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Damn the money.
Ophelia would have happily been rid of the money just to have her father back, but she could see it gave her stepmother comfort, so she kept any wry comments to herself.
“We will, Gertrude.”
“Indeed. Soon enough, I don’t doubt you will leave me too.” She reached toward Ophelia and brushed a lock of her brown hair behind her ear. “I must accept that.”
“I will leave? Gertrude, I’m not going anywhere.”
“Oh, Ophelia, you are a young woman now. Your father would not wish you to stay here with me forever. No, you will have a family of your own someday. Come, let us retire. We can talk of such things another day. Another minute here, and I fear I will start crying again.” Gertrude hurried down the corridor with the words, hastening to her room.
Ophelia could not follow at such a quick pace. She ambled slowly to her chamber with the one candle. Rather than calling for her maid, she undressed herself, wanting to be alone as she thought of Gertrude’s words and how much she missed her father. Sitting before her bureau and the mirror placed upon it, she stared at her reflection.
Light brown hair fell in loose waves past her shoulders, and her blue eyes were bold in her face, rather too big in her own opinion. It made the evidence that she had been crying all the more noticeable on her prominent cheekbones.
“She expects me to marry?” Ophelia whispered, as though her reflection would offer up an interesting reply.
It struck her what Gertrude had assumed of their futures. She had talked of staying here, in this house, and Ophelia leaving. Not once had Ophelia ever thought of leaving this house, even when she married.
As the candle burned down and her reflection became more indistinct, merely shadows and smoke in the mirror, Ophelia thought of her father. She recalled one of the last days she had spent with him, riding together across the open parklands of Cheltenham. She thought of his laugh, the way he smiled, and the way he had a habit of seeing what she was thinking, even without her having to utter a word.
“You will be happy, won’t you, sweetheart?”This question had caught her off guard on their last ride.
“Do I not look happy, Father?”She had laughed, thinking it an odd thing to say, then pulled a face, making her father chuckle.
“I mean, if anything were to ever happen to me.”With these words, he’d pulled his steed to a stop, turning to face her.“You will live your life to the fullest and find a family of your own. Promise me that?”
She hadn’t promised him, though. She had simply kept asking him why he had asked such an absurd question, for he wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. Thinking back, she realised her father might have already started to feel ill. He’d just kept the secret to himself.
“I promise, Father.” Ophelia whispered the words aloud, as if he could hear her. “I promise you to find that life, and maybe even a family. I will be happy, as you wished me to be.” Then she blew out the candle as another tear came.
Chapter 1
London, England
“Watch out!”
Elliot ignored the warning, for he had already seen the blade coming. Diving back, he avoided the lunge of his friend, Harrison, and struck out with his own rapier blade. Fortunately, it was blunted, and the blade landed firmly on the padded chest of Harrison, who froze and looked at Elliot with raised eyebrows.
“Would you stop winning, please? It’s getting rather tiresome.” Harrison breathed heavily, winded after their exercise. Elliot laughed and released his friend, stepping away.
“Tiresome foryou, you mean?” he said with a smirk, watching as Harrison threatened to come at him with the rapier blade again. “I rather enjoy winning at the moment. It is one of the few releases I have. Come, again.”
“I may need a short break first.”
“You are fitter than you give yourself credit for.”
“Well, if you say so—woah!” Harrison was taken aback as Elliot began their next bout.
Yes, at least this is a moment away from the troubles of the world.
They were fencing in the ballroom of his Mayfair townhouse—hardly a fitting place for the sport, but it suited the task well, being such a large room. At the edge of the room was the steward, holding up lemonade for the two of them on a silver tray and wincing every time they came a little too close to each other.
Elliot lunged forward as Harrison scurried back, like a mouse fleeing a cat.
“Fight, don’t flee, Harrison,” Elliot pleaded, trying to draw his friend into the match.
“Remind me to tell you that the next time you are fighting an opponent much taller than you.”
