Chapter Six
“Creston, meet Lady Ophelia de Camville, granddaughter of the Earl of Sidbury,” Royston said. “My lady, this is your betrothed, and my brother, Sir Creston de Royans.”
Creston wasn’t expecting the vision before him.
He was damn sorry he hadn’t cleaned up before coming to The Black Cock.
Before him stood a vision that he couldn’t have imagined in his wildest dreams. Ophelia de Camville was an exquisite beauty, every inch a nobleman’s daughter, with light brown hair that had copper and gold flecks in it and eyes that were nearly the same color as her hair.
Her face was oval, with wide cheekbones, and lips that were full and pink.
Clad in an exquisite silk garment with gold embroidery, and with gold jewelry around her neck, she looked like something that had just stepped through a window from heaven.
Creston was genuinely astonished.
“My lady,” he managed to say. “It is an honor to meet you. I hope your journey to Blackchurch was pleasant.”
Ophelia forced a smile. “It was pleasant, indeed, my lord,” she said. “The roads were good, fortunately.”
Creston nodded. “The weather has been dry this far north,” he said. “How has your weather been in the south?”
“Dry,” Ophelia said. “But everything is much greener here in the north. I’ve never seen so many trees. Is the hunting good?”
It seemed, to Creston, that she was verging on nervous chatter.
Not that he blamed her, because nervous chatter was better than heavy silence.
He’d only brought up the weather simply to keep the conversation going, and she’d taken the bait.
It gave him a chance to watch her mouth as she spoke, and he had to admit that he was pleasantly surprised.
She was well spoken, with a soft but clear voice, and he could have looked at that face all day.
There was something about her eyes that was both warm and mysterious, something that he found quite enchanting.
A most unexpected reaction.
“It is quite good, I hear,” Creston said. “The Earl of Exmoor’s lands surround Blackchurch and we are permitted to hunt when we have time, which is rare. Do you like to hunt, then?”
Ophelia shook her head. “I admit that I do not,” she said, a genuine smile tugging at her lips. “Other than wild boar, I think animals in the forest are quite majestic. I cannot bear to kill them.”
Creston grinned. “Understandable from a woman’s point of view,” he said. “But I would wager to say that you eat them when put upon your table?”
“It would be wasteful not to do so.”
“That is a good answer,” he said, scratching his neck as he turned to glance at his friends—all of them—who had commandeered their usual table but were keeping an eye on him. “If you do not like to hunt, what do you like to do?”
Ophelia cocked her head thoughtfully. “Everything a properly bred young woman is expected to do,” she said. “I can paint, and draw, and sing.”
“Do you sing well?”
“I think so.”
“That is good to know,” Creston said. Then he looked to his brother and the lady’s grandfather, who had been watching the exchange very carefully. “I look forward to discovering that for myself.”
“She has had the best education in England,” de Bulverton said, having listened to what was bordering on an inane conversation. “She can do everything extremely well. My granddaughter has no defects.”
That was a rather cold observation coming from a grandfather. Royston watched his brother as his brother watched the lady, and he swore he could see some interest in Creston’s face.
“I’m very glad that you wrote to me, my lord,” Royston said, turning to de Bulverton. “I have been married for several years and have three sons. It has been a rewarding institution for me and I hope it will be for my brother as well.”
“Of course, it will,” de Bulverton said, his gaze on his granddaughter. “I am certain they will have many children together. Every man needs a legacy, and Ophelia brings noble blood to the House of de Royans.”
Creston finally tore his eyes away from Ophelia and glanced at Oscar de Bulverton.
The man spoke so coldly about a family member he should at least have some warmth toward.
But he couldn’t see any at all. Ophelia stood there, head lowered demurely, and Creston wondered if it was because she didn’t want to meet her grandfather’s eye.
Already, he could sense the weight of the man’s stare, something harsh and critical, and he was fairly certain he couldn’t have any manner of meaningful conversation with the lady with her gruff grandfather around.
He faced the earl.
“Would it be acceptable if the lady and I were to sit at a table by ourselves, with the two of you observing from a distance?” he asked. “I should like to speak to her and it would be better to establish our relationship now, under supervision, without the two of you as part of the conversation.”
Royston thought it was a good idea, but the earl seemed reluctant. “What do you wish to speak of?” he asked.
