Chapter Nine
‘You must stop that leg of yours,’ Trudy grumbled, setting a forceful hand upon Ophelia’s knee, bringing its restless movement to a halt. ‘It is shaking the table and all of us in the process.’
Ophelia stilled and forced herself to breathe.
She hadn’t even realised she was bobbing her leg up and down.
She sighed, stood and began pacing on the rugs covering the fine hardwood parlour floors of Westchester Manor.
‘You have no idea how important today is. If word of Lord Worthing’s appearance is not within The Times Fashionable World section, then my plan for him may indeed be finished before it has properly begun. ’
‘If it is not in the paper today, then perhaps tomorrow? I do not think one can expect them to report on news a mere two days old. Back in Stow, our papers were weekly, remember? I am certain that a daily paper does not have such current news items.’
‘I asked Hattie, and she assured me it does.’
‘But there may be more impressive news to relate about the ton. We merely went on a walk. You must prepare yourself. It may not have been enough to print a story about. You may have more luck finding news of him in a penny broadsheet than The Times.’
Ophelia completed another lap from window to window. She simply would not accept that their efforts were wasted.
‘You may also wish to pace upon the wood. That is a delicate rug, and I am sure William and Hattie would prefer it remain intact.’ Trudy glanced to the carpeting beneath Ophelia’s feet, back up to her face, and took another sip of tea.
The front door opened and closed. Ophelia froze, clutching her hands tightly in front of her as she waited. The footman brought in a folded copy of The Times on a tray, and Ophelia rushed over to him.
‘Thank you so much,’ she said, snatching it from the salver and clutching it to her chest.
‘Of course, Miss Granger,’ he replied, and left them.
‘Please, please, please be in here,’ she said aloud. She opened the paper across the small table they used for playing whist and flipped through the pages. With every turn, her pulse increased.
‘The Fashionable World section,’ she mumbled and paused. She squeezed her eyes shut before releasing a breath and scanning the sections, letting her index finger run along the announcements posted there.
She got to the end of the first half of the page.
Nothing. Her spirits flagged, but she began again at the top of the other side.
She squinted and refocused, her eyes straining to understand the words.
Reading was challenging for her on her best days.
While she excelled at numbers and maths with their lessons at the orphanage, reading had always been hard for her.
When she was excited and anxious, it was even harder. But she forced herself to continue.
Halfway down the right column there was still nothing.
‘Oh, Trudy,’ she murmured. ‘I do not—’
Worthing.
She stilled, her finger affixed to the surname. She squeezed her eyes shut. ‘Please, Trudy, read it to me. I cannot bear to.’
‘Wait, wait!’ Hattie called from the doorway. She scurried in as quickly as she could. ‘I must hear it, too.’ She sidled up to Ophelia, grabbed her hand and squeezed it.
Trudy cleared her throat and began reading:
Lord Lucas Worthing, well-known recluse, and previously named the Beast of Barnett House, due to his seclusion and injury after returning from battle in the Americas, was seen enjoying the weather along a well-frequented walking path at Hyde Park on Monday.
He was accompanied by two unknown women and stopped to speak briefly with William Sutherland, Duke of Wimberley, and his new bride, who were also taking a bit of fresh air at the time.
Ophelia opened her eyes. ‘Wait. Is that it? Is that all that was printed?’
Trudy flipped the page. ‘Yes.’
Ophelia groaned.
‘But it is at least there. Is something not better than nothing?’ Hattie said letting go of Ophelia’s hand and giving her a side hug.
‘I suppose, but I do not think Lord Worthing will be pleased to know all of his efforts merely yielded a brief paragraph.’ She sank into the sofa, defeated. ‘He already doubts my methods. This will not help to build his confidence.’
‘Perhaps you merely need a larger and more significant exposure. Like an outing to an opening or a ball or…’ Hattie paused.
Ophelia lifted her head. ‘Or?’ she asked, intrigued by the sparkle in Hattie’s eyes.
Hattie pressed her lips together. ‘Wait here,’ she said and headed out of the room before Ophelia could say another word.
Trudy merely shook her head. ‘It is not too late to find another client. Lord Worthing seems a rather challenging case. He is less social than me and that is saying something.’ She lifted the paper to scan another article.
