Chapter Twenty-Four
‘A parcel has arrived for you, Phelia! A very large one.’ Trudy called to her from the foyer as Ophelia was packing up her belongings in her chambers.
‘I am literally pinned in by my own mess. I have no idea how you have already packed up your belongings. You must bring it here,’ she called back. ‘Ouch!’ she complained as she jammed her toe on the leg of the bedpost attempting to maneuver around the piles she had made while packing up her room.
She sighed. She would miss it here. All of it.
Hattie, William, Millie, Daphne, but there was no other choice.
She simply could not stay here in London, and so she and Trudy had decided to cut their visit short and to return to Stow now rather than after the New Year.
It was time to let go of her foolish fantasy of finding her prince and get back to Stow where she could grow her business and make matches for other people in a far safer place than the ton.
She could focus entirely on being the successful proprietor she aspired to be. Just not in London.
Her future was not here.
And the heartbreak of knowing Lucas was here could not be borne. Thank goodness Trudy was returning to Stow with her, so she would not be alone in carving out her future as an independent, successful business owner.
After a few minutes, William, not Simmons, appeared at the door carrying a large, finely wrapped gift with a bow wider than his head. Trudy and Hattie followed him in.
Ophelia gasped. ‘Who is it from?’ she asked. Then she frowned. ‘And how will we ever get it back to Stow?’
Trudy shrugged. ‘I have no idea on either count,’ she said. ‘There was no card. The delivery man said he had no instructions or additional information to share when Simmons asked, only that it was for a Miss Ophelia Granger and had to be delivered this morning.’
‘Well, go ahead. Open it!’ Hattie said with excitement.
‘I think it is better for me to stay put and you open it,’ she replied still rubbing her injured foot, studying the distance and mass of belongings between her and where the parcel was.
She also wasn’t really in the mood for a gift.
Even though she had made her decision to return to Stow and knew this was the best way for her to focus on her future, the loss of Lucas still devastated her.
The irony of the matchmaker being unable to secure her own match was a bitter pill to swallow even though two weeks had passed.
Trudy and Hattie exchanged a concerned glance as William set down the gift near the open door. ‘I will leave you ladies to it,’ he said. ‘I left Millie’s tea party to bring this to you, and she was none too pleased.’ He smiled and pressed a kiss to Hattie’s cheek.
Trudy removed the bow and Hattie tugged at the wrapping paper until it gave way in one movement. The sight of what was underneath stilled them all.
‘Phelia,’ Trudy gasped. ‘It is beautiful.’
‘And it is…you,’ Hattie added, running her fingertips over the ornate dark wooden frame. As she did so, Ophelia spied the initials painted in the bottom right corner woven in the lavender fabric pattern of the gown she was wearing in her portrait: LBW.
Tears welled in her eyes and her chest tightened. ‘Why would he do this?’ she murmured, sitting on the edge of the bed. A box and its contents clumped to the floor as she did so.
It was her from the night of their excursion to Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens.
Her hair, her gown, her jewelry, her joy.
It was all captured to perfection. The place and evening where she and Lucas had shared their first kiss.
The one that should have never happened.
The one that had derailed her from any possibility of a future with Dolph and from her focus on being a matchmaker.
Why would he send her this, only days before she was scheduled to return to Stow?
‘Take it away,’ Ophelia commanded. Tears stung her eyes, and her body flushed with heat. Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. Her dress was too tight. It felt wrong. Everything was wrong.
‘Ophelia?’ Trudy asked. ‘What is happening? I don’t understand.’
‘I need…’ she panted. ‘I need to get this dress off me,’ she pleaded. ‘Please. I can’t breathe.’ Ophelia yanked at the fabric of the sleeves, popping a button to the floor, desperate to free herself.
‘Calm yourself,’ Hattie soothed as she and Trudy carefully made their way through the sea of clothes and items cluttering the floor. Hattie reached her first and ran a reassuring hand down Ophelia’s arm. She waved over to Trudy. ‘Hold her still. I cannot get it off if she is moving.’
‘Look at me,’ Trudy said, her face close to Ophelia’s. ‘You are fine. Stay calm.’
‘The dress is coming off,’ Hattie murmured, but all Ophelia could see was the painting and relive the memories of that night when Lucas had kissed her, knowing she would never kiss him, the man she loved with all her heart, ever again.
