The life path that had been so obscured to her now became obvious. Ophelia would marry Lord Fairport. She would become a lady in marriage, and not only by her own birth. There would be dinner parties and charities. Loveless nights of perfunctory attempts at producing heirs. She would likely never climb another mountain. Never run through the woods like a deer. Instead of a wild animal, she would become a pet. Caged and confined.
As a woman ought to be. No voice. No ambition. No gumption. A prop for her husband. And then for her children. An ache opened in her chest again as she wished for her father. He would have looked at Lord Fairport and scoffed. He would have known from the beginning that they would be a poor match, regardless of his wealth and status.
But Arthur was not her papa. And Ophelia was getting on. She was well past the declaration of spinsterhood, and approaching being an eccentric. She should count herself lucky indeed to nab a man like Lord Fairport.
They settled into a café for a cup of chocolate. The drink was rich and thick, adulterated with delicious heavy cream. It warmed her insides and allowed her to look at her best friend. Justine felt her gaze and put her hand out to Ophelia.
“Karl, love?” Justine said, not breaking her gaze with Ophelia.
“Hmm?” her husband said, pulling his attention from the newspaper he was reading.
“Go away.” Justine wasn’t angry when she said it, rather it was said with all the love she always had in her tone when she spoke to him.
“I’ll be gone twenty minutes.” Karl folded up his paper without another word and walked off.
“That was extraordinary,” Ophelia said.
Justine pulled her hands back and sipped at her cup. “Not really. I told him it might happen, especially when I saw you leave at breakfast.”
Ophelia put her hands in her lap. “I’m sorry about that. I couldn’t—”
“Don’t apologize!” Justine interrupted. “You needed space, you took some. It was exactly the right thing to do. Would you like to talk about it now?”
A lump in her throat formed. “I’m not sure? I think perhaps yes, but it’s so messy, I’m not sure I can.”
“Fair enough. But do your best?”
Ophelia nodded. “You know of the night I spent with Julian.”
Justine nodded, leaning forward, which told Ophelia she’d dropped her voice too low.
“And my apology to him. And then he apologized to me. And then he invited me to his room again—”
“He did what?” Justine shrieked. It was then she noticed all the people staring at her. But she merely waved at them as if they were acquainted already before lowering her voice. “I cannot believe he asked you to his room.”
“He suggested it, but I refused. I didn’t feel like I could do that again. Not with the way I felt.”
“I’m proud of you.” Justine folded her arms, outraged on Ophelia’s behalf.
Ophelia took no small amount of comfort knowing that Justine would be there for her no matter what. “Thank you. We agreed to meet for tea before everyone came down this morning. But I was reading a letter from my mother as he arrived, and he wanted to talk, but I just couldn’t. She was writing to make me aware that Lord Fairport asked to marry me, and that Arthur was drawing up a contract.”
Justine withdrew with a gasp. “He wouldn’t!”
“Arthur apparently told him that he wouldn’t force me into marriage, but everyone believes it to be so obviously my only chance that plans are going ahead without me.”
Justine shook her head slowly in shock. “That’s forward of them.”
Ophelia sighed. “It does make sense, looking at it from their perspective. I’m twenty-eight, Justine. This is my only chance.”
“You are perfect and I love you just as you are.” Justine stared into her eyes as she declared her love, which always made Ophelia smile. “But I want to know if it makes sense fromyourperspective.”
Ophelia had been trained not to shrug. But this felt like a very appropriate time to do it. Even so, she forced herself to answer with words. “From my point of view, it is rather practical. It is what is expected of me. With certain conditions, I think I might be able to marry Lord Fairport.”
Justine winced but nodded her assent. Ophelia interpreted that to mean that she was willing to be supportive, but wanted to know what those caveats might entail. “For instance,” Ophelia said, gaining some confidence as she thought quickly. “I would be allowed to climb any mountain I wanted, with anyone I deem fit.”
“You’re thinking of Sir Julian.”
“No,” Ophelia protested automatically. But wasn’t she? “I’m notnotthinking of Sir Julian, but also perhaps someone else I might meet in the future. Or you and your husband.”