Her friend was right. She could have waited and taken on an easier client.
The man had been out of Society for years, did not enjoy meeting people and had a scar that would put some women off.
‘I know but doesn’t everyone deserve their happily ever after?
’ she said aloud. ‘There is something about him that reminds me…of us.’
Trudy put down the paper. ‘He is wealthy, has everything he could possibly need and had parents who acknowledged him…why would you say he is anything like us?’
Ophelia shrugged. ‘There is just a loneliness and sadness to him that reminds me of—’
‘A masquerade ball!’ Hattie shouted as she reentered the room, cutting off Ophelia’s words.
‘You are hosting a ball?’ Trudy asked.
‘No, no. We are not hosting one, but there is one coming up. I just dug through William’s correspondence, and we were invited to a masquerade ball this Saturday, the 18th.
We had not yet replied, but we will do so, along with the request that you two and Daphne be extended an invitation, since you are our current house guests.
And I am sure William could secure an invitation for Lord Worthing, as well. He is a duke, after all.’
‘A masquerade ball,’ Ophelia murmured. ‘Is it well attended?’
‘William said it is one of the most popular this time of year as it is evidently the last ball of its kind before many of the ton return to their country homes for a quiet winter stay.’
Ophelia smiled. ‘And the masks will help Lord Worthing feel more comfortable and at ease with people, I am sure of it. We can also help him prepare over the next few days by practicing some possible social scenarios.’
‘He desperately needs it,’ Trudy grumbled. ‘I look like a social butterfly compared to him.’
‘Yes, you are right,’ Ophelia agreed with her wholeheartedly, nibbling on her lip. The man was out of practice conversing with people, especially ones he did not know well.
‘So, you will speak with him about it?’ Hattie asked.
‘Oh, yes. I will call upon him tomorrow with the news.’
‘And shall I tell William to go ahead with the invitation for him and the two of you?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ Ophelia answered just as Trudy said no.
‘You must come, Trudy,’ Ophelia pleaded.
‘Must I?’ she countered.
‘Yes, you must because I know you support me in my business, and this shall be an important step. And we both know Lord Worthing will need as many familiar faces there as possible.’
‘He will not even know I am a friendly face. It is a masquerade ball with masks,’ she muttered.
Ophelia rolled her eyes and ignored her. She spoke to Hattie. ‘We will all be there, including Trudy and Lord Worthing.’
‘But you have not even asked him yet,’ Hattie pointed out.
‘Nor do I plan to. I do not wish to give him the opportunity to decline.’
‘Absolutely not,’ Lucas replied.
He was grateful Miss Hastings had agreed to remain in the parlour and allow him and Miss Granger to meet alone today in his study with the door cracked for propriety’s sake, of course. Being coerced by both of them into attending this ball would have been even more unbearable. He narrowed his gaze.
Or perhaps it was all part of Miss Granger’s plan to wear him down on her own. She was still smiling hopefully at him.
‘No,’ he stated again, dragging out the o for emphasis.
The woman had simply lost all reason.
When she said nothing, Lucas rose from behind his desk, walked to the sideboard on the opposite side of the room and began perusing his correspondence in frustration to create a distraction.
He hated going through his correspondence, but he would rather do anything than continue this ridiculous conversation.
As predicted, Miss Granger did not give up so easily.
She stood up from her chair and followed him to the other edge of his desk and stared at him as he pretended to look at his letters and invitations.
If she wasn’t blocking his path to reaching the door, he might have abandoned his study entirely to end their discussion.
‘Lord Worthing,’ she countered. ‘Despite our collective efforts, the walk on Monday did not thrust you back into the forefront of Society as I had hoped.’
‘Did you truly believe one short outing would?’ he scoffed. ‘Even I knew it would take far more than that and I am no acclaimed matchmaker.’
She wrinkled her nose, and a thrill scurried through him. He found that irritating her was rather…exciting. A brightness gleamed in her blue eyes and the challenge brought a ferocity to her features that he quite liked.
In short, he was a cad.
And he found himself surprised by it. He had never been one to enjoy such cat and mouse play before, but he found he did with Miss Granger. And their game with each other had just begun, which made him even more driven to continue it.