Chapter 31
Lord Delacourt was not the man whom Ophelia remembered.
For three years, she had worked for him, and he had always seemed younger than his age suggested.
Gray of hair, perhaps. His skin wrinkled on his face.
And he certainly wasn’t possessed of the same strong body that he’d likely enjoyed as a younger man.
But there had always been life to him, a buoyant charm and ever-present happiness found in his presence that was infectious.
Likely, Ophelia had come to realize that was on account of his love for his wife. She was far younger than he, but he adored her, and no doubt she brought out a side of him that wouldn’t have been there otherwise.
When Lord Delacourt walked into the foyer of Vermont Manor, Ophelia gasped in shock. She did not mean to gape; she certainly did not mean to stare, but she could not help it!
What has happened to him?
The gray hair was so thin that he was almost bald.
His wrinkled skin now sagged on his hollow cheeks as if he was slowly melting.
He appeared shorter than she remembered, thinner too, and although it was early in the day, a shadow hung over him as if it followed wherever he went.
There was no smile. There was no light in his eyes.
He was a shell of the man who she had once known.
As his wife had died, so had Lord Delacourt’s will to live.
Is that what will happen to me…
“Lord Delacourt.” Adrian strode across the foyer. “Thank you for coming.”
Lord Delacourt did not smile, nor did he seem enthused. “I did not have a choice, Your Grace. Duty demanded it.” He chuckled bitterly. “Also, I think it might be good for me to get out of the manor. I cannot tell you the last time I saw the sun. Why, I had forgotten how brightly it shined.”
Adrian said nothing, looking rather awkward and uncomfortable. He turned back to Ophelia, almost begging that she step in and say something.
“Lord Deleacourt…” She brought herself up and strode forward. “It is good to see you again.”
Lord Delacourt frowned when he saw her and then offered a soft smile. “Ah, Ophelia. That is you. I almost did not recognize you. The months have been kind. Far kinder than they were to me.”
Her throat constricted with guilt. “I… I wish to say, what happened to Lady Delacourt –”
“Please.” He held up a hand. “His Grace explained what you did and why you did it. There is no need to apologize.”
Indeed, when Adrian wrote to Lord Delacourt, he decided on the truth. He had told Ophelia that when he first went to see the man, he chose to pretend that Ophelia was a mere maid working for him, as a way to avoid having to mention the child. A kindness… and for that, Ophelia was grateful.
However, Lord Delacourt deserved to know the whole truth, and Adrian explained it fully. He did not make excuses. He did not ask for forgiveness. He simply told what happened so that Lord Delacourt could decide how he felt.
And while it was a relief to know that he did not hold it against Ophelia, that was not what she had wanted to say.
“I was not going to apologize,” Ophelia said as she looked at him.
“What I wished to say was how sorry I am. Your wife was good to me, far better than I deserved. When she passed… you have no idea how upset I was, and how much I miss her. Everything I have done, it was done because I loved her. As I know you do.”
Lord Delacourt frowned as he listened, only to allow a soft smile that reached his hollow eyes.
“She was right to hold you in such high esteem.” He chuckled.
“She never did tell me who you really were, which I suppose makes sense. But she trusted you, and I trust you too. She would be glad to know that you have done so right by her child.”
“Speaking of which…” Adrian stepped forward. “Would you like to see her?”
Lord Delacourt hesitated. His expression hardened. Ophelia watched closely, unable to miss the sudden sense of uncertainty that swept over the lord. He was there, that was a start, but it did not mean that he was willing to take Harriet, or that if he did, he would be good to her.
Ophelia looked at Adrian, caught his eye, and raised her eyebrows.
She needed him to know that she was watching and if there was even a chance that this was the wrong thing, she would make sure he knew it. Adrian, seeing her look, grimaced and looked away.
“Yes…” Lord Delacourt firmed himself and exhaled. “I think that is for the best. Which way?”
“This way.” Adrian stepped forward and beckoned for Lord Delacourt to join him.
Ophelia followed closely, her eyes never leaving Lord Delacourt. And the whole while, she considered what it would take for her to know that Harriet was in the right hands. What could Lord Delacourt possibly say or do to change her mind? Likely, there was nothing…
When they reached the nursery, Lord Delacourt stopped.
Again, there was that hesitation. He bit into his lip. His legs trembled. Ophelia was certain that he was going to turn and walk away. Only then, Harriet giggled, and that seemed to wake something inside of the man.
Slowly, he walked across the nursery until he found himself standing over the cot. He looked down at Harriet, who smiled up at him. Ophelia watched Lord Delacourt without blinking, searching for the anger, the hate, any sense at all that he saw in the baby a reminder of his wife’s affair.
“Her name…” Lord Delacourt said softly. “Harriet?”
“That is the name your wife chose,” Adrian said, standing beside him.
Slowly, a smile touched Lord Delacourt’s lips. It was a small thing, but for a fraction of a second, he looked like the man who Ophelia remembered. And as he held it, as it reached his eyes and stayed, there could be no doubt that the only emotion pouring from Lord Delacourt was love.
“Yes, she always did like that name,” he chuckled softly, somehow seeming to stand taller as he continued to look down at Harriet.
“Oh, we argued about it. Although, considering the circumstances of the child’s conception, there was always a sense that I had no say.
” He shook his head, still smiling. “She never did confirm it, nor did I have the courage to ask. But we both knew the child was not mine.”
