The Heir

by Johanna Lindsey

  Chapter Eighteen

  Duncan couldn’t believe he hadn’t asked the lass for her name yet again, nor did he even realize that he hadn’t until Neville asked him who she was. He was rather embarrassed at that point. He’d sought out Neville this third time, fully expecting to have an argument when he told the old man he’d invited someone to Summers Glade who wasn’t gentry. But that was the conclusion he’d come to when the lass had given her reasons for why Neville wouldn’t consider her for his guest list, that and that she and her aunts lived in a cottage.

  It made no difference to him, her social status. He still liked her, and especially her knack for the absurd, which could so easily disperse any anger he was fretting with. And it wasn’t as if he were looking to marry her, so what, really, could Neville object to? But he was deceiving himself.

  He knew very well that the class of people who had been invited by Neville, lords and ladies all, might be offended by someone not of their own class being at the same gathering as they were, not in a serving capacity, but as another guest. He knew also that that would be Neville’s objection, which was why he’d come expecting an argument.

  But he wasn’t going to get the argument he’d come for, when he couldn’t even tell Neville who the lass was. He supposed he could have mentioned that she wasn’t gentry, but decided to wait and let Neville discover that on his own. It was an excellent opportunity, after all, to see just how the old Englishman would react in such a situation. Duncan would find out whether he was an aristocrat of the old school who were mostly snobbish beyond belief, or if he was of the more enlightened school and realized that a title did not represent a man’s worth.

  But he probably should have opted for the argument, which he had hoped might relieve some of the tension he was feeling. That tension just got worse as he approached the inn in Oxbow. He’d been distracted from it only briefly, when he’d tried to figure out just where the lass’s “cottage off the road” might be, when he hadn’t seen a single small dwelling, only one manor house and a few farms, on his ride there.

  Perhaps she’d meant on the way to Oxbow coming from the other direction, or right on the edge of the small town—there were plenty of cottages along the narrow lanes off the main street, after all. But as a distraction, it didn’t last long, not when it didn’t take all that long to ride to town.

  He still couldn’t believe he’d agreed to speak with Ophelia Reid, when he had hoped to never lay eyes on her again. What purpose would it serve, other than to relieve the guilty conscience that she might be having? Any apologies from her would have little meaning to him. She had shown her true colors. There was nothing she could say to excuse the extent of her insults to him. And now he even knew, if he could believe that Rafe fellow, that she had herself started the ridiculous “barbarian” rumors about him.

  She wasn’t there yet. He allowed he was five minutes early himself, but for someone eager to make amends, he had expected her to be there early, to make sure she didn’t miss him. Now he had to wait, and even five minutes was too long to give her, in his opinion.

  He waved the innkeeper away, and waited before the large fireplace in the common room. He would have preferred a shot of whisky, but wanted to be absolutely clearheaded when dealing with this particular lass.

  She entered from the back. So she had been there early, after all, and just wanted to make an “appearance”? It was quite an appearance. With a white fur cap about her blond head, and a powder-blue long coat of velvet, topped by a short cape trimmed in the same white fur, she cut a ‘dazzling figure,’ actually, near blinding when she spotted him and cast a smile his way before walking toward him. She did that slowly, giving him ample opportunity to be mesmerized by her beauty. The white fur and the lighting combined seemed to make her glow with an ethereal beauty.

  He wasn’t the only one in the room who couldn’t take his eyes from her. The few patrons who were there were staring at Ophelia with their mouths dropped open. Duncan wasn’t quite that bedazzled, though he did have a hard time for a moment keeping in mind that for all her beauty, this lass had a vicious streak. Impossible to tell, looking at her, but hard to miss once she opened her mouth.

  She was still wearing the smile when she reached him. There had been the briefest moment when it altered and went a little stiff as she noticed his kilt. He’d worn it deliberately. If she had any sense at all, she’d realize that the kilt was his way of telling her, without words, that this meeting was pointless.

  “I see you got my message,” she said.

