Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
“A good husband.” She smothered a laugh behind a small, gloved hand. “What a perfectly polite thing to say. Now tell me the truth, Ophelia, because I’d always pictured Jack being a bang-up husband when he finally got married, but the two of you are chilly as anything together.”
“Chilly?”
“Chilly,” Elizabeth repeated, not taking any of the bluntness off the word. “Like you don’t care for each other very much.”
Ophelia blinked, wondering how to explain the direction of their marriage so far. Chilly, yes, and a disaster too, especially in the bedroom.
And that, Ophelia, is entirely your stubborn fault.
“We are still getting to know each other, I suppose,” she said aloud.
Wescott’s sister had an uncanny habit of studying people’s faces, and whenever she turned those eyes on Ophelia, she felt she could read every emotion there—even the ones she hid.
“You know, we have hardly been married,” she went on. “It’s only been a few days. Things can’t be perfect all at once.”
“No,” Elizabeth agreed. “Things will improve when you know Wescott better.” Her sincerity was endearing, as was her adoration for her big brother. “He’s the best sort of man. He can tease and be sweet, but be strong and protective too. He knows how to fight with swords, did you know that?”
Ophelia shook her head, glancing over at her husband, deep in conversation with his friend. What was he telling him? How awful she was as a wife? How many times he’d had to punish her thus far?
“He learned to wield swords because he was too restless to succeed at piano,” Elizabeth went on. “My brother Gareth and he used to practice with swords for hours, and pretend they were knights rescuing damsels. Gareth grew out of it, he’s off now at university, but Wescott stayed with it. When he’s in London, he practices at a club with other swordsmen, not that gentlemen fight with swords anymore like they did in the old days. But he looks so dashing when he does.”
Ophelia sat quietly, listening to all this. Wescott, adept at swordplay? What an interesting hobby, and she hadn’t heard a word about it from him.
“He has an armor room here at the Abbey,” Elizabeth said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I don’t know where it is. I’ve never been allowed in.”
“Why not?”
She giggled. “Because I’m his annoying little sister and he doesn’t trust me with the knowledge. It’s hidden away. There’s a secret passage or something to get there. I suppose it’s down underground, so I don’t want to go there, but isn’t it interesting? I’m sure he’ll show it to you some day.”
Ophelia wasn’t so sure, but she held her tongue.
“There are ghosts too, I think,” Elizabeth went on. “Perhaps they take up the swords in Wescott’s secret armory and have battles while we all sleep.”
Goodness, his sister was imaginative. “I’m looking forward to meeting all the ghosts here, and finding Wescott’s secret hideaways.”
Elizabeth looked pleased, her pretty face lighting up. “Oh, I hope you do. It’s the perfect continuation of your love story.”
“I don’t know that we have a love story yet,” said Ophelia, not quite suppressing a sigh.
“Oh, but you do. He rescued you the night of that awful fire, like a knight in shining armor.” Elizabeth clasped her hands, her voice going soft and dreamy. “You were a real-life damsel in distress.”
“That was a terrible night, though, not a fantasy in any way.”
“But he saved you, and look at you both now, married, setting up a home in this fascinating, mysterious old place.”
Ophelia couldn’t imagine how Elizabeth thought any of those were good things, or romantic things. She’d had so many nightmares about the fire, and now his sister was stirring up the idea of ghosts…
Wescott turned at that moment to look at her, and in his gaze she saw a protectiveness she didn’t expect. He appeared quickly enough each time she had a nightmare, and beat away the fiery demons that tormented her. It wasn’t difficult to imagine him brandishing a sword, and probably besting all the other gentlemen at his London sports club.
“The swords have blunt edges,” Elizabeth said, as if she’d heard Ophelia’s thoughts. “So they can’t stab each other, although they do get hurt sometimes. Wescott came home with such a bruise one day when he was younger. It ran all along his side and up his right arm. Mama didn’t like it at all, but Papa said he could be brash if he liked it, for he was to be the duke one day.”
“He’s good at being brash,” Ophelia said, turning from her husband’s gaze.
“How was it when he rescued you?” asked Elizabeth wistfully. “Was it as romantic as I imagine? I’d like to be rescued someday. It must be a lovely feeling, to be whisked away from danger by someone caring and strong.”