Finally, the dress was off, and she clutched onto the arms of Trudy and Hattie as she took greedy gulps of air and settled herself.
This heightened distress was not the first they had ever seen from her, and they knew she needed a moment to catch her breath.
And so, with the kindness and patience they always had for her, they waited.
When she nodded and let go of them, she sat down on the floor, crisscrossing her legs in her thin chemise, staring at the portrait.
‘Who painted this for you?’ Trudy asked as she and Hattie pushed aside a few books and sat on the floor beside Ophelia.
‘The man who loves me,’ Ophelia whispered, because she knew he did, despite whatever he had claimed before.
‘And do you love him?’ Hattie asked.
‘Yes,’ Ophelia replied, her voice breaking at the confession.
‘LBW,’ Hattie murmured, as she finally understood. ‘This is from Lord Worthing, isn’t it?’
She nodded.
‘Oh, Phelia,’ Trudy said, grasping her hand in her own.
‘I do not want to love him, but I still do…even now, after he has rejected me so cruelly. Ironically, Dolph was kind, perfect, handsome and everything I should have wanted in a husband. He was the prince that I had always imagined and dreamed of as a little girl, but…’
‘Your heart was already elsewhere?’ Hattie asked.
‘Yes, and it still is,’ she admitted. ‘I love Lucas. I know he is difficult, stubborn and brooding, but he’s also so generous and caring. He understands me perfectly, and I him. His heart is so…beautiful.’ Her voice broke. ‘I did not want to love him, but I do.’
‘And?’ Trudy asked.
‘He has not admitted to loving me and claims he cannot marry me. That he is better off being the beast: alone and without anyone,’ she said quietly.
‘The man who painted this loves you. He cannot deny it, nor can anyone else who sees this portrait,’ Trudy replied. ‘Maybe this is his way of letting you know that without words? His way of telling you what he cannot verbalise. That he does, indeed, love you deeply.’
‘What is it you always say?’ Hattie asked gently, running a hand over Ophelia’s hair.
‘You can’t miss what is meant for you,’ Ophelia whispered.
‘Then, if he’s meant for you and you for him, it will be.’
‘But he has already said…’
‘This portrait says otherwise. Maybe he just needs the help of his matchmaker once more?’
Ophelia smiled, hoping the words Hattie spoke were true.
Perhaps she had one more match to secure in London: her own.
‘What are you waiting for?’ Trudy asked.
Ophelia looked down at her chemise. ‘Clothes. I am waiting for some clothes.’
Trudy laughed and pulled her into a side hug. ‘I think we can help you with that. The rest is up to you.’
‘Why did you send me that painting when you know I am due to leave in two days?’ The words were sharp and accusing but laced with something else.
Was it hope?
Lucas froze; his back was to his studio door, but he knew who it was. He would recognise that voice anywhere.
Ophelia.
His heart thudded in his chest, and his breaths became shallow.
Evidently, she had received his painting.
The first one he had completed since his return from the Americas: his portrait of her.
He turned and the sight of her before him struck him mute.
Her blond curls tumbled along her shoulders wild and free, unbound from their usual pins, and her cheeks were flushed with colour, matching the soft pink of her dress, which made her blue eyes pop with life.
He feared his knees might buckle from her beauty.
He almost wished they would. But she was here, and he could wish for nothing more.
He’d feared he might not ever see her again.
Not after what he’d said to her the last time they’d met.
‘What do you have to say for yourself?’ she continued, approaching him. Ire made her eyes even brighter, but there was something else hidden in her gaze as well.
‘Did you not like it?’ he asked, setting his brush back on the table and walking toward her slowly.
‘No, I did not like it,’ she replied, her voice trembling in the air, and when he flinched, she added, ‘I loved it.’ She crossed her arms against her chest, and her eyes welled.
‘But I truly cannot understand why you would send me something so precious and personal if you do not care for me at all, especially when I am set to leave London.’
A tear slid down her cheek. His hand reached out involuntarily to comfort her, but he pulled it back before touching her.
Steady. Hold your ground. If you touch her now, you will be done for.
‘Well?’ she commanded. ‘Explain yourself.’
‘I do care for you…far too much in fact. I did not know what to do other than to make you leave me. I want you to be happy with a man that deserves you. I also do not wish to ruin your business. The gift was to thank you for what you have done to help me regain my footing in…life.’