“Good morning, Sir Julian.”
He flinched at hearing her saysir. They were past that. “You don’t need to be so formal.”
She blinked her large blue eyes at him, but didn’t say anything.
“Right, well. If you would like to spend the morning reading correspondence, I will continue with my own.”
“Excellent,” she said, picking up her own letter again.
They sat in companionable silence, or at least, it was companionable on his side. He had news from the RGS on the date of Ophelia’s article’s publication. A letter from Mrs. Talbert asking about his return date and rent. Another letter, forwarded to him by the RGS, smelled of perfume as he opened it.
The scent was strong enough that Ophelia put down her letter and stared at him as he perused the contents. It was innocuous enough. A woman who had attended a short lecture he’d given about South America in a RGS member’s parlor a few weeks back wrote to say how much she’d enjoyed hearing about the other side of the world. The paper was of high quality, but he didn’t remember the woman by her signature.
“What news?” Ophelia asked.
Julian smiled. Apparently Ophelia could be made jealous, as evidenced by the aroma of his admirer. She could be teased about this, and perhaps that would finally break the tension between them. He put down the scented envelope and held up the others. “Publication date for your article. My landlady concerned I won’t return before my next rent is due, and—” He flourished the scented letter. “—A love letter.”
Her expression went blank. She didn’t take the bait. “I see.”
“Ophelia—”
“I must share in kind, as is only polite. I have a lengthy letter from my mother. It seems Lord Fairport has requested that my brother draft a wedding contract. He means to propose to me upon my return. Arthur has assured him he will sign no such contract if I do not consent.”
Julian’s stomach dropped. That thought of teasing her was gone. No wonder she had been so tight-lipped with him this morning. It was his turn to study his teacup. “And what will you say?”
“To my mother? Thank you for the information, of course.” Ophelia was already folding the paper back.
“I mean to Lord Fairport,” Julian said gently.
She stared him down, expressionless. “What ought I say?”
He swallowed hard, not trusting his voice. His teasing was utterly forgotten. This sunny day had definitely soured. “I know that I have no claim—”
“Haven’t you?” she asked.
He knew it was a challenge. She was asking him if he would do right by her and marry her, but he was not wealthy. Lord Fairport was a higher rank—honestly, Julian couldn’t remember if he was a viscount or an earl. Everything regarding the man dropped out of his head as soon as it went in. “No, I don’t.”
Ophelia nodded. “Not while you have your ardent devotees to attend to.”
“That’s not what I meant. It was a joke, Ophelia. I was trying to tease you.”
Her jaw set. “Because I am so easily mocked.”
“No!” He put his hands flat on the table to keep himself trying to grab her hands, to touch her, to try for a connection that he was so clearly unable to establish. “I’m not mocking. Mocking and teasing are different. Besides, you are the one who is marrying someone else.”
“Am I?” she asked coolly.
They heard a bustle of noise and saw the rest of their party entering the dining room, ready for their morning repast.
“We must get a table to fit all of us,” Eleanor said, looking about at the other white linen-covered tables.
“I’m sorry, I have a headache. Excuse me.” Ophelia threw her napkin on the table and gathered up her letters before pushing away from the table.
Julian was left feeling like he would have preferred Maria’s crying jags to Ophelia’s cold distance. He didn’t know what to do. He only knew that he felt like an utter cad.
*
Ophelia tagged alongwith Justine and Karl for a walk through the shops. She registered nothing she saw, but at least she didn’t have to pretend. Karl cited professional interest in shopping, and Justine kept one eye on Karl and one eye on Ophelia, waiting for Ophelia to crack wide open. But she wouldn’t.
