The charm felt paper thin. Ophelia gritted her teeth, quite certain she’d heard him utter the same thing to Miss Yates in their last meeting.
“I’m afraid I have something of a headache—”
“Then a little exercise will surely do you good to lift it.” He raised his hand to her. Ophelia grew aware of people looking their way. Her sense of propriety won out again, fearful of what people would say if she refused a man’s offer so openly. Placing her hand in his, she let him lead her to the dance floor, but she never abandoned her search for the Duke of Northmore.
Angling her head back and forth, she eventually caught sight of him standing by the door of the ballroom. Apparently having said goodbye to their host, Lady Canning, he was collecting a frock coat and top hat from a servant. When he lifted his eyes and looked at her across the room, Ophelia felt her mouth go dry.
There was an intensity to those dark eyes that she found very enticing. She had a feeling that had she not made an error in the library just now, she might have stayed with him, and risked her reputation.
I never thought I’d do that.
He continued to look at her for another few seconds before Lord Chester pulled on her hand, wanting her attention. As she caught sight of the duke placing the top hat on his head and walking away, Ophelia couldn’t help fearing it would be the last she’d see of the Duke of Northmore.
Chapter 5
“Ophelia! Ophelia? Please wake up! I have some wonderful news.”
The hard and repetitive knock at the door persuaded Ophelia to hide her face under the pillows on her bed.
“Ophelia? Are you ignoring me or are you still asleep?”
“Asleep,” Ophelia called to the door, smiling at her own joke.
“This is no time for jests. Open the door. We may have had to leave early last night thanks to your headache, but we cannot let it ruin a second day,” Gertrude called.
“Yes, because we have the ability to brush away headaches and make them obey our orders, do we not?” Ophelia said wryly and quietly enough that Gertrude couldn’t hear.
When it became plain that Gertrude would not quit knocking on the door, Ophelia raised her head from the pillow and sat up, thinking of how long she had stayed in bed that morning. She had thought of her father all night after returning to Lady Chester’s home. It had left her crying into the early hours, over tired and in need of more sleep.
Now that she was awake, she found herself thinking of a different man entirely.
The Duke of Northmore.
In her dreams, she kept seeing that intensely dark gaze as she had left, those dark brown eyes the colour of burnt cinnamon.
“Ophelia!” Gertrude snapped and banged on the door.
“Yes, yes, I’m coming.”
Ophelia climbed out of the bed and rang the bell for her maid. Pulling on a dressing gown over her chemise, she checked she was decent before she moved to the door and let in her stepmother.
“Gertrude, what is all this noise for?” Ophelia stood a little straighter when she saw Gertrude practically dancing, giddy like a girl. “Is the floor hot? What else can have you dancing so?”
“Wonderful news. Oh, such wonderful news!” Gertrude strode into the room, past Ophelia.
“Do come in.” Ophelia’s dryness was missed by her stepmother. “What news is this?”
“I have had a visit from George today.” When Ophelia frowned, Gertrude went on. “Lord Chester. Ophelia, you danced with my nephew twice last night. Oh, you certainly have started some whispers.”
“I hope we have not,” Ophelia muttered and crossed to sit in front of her vanity table. Picking up a brush, she attempted to untangle the knots that had appeared in her hair during her rather restless night.
“You have started something greater, too.” Gertrude moved toward Ophelia, pink-cheeked, her hands clasped together.
“Do speak your mind, Gertrude, you look ready to burst with it.”
“This morning, George has asked permission to marry you.” Gertrude’s words shocked Ophelia so much that the hairbrush fell cleanly out of her hand, falling to the table. “And I have given my blessing. Oh, I cannot stand still for all this excitement!” She turned away and began to dance.
For a minute, Ophelia said nothing, for she could not summon words to describe the deadening in her stomach and her building dread. She merely watched as her stepmother danced around the room, tipping her head back and singing with delight.