Creston grinned. “Understandable from a woman’s point of view,” he said. “But I would wager to say that you eat them when put upon your table?”
“It would be wasteful not to do so.”
“That is a good answer,” he said, scratching his neck as he turned to glance at his friends—all of them—who had commandeered their usual table but were keeping an eye on him. “If you do not like to hunt, what do you like to do?”
Ophelia cocked her head thoughtfully. “Everything a properly bred young woman is expected to do,” she said. “I can paint, and draw, and sing.”
“Do you sing well?”
“I think so.”
“That is good to know,” Creston said. Then he looked to his brother and the lady’s grandfather, who had been watching the exchange very carefully. “I look forward to discovering that for myself.”
“She has had the best education in England,” de Bulverton said, having listened to what was bordering on an inane conversation. “She can do everything extremely well. My granddaughter has no defects.”
That was a rather cold observation coming from a grandfather. Royston watched his brother as his brother watched the lady, and he swore he could see some interest in Creston’s face.
“I’m very glad that you wrote to me, my lord,” Royston said, turning to de Bulverton. “I have been married for several years and have three sons. It has been a rewarding institution for me and I hope it will be for my brother as well.”
“Of course, it will,” de Bulverton said, his gaze on his granddaughter. “I am certain they will have many children together. Every man needs a legacy, and Ophelia brings noble blood to the House of de Royans.”
Creston finally tore his eyes away from Ophelia and glanced at Oscar de Bulverton. The man spoke so coldly about a family member he should at least have some warmth toward. But he couldn’t see any at all. Ophelia stood there, head lowered demurely, and Creston wondered if it was because she didn’t want to meet her grandfather’s eye. Already, he could sense the weight of the man’s stare, something harsh and critical, and he was fairly certain he couldn’t have any manner of meaningful conversation with the lady with her gruff grandfather around.
He faced the earl.
“Would it be acceptable if the lady and I were to sit at a table by ourselves, with the two of you observing from a distance?” he asked. “I should like to speak to her and it would be better to establish our relationship now, under supervision, without the two of you as part of the conversation.”
Royston thought it was a good idea, but the earl seemed reluctant. “What do you wish to speak of?” he asked.
Creston shrugged. “I will ask the lady about her education,” he said. “Mayhap I will ask her if she has ever traveled. You expect us to be married quickly, I assume, and we have only just met. I should like to at least speak with the woman who is to be my wife and come to know her a little before we take our vows.”
Royston was supportive of that. If Creston wanted to get to know the woman he’d been strong-armed into marrying, then he had no objections to it. It was better than Creston trying to jump out of the window and embarrassing the entire House of de Royans.
“I think that is reasonable,” Royston said, looking at the earl. “My lord? Surely there can be no harm in that. We will sit a few feet away and watch them. If the lady is uncomfortable, she will signal us and we will join them.”
The earl still didn’t seem too eager about it. His gaze lingered on Creston, whom he’d not even formally met. The first, and only, introduction had been to Ophelia. Creston met the old earl’s gaze, steadily, before the earl finally looked away.
“Very well,” he said. “Send for drink, de Royans.”
He meant Royston, who was more than happy to comply. With that, he turned away and went to find a table while Creston indicated a small table over by the windows that overlooked the street beyond.
“My lady?” he said. “Shall we sit?”
Ophelia was demure in her obedience, sitting down primly before he took a seat himself. When a serving wench walked by,he asked for drink. As the woman scurried away, Creston cleared his throat quietly.
“Now,” he murmured, “we can speak without my brother and your grandfather hanging over us. I am a forthright man, my lady. I speak what is on my mind. I hope that does not offend you.”
Ophelia shook her head. “It does not, my lord,” she said. “In fact, I prefer it.”
“Good,” Creston said. “I assume you have been forced into this marriage, also?”
She nodded. “As you have been.”
“Are you opposed to it?”
She shrugged. “It would not matter if I were,” she said. “Just like it would not matter if you were. We have an obligation that others have dictated we perform.”
Creston could see that she was duty-bound. Even if she were greatly opposed to the marriage, such opposition would do her no good. She was a woman and women did what they were told by the men who controlled their lives.
