“The wedding will be soon; we’ll make sure of it. What a happy couple you will make.”
“H-happy?” Ophelia spluttered. Standing to her feet abruptly, she caught the attention of her stepmother. “You forget one thing, Gertrude. In your effort to orchestrate my life, both you and your nephew have neglected to ask me how I feel on this matter.”
“What do you mean?” Gertrude faltered, her hands falling limp at her side. “You danced with him, twice, and is he not charming?”
“He has charmed many ladies.”
“Charming, indeed.”
“I did not say I was one of them.” Ophelia stepped away from her mirror. “Let me make myself plain. Whilst I respect your nephew,” she gritted her teeth with the words, for in truth she was not sure how much she respected a rogue who had a habit of charming more than one woman at a time and would, no doubt, not be faithful to a wife, “I cannot marry him.”
“Why not?” Gertrude jumped forward. “Ophelia, do you not understand this is a viscount asking for your hand in marriage?”
“Yes, I do.” Ophelia walked away from her stepmother, though it accomplished little, for Gertrude began to follow her around the room.
“You will be a viscountess. You are the daughter of the fifth son of a viscount. Any chance you had before of making such a match would have seemed mad. Absurd!”
Gertrude began following her as a wasp would its prey. Ophelia thought it an odd thing to say. With the fortune to her name now, she had a very healthy dowry.
“Your father would think well of the match; I know he would.”
Ophelia stopped walking. Disgusted to hear Gertrude’s presumption, she turned back to face her stepmother with a stare. She supposed it must have been a powerful one, for Gertrude abruptly backed up.
“Do not presume to know my father’s mind.” Her words were deathly quiet. “I know that had I told him I did not want to marry, he would have accepted it without a doubt. He would not have endeavoured to persuade me otherwise. He would listen to me.”
“I am listening to you.” Gertrude offered a kind smile, but Ophelia noticed it did not stay in place for long.
What is happening? Why does Gertrude wish me to marry her nephew so badly?
“Yet as your stepmother, it is my job to take care of you.” She placed gentle hands on Ophelia’s arms. “I want to see you well-loved and taken care of. George, I believe, is the man for that.”
“But I do not believe it.” Ophelia stepped away from her touch. “If you are a loving stepmother, then listen to me now, Gertrude, I beg of you.”
She thought briefly of marrying Lord Chester. She imagined dull conversations where he described in detail how he had shot the pheasants on their estate. She imagined sitting at home, waiting for him to return after his latest escapades with his mistresses. It was not the life she wanted, nor was she prepared to accept it.
“I do not wish to marry your nephew.”
Gertrude went to speak, but Ophelia cut her off, begging her to understand.
“Please, see it from my perspective. I do not love Lord Chester. I wish the best for him, of course, but my father has left me enough money to live comfortably alone. If I decide to marry someday, it will be a choice of my own. I will not be induced into marriage for any other reason.”
Ophelia waited for Gertrude to agree with her, but she didn’t. Gertrude just continued to stare, apparently swallowing uncomfortably, for it was so audible.
As the silence stretched on, Ophelia returned to her vanity table and picked up the hairbrush she had dropped. When she placed it to her hair, trying to oust some of the knots, Gertrude found her voice.
“I am still your guardian, Ophelia.” Gertrude’s words were strangely quiet. It was a tone Ophelia could not remember hearing from her stepmother before. It was quiet and strained.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that I am your guardian, and you must obey my orders.” Gertrude crossed to Ophelia and took the hairbrush from her hand, evidently to make sure she had Ophelia’s attention. “You will marry George, because I have told you that you will, and I have given my blessing to the match. Nothing can change that now.”
“But I have said no.” Ophelia tried to take the hairbrush back.
“And I have said yes!” Gertrude snapped, breathing heavily. “This cannot be changed, Ophelia. You will do as I say. George has had his answer, and now you have yours.”
She tossed the brush down to the table, but it rebounded off the surface and clattered against the mirror, shattering it to pieces. Gertrude hurried from the room as Ophelia stepped back, staring at her fractured reflection in the looking glass.
“My lady?” the maid’s voice disturbed Ophelia a few minutes later. “My goodness, what has happened?”