Chapter 5
“Would you like for me to hold the child, my lady?” Mr. Watley asked as he held out his arms.
Ophelia hesitated.
She knew that she needed to free her arms so that she might concentrate on what she was currently doing.
And she knew that there was no reason to distrust Mr. Watley with Harriet.
Indeed, since she arrived just last week, the entire staff had taken to Harriet as if she was their own, and none had been more attentive than the aged steward.
Only, Ophelia could not escape the feeling that she needed to keep the baby close to her. Harriet did not belong to her. When they found out who her father was, he would surely take her. But she felt a kinship with the baby, a need to watch over it and make sure that nothing happened.
How is it going to be when I must say goodbye…
“No,” she said, making sure to smile. “I can hold her a while longer.”
“No, you cannot,” the seamstress said sharply. She was on her knees by Ophelia’s legs; in her hands were a dozen pins, as well as numerous pieces of cloth. “This is hard enough without you moving about as you are.”
“It is quite fine…” Gently, Mr. Watley took the baby.
Ophelia winced as Harriet left her arms. It felt like a piece of her was being torn away and while she told herself it was merely a desire to look after Lady Delacourt’s child, as she had promised, she knew too that it was more than that.
“I think she likes me,” Mr. Watley chuckled once he had the baby in his arms.
“She is rather happy, isn’t she,” Ophelia smiled. “Even in this place –” Her eyes widened as soon as the words left her mouth. “I did not mean… I misspoke, sorry.”
Mr. Watley chuckled. “No, I do not think that you did. But it is quite fine, my lady. I will not pretend that this home is anything more than it is.”
Ophelia smiled guiltily at the comment. It was strange that Mr. Watley was so kind and genial, as were the rest of the staff. It struck quite the contrast to Vermont Manor, not to mention the Duke himself.
“Please, my lady,” the seamstress sighed. “Might I ask that you face ahead and try not to move?”
Ophelia chuckled. “Yes, yes, that is my mistake.” She turned to face the mirror and stood perfectly still. “Now, do your work.”
“I will try…”
Ophelia was in her bedroom at the moment.
It was spacious quarters, one befitting of her place as the Duke’s betrothed.
When he had shown it to her, she’d told him there was no need for such a fancy room, as she was used to living as a maid.
Also, she still felt guilty about what had happened, and there was a part of her that thought she did not deserve such nice treatment.
The Duke dismissed the claims immediately. If anything, he almost seemed offended by them.
He is just so hard to read. I always assume he is one wrong comment away from snapping or snarling at me, as if that is his natural setting. But then he does something kind or generous that I do not expect… like marrying me!
It had been a week now since Ophelia arrived at Vermont Estate and where that should have been enough time for her to get to know her future-husband, she had hardly spoken to him at all.
No doubt, he was avoiding her. Likely, to set a precedent for the marriage to come. This was to be a marriage of convenience only, and he clearly did not want to give her any wrong ideas. As if that might happen!
It was a shame, however, because Ophelia did want to know the man better than she did. She had heard so many awful things about him, but she was certain they were not true, just as she wanted to prove it herself.
There is more to him than he lets me see. Likely, more than he lets himself see…
“Tell me, Mr. Watley,” Ophelia began as she looked at her reflection in the mirror. She wore a stunning gown of emerald and gold, which would be her wedding dress when it was finished. “What kind of man is His Grace?”
Mr. Watley had been pulling faces at the baby and he looked up, a frown crossing his aged features. “I am afraid I do not know your meaning.”
She looked at him flatly. “You know well what I mean. Or do I have to say it?”
She heard the seamstress chuckle.
“I…” Mr. Watley considered carefully. “I have served him for most of his life, my lady. So, anything that I say will surely be colored by my own personal bias.”
“Color away.”
“I would rather not…”
She sighed and turned to face him.
“Careful!” the seamstress cried.
“I am not asking you to speak poorly of your master. But I am set to marry the man, and I would like to know what I am in for. I mean, if I believed half of what people said about him, I should be terrified! He does not have much of a reputation, you know.”
“A reputation that is heavily guarded,” Mr. Watley noted. “While people might speak in hushed tones about His Grace, they do not judge or mock. He prefers it that way.”
“But what sort of man is he?” she asked desperately. “Please, anything you can tell me will do.”
Why did Ophelia even care? That was another question that she did not know how to answer. Even though they were set to marry, she knew already it would not be a close marriage, and if this last week was anything to go by, she might hardly see him at all.
Yet, she wanted to know more. After all, had he not saved her? Had he not risked his reputation so that she would not be drawn into scandal? A man who would do that could not possibly be as wicked as people claimed. There had to be more to him.
“He is…” Mr. Watley considered as he nursed Harriet.
“He is strict, and I will not deny it. But he is not mean or cruel. Rather, it is best to think of him as one who likes things done a certain way, and so long as it is done so, there is no need to worry about what he might do or how he might react.”
She frowned. “What does that mean?”
Oddly enough, Mr. Watley chuckled. “He has a quirk that I think might better explain it. When His Grace walks into a room, he often scans it, almost without thinking. If something is out of place, he will see it immediately, just as he will demand it returned. And when something breaks, let us say a vase, he will remove it himself as if he does not trust the staff to clean up the mess. It has always been this way…”
“That is… interesting,” she said.
“He is particular,” Mr. Watley agreed. “But it is done for good reason. He does not like mess, and that includes drama. Why, in all my years, I cannot think of a single time he has shown any interest in courtship or love.”
She blinked. “Truly? Not even once.”
“It is not his way, my lady.”
Well, that’s rather sad…
Ophelia’s face dropped and she did not bother hiding how sad that made her feel. For one to have never known love, or to have never even tried? What sort of life was that?
Of course, it wasn’t as if Ophelia was in any position to wax lyrically about her own life love.
Once, she had been in love. And once, she had harbored desires to marry and live a life of untold happiness until the day that she died.
In some ways, she still did… or she had.
Even if it now appeared that such things would ever happen for her.
“It is no wonder he is so grumpy,” she said to herself.
Again, the seamstress chuckled.
“Oh, it is not so bad,” Mr. Watley said. “And His Grace–” Suddenly, Harriet started to cry.
“Give her to me.” Ophelia hurried across the room, much to the protests of the seamstress, and took Harriet in her arms. The baby stopped crying immediately, which made Ophelia smile as warmth spread throughout her body.
She nursed Harriet closely, refusing to consider what would happen when they found her true father. In fact, she allowed herself to wonder instead what sort of father the Duke might make.
A part of me thinks he would make a better one than he lets on.
Ophelia did not know her soon-to-be husband at all, but as she nursed Harriet in her arms, and as she looked at her dress in the mirror, she decided that needed to change.
This would not be a love match, but that did not mean that she could not be happy.
And such happiness would never be found if the Duke avoided her for the rest of their days.
That needed to change, and seeing as the Duke wasn’t going to be changing it, it would be up to her to do so.