Chapter 2
Ophelia woke up and didn’t know where she was.
Her body was sore. Her head throbbed painfully. She was aware of the bed that she lay in. That she was warm and surprisingly comfortable. But it took a few moments for her eyes to slowly open and her last memories to drift back into her conscience…
“Huh…” she groaned as she slowly forced open her eyes. “Where…”
That was when it came back to her.
Her eyes snapped open suddenly and she gasped to find herself in a small room. The ceiling was high. The walls were made of stone. Light from a window to her right poured across her body, signaling the time of day and that the storm had long since passed.
She did not know the room, nor did she have any idea where it might be or how she had gotten there. Another second passed… oh no!
Ophelia patted at her chest and then both sides of the bed as she remembered the baby she’d brought with her. It wasn’t in the bed with her, and she started and sat up quickly in a panic.
“Oh!” Sitting beside her was a young woman, a maid, it looked like. “You’re awake. Oh!” The maid was on her feet and before Ophelia could say or do anything, the maid sprinted from the room.
“No, wait…” Ophelia tried to call after the maid, but her throat was dry, and her words came out in a dull croak. “My head…” She touched her head and grimaced as she tried to will back the painful throbbing.
What happened…
It came in pieces. Memories of last evening.
She remembered the promise that she had made, and then fleeing into the night with the baby in her arms. She remembered the storm finding her, and how she had very nearly given up.
She remembered Vermont Manor appearing in the darkness, relief felt, then dread as she stumbled to the front door and hammered for all her life was worth.
The dread she had felt was on account of the man who was said to live in the manor. Although she had been ordered to bring the baby to him, she knew too of his reputation. At the time, she wondered if he would even take her in, or if he would cast her back into the night.
He must have taken me in, or I would not be here. But if that is the case, where is the Duke… and where is the child?
One of those questions was answered a moment later when Duke Vermont strode into the small room in a way that reminded her of how the storm had swept in the previous evening.
The Duke’s physical appearance was exactly what Ophelia expected.
So tall that he had to tilt his head when he walked under the doorway.
So broad of shoulder and thick of back that the room suddenly felt smaller than it had.
Dark brown hair, sharp features that were angular and cutting, but light blue eyes that clashed brilliantly with his menacing temperament.
Indeed, it was that temperament that Ophelia both saw and felt.
He stormed into the room with a scowl on his face.
Anger poured from his blue eyes. Each step was heavy and brutal.
Behind him, the maid quaked as she kept her distance.
And where Ophelia had felt surprisingly warm when she’d woken, a chill swept through the small room that attacked her bones so that she started to shake.
If there had been any doubt about the rumors of Duke Vermont and who he was, those were soundly put to bed.
“You’re awake.” His eyes swept over her once as if in accusation. “You may leave us,” he then added.
Ophelia frowned at the comment, thinking it was for her.
“Now,” the Duke barked. Behind him, the maid jumped on the spot, muttered an apology under her breath, and hurried from the room. “The door,” he barked again, to which the maid’s shaking hand took the doorhandle and swung the door closed.
Ophelia jumped as she heard the door click shut.
“You have some explaining to do,” the Duke said, still standing over her, and still looking at her as if she were an enemy whom he was deciding what to do with.
“Harriet…” Ophelia gave her head a shake. “Where is Harriet?”
“Who?”
“The child,” Ophelia said. “Please, tell me that she is –”
“The child is safe,” the Duke cut her off. “So, I say again, you have –”
“Where?” she asked over him. “Might I see her?”
The Duke’s eyes flashed anger at being spoken over. “We will get to the child in a moment. First, you are to tell me who you are and what you mean by coming here.” He looked at her. “Speak.”
Ophelia started at the tone of his voice.
“I… my name is Ophelia Turner, the daughter of –” She caught her tongue quickly.
No, Ophelia, that is not what matters. “I was a lady’s maid for Lady Louisa Rowely, the Countess of Delacourt.
For three years I worked for her, and her husband, the Earl of Delacourt. ”
“And the child?”
She blinked at him. “The child is yours, Your Grace. That is what I was told.”
His eyes narrowed. “She certainly is not.”
“I…” Ophelia hesitated. “I can only tell you what I have been told.”
“I would know if I had a child,” he said darkly. “Or are you accusing me of being a liar? Or something worse than that?”
“I would never do such a thing, Your Grace. Again, I can only tell you what I have been told.” She looked up at him innocently, doing her best to dispel the anger and the hostility that the Duke seemed so intent on filling the room with.
It did not work.
“You will start at the beginning,” he said sharply. “Why do you believe this child to be mine? And I must warn you, Miss Ophelia, I am in no mood to be lied to.”
“I do not lie,” she said.
“We will see about that.”
“The beginning…” She took a deep breath to calm her shaking nerves. “As I said, I have worked for Lady Delacourt for three years. Recently, she was expecting, which itself should have been a blessing, only…” She hesitated, feeling somewhat guilty about what she had to say next.
