Chapter Three #2
She sighed and gave in to using the brass knocker. Now the entire Sutherland household would know of her solitary return from her outing this morning and a chastisement would no doubt ensue. Footsteps sounded, the latch clicked and it opened slowly.
Her stomach curdled at the sight of Simmons, the Duke’s butler. His narrowed gaze made her shoulders sink. He was as dour as the old matron at the orphanage in which she, Hattie and Trudy had grown up. Ophelia sucked in a steadying breath.
‘Good day, Simmons,’ she offered, showcasing the most endearing smile she could muster. ‘I found the streets of London a bit more challenging to navigate than I expected, and I—’
‘Ophelia!’ Hattie called rushing down the hallway as quickly as her rounding form, growing heavier with the baby she now carried, would allow. ‘We have been worried sick. What happened?’
‘Daphne and I looked everywhere for you, gave up our efforts and returned home. We were just planning our search for you and were almost ready to head out,’ Trudy chimed in but a step behind her.
Ophelia could have sworn Simmons smirked before he stepped back to let her inside without a word as if the man knew what she was in for. Evidently, he felt no need to interrupt or add to the verbal onslaught that awaited her.
She took off her hat and handed it and her gloves off to Chisholm, the maid, who had appeared out of nowhere to take them as she entered the foyer. Hattie and Trudy continued their inquiry, talking over one another.
‘What happened to your gown?’ Hattie asked, glancing down at the torn sleeve. Trudy fell silent.
Ophelia cringed. While she could attempt a lie, she knew she would fail. Her friends had known her far too long and could ferret out a lie from her like a hound unearthing a rabbit. ‘I may have been accosted in the street, but I am fine, I assure you.’ She walked past them toward the parlour.
‘Accosted?’ William Sutherland, Duke of Wimberley, emerged from his study further down the hall with Daphne on his heels. ‘By whom?’ he added with a frown.
‘Are you hurt?’ Daphne asked. She walked to her and slipped a protective arm around Ophelia’s shoulders and studied her face.
Ophelia flushed, embarrassed by their attention. While she usually loved to be at the centre of things, this was not one of those times. ‘Perhaps we could step into the parlour?’
‘Of course,’ Hattie said. ‘Come sit, everyone. Mrs Chisholm, could you bring us some tea?’
Relieved for a pause in the inquisition, Ophelia followed them into the parlour, where they settled in with ease.
It had not taken long for her and Trudy to enjoy Hattie and her new husband’s hospitality as well as their home.
They were warm and welcoming, and Ophelia adored spending time with her new ‘niece’, Millie, William’s precocious and adorable six-year-old daughter.
After the tea service had been brought in and the door sealed closed after the maid’s departure, Trudy squared her gaze in Ophelia’s direction and lifted a brow. Words were not needed. Ophelia knew she had one second to begin her explanation before Trudy began her own inquisition.
‘I was merely waiting outside the bakery while you made your purchases when I was accosted by a thief who made off with my reticule.’
‘What?’ Daphne asked, outraged. ‘In broad daylight?’
‘I had just purchased my cards, and I could not allow the boy to steal them, so I gave chase.’ She continued in haste before they could interrupt her.
‘And if I had not been bound up so tightly, I think I might have caught him. These undergarments are very trying, and I ripped my sleeve.’ She rubbed the back of her neck, which had begun to ache, and frowned.
‘I am so glad you were not hurt,’ Daphne said.
‘Especially when you gave chase,’ William added. ‘I would not recommend doing that in future.’
Ophelia sat back in the chair with a sigh. ‘I understand. But I could not let him steal my cards. I own a business now, after all.’ She smiled, momentarily cheered.
‘But you have your reticule right here. Did you catch him?’ Trudy asked curiously.
This was the tricky bit, and Ophelia wasn’t entirely sure how to proceed with care.
‘Well, I had almost given up entirely, but a carriage came out of nowhere and a man burst from it, giving chase to the boy.’ She pressed her lips together and then gave into the urge and grinned. ‘He was quite dashing, really.’
‘And?’ Daphne asked a bit breathlessly, leaning forward and clutching Ophelia’s hand as they sat side by side on the sofa.
Ophelia continued. ‘I got turned around, began walking home alone, sure I had lost my way and my reticule, when the carriage and the man suddenly reappeared. He’d returned with my reticule. And my cards were unharmed.’ She squeezed Daphne’s hand.
‘That is wonderful to hear. I am so glad you were unharmed and reunited with your cards, my dear. You are lucky indeed.’
‘How did you get home?’ Trudy asked, narrowing her gaze.
Blast.
Ophelia gave a nervous chuckle and looked away. ‘I accepted the man’s invitation for a ride home in his carriage.’ She hurriedly picked up her cup of tea and sipped from it to avoid the judgement she could feel from their gazes.
‘And he rode on the box seat, so you could ride safely alone within the carriage?’ said William. Ophelia wasn’t entirely sure if it was a statement or question, but she paused and quirked her lips.
‘He offered to do exactly that, but I declined. He rode inside the carriage with me.’
