Chapter 13
Sleep did not come easily that night to Ophelia… or at all.
Try as she might, she could not stop thinking about Adrian and that strange moment in his office. The broken shards that he kept were one thing, but his reaction to them was another thing entirely.
He is just so closed off. So resistant to opening up… to letting someone else in.
While Ophelia could understand his emotional detachment, as he had lived alone for so long and likely did not know how to be emotionally vulnerable, what she could not allow was for it to continue.
For so long as he remained detached from the world, their marriage would stagnate.
And that wasn’t to say that Ophelia wished for their marriage to turn into some wondrous thing; she also did not like the idea of it not changing at all.
This marriage, while not ideal, was for life. If there was even the most remote chance that it might turn into more, that happiness and companionship could be found, she needed to try.
But how could she if Adrian had no desire? How could she make him see that change was not such a bad thing? Truly, she had no idea.
So, she tossed, and she turned and knew the second her head hit the pillow that sleep would not find her. Not while her mind turned.
As a little girl, when she had struggled to sleep, her father would make her a glass of warm milk. For reasons she did not know, it always seemed to do the trick, so she figured that she might as well give it a try.
Slipping on her robe, Ophelia crept from her room and into the darkness that consumed the manor. The silence was deafening. Each step saw a floorboard creak that made her pause and wince because it crashed through the hallways.
The journey to the kitchens took much longer than it ought to have, as she moved so slowly. But she reached it in time, smiling to herself because the curtains were open, allowing for the moon’s white light to shine throughout as if day had arrived early.
Her smile dropped when she stepped into the room and saw who was there.
“Oh!” She came to a sudden stop and almost turned and rushed back upstairs. “I… I did not know you were…”
Adrian stood by the stovetop. He wore a robe across his broad shoulders. The light from the moon softened even before reaching him. And as was always the way, his expression was one of angst and deep concern.
“Ophelia?” He frowned when he saw her. “What are you doing awake?”
“I…” She took in the scene properly. Adrian was not just at the stovetop, but he gently stirred a pot above an open flame. It was a most strange sight, and the last thing she would have ever expected. “I might ask you the same thing.”
“I could not sleep,” he said simply and turned back to the pot. “It is a silly remedy, but I find that a glass of warm milk sometimes helps.”
She laughed.
“What?” he asked as if embarrassed. “What is so funny?”
“Not funny,” she said. “Just a coincidence. I am here for the same reason. I could not sleep and…” She eyed the pot. “Is there enough in there for both of us?”
He furrowed his brow as if he thought that she was making fun. She looked at him plainly, sure to erase the humor so he would know that she was being serious.
“There should be,” he said finally and turned back to the pot. “It will be ready in a moment.”
“I can wait.” She shook her head to herself, truly surprised by this happenstance. Then she crossed the room toward him, her smile returned, a sense in the back of her mind that this was a moment not to be wasted.
He does not wish to open up? Let us see just how stubborn he is.
“I am surprised to see you doing this by yourself,” she said to him as she stepped behind him, careful not to be too close.
“I did not see the point in waking anyone,” he responded. As he spoke, he watched the pot of milk, cautious and careful about looking back at her as if worried. “This is no great task.”
“A duke who can cook,” she said lightly. “I never would have guessed.”
He scoffed. “This is hardly cooking.”
“So, I should not come to you in the middle of the night when I am taken by sudden cravings? I will remember that.” She was sure to laugh, praying he would see what she was doing and relax just a little.
“Of course not,” he said dismissively.
She sighed. He was just so closed off… so determined to remain so. How can I reach him? There must be something?
It was at that moment that fate decided to intervene.
At least that was how Ophelia saw it. Adrian, so determined to focus on anything but his wife, held his right hand over the pot to feel its temperature.
As he did so, he lost focus on his left hand, dropping it by the side of the pot, and accidentally bringing it too close to the open flame.
“Argh!” he yelped as the fire licked the side of his hand.
