She adored the fact that the room could be both cozy and full of light. It allowed her to read not just by candlelight, and she didn’t grow tired during the afternoon, something she had found that she did in more dreary chambers, given the grey days of England.
No, this bright, beautiful room allowed her to spend hours upon hours, devouring every book in it. And she savored the fact that she could spend as many hours tucked away as she pleased because now there was not some sort of strange expectation that she attempt to gain attention from society.
Nor did she have to spend time desperately trying to convince herself to sparkle to find the security of a husband.
She had found her husband, but as of yet, it wasn’t the relationship that she dared to long for.
And with Peter? She did indeed dare to long for more than mere security.
Perhaps it was foolish, but she could not cease in her hopes and aspirations.
She knew it was early days, yet she still wanted more. She wanted that feeling that had stretched between them and brought them close together and made him kiss her.
It was there. She knew it, but it was just out of reach. Oh, they were pleasant with each other, and at night, their bodies met. Each night was a revelation of pleasure.
But she wanted that to continue into the daylight.
She scoured over the book she’d discovered in Hatchards, determined to find some answer. Surely, if she studied those lines, she’d find something to bring them together.
There were many things about how to look at a gentleman, how to give a tilt of the lips, a proper smile, how to angle one’s body, how to walk about a room to appear pleasing.
But she thought that none of those things was going to work on Peter. He had seen it all before. He knew the seduction of ladies, and he’d been quite clear upon the point that he was not easily taken in.
And then, just as she was about to give up and choose a novel by Mrs. Radcliffe, she came upon a particularly interesting chapter.
Take notice of his interests, it declared boldly.
My dear wallflower, talk to him about them. Engage in conversation with him about whatever intrigues him, do whatever you can to elicit commentary about the things that he enjoys and support that. Help to bring that joy more into his life.
Those sentences seemed to be very wise indeed.
She closed the book and looked to the towering windows. How did she find out exactly what he enjoyed? Really, there was only one sensible answer. She was simply going to have to talk to him about it and make inquiries.
It was a rather direct route.
There was nothing particularly seductive about it, but then again, she didn’t need to seduce him. He also had intimated that he didn’t wish to be seduced. Not in a normal way. No, Peter required something else. Just as she did.
They were husband and wife. Making inquires into his personal likes was surely acceptable.
So, Ophelia placed the book down, then stood and smoothed her skirts. This was going to be no small thing. She was not used to seeking him out. After all, she didn’t wish to bother him. She’d been foisted on him, and she did not wish to distract him from the many duties he had, but she also did not wish to find them growing apart by lack of effort.
She hated the idea that one day they could be living essentially separate lives whilst exchanging pleasantries over toast. She’d seen it happen enough in the ton, and she didn’t like the idea that she and Peter could become thus.
Squaring her shoulders, Ophelia headed out into the hallway in search of him.
It took at least fifteen minutes to locate her husband in his maze-like townhouse, which was far larger than most of the abodes in West London.
After going from room to room, she found him in a cozy study at the back of the house.
The chamber was smaller than she would have thought of a study for an earl. But there he sat as the sun was setting behind him, tucked into a dark green leather chair before the fire, a large ledger on a transportable mahogany table desk beside him.
Lost in thought, he was poring over it and writing at a furious pace.
Carefully, refusing to back away despite his absorption, she stepped across the threshold.
“Hello, Peter,” she ventured.
He did not look up but continued to write, his brow furrowed.