The Heir lf-1
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Chapter Thirty-four
Sabrina stared out her bedroom window at the coach sitting in front of the manor. She wasn't really surprised that she cried each time she saw it there. Not much, just a few more tears to add to all the others she had shed over the last days. And the coach still came every day and waited several hours before it returned to Summers Glade, even though the driver had been told not to bother.
The party hadn't wound down apparently, was going to continue right up to the wedding, which had been scheduled for the middle of next week. Supposedly Neville felt that since he already had a house full of guests, why bother sending out invitations to a wedding when they could just have it while they already had the guests for it?
That was the prevailing thought in the neighborhood, of those gossiping about it. Sabrina didn't hear any of this firsthand, but her aunts kept her apprised, since they were still receiving visitors even if she wasn't. She in fact kept to her room, refusing to leave it. She wouldn't come down to speak with Duncan when he showed up the day after The Announcement. She wouldn't see him yesterday either, when he came again. And she certainly refused to receive Ophelia when she came to visit, and no doubt gloat, later in the afternoon.
But after three days of tears and misery, and agonizing over what could have happened to so thoroughly topple her brief happiness, Sabrina had reached a point of being numb. This was a blessing of sorts. Dead feelings didn't hurt. She supposed eventually she would manage to put it all behind her and get back to being herself, to just acknowledge the heartache occasionally with a sigh. But right now, the numbness at least let her come out of hiding.
It was rotten timing, however, that her first foray downstairs should lead her to the drawing room where she expected to find at least one of her aunts. She found Ophelia there instead, alone, having just been let in by the maid, who'd gone off to let someone know she was there.
Incredibly, Sabrina felt nothing, not even dread that common courtesy demanded she at least acknowledge Ophelia. Her numbness was holding up splendidly.
"Feeling better?" Ophelia asked with feigned concern when she saw her standing there in the doorway. "Better?"
"When I came to call yesterday, Lady Alice said you were under the weather and had taken to your bed. I would have visited you in your room, offered to even, but she was sure you were sleeping."
"Oh, that," Sabrina replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Nothing that a bit of rest didn't fix up. And what brings you to our door? Isn't the party still in progress at Summers Glade?"
"Yes indeed, though the amount of guests have thinned out considerably," Ophelia said with a touch of annoyance. "I suppose a lot of the other ladies felt they would be wasting their time to stay any longer."
Sabrina wasn't surprised. Most of the young women who had been invited were on the marriage block this Season, and with the bachelor they had come there to win now taken, they would need to get on with the search, which would take them back to London and the round of parties there.
An uncomfortable silence followed. This stilted courtesy just didn't go over well after such bilious feelings had been raised at their last meeting. Neither of them liked each other. That had been made abundantly clear.
Ophelia broke the silence with a long sigh. "I'd like to apologize," she said with a slight blush and a lowering of her eyes. "I realize I was a bit spiteful the other night at the party, and that's what caused you to, well, to lose your temper with me. I'd like to explain why—"
"Don't bother," Sabrina interrupted blandly. "It really doesn't matter."
"Perhaps not to you, but I have been regretting the harsh words that passed between us," Ophelia insisted. "We are friends, after all."
Sabrina might have snorted if she weren't protected by her numbness. But in point of fact, they had never been friends of any sort.
Ophelia had introduced Sabrina to her own acquaintances, but what choice did she have when Sabrina had been a guest in her house? None. Ophelia had done so grudgingly, Sabrina realized now, not because she wanted to, but because she had to. And the only time she had called upon their supposed "friendship" was when she had wanted something from Sabrina and felt it owed to her.
But Ophelia, typically, ignored Sabrina's lack of interest and got on with what she intended to say. "You see, I wasn't as confident as I pretended to be that night. I don't know why—actually, it was probably that Duncan's campaign to try to make me jealous was working. But whatever the reason, I was starting to have doubts, and that made me a bit cross, which unfortunately I took out on you. I'm not used to doubting myself, after all, and then to find how silly it was of me to do so. I should have known better. Why, just after that was when he gave up the pretense himself and we got engaged again."
That particular remark caused a definite crack in Sabrina's numbness, just after? Before he happened upon Sabrina on the road?
"When was this?" she asked.
"What does it matter—?"
"When!?"
Ophelia blinked at the sharpness of Sabrina's tone, but after a moment of thought, replied, "Why, right after you left. I was upset and retired. Duncan must have seen me go upstairs, because he followed and insisted—insisted, mind you— that we get engaged again. So forceful, those Scots. I suppose he simply
couldn't stand the pretense anymore, but more likely he ran out of patience. The sooner we get engaged again, the sooner we can marry, was probably what he had finally come to realize. And he's so passionate," she added with a slight blush. "I have the feeling he would have bedded me right then and there if we weren't interrupted."
