“Thank you,” Ophelia answered, reaching for Cordelia’s hand.
But Bianca shook her head. “Wouldn’t it be better to just tell Papa and have him force a match? Then you’d be married to a duke.”
Ophelia shook her head. “I don’t want a husband who has been forced.” She thought of all her dreams. How her match came to be was as important to her as the end result of marriage.
“Besides,” Juliet shrugged. “Papa isn’t even titled. He might fail to force a duke into anything and then Ophelia would be without a husband or a connection.”
“So it’s agreed,” Cordelia said. “We don’t tell Papa and we allow Ophelia to aid the duke.”
Ophelia frowned. “If he even comes back. At this point, I’m not certain he will.” And despite her determination in the wee hours of the night to help the man, she wasn’t at all sure she wanted him to. Even wounded, or maybe because of the wounds he bore, he had great potential to hurt her. Her stomach flipped. Perhaps instead of planning how to help him, she should pray he never came back.
Chapter Six
The wind whipped at the carriage, rattling the wood. Though the rain had passed, heavy gusts had clearly blown away the storm and most everything else. Chase had passed two barns that had collapsed in the high wind, and unease set in his stomach like a stone.
First, he couldn’t shake the feeling he wasn’t where he belonged, and he’d debated turning back a dozen or so times. Second, he had some vague worry about Ophelia and the wind, though he knew she was tucked safely inside her house built of stone, he felt like he should be next to her even now, making sure she was safe.
One damned kiss and he was a mooning fool. But it was more than the kiss. He’d been mad for her after it, yes, but their conversation in the hall…it had shifted something inside him. He’d told her things he hadn’t spoken of in years.
He scrubbed his face. He needed to go back. Whatever had happened between himself and Ophelia, he needed to explore it. Then he let out a grunt as he dropped his hands. He could add Ophelia to the list of growing problems for which he had no answers.
But one certainty had become clear. Whatever information he sought, it was not at the Baron Balstead’s party. And just knowing that made him relax back in his seat.
“Yer Grace,” his driver called. “I think ye should see this.” The carriage squeaked to a halt.
Chase didn’t bother to wait for the door to be opened. He clicked the latch himself and swung out of the vehicle. They were perched above a decent cliff that descended down into a river. A bridge connected the land to the other side but several travelers stood before the entrance, not crossing to the other side.
He started for the men collected at the opening. A farmer sat on top of his wagon, another traveler stood nearby on foot and three finely dressed men sat on horseback. He narrowed his gaze. Why did they look familiar? He grimaced, trying to place them, as the three men approached.
“What’s happened?” He asked, still not sure where he knew them from.
The one closest to him swung down. “Bridge is out, damaged from the storm.” His tone was flat and his words clipped as he looked at Chase with his brow set low over his eyes.
Chase assessed the bridge. From what he could see it looked intact.
The second man removed his hat and swept a hand through his golden hair. He couldn’t have been more opposite from the other fellow. His blond hair glinted in the sun as his blue eyes flashed. “Looks all right from here but several of the boards washed out. Whole sections. It will take days to repair.”
The third one grunted, “We’re already late. At this rate, we’ll miss all of Balstead’s party.”
Chase gave them a sharp glare, his memory clicking into place. These men had been at the club with Balstead the night the man had invited him. “You’re heading to Balstead’s too.”
The last man swung down from his mount. “Viscount of Dashlane, at your service. Nice to see you again, Your Grace.”
“The Indecent Duke?” the blond crowed. “Here in Seabridge Gate. What an odd place to meet again but a welcome surprise. I am the Earl of Crestwood and this is my perfectly awful friend, the Baron of Craven. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
Chase jerked his chin. “What brings you along this road to reach Balstead’s?”
“My country estate is just south of here. We made our way there to check on my holdings first and were delayed by a few issues.” Crestwood gave a shrug. “Now it appears we’ll be delayed again.”
“Shame,” Dashlane murmured. “There’s nothing but milkmaids and fishermen’s daughters in these parts. Nothing a man could sink his teeth into.”
Chase shifted on his feet. The man’s words rang vulgar to his ear and caused his stomach to sour. “How will you get to the party?”
Craven’s brow furrowed. “It’ll take days to find another river crossing. The only option is by boat but it will mean buying new horses on the other side.”
Crestwood shrugged. “That’s all right. It’ll be an adventure and well worth the trouble. We’ll head back down to Seabridge Gate and find someone to charter us north. Maybe.”
Bloody hell and feck, Chase swore softly under his breath. These men were going to head straight to Ophelia. “Why don’t I travel with you?” He had absolutely no intention of going to Balstead’s and even less inclination to get on a boat, but he’d see these men safely off to their party—and away from Ophelia.
And if any of them attempted to touch Ophelia…well, they were going to answer to him.
Ophelia made her way down the rocky path, breathing in the fresh air. The wind whipped her bonnet but at least it had dried most of the water so the mud had dried. Juliet picked a path behind her. “Slow down. Why are you in such a hurry?”
Ophelia didn’t quite know how to answer that. As the eldest woman in the family, she often performed the duties of mistress and one of them was going to the market to pick out their cuts of meat. “It’s a beautiful day and I feel like a good walk.”
Which was true. She enjoyed the exercise and fresh air as well as the relationships she had with many of the villagers. Seabridge Gate was located in an inlet, with lots of colorfully painted buildings dotting the shore. A main street led down to the docks where her father spent much of his time. The village itself was built around a square and it gave the town a lovely spot to congregate. At the very end, stood a large, steepled church. She stopped for a moment admiring her home. She loved it here. Always had.
Then why did she feel this driving urge to find…something else? Romance, love, marriage. Why couldn’t Seabridge Gate be enough?
From across the square, four men caught her attention. Something in the way one of them stood, legs apart, reminded her of the duke. But that couldn’t be. He’d gone, left for his house party, his return uncertain.
But thinking of him did remind her of the real reason she was in such a hurry to come down to the village. She’d wondered, would the village seem the same after her first brush with romance?
“Gads, Ophelia, you nearly sprinted here,” Juliet puffed, tucking a stray lock of her blonde hair back into her bonnet. “I’ll ask again. What is your hurry?”