In the Duke's Bed by Eva Devon

Author:Eva Devon [Devon, Eva]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Eva Devon
Published: 2017-01-15T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Men are mystifying creatures.

Ophelia’s Notebook

“Did you conquer London, my dear?” Lady Darlington asked as Ophelia entered the room.

Ophelia flung her bonnet onto an empty chair and raced across the chamber, her gaze firmly fixed on her mama’s face. “I did.”

Her mother let out a free and infectious laugh. Delight gave her face a youth and health that she no longer had, and it was glorious to see. “I knew you would, my love.”

Ophelia set herself carefully on the edge of the bed, not wishing to jostle her mother. Despite her care, a subtle wince crossed her mother’s face, and a bit of the joy that had flooded Ophelia earlier diminished. It would always be there now. That deathly shadow, threatening to encompass them all.

Ophelia swallowed, determined not to borrow trouble, determined not to live in a future where her mother was not there, not when her mother was here before her, full of joy. “Rossetti, Mama. He wishes to paint me.”

Her mother clapped her hands together, her blue eyes lighting up. “I am so proud of you. And tonight. . .”

Ophelia reached out and placed her hand over her mother’s thin ones. “Tonight?”

“The duke is taking you to a ball. You shall see Ruskin. Andrew assured me the famous patron will be there.”

“Mama, I am not leaving you. I have spent far too much time away today and—”

Her mother gave her a remonstrating look reminiscent of the ones she’d given when Ophelia was a child. “Did we not come to London for just this purpose?”

“But—”

A slight cough filled the room and Ophelia tensed. She glanced back over her shoulder and spotted a slightly plump woman with silvery hair. The woman’s face seemed to hold an infinite kindness. For a moment, Ophelia was captivated by the sheer serenity radiating from the woman.

Resentment at the interruption was impossible given the woman had such a lovely countenance.

Her mother reached up and rested her hand over Ophelia’s. “This is Mrs. Rourke. Andrew has obtained her services. She will look after me so that you might continue in your work.”

Ophelia’s throat tightened. She didn’t want to work. She didn’t wish to give up this time with her mother and, yet, she knew she couldn’t lie down and die alongside her beautiful mama. To do such a thing would have been an insult to her mother’s love. Wouldn’t it?

Her heart, her terrified heart, screamed, No. It desired to do nothing but climb into bed, cradle her mother and hold on until there was no one left to hold on to. But such actions were the actions of madness. Still. . .

“Mama, I don’t think—”

“Clearly, you haven’t thought,” her mother said abruptly. “Mrs. Rourke, please come here.”

The older woman strode forward calmly, her lavender skirts rustling. “Yes, me lady?” The soft Irish roll of her words rippled through the room, as warm and comforting as a hot apple tart.

“We must convince my daughter that, above anything, I wish to see her happy before. . .” A sheen glimmered in Lady Darlington’s gaze and she blinked rapidly.

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