Chapter 12
“Are you certain that you asked His Grace for permission?” Mr. Watley asked with a note of panic as he rushed after Ophelia.
“I am quite certain I did,” she said without turning around. “Well, I think it was Adrian to whom I spoke. He’s the tall one, yes? Dark and brooding?”
“It is just that…” Mr. Watley sicked through his teeth. “His Grace is rather particular, as you know. Perhaps if I were to ask him myself, just to be certain.”
Ophelia turned sharply and raised an eyebrow at Mr. Watley. “Are you implying that I am lying, Mr. Watley?”
“What?” His eyes widened as he came to a halt. “Of course not!”
“So, I am a fool then,” she pressed. “I have either imagined all of this, or I am so ignorant to Adrian’s quirks that I have chosen to ignore them?” She kept her eyebrow raised. “Well, which is it?”
Mr. Watley swallowed, the panic still evident across his face. “I… I am not… I just do not wish to see…”
“I am joking, Mr. Watley,” Ophelia laughed. “Merely teasing you.” She walked to him and rested a hand on his shoulder. “But I do promise that I spoke with Adrian and he gave me his blessing. I would never dream of doing anything that might upset him.”
Mr. Watley relaxed, but only a little. “It is just that I know him so well, Your Grace. I told you of the vases, yes? How even a crack in one is enough to see him remove it entirely. He does not like change.”
“Marriage is change, Mr. Watley,” she said. “And it might surprise you to find how willing Adrian is to embrace it.” Then, she laughed. “Well, maybe not too willing. But he is improving. Bit by bit.”
“If you say so…”
“Now, you can continue to panic, which you are so good at doing.” She put her hands on her hips. “Or you can do as I hope you will and help me. I have a lot to get through, and I am rather new here. Any assistance you might provide would be greatly appreciated…”
“I am here to serve you, Your Grace. Just tell me what you need.”
“That is more like it.” She clapped her hands together and laughed as she looked about them. “As to what I need? Well, let us find out…”
Ophelia and Mr. Watley stood together in the back garden, about halfway down the main pathway. The garden was rather grand and lavish in nature, colorful and verdant, and truly breathtaking. But it was also overgrown in places, a little chaotic in others, and in desperate need to organization.
“I take it that Adrian spends little time out here,” she said as she swept her eyes across the garden.
“This is true,” Mr. Watley said. “He is not one to traverse outdoors unless it is required, and I cannot think of the last time he entered the garden.”
“Likely because it is such a chaotic mess,” Ophelia said.
“Possibly…”
“I think we ought to change that.” She nodded once as ideas started to gather.
“Why, I like to think that he wants to come out here, only he is scared to do so. If he is as particular as you say, he probably knows that such a place as this will break him.” She laughed.
“A shame, really, as a garden like this ought to be enjoyed by all. His Grace especially.”
“What…” Mr. Watley swallowed. “What do you mean to do?”
“So much,” Ophelia said with a smile. “So, so much.”
It was two weeks ago that Ophelia married Adrian. The week had begun as expected, and Ophelia’s mood had been a most sordid thing. While the estate was technically her home, it did not feel that way, and as she walked the vast halls, she felt like a stranger… as if she did not belong.
Slowly, such feelings faded. In fact, Adrian was part of the reason. While they did not spend much time together, she had started to see another side to him, and it was one which told her that he wanted her to feel comfortable and welcome. That he wanted this home to be hers.
A week later and it was starting to feel that way… or it was close to doing. The problem, as Ophelia came to realize, was that nothing about the residence spoke to her personally. She’d had no hand in its design, and so long as nothing changed, nor could she.
Thus, an idea came to mind.
She approached Adrian with this idea, asking if she might be allowed to furnish some of the rooms to suit her tastes. He had clearly found the request disturbing, and she saw just how uncomfortable it made him. So, to try and ease his worries, she found a compromise.
“How about the back garden?” she had asked. “What if I start there?”
“What do you mean?” he asked carefully, as if sensing a trap.
“Let me make it my own,” he explained. “I noticed you hardly go out there anyway, if at all. So why don’t I have a hand in curating it? Making changes as I see fit.”
“What sort of changes?” Again, asked with extreme reservation.
To that, she had shrugged. “I will be sure to let you know.”
So it was that Ophelia was finally given her first true responsibility, a test as she saw it, a way to gently ease Adrian into the marriage so that he might come to understand that it was not something to resist and treat as a burden.
From her point of view, she also needed this. She needed to find her place. She needed to be useful. Most of all, she needed to establish herself in her new home so there could be no doubt that she belonged.
“Oh yes…” She walked the garden path, her gaze sweeping across the flowerbeds and hedges. “Yes, I like the basic premise. But it is too much. It is as if the curator could not decide on a theme, so chose them all.”
“It has not been touched since Adrian was a boy,” Mr. Watley explained as he followed her. “His father has little interest in such things, as clearly, His Grace is of the same mind.”
“Who is in charge of its maintenance?”
“We hire out,” he explained. “But their job is to keep the garden alive, not to make changes. Once a month they come.”
“Send for them,” she said. “Oh, and have them bring a proper landscaper. I confess, I have all these ideas but no notion of where to start!”
“It will be done, Your Grace.”
Ophelia beamed, already feeling as if this was the right thing. A small thing, she knew, but it was a step in the proper direction. And if Adrian liked what she did, perhaps he would allow her to do the same with some of the rooms in the residence.