Sabrina had to sit down after hearing that. The shock she was experiencing was as bad as the morning when she'd found out about The Announcement—actually, it was worse. If Ophelia could be believed, then Duncan's passions had been aroused by her, and unable to satisfy them due to an interruption, he'd then found Sabrina alone, before his passion had abated, and took advantage of the convenience that gave him. It had had nothing to do with her personally. As dark as it was in that coach that night, he could easily have pretended to himself that she was the one he really wanted.
Unfortunately, all things considered, Sabrina did believe Ophelia. If she were a little prettier, or Ophelia a little less so, then she might have had doubts. But she couldn't deceive herself on this particular point. Ophelia would win hands down as a matter of choice for any man.
The question was, could she blame Duncan for taking what she so freely gave, when he was already engaged to another? Wouldn't any man do as he had done? No, she couldn't blame him. Besides, she still loved him. She wished she didn't, but that was something that just wouldn't go away. Not that whether she blamed him was going to make a difference to anything. He was still going to marry Ophelia. Her heart was still going to break a little bit more the day he did.
Ophelia was going on as if her words hadn't caused any damage. "I'm so glad we got this straightened out and are friends again. Edith and Jane have deserted me, you know. They've promised to return for the wedding next week, but I really doubt they will find the time once they get back into the London whirl—I know I wouldn't. But without them there, it's so boring. You really must come again to Summers Glade, Sabrina, if just to keep me company."
Fortunately, Sabrina was saved from having to explain why that was out of the question when Alice finally arrived, took one look at her pale, drawn expression, and ushered her off to bed again, as if that really was where she had spent the last three days.
"Relapse" and "Shouldn't have come down yet" were muttered by Alice for Ophelia's benefit, not that Sabrina needed an excuse to head back to her room. Ophelia could think whatever she liked, as far as she was concerned. But hopefully the London girl had said all she had wanted to say and wouldn't come calling again.
Chapter Thirty-five
Ophelia was working herself into a snit on the short ride back to Summers Glade. She had accomplished what she'd wanted to, got that silly business of apologizin
g out of the way, so that things could be back to normal with Sabrina. She hoped she had managed to succeed in at least that, because she really was getting bored at Summers Glade, and Sabrina could alleviate that quite nicely.
There simply weren't enough of the London crowd left at the mansion to keep her amused. Duncan even ignored her, still in a huff, she supposed, because they'd had to get engaged again. Too bad for him. She hadn't instigated his entrapment, he'd done that all on his own, though she couldn't deny it had worked
out wonderfully in her favor.
She never would have thought he'd do anything so rash, though, as to enter her bedchamber. That was so inappropriate, even if she hadn't been half dressed. But she really had thought he was there to patch things up between them, so she could forgive him for his impetuosity. Then to find he was only there because of Sabrina. That was really the last straw, particularly after the country girl had shown her true colors earlier, that she wasn't miss "sweet and smiles" after all, but could be quite a nasty little shrew.
But his mention of Sabrina had reminded Ophelia of her earlier conversation with her. And she'd recalled, specifically, having spoken of a situation that would lead to her being compromised, a false one, but regardless, the current one hadn't been fabricated at all.
Ironically, she never would have thought of it, if not for that earlier mention. But having it recalled, she had then been trying to think how she could keep Duncan there after he was done with his rant, at least until one of the other girls showed up, when Mavis of all people opened the door. It had been too perfect. Ophelia really couldn't have planned it better if she had planned it herself. And she'd had to do nothing to accomplish it, which was even more ironic. Duncan had brought the whole thing down on his own head.
And it had been a simple matter, after he stormed off, to locate Lord Neville and point out to him the bare facts. He was old school. He didn't need convincing that Duncan had compromised her beyond repair; that was plain enough.
He had made an effort to find Mavis, though, but fortunately, with no luck, so he'd been forced to make the announcement of his grandson's engagement that very night.
Edith and Jane had left the next afternoon, just as many of the other young ladies had, along with their escorts. Ophelia actually had the bedroom that she'd been sharing with eight others to herself now.
Mavis had left that very night, which was why Lord Neville had been unable to find her. She no doubt didn't want to take the chance that she would be browbeaten by the marquis or Duncan into keeping her mouth shut about what she'd seen, when she had no intention of keeping her mouth shut. Why else leave immediately, without even packing her bags? She'd simply collected her cousin who had escorted her there, called for their carriage, and left. But then Ophelia would have done the same thing if she had such a juicy morsel of gossip to share, so she understood perfectly.
Announcing the engagement, before that gossip could be passed around, totally deflated it. Lovers' trysts would be snickered at but forgiven for an engaged couple, whereas it was complete ruination for the woman if there was no engagement involved. So Mavis had nothing to gain now by spreading the tale. She had no doubt thought she'd get some revenge out of it, but had instead helped Ophelia get what she wanted. It was too funny.
But now, on the way back to Summers Glade, Ophelia couldn't help thinking she might have made matters worse with Sabrina, and that's why she was annoyed with herself when she shouldn't be. She was not going to feel guilty about lying to Sabrina. The chit had deserved it, for trying to steal Duncan from her. But she did want Sabrina to be her friend again, so she probably should have tried to find out why the timing of her confrontation with Duncan had seemed so important to her, instead of lying about it.
