A little later, Ophelia’s father came to fetch her, worked up into quite a state of panic, and somehow or other they made it safely home. In no time at all, rumors of the “strange, sickly Lady Ophelia” began circling amongst the younger members of society. After this, Ophelia’s father stopped forcing her into crowded situations.
A few days after the disastrous tea party, Lady Dominica came to call upon Ophelia, bringing along a gift of sweets. Seeing Ophelia chatting happily with the other young lady without shaking or falling even once brought tears of joy to the eyes of not only her father and brother but also the family’s servants. It was what they’d all hoped and prayed for: Ophelia’s long-awaited first friend.
After that, Dominica visited Ophelia many more times. Ophelia’s heart ached with guilt every time Dominica expressed concern over her health, genuinely believing the reason Ophelia couldn’t leave her house was because of a weak constitution. The fact that Ophelia also reacted to her own lies only exacerbated that, and the way her body shook every time she answered Dominica’s well-meaning questions only made Dominica worry even more.
Unable to bear lying to her only friend any longer, Ophelia decided to reveal her secret. She knew Dominica might find her creepy and hate her. But she didn’t want to lie anymore, so she came clean about everything. For a long moment, Dominica just stared at Ophelia in shock. Then she opened her mouth and said something entirely unexpected.
“So does this mean I don’t have to put on an act at all around you?”
Dominica smiled broadly when Ophelia nodded, confusion plain on her face.
“You see, I grew up in the countryside and have a bad habit of always saying the first thing that comes to mind. I’m always being scolded for it. But if you actually prefer that… It’s a huge relief for me! Let’s be the very best of friends, okay?!”
When the hand that she’d been prepared to have to let go of only clutched on tighter, it touched Ophelia so deeply that she couldn’t stop crying for the rest of the day.
The days passed peacefully, and before they knew it, Ophelia and Dominica had turned nineteen. Most noble ladies were married by the age of twenty. In keeping with this rule, Dominica, too, had married several months earlier. The groom was Margrave Bressando, who ruled over a border province close to the Moreland family’s country estate. He was significantly older than her, but Dominica had harbored a secret crush on him for years.
Ophelia had used up every drop of courage she’d possessed to attend the first “friend’s wedding ceremony” she’d ever been invited to—and probably also the last if she was being realistic. She’d spent the entire two-week journey out to Margrave Bressando’s province holed up in the carriage all day and her room at the inn each night, but in the end, she arrived safely.
Then came the day of the wedding ceremony…
Duke Claudio Stolarni was among the guests gathered inside the solemn, majestic old church. She’d heard from Dominica in advance that he would be attending as a representative for the king. However, his beauty far surpassed all the rumors she’d heard about him.
His strawberry-blond hair, so rare for a man, was thick and glossy and tied back elegantly to fall past his shoulders. Long eyelashes, the same color as his hair, framed a pair of intense lapis lazuli eyes. He was blessed with an elegantly shaped nose and attractively thin lips. Truly, he was just so beautiful that one might be tempted to mistake him for a female angel if not for his impressive height and fit, masculine figure.
This beauty, combined with the perfectly tailored, high-quality suit he wore, its intricate design and embellishments distinguishing him as a former royal, was too much for Ophelia, who became an instant fan.
Just looking upon such a beautiful person from afar was enough to make the ordeal of attending this wedding worth it, she decided. It was just a shame that she’d probably never get another glimpse of him, given her entire world was restricted to her home, the Architectural Institute, and the short carriage rides back and forth between the two.
Around the time the duke’s face had started to grow fuzzy in her memory, Ophelia’s brother received an invitation to a ball hosted by the royal family. The list of attendees attached to the invitation included the names of Duke Stolarni and his fiancée, Lady Stella Meucci. Stella was famous for being one of a very short list of ladies who constantly vied for the title of “most beautiful woman in society.” It was rumored that she’d refused all suitors until the age of twenty-two because she was single-mindedly in love with Duke Stolarni.
What a majestic picture the most beautiful woman in the country would make on the arm of the most beautiful man in the country…
In an entirely uncharacteristic move, Ophelia impulsively decided to attend the ball. Her pride at surviving the trip to Bressando Province, which spanned an entire month, may have skewed her assessment of her abilities.
The night of the ball, Duke Stolarni wore a fierce expression, and there was a sharpness to his gaze that hadn’t been there during the wedding ceremony. Even from across the room, Ophelia could feel the brooding aura that rolled off of him. Everyone in the vicinity practically shivered from his sub-frigid attitude. Even Lady Stella, despite her supposed true love for the duke, had been almost entirely ignored by him.
Ophelia had been clinging to her brother’s arm while observing the duke, but the lip service of the nobles around her caused her legs to shake so badly that she could barely stand. When Ophelia found herself unexpectedly separated from her brother by the press of bodies all around them, she ended up stumbling around, disoriented, as she tried to find her way back to Bernard.
The next thing she knew, the duke was standing right in front of her with his back to her, and Lady Stella was speaking to him, a wine glass raised to her lips. Just as she registered how pleasant Lady Stella’s slightly husky voice was to listen to, Ophelia’s knees suddenly buckled.
In a desperate bid to keep herself upright, Ophelia crouched in a wide-legged, bent-kneed position that, although highly inappropriate for a gently bred young lady, was fairly stable. However, the flattering comment one of the gentlemen offered the duke a moment later was the final straw that made Ophelia’s legs give out completely.
Mere seconds before she would’ve crashed directly into the duke, her brother swooped in to save her.
The duke turned a frigid gaze upon Ophelia and her highly suspicious behavior. In the space of a single heartbeat, she stopped shaking completely, proving that he was genuinely as angry as he appeared.
Looking back on it, Ophelia was mortified that she’d not been able to properly respond to Lady Stella, kindly asking if she was okay. All of her focus had been on trying to control the shaking that had started back up in her legs as her brother desperately attempted to cover up her odd behavior.
Ophelia was shocked that the duke was actually so frightening. She’d completely misread him at the wedding ceremony. Now she was more convinced than ever that she shouldn’t go out among people.
Immediately following the disaster of the ball, Ophelia had donated the custom-made gown she’d been wearing to the local orphanage. They would carefully deconstruct it and use the fine material to make various small cloth items to sell at the local bazaar.
A horse’s whinny and the carriage’s squeaking tires snapped Ophelia out of her musings. They’d arrived at the Architectural Institute. Ophelia took Bernard’s hand and allowed him to help her down from the carriage.
While walking sandwiched protectively between her father and brother, Ophelia never noticed Samael watching her from the shadows.