For now, that is likely a little too much to hope for…
She spent the next few days speaking with landscapers. While Ophelia had sensed some resistance in Mr. Watley, she was pleased to see that he supported he completely; rather than calling on just the one, he sent for an entire team.
They spent those days walking through the garden. Ideas were given, rejected, and agreed upon. Timelines made. Prices settled. And slowly, with painstaking detail, Ophelia’s garden came to life.
Well, not exactly. It would be many months before it was finished. And she was only in the planning stage. But it was exciting, nonetheless!
“Mr. Watley.” She found the butler in his office early one evening, exactly five days after the project had begun. “Have you seen the list of materials that the landscaper put together? The order for tomorrow’s delivery?”
He looked up and blinked. “Oh, yes, I…”
“What is it?” She asked, noting the hesitation.
“It is with His Grace,” he said. “I know this is your project, but he did ask to be kept abreast. And where finances are concerned, I thought it best if he ran his eyes over it first.”
“Oh yes…” She clicked her tongue, burying her slight frustration because Mr. Watley spoke sense. “I suppose that makes sense.”
“Was there something you needed?”
“I wanted to check on something…” She considered the situation and came to a decision. Perhaps not the smartest one, but a decision, nonetheless. This was, after all, her home, and she had every right. “Never mind, it can wait.”
“I will let you know when he returns it, Your Grace.”
“Thank you, Mr. Watley,” she said as she closed the door behind her.
From there, Ophelia hurried through the manor, up the stairs, and in the direction of Adrian’s office.
She had seen him a few moments earlier, in the library, and she guessed that he would remain there for some hours.
With that in mind, it would not be so hard for her to duck quickly into his office and collect the list of supplies for herself.
And it is not as if I am doing anything wrong… surely not.
Ophelia repeated that thought as she came to Adrian’s closed office door. Technically, she had every right to take what was hers, and he had given her full rein over this project. But to step into his office alone… she knew it was wrong.
Nonetheless, determined to prove that this was her home too, Ophelia took a deep breath, opened the door, and stepped inside.
The office was dully lit, just a single lamp in the corner. It was colder than she expected… or maybe that was her? Nerves spiking, she hurried to the desk and swept her eyes over it in search.
The document was not there.
“It must be somewhere…” She glanced at the door, listened as if she might have been able to hear something, and then started to rifle through the desk’s drawers.
Her intention was to be quick about it. Open. Glance. Close. She would recognize the document immediately, so there was no chance that she might see something she was not supposed to. Or so she thought…
She opened the bottom drawer, the largest by far, saw no hint of the document and was about to close it when she paused. The light hardly reached the drawer, so its contents were not clear, but the longer she stared, the more she… “What is that?”
Slowly, she reached into the drawer. Her fingers touched something cold and hard and sharp. She gasped, was about to snatch her hand out, but ended up bringing whatever it was that she had touched with her.
It was a piece of broken porcelain!
In fact, when she looked back inside the drawer, she saw dozens of similar pieces. They were each broken, all of different shapes and sizes, but undoubtedly from the same broken item.
Mr. Watley’s story came back to her… is this what he does with the broken vases that he finds? But why?
Without even realizing that she was doing it, Ophelia started to lift each broken shard from the drawer so that she could lay it on the desk. Her mind raced as she tried to puzzle through what she was seeing, because she could not comprehend why on earth Adrian would waste time with –
“What are you doing?” The voice was like a clap of thunder.
Ophelia's eyes widened; she looked up, saw Adrian standing by the open doorway, and she stumbled back in fright.
“Adrian!” she cried. “I… I…” She stammered as her pulse quickened, searching for an excuse, but unable to come up with one that made sense. “I was just looking for –”
“You should not be here.” He strode into the office, each step shaking the floorboards. If she thought the office had been cold before, it turned freezing, and she found herself rubbing her arms.
“I did not mean to be,” she tried.
He ignored her as he went for the broken shards. He stared at them for a moment, the look on his face unreadable. Then he swept them off the desk and into the drawer in one movement.
“Please, Ophelia…” He did not look at her, as if he were physically incapable. “Leave.”
She thought to run, to escape his anger. Only… as Ophelia looked closer at her husband, she saw that he was not at all angry. His scowled. He clenched his jaw. But it wasn’t fury that poured from him. If anything, it was shame…
“What are they?” she asked gently. “Why do you… Are you trying to put them back together?”
“I asked you to leave.” His voice was low and distant. “For once, I would appreciate it if you did as you were told.”
“I –”
“Do not argue,” he spoke over her. Not sharply, but with pain in his voice. “Just go.”
Ophelia wanted to stay. More than that, she wanted to help him.
But if there was one thing that she knew about her husband, it was how closed off he was.
Not a man to show any emotion, a fear of the weakness it would appear as to others, his walls were up, and trying to climb them might make things infinitely worse.
“I will go,” she said as she stepped around the desk, not once looking away from him. “But if you wish to talk, I am here. About anything, Adrian. Anything at all.”
He did not look at her. He did not speak. He acted as if she were not there at all, staring at the desk in a heavy silence.
Ophelia sighed. She would not push. Nor would she argue. But it frustrated her to no end that her husband was so closed off. How could this marriage ever grow, ever change, if he would not open up?
Not that he wanted to open up…. Not that he wanted to change. That was the realization that she landed on as soon as she left his office, and that left her feeling not just frustrated, not just upset, but deeply depressed.
She could change the garden. She could refurbish every room in the manor. But it would make no real difference so long as her husband stayed as he was. And by the looks of things, that was exactly how he meant for it to be.