Page 52

S ilas had been back from the estate a week when Ophelia was out in the front field checking the wheat for signs of predation when she heard a clattering of hooves on the cobblestones of the farmyard.

She pushed up from her knees and brushed her hands down her tunic, making her way around the farmhouse.

She was tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear when she came into the farmyard.

Two large bay horses, dark with sweat, one foaming at the mouth, stood facing her from across the yard.

She put a hand up to shield her eyes and took in the arrivals.

A younger man accompanied an older and held his horse slightly behind the elder man.

“Get down and find the beasts some water, man,” the older man directed, irritably. “Bloody useless fool,” he muttered as the younger man swung down from his horse.

“Water, miss?”

“This way.” Ophelia turned in the direction of the pump behind her, indicating the large stone trough that was also full.

She turned back the second man and watched as he slid awkwardly down from his mount.

He moved to lift the reins over his horse’s head and the animal shied away from him.

She saw spittle fly from his mouth as he cursed the horse’s behaviour.

Catching the man’s face fully for the first time, her stomach twisted with fear; her father threw the reins to his groom and turned to face her.

“Well,” he snarled. “Here you are, then.”

His face was hard, pulled into a habitual glower, and Ophelia was momentarily surprised she hadn’t immediately recognized him.

The familiar feeling of a hare snared by his gaze raced through her body.

She needed to say something, she could feel his eyes on her, like he was gaining strength with every second she remained quiet.

Ophelia felt sick. “How did you find me?” She felt herself choking on the words. The next came as out as a croak. “What do you want?”

“Larke delivered your location straight to the house, had it right on the front of your letter to the housekeeper. Really, Ophelia, writing to the staff? How simple you are.” His voice was acid.

“What do you want?” she repeated. “I’ve work to do.”

“Ah, work is it? Left your own family to hare off here and play farmer,” he said, speaking before she could get any more words out.

“I’ll get right to it then, I’ve no more time to waste with you.

” The horses were fussing at the water trough and Blackwood turned to shout back at his groom about settling them. “Blasted idjit,” he swore.

“Father,” she began.

“Hold your tongue, Ophelia.”

She felt her head begin to heat, flames beginning to crackle over the sound of his voice.

“I find I have need of you. A number of the staff had to be let go recently. Despite you being a disgrace to respectable women”—he gestured angrily in the direction of her boots and breeches—“you know the house and what is required.” Ophelia wanted to laugh, felt a hysterical bubble rising in her throat.

Had her father really just told her she was to return to the estate, run his household for him?

“You may start by finding their replacements as soon as you return,” he finished.

If the idea of being stuck on the estate with her father, his unwilling helpmeet, weren’t so repugnant, she might have let herself laugh at his audacity.

I can’t be here, having this conversation again.

Her father took her silence for acquiescence and began speaking again.

Ophelia pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes and realized there wasn’t even a question in her mind, no doubt that she would ever return nor ever run his household.

Taking a breath, she noticed that her heart had stopped racing, her chest no longer strained against that familiar tightness.

She felt the firm weight of her feet on the ground, the strength of her legs running up into her waist and chest. She wasn’t afraid.

Angry, yes, and upset, but not afraid. The knowledge dawned on her like light in a darkened room.

She no longer feared him. She saw his anger for what it was; the tantrum of a privileged, ridiculous man grasping at straws to maintain his hold on what little power he had.

Ophelia looked at him. He looked like a schoolboy playing at being a man.

The shadow he had cast over her shrank the longer she watched him.

He had been a giant when she was a girl, had thrown his weight around, and demanded loyalty, but her time away had changed her and instead of a giant, she saw a sad man, alone in a huge house, unloved and uncared for.

“I won’t do it, Father,” she said over his ramblings about the incompetence of the house staff. He continued as though he hadn’t heard her and for a moment she wondered if she had said it aloud at all. “I won’t do it, Father,” she said again, more firmly.

His fever-bright eyes found hers. “Won’t do what, Ophelia?” His voice was quieter now, but still weighted with the same assumed authority.

“Return to the estate to live. Keep house for your benefit,” she said as plainly as she could.

“You can’t bully me into line any longer, I know that I am capable of more.

I deserve more than what you have always allowed me.

I can, and will, make the decisions about my own life. Your opinions are not welcome.”

He laughed then, a menacing chuckle that ran uncomfortably up her spine.

He turned his long fingers toward himself, seeming to examine his fingernails.

“You’ll do as I tell you, daughter. The war will be over soon, along with all this farm nonsense.

Traipsing all over the country doing God knows what, you’ve been avoiding your duty and letting the estate fall into disrepair.

” He finished with a smug look, as though he had thoroughly trounced her.

“Go and change into something appropriate. I intend to return you home today.”

Rage and disbelief flooded Ophelia’s head for a moment.

The absolute nerve of him, acting as though I’m a child to be ordered about.

She turned away from him, recalling the ribbon of steel threading Mrs. Darling’s voice when the War Ag officer had become pushy, how she stood her ground when he attempted intimidation.

Then, when she felt in control of her voice, she turned back.

“I’ve learned a lot of things in the time I’ve been away and the most important ones aren’t even to do with farming.

I am not afraid of you, Father, nor your threats regarding the estate.

If anyone has abandoned their duty, it is you, turning out staff who have served our family for decades, lining your own pockets instead of investing in the land, threatening loyal tenants. It beggars belief.”

Merritt’s mouth moved soundlessly, his hands working in the air at his sides like claws. “Well, I never—” he spluttered.

“Being here, on this farm with these people, I finally see that the land is a promise to the people it supports, to the country itself, and you have broken that promise just as you broke your promise to Mother?—”

“How dare you!” he thundered, anger clouding his face.

“Don’t interrupt me when I am speaking,” Ophelia said before continuing.

“For a long time, I believed that you knew best, that you had the measure of me, but I know now that you have no idea what I’m capable of and I find I no longer care about your opinion of me, good or bad.

I am finally free of you. I choose to live my life as I see fit, not according to your rules. ”

He was silent for a moment. Ophelia felt the blood fizzing in her veins, her heart pounding in her chest. She couldn’t remember ever having felt so alive, apart from when she was kissing Silas.

She was free. I’ve no idea where this will lead, but it’s okay.

I know that I will be alright, I will be able to figure it out .

Her father’s voice cut through her thoughts.

“You always were such a gullible chit, Ophelia. Just like that imbecile of farmhand you spent the summer mooning over.” His bulk no longer threatened, but he loomed toward her like a buzzard over a kill.

Ophelia felt sick to her stomach. She thought of Silas and his mother, of his worry over her well-being. She felt embarrassed that Silas had ever thought she might be capable of her father’s kind of cruelty.

“He was probably halfway to France before it occurred to him that I could put his ridiculous mother out on her ear regardless of our agreement.” The word twisted poisonously in his mouth.

“Pah, the muttonhead,” he spat. “And you, my dear daughter, are cut from the same cloth, all wide eyes and best foot forward, but no idea of what it takes to survive. You think you’ve a hope of making your way in the world alone? More fool, you.”

“I am making my way in the world. I have been working for more than a year, and the work here means more than anything you could comprehend. These people are my family more than you have ever been. How you threatened the Larkes is unforgivable, I didn’t think even you could be so cruel,” Ophelia said, throat tight.

“They have been tenants for generations ...” She just shook her head, speechless with anger.

“I tire of this, Ophelia. Fathers own their daughters until they pass them on to husbands, and I find I still have need of you.”

She bit her lip to keep from screaming. The taste of iron centred her. “I’m not surprised you think that way, but I no longer consider myself your chattel, so you’ll have to sell something else if you need the money.”