When she returned to the mansion, she found a summons from Lord Neville. She didn't know how long he had been waiting on her, since she hadn't been there to receive the summons, but she went straightaway now to his sitting room, where she was directed.
She had been expecting a talk with him much sooner than this, but he, too, had been ignoring her since the announcement. Yet an apology was in order. After all, she was the innocent party in this, and would have been seriously wronged if she didn't want to marry Duncan, but was now forced to because he'd compromised her. Fortunately, she did want to marry him, but that didn't need to be mentioned until after she had the apology owed her.
She was quite mistaken, however, in the reason for this meeting. She no sooner sat down in the chair across from Lord Neville's desk than he stated in a hard tone, "Aside from the fact that your parents have been informed of what occurred and will be arriving shortly, we have a few matters that I feel need immediate discussion."
"Certainly," Ophelia replied with some misgiving, since his tone implied she probably wasn't going to like this discussion as she'd thought.
"I have been informed, by a number of different sources, that you have a bad habit of starting gossip and rumors."
She took immediate offense. He was going to give her a scolding when they weren't even related yet? "Everyone gossips, Lord Neville," Ophelia pointed out stiffly.
"Not everyone, but those who do don't usually do so with malicious intent. I am merely letting you know, Lady Ophelia, that this sort of behavior won't be tolerated. Once you marry into this family, you will conduct yourself in a manner that is above reproach."
She was shocked and insulted now. Malicious? Her? The very idea. She might find it necessary to put people in their place occasionally, she might have to exact revenge occasionally, too, but maliciously? Hardly.
But he was no doubt referring to her campaign to make Duncan a laughingstock so that she could get out of an engagement she hadn't wanted at the time. That incident, he would take personally. But she hadn't been malicious about it, and it hadn't actually hurt Duncan in the least. It had merely been a means to an end.
"If you find my behavior objectionable, sir, simply say so, but don't accuse me of something that—"
"My dear girl," he interrupted calmly. "If you have been listening, you would have heard that I do find your behavior objectionable. The very fact that I have had numerous people point out to me your habits speaks for itself. You are being gossiped about, and that is unacceptable. Sit down!" he barked when she stood up indignantly.
Ophelia dropped back into her chair. Her cheeks were now burning. If he weren't such a high personage, she would have marched out of there immediately. It was only that that kept her there. It certainly wasn't that he frightened her with his harsh tones and quelling looks.
"Do not misunderstand," he continued in that calm, if implacable, tone. "This conversation would have taken place previously if Duncan hadn't refused to marry you after first meeting you. You need to understand that marrying into this family entails a great responsibility on your part that you may not have been trained for or were expecting."
"I am the daughter of an earl," she replied haughtily. "I assure you my education was not lacking."
The look he gave her was entirely too skeptical to soothe her ruffled feathers, and in fact he continued in the same vein. "Your parents have lived in London for most of your life, so the education you received may not have been the one that will serve you here. This is a working estate. As the future marquise, you will have specific duties that will take up a great deal of your time and bring you into contact with a wide assortment of individuals from chimney sweeps to vicars to the queen herself. But no matter who you will have to deal with, you will conduct yourself as befitting the Marquise of Birmingdale."
"What sort of work?" she asked, frowning.
"The normal duties associated with an estate this size. I assume you have at least been trained in the running of a large household? My secretary will instruct you in the actual estate duties, which will be in addition to your household duties. Suffice it to say, you will have very little time for leisure, entertaining—or gossip."
"No entertaining?" she asked incredulously.
But he was serious, or certainly sounded so as he explained further, "We are not in the habit of entertaining here, far from it. This current gathering was a rare exception for a specific purpose. It won't be repeated. Nor do we keep a house in London, which would be a frivolous expense, when we never go to London."
"I have family in London," she reminded him. "Of course I will vis—"
"Your family can visit here," he cut in. "I was quite serious when I said you wouldn't find time to travel or entertain. Nor will Duncan, not that he would want to. You will need to readjust your thinking in that regard. Consider yourself country now."
She knew what he meant by that, unfortunately. The gentry who lived on their country estates, rather than just visiting them from time to time, rarely left them. They shunned London. They didn't participate in the gay London Season. They more or less gave up any claim to sophistication and became country. They gained new interests; weather, crops, market prices. The London ton, at least those of her circle, scorned such nobles and likened them to the working class.
Ophelia pinched herself, hoping she was just having a nightmare. She wasn't. And this was not what she had taken for granted when she had decided that Duncan would do for her after all. His future title and good looks were not worth the horror that Lord Neville had just described.
But she realized, with growing despair, that she was now stuck with Duncan whether she liked it or not, and simply because she had made an enemy of Mavis. If Mavis were still her friend, she would agree to never say anything about that scene she had walked in on. Of course she would agree, particularly after she was assured that nothing had really happened.