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“I am here to see your master.” The commanding way in which the woman declared her intent made a knot lock in Ophelia’s stomach.
Who is this?
Seeing that she hadn’t yet been noticed by their visitor, Ophelia darted behind the nearest pillar in the hallway, hiding herself.
“Is he in?” the stranger asked, trying her best to get past the butler, but the butler did his duty well and blocked her path, refusing to let her inside. Ophelia peered around the pillar, the better to watch what was happening unnoticed.
“My apologies, ma’am, but the master does not take visitors at such an early hour. May I take a message instead?”
“A message?” The woman seemed perturbed by the idea, curling her nose to such an extent that it morphed the beauty of her features. She craned her neck, trying to look past the butler and into the hallway. Ophelia pressed her body behind the pillar once again, hiding from view.
Who is she?
The question burned repeatedly in Ophelia’s mind. After all, why would such a woman come to visit Elliot at what was clearly an inappropriate hour for visitors? The style of the gown suggested the woman’s position in society. The low-cut neckline and the bold colour were often associated with ladies of the night. Ophelia chewed the inside of her mouth, not wanting to believe that this lady could really have such an occupation.
“Tell the master I am here, and I will see him now,” the woman insisted. The butler was clearly losing his temper; judging by the sounds Ophelia could hear, she guessed the butler was working hard to prevent the stranger from getting any further into the house.
“He is not here.” The butler’s lie worked well, for the sound of scuffing shoes abruptly stopped. Ophelia peered round the pillar once again.
“Oh.” The woman sighed with disappointment. “Then I suppose I must leave him a message.” She huffed and tilted her chin high. “Tell him Celeste came to call, and that I expect him shortly at my lodgings.”
With these final words, she turned on her heel and left the house. The moment she was gone, Ophelia leaned her body flat against the pillar, reeling so much that she felt as if she was in danger of falling.
Celeste… that was Celeste.
Of course, she knew the name. Elliot had told it to her the first night they had been married. Celeste was the name of his mistress, the very mistress that Ophelia had foolishly told him he could still see. The mere thought that Elliot could still be seeing his mistress gutted Ophelia to the point that she clasped her hands to her chest, feeling a physical pain lodged there.
He still sees his mistress?
She didn’t want to believe it. How could Elliot see his mistress after all they had shared recently? Had he not told her that this marriage was not just one of convenience? Had they not made love with something more than passion, something more akin to affection and devotion?
When the butler retreated from the hall, Ophelia took her opportunity to head toward the back door, ready to follow Grace outside. With each step she took, she felt the burning anger and jealousy rising within her. She pictured it rather like a bowl of boiling water on a fire, spitting, with angry bubbles. It was an envy she could not control, and it was taking over.
She stepped outside, about to close the door when a new sound from inside caught her attention.
“Your Grace?”
It was the butler’s voice, but he was not calling to her. He was calling up the staircase.
Ophelia held the door open a sliver, hiding her body behind it so she could listen to what was happening inside.
“Ah, good morning,” Elliot’s voice called from up the stairs. “Where is everyone this morning?”
“Her Grace and your sister have gone riding, Your Grace, but there is something I must tell you. A lady just arrived to see you.” The butler went to meet Elliot on the stairs before lowering his voice and whispering about Celeste’s visit.
The whispered words made the pain even greater for Ophelia. It was plain this was a great secret. For all she knew, Celeste may have visited before.
How many times has the butler passed on such secret messages from Celeste, asking Elliot to come to visit her?
Ophelia closed the door as soundlessly as she could and hastened away from the building, nervous of being caught listening in. As she walked, she pulled her pelisse closer across her chest, trying to keep out the chill that overtook the air. As tears began to sting in her eyes, she blinked them away as fast as she could, but it was a battle she was losing. With each blink, the tears just seemed to come stronger.
How can he do this? Is what we share really not enough for him?
Ophelia halted, looking at her own reflection in a window nearby in the house. She was very different from Celeste. Her light brown hair was a contrast to the beautiful woman’s dark locks, and Ophelia’s large blue eyes were nothing like the entrancing brown eyes in Celeste’s face.
“I am nothing like her,” Ophelia whispered, fearful that she could never be enough to satisfy Elliot, if that was what he longed for.
She stepped away from the window and hurried to the stable as quickly as she could.
