Emma looked up, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “What do you mean?”
Ophelia hesitated, her gaze drifting to the river. “It’s not my story to tell,” she said softly. “But Evan once told me whyhe agreed to our arrangement. It wasn’t just for my sake. He truly believed he couldn’t ever love anyone. He was afraid of becoming like his father.”
Emma nodded, her chest tightening. “He told me about his father. And his mother. I can’t imagine how painful it must have been for him, carrying that alone.”
Ophelia smiled faintly. “I’m glad he finally shared it with someone. He’s stronger for it, Emma, and I think he’s better with you in his life.”
The conversation turned, and Emma eventually inquired about Ophelia’s own prospects. Ophelia sighed. “I’ve endured introductions to two gentlemen this week, both arranged by my grandmother. Neither suited me in the least, and I’ve refused to see them again. Now, Grandmother is suggesting I join a convent.”
“A convent?” Emma’s voice rose in disbelief. “Ophelia, surely you can’t mean it!”
Ophelia shrugged, a wry smile curving her lips. “It wouldn’t be the worst option. At least there, I wouldn’t be forced into a loveless marriage. And perhaps… perhaps I could find a way back to Massimo. I could run away, join him in Italy again.”
Emma’s heart softened at the quiet determination in her friend’s voice. “You’d leave everything behind to be with him?”
Ophelia’s eyes gleamed with resolve. “I would. I’ve already lost him once. I won’t let it happen again.”
Emma reached out, taking her friend’s hand. “Then I’ll help you. If you choose to join a convent as a cover, we’ll ensure it leads you back to Massimo.”
Ophelia’s grip tightened. “Thank you, Emma. Truly. I’ve missed our friendship more than I can say.”
“And I, you,” Emma replied sincerely. They sat in companionable silence, the gentle rippling of the Serpentine providing a soothing backdrop. After a time, Ophelia’s expression turned playful. “I heard about Lord Wren and Evan. Is it true Evan defended your honor?”
Emma laughed, recounting the incident with evident delight. Ophelia sighed wistfully when Emma concluded. “How romantic. That’s how Massimo and I met too, you know. He defended me from hoodlums in Venice. That’s when I knew I loved him.”
Emma’s heart swelled at the similarity. Then, a thought struck her. She hesitated but finally voiced it. “Ophelia… do you know who Rose is?”
Ophelia blinked, the name unfamiliar. “Rose? No, Evan never mentioned her. If she was someone from his past, he’s never confided in me.”
Emma nodded slowly, biting her lip. Perhaps it was time to leave the question of Rose in the past. What mattered now was the life she and Evan were building together—a future unclouded by old shadows.
CHAPTER 34
Emma
Later that week, Emma found herself rather taken by surprise when Evan suggested a ride together. They had gone for walks and enjoyed meals together each day, often they’d even spent time together in the drawing room, talking and laughing as they got to know one another properly, but they’d not gone out riding.
Emma was not a particularly good rider, but she managed, and the horse she’d been given – Broward – was a gentle giant on whose back she swayed gently like a leaf in a breeze.
The wind danced softly over the rolling hills, carrying the scents of wildflowers and the earthy tang of moss. Evan and Emma’s horses moved at a steady pace, their hooves occasionally crunching over fallen twigs and stone fragments as they rode through the open countryside. The sun shone brightly above them, casting long, golden shadows over the landscape.
Ahead, nestled among the overgrown foliage, stood the ruins of an old monastery. Its skeletal walls, weathered by centuries of wind and rain, rose like solemn sentinels guarding secrets of the past. Crumbling archways framed patches of sky, and ivy climbed over what remained of its cloisters.
Evan slowed his horse and gestured toward the ruins. “This monastery was built in the early 12th century, during the reign of Henry I. It was part of the Benedictine order, known for their strict adherence to prayer and labor. When Henry VIII dissolved the monasteries in the 1530s, this one was abandoned. The monks were forced out, and the land was seized by the Crown.”
Emma leaned forward, her eyes alight with curiosity. “It’s beautiful, even in its decay. I can almost hear the echoes of their chants in the air.”
Evan dismounted, offering his hand to help her down. “Come, I’ll show you around.”
They walked together into the heart of the ruins, their footsteps crunching over broken stone. Evan pointed to what once had been the main chapel. “That’s where the altar would have stood. They say it was adorned with gold and tapestries before it was torn apart. And over there,” he said, gesturing toward a partially collapsed wall, “was the scriptorium. The monks would have spent hours there, copying manuscripts by hand.”
Emma ran her fingers along the cool, rough stone, imagining the lives that once thrived within these walls. “It feels like stepping into another time,” she murmured.
As they ventured deeper into the ruins, Emma stepped on a loose stone. She gasped as her foot slipped, her balance faltering. Before she could fall, Evan was there, his strong arms wrapping around her waist, steadying her.
“Careful,” he said, his voice low and soothing.
Emma looked up at him, her heart pounding—not from the fall, but from the nearness of him. “Thank you,” she whispered.