  “Aye, and why was the lass the one tae deliver it?” he replied.

  He hadn’t meant to ask her that, had meant to bring it up later with the violet-eyed lass, so he was actually relieved that he didn’t really get an answer. Don’t distract her. Let her have her say and he could be gone the sooner. He needed to keep that in mind.

  She shrugged. “Why not? Most people feel privileged to assist me.”

  He said nothing to that, but then it was hard to think of a reply when he was concentrating on not laughing. That single statement of hers said so much about her, and the irony was, she didn’t even realize the impression it gave. Beyond mere condescension, beyond self-pride, it was so far into the upper reaches of vain conceit that Duncan couldn’t think of an exact word to describe it, if there even was one.

  His silence, though, disconcerted her, putting her on the spot, as it did, to get what she had to say said. He wondered if she even had anything in particular to say to him. An apology had been stated as the purpose for this meeting, yet did someone like Ophelia Reid even know how to apologize? Wouldn’t that be an impossible concept for someone who felt she could do no wrong?

  When she still said nothing, at least not quickly enough to suit him, he shrugged and walked away from her. He didn’t consider that rude, not to her, anyway. Her insults had put her into a “not worthy of his notice” category, and that was being kind. Were she a man, she would most definitely be considered an enemy.

  But his action did prompt her to speech. “Wait! Where are you going?”

  She actually sounded confused. He paused long enough to tell her, “I didna come here tae stand aboot and gawk at your beauty, lass, as everyone else in the room is doing. If you’ve something tae say tae me, then be saying it.”

  She blushed prettily. “I wanted to explain why I wasn’t very cordial at our first meeting.”

  “So that’s what the English call it? Not being very cordial? I’ll have tae remember that the next time I deliberately insult someone.”

  “It wasn’t deliberate,” she tried to tell him. “I was shocked.”

  “Were you now?” he replied, his skepticism so obvious even a child couldn’t miss it. “O’er what? That I talk like a Scotsman? That I look like one? You werena expecting either, I suppose?”

  She sighed. “I wish you would try to understand. I was so sure you and I wouldn’t suit.”

  “And that I’d be a barbarian?”

  “Well, yes, I did fear that. But I realize how silly that was now. You aren’t barbaric at all.”

  “I wouldna be sae sure o‘ that, lass,” he replied, turning on the thick brogue just for her benefit.

  “The point is, I was mistaken in my assumptions.”

  Duncan had a feeling that was as close as she was getting to an apology. The concept really would be too foreign for someone like her, who no doubt felt she could do no wrong, to actually mention the word “sorry.”

  “Verra well, so you were mistaken. Was there any other point you were wanting tae make?”

  His impatience to be gone was a tangible thing, yet somehow, she didn’t notice it.

  “Well, actually, I thought we could start anew,” she told him. “You know, simply forget about that first meeting, as if it had never occurred.”

  “As if we were still engaged tae wed?”

  She perked up and gave him one of those brilliant smiles. “Indeed. Isn’t that a grand idea?”

  He had
been joking. She was serious. He was now incredulous. Did she really think he could just forget the embarrassment of her insults? What she had said to him that day had been not just for him, but for the amusement of a whole room full of people. Had a man said those things, Duncan could have laid him out on the floor and been instantly satisfied. But because she was a woman, he’d had to leave with his tail tucked between his legs, something he’d never forget.

  Not that that was the only reason he wouldn’t marry her, and he gave her another, replying, “I dinna think I’d care tae be competing wi‘ m’wife for her own attention.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He wasn’t surprised that was lost on her. Self-centered people were usually the last to own up to being self-centered, but those in love with themselves, as Ophelia so obviously was, were a definite lost cause.

  He’d heard her out. She hadn’t even offered a real apology. As far as he was concerned, he’d given her all the time she deserved.

  “Good day.”

  Ophelia stared after him in shock. Men didn’t walk away from her unless she wanted them to. And what had happened to him groveling at her feet in his gratitude that she had changed her opinion about him?