Creston shrugged. “I will ask the lady about her education,” he said.
“Mayhap I will ask her if she has ever traveled. You expect us to be married quickly, I assume, and we have only just met. I should like to at least speak with the woman who is to be my wife and come to know her a little before we take our vows.”
Royston was supportive of that. If Creston wanted to get to know the woman he’d been strong-armed into marrying, then he had no objections to it. It was better than Creston trying to jump out of the window and embarrassing the entire House of de Royans.
“I think that is reasonable,” Royston said, looking at the earl. “My lord? Surely there can be no harm in that. We will sit a few feet away and watch them. If the lady is uncomfortable, she will signal us and we will join them.”
The earl still didn’t seem too eager about it. His gaze lingered on Creston, whom he’d not even formally met. The first, and only, introduction had been to Ophelia. Creston met the old earl’s gaze, steadily, before the earl finally looked away.
“Very well,” he said. “Send for drink, de Royans.”
He meant Royston, who was more than happy to comply. With that, he turned away and went to find a table while Creston indicated a small table over by the windows that overlooked the street beyond.
“My lady?” he said. “Shall we sit?”
Ophelia was demure in her obedience, sitting down primly before he took a seat himself. When a serving wench walked by, he asked for drink. As the woman scurried away, Creston cleared his throat quietly.
“Now,” he murmured, “we can speak without my brother and your grandfather hanging over us. I am a forthright man, my lady. I speak what is on my mind. I hope that does not offend you.”
Ophelia shook her head. “It does not, my lord,” she said. “In fact, I prefer it.”
“Good,” Creston said. “I assume you have been forced into this marriage, also?”
She nodded. “As you have been.”
“Are you opposed to it?”
She shrugged. “It would not matter if I were,” she said. “Just like it would not matter if you were. We have an obligation that others have dictated we perform.”
Creston could see that she was duty-bound. Even if she were greatly opposed to the marriage, such opposition would do her no good. She was a woman and women did what they were told by the men who controlled their lives.
He could tell that de Bulverton most definitely controlled hers.
“I am not trying to incite a riot, my lady,” he said quietly. “I am simply asking you where you stand on the subject of our marriage.”
“I have told you,” she said, daring to meet his eye. “I am forced to obey, as you are.”
He regarded her a moment, rubbing his chin in thought. “So you were not looking forward to this?” he said. “You did not demand your grandfather find you a husband?”
She looked at him strangely. “Nay, I did not demand my grandfather find me a husband,” she said.
“My lord, let me be plain, as you are clearly not at all enthused about this contract. I am doing as I am told. I could just as easily commit myself to the cloisters, but my grandfather seems to think that he wants an heir to inherit his earldom. I am the means by which that will be accomplished. I’m nothing more than chattel in this case, a means to an end, so do not think I hold any romantic notions about marriage.
It is a chore, like any other chore. Is that enough of an answer for you? ”
So she has a spine, Creston thought. He rather liked that she spoke plainly, if not strongly, to him. He knew he’d pushed her a little and she’d reacted in kind.
“It’s a good answer,” he said. “Thank you for your honesty.”
“You are welcome.”
“You should know that I don’t have any romantic notions about marriage, either.”
“Then we understand one another.”
“I think we are coming to.”
“Then you can tell me what you expect out of this marriage and I will do my best to comply,” she said, somewhat stiffly. “After we are married, do you wish for me to return with my grandfather and live in Sidmouth? Or shall I live with you?”
“If you are my wife, you should probably live with me.”
“I will not impede your life in any way,” she said. “You can continue your life as if you are not married.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that I do not wish to interfere with your life and the way you live it,” she said. “You must be unhappy enough being forced into this. I will make it as easy as possible for you.”
He still wasn’t sure what she meant. “What do you think I do that you would be impeding?”
She shrugged. “I do not know, really,” she said. “I do not know you at all, or what you do, or even what a Blackchurch is. I simply want you to know that I will be agreeable with whatever you wish to do and the life you wish to lead.”
He sat back in his chair, studying her. He couldn’t get a good feel for her, whether she was kind and warm, or stiff and unfeeling. It would be a pity for a woman of such beauty to be cold.
Nay, that wasn’t what he wanted.