Chapter Six
Ophelia stepped from the Viscount’s carriage, stared upon the rather imposing home of Lord Lucas Worthing and attempted to quell her nerves.
The firm hold of the driver’s gloved hand and the equally unyielding cobbled stone beneath her boots helped steady her before she began her approach up the drive.
Now if only she could remember to breathe.
This could be her biggest and most important commission for a match… and her first official one.
She smiled, let go of the driver’s hand, and stepped aside waiting for her chaperone, Lady Buchanan, to join her.
William thought her best suited to see if the Viscount was indeed serious about enlisting Ophelia’s services or if she could ferret out any nonsense or impure motives.
She could also deliver quite the punch if needed based on William’s accounts of their youth together.
Evidently, Daphne had enjoyed boxing as much as he when they were in their teens, but she had never been allowed to tell anyone.
Ophelia turned and smiled. It was yet another one of the things she loved about Daphne. The woman never ceased to surprise her in the very best way possible. She looked up to her in spades.
The Viscount’s home was quite daunting even in the light of day.
Its dark brown facade, abundant shrubbery and winding vines around the rather tall gates provided a great deal of privacy and lent it an air of mystery that matched his person.
As did the long, drawn curtains on all the windows blocking any view from the walkway despite it being almost midday.
A bud of nervousness formed in Ophelia’s stomach again as Lady Buchanan took her arm and they passed through the dark iron gates and up the stone steps.
‘You will be wonderful, my dear. Do not let a touch of nerves put you off,’ Daphne whispered.
‘You can tell?’ Ophelia asked.
‘Only because you are trembling like a leaf in a windstorm,’ she teased.
‘Confidence, Ophelia. Remember what you did for me and Lord Parks and several other happy couples. You are a natural and this is just the first client of many you shall have here in London during your four-month stay. Do not be afraid to begin.’ Her smile and gentle squeeze of encouragement put Ophelia at ease.
Before she could change her mind, they were at the front door.
Her intuition was warning her of something, but what?
The sound of the carriage pulling around to the stables at the back of the townhouse spurred her into action.
Ophelia turned to Daphne, nodded and clanked down the heavy brass knocker three times to announce their arrival.
The lion face that held the knocker seemed to be glaring at her. She looked away.
She was being ridiculous.
It wasn’t long before she heard the footfalls on the other side of the door, and she lifted her chin, donned her best look of importance and sincerity, and smiled as the door opened. A rather severe-looking butler looked down upon them and she suddenly felt as small as a mite.
‘Good morning,’ she sputtered out, not even waiting for a greeting. ‘I am Miss Ophelia Granger, and this is Lady Daphne Buchanan. We are here to see Lord Worthing at his request.’ She extended the letter toward him and then scolded herself.
What am I doing? He did not need to see such proof. She cringed and attempted to reset her features as she let her hand with the note fall back by her side.
‘He is expecting you,’ the butler replied without a hint of emotion.
‘You may wait in the parlour. Follow me.’ He didn’t wait for any acknowledgement but stepped aside so she and Daphne could both enter and closed the door behind them.
He paused as they each handed off their cloaks to the maid waiting to gather them and, once deposited, he continued.
She followed him in silence with Daphne a step behind her.
Ophelia studied the furnishings as they travelled.
It was all rather dark and masculine with a few sparse hints of a woman’s touch.
Soft pastel landscapes interrupted the series of portraits of what she assumed were past viscounts and a small pink potted blooming plant of some sort was wedged neatly amongst the mahogany furnishings.
It was definitely not the home of a married man.
His bachelorhood was unmistakable. She attempted to find a mirror to check her appearance to ensure she looked her best, but there wasn’t one… anywhere.
Odd. Perhaps there was one in the parlour. There were always mirrors in parlours. Hattie had two. She said it helped make the space appear larger as it reflected the light from the front windows. The butler opened the parlour door, and Ophelia entered with Daphne not far behind.
‘Wait here, please,’ he said and sealed them within the room. Ophelia couldn’t help but gasp.
‘What a glorious room,’ she murmured.
‘I quite agree,’ Daphne added.