“Adrian!” Ophelia rushed toward him.
“I’m fine…” He winced as he gingerly pulled his hand into his chest. “It is not as bad as – argh,” he winced again, gritting his teeth in pain.
She scoffed. “Oh yes, clearly there is nothing to be concerned about.” She turned off the flame on the stove, then raised an eyebrow at Adrian as he nursed his hand, his jaw clenched, the pain obvious by the expression on his face. “Come here,” she sighed as she reached for his hand.
“It’s nothing.”
“It is.” She took his arm, gripped it tight, and looked pointedly at him. “Now, will you please stop being so ridiculous and allow me to see?” She continued to look at him.
Adrian was so determined to shut her out. But Ophelia did not think he wanted to do so. In her mind, the way he behaved was based on old habits, a natural reaction that he did not know how to counter. Thus, it was on her to push through his defenses.
“It really isn’t so bad…” Slowly, he let her check his hand. “It hardly – argh,” he winced again.
“It looks superficial…” She held his hand in both her own, using the moon’s white light to check for any damage. “No scarring. But let us be safe. Come on.” Still holding his hand, she gently guided him toward the sink. That time, most surprisingly, he did not fight her.
Adrian allowed Ophelia to guide his hand under the faucet, just as he allowed her to gently rinse it with cool water.
She stood with his arm tucked to her side, his hand in front so that he was over her shoulder.
And while she could feel how stiff and awkward he was, he did not fight as she carefully massaged his hand beneath the tap.
“There…” she said softly as she washed his hand. “How does that feel?”
“Better,” he said stiffly. “Much better.”
“It is not such a bad thing to accept help, you know,” she said, still washing his hand. “Some might even call it a strength.”
“And when helping another leads to future consequences that might have been best avoided?” he asked her with a bitter chuckle.
She frowned. “What does that mean?”
“Ophelia, there is something I need to tell you.”
“Oh…” Still holding his hand, Ophelia turned around so that she looked at him properly. The moon reached his face fully, so there was nowhere for him to hide. And because it did, she saw the guilt pass across it, as well as the shame.
“Last week, I learned the reason that Lady Delacourt asked for you to deliver baby Harriet to my doorstep. At least I believe I learned the reason.”
“You did?” Ophelia blinked in surprise.
He sighed. “It was such a random… I still do not fully understand it. From what I am able to gather, I met Lady Delacourt just once, several years ago in Bath.”
“She owns a home in Bath,” Ophelia said in realization.
“She does,” he agreed. “I never knew her name but there was a single instance one evening when I saved her from a falling tree branch. It was such a small thing, and I had not thought of it once since. But after I saved her, she was so determined to heap praise on me as if I had done some great thing. I did not want it…” He grimaced.
“So, I made a comment about good deeds being their own reward or something of that nature, trying to dismiss her praise of me as if anyone would have done the same.”
“I do not…”
“She must have thought me a bastion of chivalry.” He chuckled bitterly. “And I can only assume that when she thought of who might take care of Harriet, my name came to mind.” A shake of the head and he looked away. “I am sorry, Ophelia. I should have told you sooner.”
“Why didn’t you?” she asked him.
“I do not know,” he admitted.
Ophelia knew why. It was the same reason that he refused to open up to her, that he avoided her when he could, and that he treated her so coldly when all she wanted was to better know her husband.
His walls… the shell that he lived in… he did it for his own protection, while not considering how it affected those around him.
And while Ophelia was willing to give Adrian time to come to terms with what was expected of him now that he was married, that did little to temper the frustration that burned through her.
This can’t go on. It simply cannot…
“I know why.” She held his hand still, not even realizing that she was doing so. “You’re scared.”
“What?” He looked up and started. “I am not scared. That is absurd.”
“You are,” she said with determination. “You are scared to let anyone else in, to give them anything that they might use against you. For so long, Adrian, you have lived alone, nobody to care about but yourself, and you cannot comprehend anything different to that state of being. Admit it.”