  The meeting had not gone as it was supposed to. She had been giving him a second chance to marry her, so why weren’t they engaged again?

  She was beginning to suspect that he really was a barbarian. What other excuse could there be for his not being smart enough to realize what she’d been offering him with this meeting?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Ophelia didn’t know yet that Sabrina had been invited to the party. She had run off so quickly to prepare herself when Sabrina told her that Duncan had agreed to see her. She hadn’t even asked for the details. Nor had she seemed surprised that he had agreed. Sabrina suspected the London girl just might have taken it for granted, as highly as she thought of herself, but that was an unkind thought that she put aside.

  But Sabrina realized, much too late, the horrible impropriety of her accepting an invitation, to anywhere, when she had a houseguest herself. And of course, Ophelia couldn’t be left there alone. Either Hilary or Alice would have to stay with her. And that, too, was going to cause problems, when both her aunts would no doubt like to attend Neville’s party, now that they had an invitation to.

  Of course, Sabrina was probably worrying over nothing. Ophelia would come back with an invitation herself, perhaps even be engaged again. The thought was depressing actually, but was highly likely. Sabrina had witnessed it herself, how men behaved around Ophelia. Most were so in awe of her beauty that any sense they might possess was easily misplaced as long as they remained in her presence.

  She continued to put off even telling her aunts of the invitation, so sure was she that they would all be going—right up until Ophelia returned, slamming the door on her entrance, and ran upstairs to her room, slamming that door, too. It wasn’t too hard, at that point, to guess that the meeting had not gone as Ophelia had wanted it to, and Sabrina was forced to take her blunder, as she was now thinking of it, to her aunts.

  Their reaction was typical of them. She had to go, of course, at least tonight. It was an opportunity they had hoped for and could not be ignored, now that it was already accepted, just because they had an unexpected guest. Were Ophelia not there, et cetera, et cetera. But she would have to explain, gently, to the young lord that she couldn’t come to Summers Glade again, for the rest of the party at least, not unless their own guest decided to go home.

  Sabrina found it amusing that, without actually saying so, both her aunts were obviously now hoping that Ophelia would go home, and the sooner the better.

  “I’ll stay with her,” Alice offered, managing to hide at least part of her forlorn sigh, that she would miss the party herself. “And I’ll let her know where you’ve gone, m’dear—if she asks. But is there any reason she needs to be told, which would only make her feel offended, if she doesn’t notice your absence?”

  This was asked of Hilary, who gave it a little thought before she replied pragmatically. “I don’t see why the gel needs to be needlessly offended. And it will only be for the one night. And if it’s necessary to tell her, she’ll just have to understand that in Sabrina’s excitement, she briefly forgot that Ophelia was visiting.”

  Sabrina actually had a much better excuse than that, but then she didn’t think that Ophelia would want it known, what she had asked Sabrina to do, and so she hadn’t told her aunts about her short career in matchmaking. But she would tell Ophelia, if she had to, that her accepting the invitation to Summers Glade had been the condition for Duncan meeting her.

  No matter the outcome of that meeting, and Ophelia’s dramatic door-slamming return didn’t suggest it had gone as she’d hoped, Ophelia had gotten her chance only because Sabrina had agreed to attend the party. That wasn’t very flattering to Ophelia, so Sabrina would keep it to herself if at all possible. And as her aunts were hoping, Ophelia might not even notice their absence, might well spend the rest of the evening in her room sulking. Well, one could hope . . .

  Sabrina and Hilary were able to leave the cottage before Ophelia made an appearance, so they wouldn’t know how Alice fared with the girl until their return later. But it didn’t take long, after they arrived at Summers Glade, for them to completely forget about their houseguest.

  It was such a huge gathering, quite larger than even those they’d attended in London. But of the fifty or so young women whom Neville had invited, each had to have her chaperone, whether both parents, or a brother or two, or sisters, or even cousins. One invitation could easily have brought four or more guests, and indeed, it seemed well over two hundred people were in attendance.

