A Lady's Scandal

XII: Threads of Affection

1810

PEMBROKE MANOR, DERBYSHIRE

The laughter that usually echoed through the greenery was absent today, replaced by a heavy silence. Paul sat on the stone bench, his head bowed, a deep frown creasing his young face. 

 

Ophelia, in her charming white dress adorned with delicate lace, approached him with concern. "Why do you look so sad?" 

 

Paul sighed, his shoulders slumping further. "Father scolded me again. I am terrible at arithmetic. He will hate me forever if I keep failing." 

 

Ophelia's heart ached for her friend. She took a seat beside him, her brows knitting together in worry. "That is not true. Your father loves you, even if he is upset. Can I see the papers you need to study? Maybe I can help." 

 

Paul looked at her skeptically. "But you are a girl," he said with a scornful look. "Father says girls cannot do what boys do."

 

Ophelia bristled at his words, standing up abruptly. "That is not true! I can do what you can do. I will show you one day." 

 

She turned away, walking a few steps further, a feeling of frustration. Paul watched her for a moment, then stood and followed. "I am sorry, Fifi. I did not mean what I said. If girls can do what boys can, then maybe you are better at arithmetic than I am."

 

Ophelia stopped and turned to face him, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Maybe I am. But even if I can help, you will be the one who improves. And one day, you will be a great man, just like your father. He will be proud of you. Do not worry."

 

Paul managed a small smile, causing her to smile as well.

*****************************************************

On a Tuesday afternoon at the elegant modiste's shop on Bond Street, Ophelia and her mother were surrounded by a symphony of colors and fabrics. Claire Bruneteau, the renowned modiste from Paris, guided them through bolts of silk, muslin, and satin that draped from the walls.

"Lady Pembroke, you have such impeccable taste," Claire purred, her French accent adding a touch of sophistication to her words. "The colors in my shop will bring out Mademoiselle Ophelia's natural charm."

Lady Pembroke nodded with a gracious smile, her fingers tracing the delicate lace of a cream-colored gown. "I trust your expertise, Claire. Please, show us what you have."

Claire gestured towards a table adorned with swatches of fabric in various hues. "For Mademoiselle Ophelia, I recommend this exquisite emerald silk," she said, carefully unfolding the rich, deep green material. "It will complement her complexion beautifully."

Ophelia's eyes lit up as she ran her fingers over the smooth silk. The emerald color shimmered in the light, captivating her with its richness and elegance. "It is stunning," she murmured, admiring the way it caught the light and how it felt luxurious against her skin.

Lady Pembroke glanced approvingly at her daughter. "Indeed, it suits you, my dear," she remarked with a fond smile. "Please include this in our selection."

Claire nodded, jotting down notes on a small pad. "Of course. And might I suggest a soft lavender for another gown? It will bring out Mademoiselle's eyes wonderfully."