this only the beginning?
He nodded a reply to her, which was all he could muster.
‘I spent some time selecting the mask I hoped would help you feel the most confident, my lord.’ She beamed.
Whatever frustration she had felt before was clearly gone.
She seemed happy for him, and his throat tightened with emotion.
Her kindness and goodness were so pure it rather undid him.
To have searched with such intention to try to help him feel comfortable and unintentionally bring him back to himself for a moment moved him deeply.
And he wondered, if he gave himself entirely to this process of hers, if she would indeed bring him back to all the parts of himself he had lost, and guide him towards a future with the family he hoped to create.
The thought of it suddenly frightened him.
He knew the elation of having everything, as well as the crushing defeat of losing it all in an instant.
But could this time be different? Could he seize and hold on to the life he wanted?
‘Shall we begin?’ Miss Granger asked.
‘Begin?’
‘Our small talk practice,’ she replied as if there was no other option.
‘I suppose,’ he replied. ‘If it is as helpful as this mask, then I am at your beck and call,’ he relented. ‘Let us begin.’