Is it an accusation if it is true? I do not want to disparage Lady Delacourt’s good name…
“Only what?” the Duke demanded of her. “I suggest you speak quickly, Miss Ophelia.”
“Lord and Lady Delacourt were happy, of that there is no doubt. But I do not believe their marriage was a love match. In fact, I had good reason to believe that Lady Delacourt was having…” She grimaced and looked away with shame.
“She was having an affair. At least that is what Lord Delacourt accused her of. I do not know who with or for how long, but he was insistent that the child could not be his.”
“And what did Lady Delacourt say?”
“She died in childbirth, Your Grace…” Ophelia sniffed back tears.
She might have been a maid, but she and Lady Delacourt were close, and Ophelia would miss her greatly.
“She was able to name the child before passing away, just as she was able to ask me for a favor…” She forced herself to look at the Duke, who continued to scowl.
“She made me promise to bring the child to you, Your Grace. She did not give a reason, but the implication was…” She grimaced.
“Was what?” he said through gritted teeth.
“I believe the child to be yours, Your Grace,” she admitted. “That she wanted Harriet to be with her father.”
It was a reasonable enough assumption. And so sure of this was Ophelia that she did not think about questioning Lady Delacourt’s decision.
Of course, when Lady Delacourt made Ophelia promise to deliver Harriet to the Duke, she had lost a lot of blood, she had been fading quickly, and she’d barely managed to get the request out before passing away.
“Lord Delacourt was furious about the child,” she continued. “If it had remained with him, I have no doubt he would have sent her away. He swore the child was not his, Your Grace. He swore it.”
“Nor is it mine,” he snarled angrily. “I have never met this Lady Delacourt, and the name hardly calls any recognition at all. This is…” He was shaking with anger. “What are you not telling me?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly. “I swear it.”
“You are lying to me,” he snapped at her. “I would not bed a married woman. And I would never have a child out of wedlock. There is something you are not telling me.”
He towered over her like a mountain attempting to blot out the sun.
His voice was sharp and harsh, paired with a low growl like a wolf cornering its prey.
And the glare he fixed her in was so angry that Ophelia felt herself leaning back as if worried he might suddenly pounce and tear out her throat.
“I promise you, Your Grace, I have told you everything,” she spoke as calmly as she could. “Lady Delacourt pleaded for me to bring you her child, and I could only assume the reason. Are you sure you do not know her?”
“Of course I am sure!” he barked.
“Please, Your Grace, I am only trying to help. And to be honest, you are being rather rude.”
He balked at her response, seemingly caught by surprise that she would say such a thing.
“Help?” He managed finally. “You bring a random child to my doorstep, then you insist that it is mine, and this is your idea of helping?”
“Perhaps if we… I am not sure.” She tried for a smile as if to diffuse his anger. “Perhaps if we put our heads together, we might figure this out? I am sure there is a reasonable explanation.” She held that smile on him, certain it would work.
He looked at her with confusion, as if he had never seen someone smile before.
“You are to leave at once,” he said suddenly.
“Excuse me?”
“I did not stutter,” he said with a snarl. “You are awake now, and I am sure you are in good enough health to travel. I do not know why you are here, nor do I care. You are to take the child and go.”
“I…” Ophelia stared blankly at the Duke. “I am afraid I cannot do that.”
“What did you say?”
“I made a promise,” she said, firming herself under his intense gaze. “I promised Lady Delacourt that I would see her child to safety.”
“Which is not my concern. I have no idea who this Lady Delacourt is, so I have no reason to care about your promise.”
“Nonetheless.” She looked at him with confidence but not abrasiveness. “I cannot leave.”
“You dare to argue with me?”
“I do not like to think of it as arguing,” she said. “More… let us call it a difference of opinion.”
Again, he looked at her as if he did not understand what she was saying. Ophelia had no doubt that the Duke was not used to being argued with, especially by someone whom he assumed to be a mere maid.
Should I tell him who I really am? Will he even care? Somehow, I doubt it…
The Duke opened his mouth to bark another command at her but was interrupted when the door flew open, followed by the appearance of a kindly old man who walked with a hunched back. Unlike the previous maid who was in the room, this man did not hesitate to approach the Duke.
“I am sorry to disturb you, Your Grace, but we have a minor problem.”
“A problem that can wait, Mr. Watley,” the Duke snapped without turning to address the elderly man. “Can you not see that I am dealing with something?”
“That is why I am here, Your Grace,” Mr. Watley said. “I have just come from speaking with some of your tenants. It seems that word of your late-night guest’s arrival has already spread across the estate.”
“What?” The Duke turned on him.
“What is more, somehow, they have learned that she is with child, Your Grace. Also…” He clicked his tongue in hesitation. “Also, they are under the impression that the child is yours.”
It was already cold in the room, and the Duke’s anger was already monstrous.
But when Mr. Watley shared this news, Ophelia felt the temperature drop even further.
And when she dared to look at the Duke’s face, she wondered if taking Harriet and leaving this place was a better idea than she had originally considered.
For her and the child’s safety, if nothing else.