‘No gentleman would allow that,’ William protested. ‘What is this man’s name?’ His protectiveness was endearing, but not necessary. But how did one tell him so?
For some odd reason, Ophelia felt a need to come to her protector’s defense. ‘It was my fault, William. Truly. I insisted. He seemed so kind and he had already risked his person to retrieve and return my reticule.’
‘But one should not ride alone with a man they do not know without a chaperone, my dear. It simply isn’t done, and at best, it is frowned upon.’ Daphne looked at her in sympathy and patted her hand.
Ophelia shook her head. ‘Society here is very tiresome,’ she added with a shrug, the beginnings of actual weariness coming over her after the events of the morning. ‘We simply had a nice talk, that is all. He asked me about my matchmaking business,’ she added with pride.
‘And this gentleman that came to your aid. Who was it?’ William persisted, his brotherly tone of concern continuing.
‘A Lord Lucas Worthing, Your Grace.’
It was his turn to lift a brow. ‘Apologies. Lucas Worthing, William.’ She struggled to remember not to use William’s title sometimes, but he’d asked her to address him by his preferred given name since they were now family, to all intents and purposes.
But with such formality was how they had first met last year, and old habits died hard.
He looked perplexed and then stilled. ‘You mean Lucas Worthing, the Viscount of Barnett House?’
‘I believe so,’ she answered. ‘Why?’
‘And he was kind to you?’ he asked in confusion.
‘Yes. Very much so…and he was quite handsome, although he did have a scar.’ She pointed to her cheek.
‘It looked like it must have been quite painful at one time, but I did not inquire about it. However, I did thank him for his efforts and said we would be most likely inviting him for a dinner to show our gratitude. I know I should not have done so, but…well, he seemed…lonely.’ She left out his awkwardness.
There was no need to be unkind about the man, even if he wasn’t here.
William nodded and then shook his head as if mystified. ‘Well, I believe you may have met the Beast of Barnett House,’ he said slowly. He went over to one of the tables with some old copies of The Times and brought them to her.
‘Beast? He did not seem like a beast of any sort to me,’ Ophelia replied accepting the papers from William.
‘He is known to be a hermit, reclusive and very unattached. I have some sympathy for him, I admit. The gossip sheets have been rather unpleasant to him since his return from the Americas, when he had a rather…public falling out with his intended. It has been three years now, but his name is still dragged through the mud as fodder to fill the gossip sheets whenever he is seen out.’
After skimming the article, Ophelia set it down. ‘That explains his oddness. He said he only shops on Wednesdays as it is less crowded in town and he does not really like to meet people.’
‘My, that is sad,’ Daphne added. Her eyes twinkled. ‘But…he might also be a perfect first client for you, my dear. Or even a suitor, if he is not as bad as they say, of course.’
‘Truly?’ Ophelia asked a bit breathlessly, daring no other words. She loved it when her instincts were right. Perhaps she would see him again…and soon.
Her mind began to whirl. Could he be her first official client? What an eventful outing. Now she wished to hug the little trickster who had snared her reticule. He may have changed the trajectory of her life.
‘Let us not get carried away, Daphne,’ William countered. ‘I have never met the man. He may indeed be as bad as they say.’
Daphne shook her head. ‘As if any of the things they reported about you in the newspapers were true. You should know better, William. Ophelia said he was kind. And what man would go out of his way to come to her rescue if he were not truly a gentleman? He may be a little odd, but there are far worse things. As we both know.’
William nodded. ‘Touché, cousin.’ He sat back down, lifted his cup in salute to her, and sipped from it.
‘Phelia?’ Trudy asked, after a pause. ‘Are you unwell?’
Ophelia blinked. ‘I am fine. Why?’ she asked.
‘Daphne has asked you the same question twice, and you have not yet answered her.’
Ophelia’s skin heated. Woolgathering would be the death of her. ‘Yes?’ she asked.
‘What did you think of the Viscount?’ Daphne asked.
Ophelia paused and then said what she felt was already true in her heart.
‘I believe he shall be my first client. I even gave him my first card. Perhaps the universe thrust him in my path for a reason. He appeared quite lonely and in need of some companionship.’ She paused, and then added, ‘Also, he is handsome and titled. What woman would not wish to be his betrothed?’
‘Well, we shall find out soon enough, won’t we?’ Daphne offered with a smile. ‘You will be extending an invitation for him to dine here to thank him for his kindness and consideration for Ophelia today, won’t you, William?’
He sighed. ‘Of course, cousin. I suppose we cannot disappoint him. We shall invite him over to dine this week and get a feel for the man. The only question is whether he will dare come.’
‘Especially if it is not a Wednesday,’ Trudy teased, which sent Daphne into laughter.
Ophelia just shook her head. While the quip was humorous, she couldn’t quite bring herself to laugh.
There was something vulnerable and wounded about Lord Worthing that she already instinctively understood, and some darker, hidden parts of him that she wished to still understand.
Particularly if he was to be her first client—or suitor—here in London.