She chuckled. “I was not expecting it, Mr. Watley. I am just pleased that he has given his blessing.”
“I am sending Charles with you.” He indicated down the driveway where a carriage sat waiting. “If you need anything, he will happily oblige.”
“I am sure I will be fine.”
They walked to the carriage together, where Charles, one of the manor’s servants, opened the door for her. He was young, energetic, and his smile was the type that showed off every single tooth inside his mouth. He would be Ophelia’s chaperone, as it was not proper for a young woman to travel by herself.
“Happy shopping,” Mr. Watley said as she climbed into the carriage. “I look forward to seeing what you purchase.”
“As am I,” she said truthfully, and with a generous smile. “As am I.”
Mr. Watley closed the door, and the carriage started down the driveway and into London.
Last evening, when Adrian had told Ophelia that he expected them to start attending social events together, a small part of her had wondered if he was just saying what he thought he must and that the next day, her husband would revert to his same emotionally distance self.
As it turned out, their serendipitous meeting in the kitchen was as significant as she had hoped, a true step forward in their relationship. And certainly not the last step either.
It was as Ophelia broke her fast that Adrian found her, explaining quickly and without inflection that if they were to attend balls and galas together as man and wife, that she needed to look the part. What was more, it seemed as if he already knew which they would first attend, and thus it was imperative that she be ready.
“Whatever it is that you have planned for today, it will have to wait,” he told her. “If we are to be seen in public together, there must be no question that our marriage is real and without incident. You will require a gown…” He looked down at her. “Several, I think.”
“Oh.” She had blinked in surprise. “I… I do not have any gowns, Adrian. Perhaps I can send word to my father, as he will have some of my mother’s old gowns from before she passed away.”
“Do not be silly,” he said. “Your gowns will be your own. Made for you especially, tailored to suit, and befitting of your status as my wife.”
“What do you have in mind…”
He made the preparations himself, sending ahead to a modiste that he knew to be highly recommend, warning that she would be attending later to be fitted for a new wardrobe. It was not a question but a demand, and Ophelia was happy to take it.
It was slowly done. It was not always easy. But Adrian was accepting their marriage, as well as doing everything he could to make Ophelia feel welcome.
“Here we are…” Charles spoke up as the carriage came to a steady halt by the side of the road.
Ophelia looked out the window, noting that they were somewhere in London, but she could not say where exactly.What she could say was that she had been brought directly to the storefront of a modiste, as she saw immediately the dresses in the window.
“How fun,” she beamed as she shuffled toward the carriage door. “Charles, you may wait in here for me.”
“Oh.” He hesitated. “Mr. Watley said that I was to –”
“I will be quite fine,” she assured him with a soft chuckle. “But this is lady’s business, Charles. I would hate to bore you with you.”
He was clearly not comfortable with letting her out of his sight, but he did not argue. What he did do was help her from the carriage and then open the front door of the modiste as she walked inside.
“Your Grace!” The modiste was an elderly lady who was so short that she only just reached Ophelia’s shoulders. But her smile was the type that took over half her face, and her eyes were light green and expressive. “Welcome, welcome. Please, come in.”
“Oh, you know who I am?” Ophelia asked in surprise.
“Of course,” she said. “I have been expecting you. However…” She grimaced apologetically. “It should be known that on such occasions as this, I will always insist on closing the store so that we would not be disturbed. Alas, His Grace’s message arrived at such a time that I was expecting another today.”
“That would be me.”
Ophelia looked across the store and found who had spoken.
She stood on a stool, her gown filled with pins and various swathes of material. Of a similar age to Ophelia, her hair was onyx, thick and flowing down her back, while her skin was as white as milk. Tall and lithe of body, her features were sharp, while her dark eyes matched the friendly smile that took her face.
Ophelia had never seen her before, she knew nothing of the young lady, but the moment that she saw her standing there, she got the sense that she was a kind soul and someone whom Ophelia might like.
“I do apologize, Your Grace,” the young woman said. “Had I known that you were coming, I would never have dreamed of interfering.”