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Stan bent at the waist to look where she pointed. “It is. One of them, that is.”

“You have more than one?” Ophelia sent him a side-eyed look before resuming her scrutiny.

“I do. I also dabble in horse breeding, but not to the extent your friend Miss Slater or the Duke of Waycross do. Mine is a hobby rather than a profession.”

“May I…” She cast him another brief glance. “That is, if it is not too much trouble, might I have a horse of my own?”

Aye, I’d give you the moon and stars if you asked for them.

Taken aback at his poetic thoughts, Stan nodded. But she’d turned her head away once more, so he said, “Of course. If we cannot find you a suitable mount in my stables, then we’ll purchase you one.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary.” She settled back onto the comfortable gold velvet seat. “I’m sure one of your mounts will suit.”

“I meant to tell you sooner, but it slipped my mind. I’ve arranged with Pennington for your dowry to be put in a bank account in your name. It is yours to do with as you wish.”

Mouth slack, she swung her gaze to his. “You did? Why?”

“I didn’t need any incentive to marry you, Ophelia. I married you because I wanted to.” Arms folded, Stan regarded her. “And I believe women aren’t chattel to their husbands. They should have money to invest in whatever projects or investments are of interest to them.”

“That’s quite radical of you,” she murmured.

“Have you anything that intrigues you?” he asked, eager to know more about the woman he’d made his wife.

“Actually,” she admitted cautiously. “I’ve always wanted to sponsor a home for unwed mothers from all stations. Teach them a trade and provide for their essential needs.”

“Very admirable and certainly much needed,” Stan said. “I’ll match whatever you contribute financially.”

Ophelia blinked owlishly at him.

“I’m not quite the ogre I’m made out to be, Ophelia.”

That put a bit of starch in her spine. She stiffened and jutted her chin out. “I never thought you were.”

“Then I thank you,” Stan said.

“Ogre indeed,” she muttered beneath her breath.

Unlike most women of his station, Ophelia didn’t appear to care for wealth, position, or possessions. And because of that, it made Stan want to shower her with gifts. To see her hazel eyes alight with surprise and her luscious mouth curve into a smile.

His focus dropped to her lips. They’d eaten fresh raspberries with their lunch when they’d changed the team of horses at Ye Old Blue Boar Inn. Her lips retained a trace of the berries’ redness.

“I want to kiss you, Ophelia.” Stan wouldn’t impose himself on her. He’d given his word. In fact, instead of kissing her as was customary after they exchanged their vows, he’d raised her hand and pressed his mouth to her knuckles instead.

“I…” She pinkened delightfully but held his gaze. “I’d like you to kiss me, Stanford.”