Ophelia glanced at Adrian. His brow was tight, hesitant to say anything further.
“What I told my wife, time and again, was that I did not care.” Lord Delacourt reached over the cot and gave Harriet his finger to play with.
She took it immediately, giggling all the while.
“I knew how much my wife would love the child, and because she would that, I was sure to love her all the same.”
Ophelia held her breath, not daring to speak. But the scene that unfolded before her was one that could be felt throughout the room. The shadow fell from Lord Delacourt’s shoulders, the warmth returned to him, and his words were such that Ophelia almost started to weep.
“I was a coward,” he continued, almost speaking to himself.
“Oh yes, there is no doubt. Time and again, I thought to ask… to make her tell me. But the truth was, I just loved her so much that I did not want her thinking that it would make a difference. I did not want her to worry that when the baby was born, that I would try and find the father to be rid of her.”
He paused for a moment, chuckling as Harriet continued to squeeze his finger. Then he sniffed back tears and slowly pulled his finger away.
“I knew who he was, of course.” He stood up and turned, sure to look between Ophelia and Adrian. “I did my own research, and I figured it out.”
“Lord Delacourt, you do not have to…” Adrian stepped forward, but Lord Delacourt raised a hand to silence him.
“I do not tell you this to suggest I want the man to have anything to do with the child. In fact, it is the opposite. The child might not be my blood, but she is my wife’s, and in her I see…” He glanced back at Harriet and chuckled. “She has her eyes, you know? It is undeniable.”
“She does,” Ophelia said, sniffing back tears.
“Hopefully, she will not look like her father.” His tone turned cold.
“Lord Hallbridge was the man’s name…” Ophelia gasped in shock, and she caught Adrian looking at her with the same.
“They met in Bath, my guess is during a time after one of our fights. She often went there when we argued about…” He shook his head.
“I do not even know, nor do I care to remember. She would go for a few weeks, and when she returned, I would fall to my knees and apologize. I do not know the details of what happened in Bath…” He sneered.
“Well, I suppose Harriet speaks to those plainly. And while it hurts to know what happened, I take some condolence in knowing that she came back. She always came back.” He nodded firmly as if that was important.
“We all make mistakes, that is a truth that is undeniable. What matters is that we admit them, that we are willing to move on from them, and that we use them to help us grow so that we do not make them again.”
Ophelia heard the words as if they were spoken for her. She turned to find Adrian, sure that he must have heard them too. But Adrian looked down at his feet, his expression severe, a sense that he did his best to ignore them.
“Harriet is not a mistake,” Lord Delacourt said.
“The only mistake was my own because I should have told my wife every day that I loved her, and that whatever she did, it mattered not. And not a day goes past since she died that I do not regret those moments she was gone from me.” He laughed and shook his head.
“I am a stubborn fool sometimes, but not such that I could not see it. And my wife, well, she was just as stubborn, but she knew that like a river washing over a stone, that she could wear me down.”
Harriet cried out, Ophelia moved to collect her, but Lord Delacourt swept in and without asking, he picked her up and held her to his body. Harriet went quiet immediately, snuggling into his chest as if she knew that in his arms there was safety.
Ophelia’s heart stopped… her chest tightened… jealousy swept over her so that all she wanted to do was take Harriet back and tell Lord Delacourt that he could not have her.
But then she watched them a little more, she allowed herself to see through the jealousy and the hurt, and she came to understand what it was that she really felt at that moment.
Despite her reservations, despite her assurances that there was nothing Lord Delacourt could do or say that would change her mind, Ophelia had no choice but to deny that assumption as if it had slapped her across the face.
Adrian was right. Lord Delacourt would be good to Harriet, he would love her as his own, and she would live a life with him that she deserved…
one that even Ophelia could not give her.
It was not an easy realization to have. It hurt more than she could bear. But this was not about her, and Ophelia needed to do what was right… what was hard, yes, but that was how such things always seemed to be.
“You will be good to her,” Ophelia said. Not a question, but a statement of fact.
Lord Delacourt smiled. “I will try my best. She is my daughter, as far as I am concerned, and the world will see her as such.”
Adrian crossed the room, and he stood beside Ophelia. He did not put his arm around her. He did not touch her. But his presence by her side was like a shield, one she needed to protect her, to let her know that he was there.
“If it is fine by you, Lord Delacourt, we might keep Harriet for a few days longer. No doubt you need time to arrange for her care…”
Lord Delacourt chuckled. “Well, you have seen my home, so you know that is true. But yes, a few days should do it. Hopefully, enough time for you to say your goodbyes.”
Ophelia winced, and Adrian touched her gently on the arm. She ought to have pulled her arm back, determined to not need his comfort. But with how she felt at that moment, she needed it more than anything.
“Shall I walk you out?” Adrian asked.
“I suppose it is time.” Lord Delacourt held Harriet a little longer and then placed her back in the cot. Ophelia wanted to go to the baby and pick her up, to hold her and never let go. But she stayed back, knowing such a thing would only make it harder…
So, she stayed where she was and watched as Adrian led Lord Delacourt from the room. And it was only once they were gone that she allowed the tears to come.
Yes, they were tears of happiness, because she knew that Harriet was in the right hands. But they were also tears of sadness, brokenhearted because Lord Delacourt’s words echoed in her mind, and she knew as she knew anything that she would never have the chance to experience what he had.
She was alone and never had it felt more real.