“And thoughtful,” John added, “It has been too long since my daughter has been gifted such a bauble. I believe it has earned you a seat at our table for the evening, if you wish it.”
Ophelia barely managed to disguise her surprise at her father’s offer to Abraham as the man quickly and amicably agreed to join them.
Ophelia picked at the slice of pear tart on her plate as the conversation at the dining room table drew into an awkward silence. The meal had started off well at first, with Abraham and John talking animatedly about business. However once Abraham shifted the subject toward Ophelia and started showering her with compliments, she began to grow uncomfortable. Her father, as well, did not seem too keen on what he was hearing, and after the first half-dozen or so praises on Ophelia’s appearance, he had stopped agreeing with Abraham and only gave polite nods.
She had felt differently when Abraham had first discussed enjoying her art. Flattered, even. However as he spoke prose about the shade of her hair and the slope of her nose, she now only felt a growing awkwardness. It was now clear that Abraham was in serious pursuit of her. It was also clear to her now that she wanted no such chase to occur.
“What a pleasant evening this has been,” John stated as the latest bout of silence stretched toward discomfort, “However Iaman ailing man, and I am afraid that I must be so impolite and draw it to a close. Ophelia? I am not feeling well, darling, and I would most appreciate your help up the stairs.”
Ophelia wanted to rain kisses down on her father for his words and eagerly rose from her seat.
“Of course, Papa,” she replied with haste, then gave Abraham an apologetic smile as she put her hands on John’s shoulders.
“Yes indeed, I apologize for extending my stay so late in the evening,” Abraham offered, rising from his chair.
“No apologies necessary. Thank you so much for your visit, Lord Weavington,” she said politely as she helped her father stand. “Would you mind so terribly much if our butler escorted you out? As my father said, he needs my help getting up the stairs.”
“I would not mind at all,” Abraham replied with a slight bow, “But please, do remember to call me Abraham.”
“Of course,” she quickly agreed, though made a point of not stating his name.
Farewell pleasantries were exchanged between the three of them then Mr. Potter arrived to escort Abraham to the front door. Ophelia and John waited, standing still side by side for several seconds after he had departed, then John turned to her with a stern look.
“No,” John stated, his tone rather emphatic. “I know I stated that I wanted you married before I go but he is far too old and strange for you.”
Ophelia let out a burst of laughter as she hugged her father’s shoulders, relieved to know for certain that they felt the same way about Lord Weavington.
“Do not worry, Papa,” she comforted, “I most certainly agree with you.”
“I am going to return that necklace,” John insisted as she began to help him toward the stairs, “He seems like a man that could cling too tightly to an idea, and I do not wish him to cling to this particular one.”
“You are right, of course,” Ophelia agreed. “I should not have accepted it in the first place. I will return it to him at the earliest convenience.”
“Trust me, darling, he was not going to allow you to refuse it tonight,” John replied, “Nor would he accept it if it were you attempting to return it. No, I must handle this. Gentleman to gentleman.”
Ophelia bit into her bottom lip, hating that such a thing was true. She did not like or want the necklace, so why could she not just say so? Why did such a message have to come from her father?
“Yes, Papa,” she said with a sigh.
“Tell me,” John urged as they reached the second floor landing, “Have you taken on any other suitors besides this gentleman?”
Tristan’s face flashed in her mind, making her pulse flutter. Still, she shook her head.
“No,” she replied. Tristan was not a suitor. Nor would he ever be.
A heavy disappointment struck her suddenly as she came to such a conclusion, plunging her mood right back toward discomfort. Suddenly feeling as if she needed to be alone, Ophelia was relieved when Mr. Potter caught up with them and offered to help John get ready for bed.
She silently blessed the man who had taken on the role of butlerandvalet since their financial troubles had started without complaint.
“Do not give up hope, my darling,” John said as they reached his bedroom door, “A gentleman more suited for you will make himself known. I am certain of it.”
Ophelia gave her father a wan smile, then kissed his cheek.
“You are right of course, Papa,” she agreed, not wanting to dampen his spirits with the truth.
After they said their goodnights and parted ways, Ophelia went to her own quarters and rung for a bath. She felt strangely dirty after the evening’s events and wanted nothing more than wash the sensation away. It was while she was waiting for her tub to be filled by their two remaining maids that Ophelia discovered another red envelope waiting for her on her writing desk, sitting neatly atop a black box wrapped with a black ribbon.
Her heart began to race as she saw it. Without even opening the envelope she knew who it was from.Tristan.Calling her back to the Masquerade to finish the final painting…and perhaps finish something else. Despite the night’s awkwardness, Ophelia foundherself smiling at the package and envelope, as if its presence relaxed her somehow.