  Sabrina couldn’t imagine where they all had been put for sleeping accommodations, and remarked on it to her aunt. Summers Glade was large, but fifty bedrooms, it certainly didn’t have, let alone two hundred. Having been to at least one such country gathering in her youth, Hilary chuckled and said, “Just be glad we weren’t asked to put up some of them, as our other neighbors were.”

  There were several neighbors Sabrina recognized who didn’t have daughters, who she realized now had been invited just so they could be asked to open their own homes. The inn in Oxbow must also be filled to the brim for once.

  “Besides,” Hilary added, “it’s only the most important guests that would be given rooms of their own. I remember sharing a room once with six other girls, and Father, who accompanied Alice and me to that affair, didn’t fare as well, was stuffed in with nine other gentlemen. But when you throw parties of this sort that go on for weeks, there really is no other choice.”

  “You came.”

  Sabrina turned around to find Duncan had come up behind her. She had been smiling at her aunt and so was still smiling as she greeted him.

  “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

  “After the ooutcome o‘ that meeting you arranged, aye, I did have m’doubts.”

  “What meeting would that be, m’dear?” Hilary asked beside her.

  Sabrina managed not to blush, saying evasively, “Nothing of importance, Aunt Hilary. And may I introduce you to Duncan MacTavish?”

  Duncan cut a bow for her aunt, very gentlemanly. Actually, he did look quite the gentleman tonight, formally dressed in a midnight-blue tailed coat that brought out the deep blue of his eyes.

  “You don’t look anything like your grandfather, young man,” Hilary told him, adding in her blunt way, “I consider that quite fortunate—for you.”

  He laughed, but another party was heard from. “Do you indeed? And who might you be, madame?”

  Hilary raised a brow at the old gentleman who’d joined them. “Don’t recognize me, Neville? I’m not surprised, it’s been more’n twenty years.”

  “Is that you, Hilary Lambert?”

  “Indeed.”

  “You’ve put on a bit of weight, gel,” he humphed.

  “And you’re looking like you belong in a sickbed. So what els
e is new?”

  Sabrina put a hand to her mouth, wishing she were about ten feet away so she could laugh in peace. Duncan, glancing between the two older people who were glowering at each other, said, “Then you do know the lass?”

  “What lass?” Neville demanded grouchily. “You’re not calling this old bird here a lass, are you?”

  “I think he means my niece here, you old coot,” Hilary supplied helpfully.

  That brought Neville’s eyes to Sabrina, who was at the moment no longer in need of laughing. Hilary’s testiness could be amusing, but not when she resorted to actually insulting their host.

  He hadn’t seemed to notice that, however, was now staring at Sabrina with avid curiosity, and finally said, “Well, damn me, they really are lilac, aren’t they? Thought the boy was exaggerating.” Then, as it suddenly dawned on him, “Good God, you’re a Lambert?”

  Sabrina, of course, knew exactly why he was suddenly so shocked. Unfortunately, like her aunts, she sometimes was more blunt than she ought to be, and replied, “Last time I noticed, yes, and still alive, too.”

  He had the grace to blush. She blushed for her own reason, that she’d been less than diplomatic in her response. Duncan, seeing the blushes, frowned, said, “Excuse us,” and dragged Sabrina off into the next room.

  The next room was just as crowded, of course, but since it was the ballroom, which was easily the size of three large rooms combined, and had been set up with a buffet for dinner rather than for dancing tonight, he was able to find a spot off in one corner where they wouldn’t be overheard. And she knew exactly why he wanted a bit of privacy. The poor man was quite confused, and understandably so.

  “Would you be explaining tae me what that was all aboot?” he demanded as soon as he stopped and let go of her arm.

  She winced, deliberately. “Must I?”

  For answer he just stared at her, and stared, until her next wince was genuine. “Very well.” She sighed. “But this story would be much more interesting if you heard it from someone else. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have your grandfather tell it? I’m sure he could exaggerate for effect. Most people do.”