“Oh, that is not true,” the handmaid dismissed. “His Grace might be a little cold at times, but he is still human. And I am sure he realizes just how lucky he is to have a beauty like you to call his wife.”
Ophelia might have rolled her eyes at the comment if she was the type. But the handmaid appeared truly honest in her declaration, so Ophelia smiled at her as if she almost believed it.
But she did not believe it. She and Adrian had discussed such things already; she knew where she stood and what was to be expected, so she made her peace and refused to feel upset. That was never Ophelia’s way. When in doubt, look on the bright side of life, and good things would come.
Or so I always believed. I just wish they would hurry up already.
Mr. Watley left Ophelia alone after that. She sat down on a chair by the window. She rocked Harriet to sleep in her arms. And she did her best to look on the bright side of this circumstance, determined to find a reason to smile and be happy.
But as the sun slowly set down the sky, as darkness set in, and as her husband did not return, that bright side failed to materialize. Today had been her wedding day, the beginning of the rest of her life, and it was set to be a life with little to be grateful for.
How had it come to this?
CHAPTER 8
“That is quite the story,” Rupert said as he took a sip of brandy and smacked his lips. “Worthy of the greats. Perhaps I will write a poem about it.”
“I did not know you wrote poetry,” Adrian said.
“I don’t,” Rupert chuckled. “But is poetry not just divine inspiration passed through a quill and ink? Personally, I never saw what was so difficult.”
“If you do such a thing, make sure not to use my name,” Adrian said as if he thought his friend was being serious. He had just finished telling Rupert about how he and Ophelia had come to meet, the reason for their engagement, and what might happen next… if anything at all. “Or my wife’s, for that matter. Better that you leave us out entirely.”
“Ah but then who would remember you?”
“Who says that I want to be remember?”
Rupert chuckled as he had another dip sip of his drink. “The way you remain hidden in your castle as if the world does not turn around you? Clearly, being remembered is not a yearning that calls to you.”
“Nor will it ever be.”
“Oh, come now…” Rupert sat forward. “All men wish to be remembered for something. Some want power. Others want money. Many want to change the world! I know you have told me otherwise so many times, but there must be something, Vermont. What do you want?”
“To be forgotten.”
“To not be known at all.”
“Even better.”
Rupert rolled his eyes as he took a final sip and finished his glass. “Perhaps a lesser vocation? Where I have never been a party to such notions, I have met men who claim that all they want in this world is to be known as a good husband and a loving father. To leave behind that as their legacy, they claim, is a tonic that few dare to taste but all would relish were they given the chance.” He laughed. “Maybe I am a poet!”
“Some men,” Adrian said as he tasted his brandy. “Not me.”
Rupert sighed and rolled his eyes. “I do not know why I waste my time with you. I have had more interesting conversations with pieces of furniture.”
“And as I have told you a dozen times, you are the one who insists on this friendship. No matter how many times I try and cut you out…”
“I always come back,” he grinned as if this were a compliment. “Do you remember Eton? When I used to beg for you to join me and our chums in sneaking off campus so we could terrorize the locals…” He shook his head and smiled at the memory. “I don’t think I ever once managed it either.”
“Not once,” Adrian said, allowing a soft smile at the memory. “Eventually, you stopped trying. But it took you long enough.”
“And here we are,” Rupert sighed and slunk down in his chair. “Who would have guessed it? After all these years…” A shake of the head. “I do wonder why I never took the hint and left you alone, as you so desperately wanted me to do.”
“I know why,” Adrian said.
“Oh?”
“Because you like being the center of attention,” Adrian said with a slight grin. “Just as you like the fact that when you are with me, you do not need to try for it. Some men like power.Some like money. You, Rupert, like people to wonder about you. As if there is more to you than what is seen.”