“Shakespeare is most amusing,” she said, her voice brighter than it had been this morning.
“I’m glad you agree,” he replied, slightly confused by her tone.
Her fan beat a pace.
“Lady Ophelia,” he said, studying her face, “are you overly warm? Should we move away from the fire?”
She let out a giggle, a sound that he had never heard pass her lips. It did not fit her. It was most strange.
“Oh, you do say the funniest things, my lord.”
“Do I?” he asked, blinking. The phrase was nothing like the ones that had been blunt and heartening this morning
“You do indeed.” She cleared her throat and smiled. “Most amusing.”
Another laugh passed her lips. What the devil had happened to her since this afternoon? He swung his gaze from the fan to her gaze, then back again as he considered her inane line of conversation.
“Are you unwell?” he asked.
“Me? No, of course not,” she said, and the fan waved again quite rapidly.
He frowned. “You seem different.”
“Do I?” she asked, her eyes sparkling and her lips parting in a large grin before she quickly turned that grin into a much more demure smile.
Perhaps she was overheating, which might explain her odd behavior.
“Yes, perhaps you need some fresh air,” he observed, hoping to return her to the frank young woman at Hatchards.
“A bit of fresh air might do me good,” she said.
With that, he took her arm and quickly led her out through one of the arched doorways and into the hall.
“Perhaps a bit of cool air from outside,” he said. “You keep waving that fan as if you feel overly warm. Indeed, your vigor in the application of it has me concerned. Should I send for your mother?”
She scowled suddenly, whipped the fan closed, and dropped it down to her side.
“Oh drat,” she lamented.
With that, she turned on her heel and began striding down the hallway, away from him, at a remarkable speed.
He felt his innards twist.
Had he said something terribly wrong?
He followed her, unable to stop himself, until they came out into the small garden behind her house.
They were alone.
It was, he knew, a mistake, and yet he could not abandon her. The lady seemed so distressed. He had never seen her distressed. She was always a picture of composure tucked in a corner. This was most odd. He did not know what had caused her to run away so quickly.
As he pursued her, he saw that her head was bowed. She was staring at the ground. It was not a position he wished to see her in. She seemed rather defeated. He hated that. He’d loved the brightness of her face today.
“I am so sorry,” he said. “Lady Ophelia, I did not mean to cause you discontent. What have I said to cause—”
“It is not you,” she said firmly, turning towards him, her eyes flashing.
The sight of those flashing eyes sparked something inside him. He adored the spirit he saw. It was so different than just a moment before. A moment before, she’d seemed so...like the silly young ladies of the ton.