“I…” His brow furrowed, an argument forming that he could not voice.
“But you are not alone anymore,” she said to him, keeping her voice soft.
“For the first time, there are other people in your life who you need to consider, Adrian. You might think you are doing me a favor by keeping yourself hidden away, but it is the opposite of that.” She squeezed his hand as she met his eyes. “Let me in.”
His face hardened, and he tried to pull away, but she kept hold of his hand, giving him nowhere to run or hide.
“I told you about my past, did I not?” she pressed on him, her voice cracking. “I trusted you because I knew that I could. Trust me. You owe me that much.”
“I don’t know what you want,” he said. “What you ask…” A shake of the head, and he laughed bitterly. “I am not nearly so complicated as you think I am. There is nothing to give you.”
“That is not true.”
“It is.”
“Oh…” She smiled, desperate to keep the tone light. “What of those shards I found in your office earlier?”
His eyes widened. “Those are… they are not… they are nothing.”
“Let me decide that,” she said as she held his hand, squeezing it gently. “Tell me, why do you keep them? There must be a reason.”
He looked down at his hand. He focused on it as if it was the most important thing in the world. Nothing was said for a moment, and Ophelia could literally feel him fighting with himself.
“It is silly,” he said finally, his voice unsure.
“But I like to… fix things. Broken things.” He clicked his tongue.
“When I find a vase or something of that nature which is cracked or imperfect, I take it to my office so I might make it whole.” He bowed his head further. “As I said, it is nothing.”
Ophelia smiled, the type that almost outshone the moon.
Adrian’s story wasn’t nothing at all. A seemingly irrelevant hobby, one that was, if anyone else might not have been worth noticing at all, spoke volumes to who Adrian truly was.
She thought of his story about Lady Delacourt, how he saved her.
She thought of her own tale, how Adrian saved her and Harriet when he did not need to.
He liked to pretend that he did not care about anyone or anything, that he was happy alone and forgotten.
But deep down, he was the type who saved those who needed it…
fixing broken things because they could not fix themselves.
Once again, he reminds me that there is so much more to him than I could have possibly realized.
“You see,” she said, still holding his hand. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
He scoffed. “For you, maybe.”
She laughed. “Thank you, Adrian, for telling me that. Truly, I appreciate it.”
He forced an awkward smile, finally looking at her. The moon reflected in his blue eyes, a smile finding them, and Ophelia did not have to look to hard to recognize the significance of the moment. A small step forward, true. But it was a step in the right direction.
“I, ah…” Adrian looked at his hand, and Ophelia gasped as if only just then realizing how tensely she held it to her chest. “I think it is time for bed.”
“Oh, yes,” she said, suddenly awkward. “You are right. I…” She looked around, came to a decision, and started toward the door. “Best that I get some sleep.”
“The milk?” Adrian asked her. “Do you not want it?”
“No,” she said, turning and smiling at him. “I do not think I need it anymore.” Indeed, after what had just happened, Ophelia was certain that when her head touched the pillow, a peaceful night of sleep would be found. “Good night, Adrian. And thank you, again.”
About to leave, Adrian stepped forward as if to stop her. “One more thing, before you go.”
She looked at him hopefully. No idea what he might say but thrilled he was saying it. Another sign that he was starting to trust her.
“The honeymoon period of our marriage is almost over.” He scoffed and shook his head. “If it could be called as such. But that means that soon, we will be expected to reenter society. Attending balls and social functions,” he confirmed off her confused look.
“Oh.” She blinked, and her heart skipped a beat. “Is that something that you want?”
“It is expected,” he said formally. “It does not matter what I want.”
To that, she just smiled. Still, he was determined to act as if this was all for show, and he only did as he thought he must. But deep down, Ophelia saw that other side of him, the one that slowly peeked its head over those walls, wanting to be seen.
For that reason, she suspected that he wanted to attend social functions with her and that he looked forward to doing so. Oddly enough, so did she.
No… maybe not so odd, after all.