The parlour was exquisite. The high ceiling with its ornate white carvings and crown moldings was set off by a glistening crystal chandelier that must have cost a small fortune.
The sofas and chairs were soft powder blue and arranged in a warm, welcoming curve to allow for many guests to socialise with ease with one another.
Embroidered pillows with gold tassels and tasteful throws rested in all the right places to catch the colour of the wallpaper, which held scenes of tiny birds flitting from tree to tree.
A small fire flickered in the hearth to ward off the surprising chill the September weather had cast upon them today and despite the half-drawn curtains, candles had been lit in intervals along the wall and candelabras graced the larger pieces of furniture within the room, casting a warm glow about them.
A silver tea service was set out with a triple-tiered tower of tempting treats.
Ophelia’s mouth watered and reminded her she had not had a nibble of food before she left as nerves had overtaken her appetite.
She selected the seat next to it and sat, still taking in the beauty of the room.
Daphne settled in next to her. Her awe matched Ophelia’s own.
‘It is quite lovely, is it not?’ she said.
‘Most certainly,’ Daphne replied.
A maid came in and they ceased talking. The young woman poured from the pot, inquiring how they preferred their tea, before handing off each cup to them.
‘While Lord Worthing understands your desire to have a chaperone, Miss Granger, he bid me tell you that he cannot meet with you if Lady Buchanan remains in attendance as the matters to be discussed are…sensitive.’
Daphne met Ophelia’s gaze and nodded.
‘While I understand,’ Daphne replied. ‘Surely, the Viscount also recognises we do not wish to go against the bounds of propriety. But I am happy to move myself to a location at the other end of the parlour to allow for as much privacy as possible when he meets with Miss Granger.’ She gifted the maid a sweet, but firm smile.
Once again, Ophelia hoped she would be like Daphne when she grew older. Her confidence, quick thinking, poise and beauty were all things Ophelia aspired to possess.
‘I will relay that to Lord Worthing,’ the maid replied before bobbing a curtsy and exiting the room.
‘Do not worry,’ Daphne began. ‘He will not refuse me. He knows what he asked is on the edge of propriety and that my request is perfectly acceptable.’
‘You are brilliant,’ Ophelia said and squeezed Daphne’s hand. ‘Thank you for coming with me. I know you had other plans for the day.’
‘I would not have missed your debut as matchmaker for anything,’ she whispered. ‘I am also still a bit uncertain about him.’ She narrowed her gaze. ‘There is something secretive about him I do not quite trust yet. Do keep your wits about you.’
‘Of course,’ Ophelia replied.
They sat in companionable silence, sipping their tea, which was a fine black blend with a hint of citrus.
Ophelia savored it, her gaze scanning the rest of the room.
To her surprise, it also held not a single mirror.
She could only hope she looked presentable.
This meeting was a chance for her to make a name for herself in London as the finest matchmaker in the city.
Her stomach growled. But she could not make a good impression if her stomach growled throughout their entire meeting.
Having one treat before he arrived couldn’t hurt.
She scanned the tiers, found a miniature pastry topped with cream, and bit into it.
She sighed aloud as it melted in her mouth in a mixture of sweet sugary goodness she had not expected.
She popped the rest of it in her mouth and moaned in pleasure.
Just then the door opened, and the Viscount filled most of it, making the space look immediately smaller.
She swallowed quickly and they both stood to greet him.
When she met the Viscount’s gaze, she stilled.
It was evident from the man’s glare that he was not pleased by their presence at all, despite him being the one to summon them.
Lucas stared upon Miss Ophelia Granger and every fiber of his being came to full attention, just like their first meeting on the streets of Mayfair and the evening before at Westchester Manor.
While yesterday he thought her compelling beauty might be a mere trick of the candlelight, now he realised she was simply the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen.
And the fact that she had a smear of cream on the corner of her mouth sent his desire for her into overdrive.
The rush of it took him by surprise. It had been some time since a woman had made him feel such an intense base need as lust and something else he couldn’t quite name… But her. Something in her was awakening a part of him that had long been dormant: Was it hope?