Ophelia hugged her back tightly, grateful that at least most of her secrets were now out in the open with her friends.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
After another round of hugs and kisses, Ophelia watched from the open door as her friends all walked down the path toward their respective carriages. Even though her heart still felt heavy and confused, she could not help the small but genuine smileon her face. Her friends loved her. Fully. And perhaps that was more important than anything else.
“Are you coming in, Miss Wexley?” Mr. Potter asked, appearing by her side. “It is getting rather chilly in the evenings as of late.”
Ophelia glanced up at the sky as a cool breeze flittered over her. The moon was not quite full, but it was bright and clear; casting plenty of light to take a relaxing stroll through the gardens behind her house.
“In fact I believe I shall take a walk around the house, Mr. Potter,” she replied, “Would you mind fetching a shawl?”
Mr. Potter quickly agreed, and returned a short while later with her dark blue wool shawl. Ophelia wrapped it tightly around her shoulders.
“Thank you, Mr. Potter. Could you please make sure the patio door is unlocked? I shall use it when I am finished.”
“Of course, Miss Wexley,” Mr. Potter agreed, then closed the front door as she stepped outside.
In the quiet moonlight, Ophelia tilted her face toward the sky, closed her eyes, and inhaled the crisp air deeply. Suddenly she had a thought, and instead of the ache she was growing accustomed to, her heart filled with hope.
Perhaps one day she would look back on this time and smile.
When her hair was gray and she was sitting across from a husband she did not quite know at a dinner table that was far too quiet, she would think of her time as an artist for the Devil’s Masquerade- of her time as a secret lover to the man behind it all, and feel a little thrill. She would know that at one time she had revolted against the society she despised in the most wonderful of ways, and she would keep her head lifted high. And that heart ache she held now? It would be a reminder that she, even for the smallest of moments, had experienced pure passion with an enemy.
Smirking at the thought, she lowered her head, opened her eyes, and began walking toward the gardens that graced the back of her house. As she approached the gates, her smirk turned into a smile. They had been forced to let their gardeners go to save on funds, and the growing cold was beginning to wilt and harden the colorful petals and leaves into dull husks. Even so, the wildness of it all stirred a sense of peace within her. There was a beauty, she realized, in letting go.
She was just about to open the gate when she heard a crunching of stones behind her.
“Did you forget something?” She asked, thinking it was one of her friends.
“It seems that I did,” a familiar deep voice replied.
Ophelia whirled around, clutching her shawl tighter around her shoulders as she saw Abraham striding her way. A shiver wentup her spine as she took in his frown, and unwittingly backed herself up against the garden gate.
“Lord Weavington,” she greeted brusquely. “It is far too late for a call. Especially an impromptu one.”
“Oh, normally I would tend to agree,” he replied with equal gruffness as he drew closer, “But you and I have something to discuss.”
“Stop where you are,” Ophelia demanded, holding a hand up.
Abraham ignored her, walking right up to her hand until it was forced to press to his chest.
“What are you doing?!” She exclaimed.
“Claiming my right for an explanation,” Abraham growled out. The many manners he portrayed in the past were now completely gone, and as he drew something out of his pocket, Ophelia tensed.
“Your father sent this back to me,” Abraham stated, holding up the golden necklace he had gifted her, “Along with a detailed letter demanding that I cease our courtship.”
Ophelia’s feet shifted backward, trying to put more space between them, but the gate stopped her. Her heart began to pound as she suddenly realized she was trapped between the gate and Abraham’s body. It was not at all like being closeTristan, whose body created shivers for an entirely different reason. She felt caged…frightened.
Ophelia drew in a steadying breath, refusing to show her fear.
“I do apologize if you are disappointed, Lord Weavington,” she said, forcing a polite tone, “However, I must agree with my father. I did enjoy getting to know you but I do not believe we are proper fit. Now please, do be a gentleman and step back.”
Abraham raised a single brow as he remained right where he was.
“And why would I do that?” He asked, “Seeing as you are by no means a lady,SR.”
Another chill moved down Ophelia’s spine and she stared at him in shock.
