Chapter 7: The Age of Innocence
1335 Words
Ophelia's POV
There was a surprising amount of time in the evenings. They didn't have homework to catch up on yet, so they had the warm, sunny late afternoon to enjoy however they chose.
Ophelia had convinced Lilac to stand by the stable pens and watch the animals for a while. After a few moments, the horses wandered up to them, and Ophelia delighted in feeding them handfuls of clover she picked from the lawn.
Lilac mused over how soft their muzzles were, murmuring sweet musings to the gentle giants.
Ophelia felt something shift in her chest, a tilting of her world that nearly made her knees weak. She swung her head around, searching for some outside force that might be responsible.
Her gaze settled on the strong back of a man shoveling straw into a stall at the near end of the stable.
Then, she couldn't tear her eyes away.
The lines of his back branched into muscular arms. He wore a pair of light colored work pants, suspenders hanging at his hips. His legs could have been tree trunks. The man was built solidly, a sturdy man with broad shoulders and a thick, dark head of hair.
When he turned to meet her eyes, she spied a tattoo on his right pectoral muscle. She froze under his stare, trying desperately to keep her eyes above his waistline. She drug her eyes up from his belt, across his chest, along his square jaw line and up to his eyes.
That shifting feeling suddenly righted, and she felt like she was standing more firmly upon the earth than she ever had in all her years. Her pulse thrummed in her ears, her heart pounding in her chest, beating against her rib cage, demanding to be free.
Under his dark mustache, she could see his lip curl back, a half smile forming. He scrubbed a hand across his stubbled jaw.
Ophelia was overwhelmed by the need to touch him. She wanted to draw him to her, she wanted to pull him to her chest and kiss him deeply.
She must have lost her mind.
"Ophelia," Lilac hissed.
Ophelia jerked her head to face Lilac, pulling her head from her daydream.
"Would you please stop making googly eyes at the gamekeeper? They already call us dirt girls, I can't have you rolling with him and confirming it," Lilac teased.
"Oh please, after you swooned over Dr. Williams all morning? I'm entitled to a crush," Ophelia retorted.
Crush felt irreverent. It felt unnatural, inappropriate to call it a crush. There was some deeper force at work here.
That was foolishness.
She must clear the thought from her mind. There was no world shifting love story at work here. There was a handsome man tending to animals. That was all.
"Fair, fair," Lilac conceded. "At least you have good taste."
A sharp snap of jealousy racked Ophelia's chest, but she pushed it aside. It was an innocent comment.
She struggled to keep her eyes away from him. A thunderous roar still galloped through her chest, impossible to ignore. Ophelia did her best to pay attention to Lilac as she spoke, though her eyes kept drifting back to the gamekeeper.
Time slipped away from her. Just his presence made seconds grind to a halt. Ophelia hadn't realized it was nearly time for dinner already. Cricket joined them just in time for them to make their way to the dining hall. Lilac and Ophelia stood from where they had rested on a stone bench off to the side of the Cottage, ones that gave them a good view of the stables.
The motion gained the attention of the gamekeeper once more. Lilac rolled her eyes dramatically, but Ophelia couldn't help but offer a small wave as a goodbye.
He raised a hand, a salute and a dismissal.
Ophelia could feel her cheeks heat in a soft pink blush.
"Who is that?" Cricket asked curiously.
"Ophelia's taken a liking to the gamekeeper. They haven't even spoken to each other yet, and she's already weak in the knees over him," Lilac taunted.
"Oh, please, I am not," Ophelia laughed, a blatant lie.
"I wouldn't blame you if you were. He's stunning," Cricket agreed.
"Thank you, Cricket," Ophelia replied, still fighting to shove down another twinge of jealousy.
The women strolled to the dining hall, debating over which class they thought would be the hardest.
In line for dinner, the conversation turned to books. They discussed the merits and detriments of the classics, their presence in more modern literature, and which authors relied too heavily on tropes from the classics to make their writing seem intelligent.
Literary discussion was safe ground for Ophelia. She had minored in literature. While it hadn't done much for her journalism career, it was a luxury to devote part of her four years earning a degree to getting to hide inside of books.
"I'll tell you what, I got bored with the classics the moment I found this one author, Lark Arthur. Have you read her yet?" Lilac asked salaciously.
Cricket clapped a hand over her mouth. "I thought I was the only one! My friends think she's below them, but I can't stop reading her. Ugh, if I could find my very own Roy Makers, I'd be a much happier woman."
"Wouldn't we all?" agreed Lilac.
"I don't know anything about Lark Arthur or Roy Makers or any of that," Ophelia confessed.
Cricket and Lilac gasped.
"You have to read her! Roy Makers is the love interest in one of her books. I have a copy in the room, I'll lend it to you as soon as we get back tonight," Lilac explained.
"She rights...sultry stories. They're really beautiful, the plot is incredible, it's just, she doesn't shy away from certain other...details," Cricket implied.
Ophelia grinned and nodded. "I see. Well, I'd definitely be willing to give it a try."
"You'll be willing to do more than that once you get to chapter six," Lilac teased.
Cricket giggled scandalously.
While Ophelia had no idea what they were implying, she knew she couldn't wait to figure it out.
After dinner was over, Cricket scampered back to her dorm, admitting she was afraid of staying out too late because she was afraid of the dark. Lilac had practically skipped back to the Cottage, eager to dig up the book she had promised Ophelia.
Ophelia took her time, soaking up the last rays of sunlight and watching twilight cool the world. A few brilliant stars blinked open sleepy eyes.
She reached the door of her room at the cottage, placing a hand on the handle.
"Tell me why I can't seem to purge you from my mind," a voice asked from behind her.
The air around him smelled like oak and amber, his voice a velvet rumble. His words were lilted with a slight Scottish accent.
Ophelia turned to face him, though she knew who was there before she ever turned around.
They'd never spoken before, but they didn't have to. She would have known him anywhere. The thrumming in her chest settled to the babbling of a brook, a comforting background noise to this interaction.
"I should ask you the same thing," she retorted.
"It's impolite to distract me so without at the very least introducing yourself." The gamekeeper took another step towards her, hands in his pockets.
"Shouldn't a gentleman introduce himself first?" she mused, trying desperately to steady her pounding pulse.
"Hmm, but who said I was a gentleman?" The gamekeeper took another step closer, so close that their lips were only a breath apart.
"Ophelia," she breathed, eyes fluttering.
"Samuel," he breathed back, head tipping to the side as he leaned just a fraction of an inch closer.
"And I'm Lilac," Lilac interrupted.
Ophelia and Samuel jumped, the moment murdered by Lilac's intrusion.
Samuel offered a hand to Lilac and shook it.
"I guess I should be going," he said, suddenly shy, and disappeared behind the cottage.
- Writer
