The Heir

by Johanna Lindsey -

  But he wasn’t able to savor his relief, nor the exquisite joy in being able to hold Sabrina close for a few precious moments. Ophelia’s voice, coming from the stairs behind them, was like a splash of icy water designed to separate them, and it did.

  “You could at least make a pretense of being a gentleman and wait until this farce of an engagement is officially severed before you show where your true affections lie,” was said with dripping scorn. “Of course, common courtesy can’t be expected of someone only newly come to civilization.”

  Chapter Fifty

  Duncan turned slowly to face Ophelia, who had stopped halfway down the stairs. His anger was most definitely pricked over her remark, but it was tempered with the fact that, thankfully, he was never going to have to deal with her again after today.

  So his tone was only mildly revealing of his dislike when he told her plainly, “Lass, if I was the barbarian you keep alluding tae, we wouldna have been engaged again, even if this whole bluidy gathering had witnessed me in your bedroom that night. I wouldna have given a single thought tae yer reputation, you ken?”

  “But you were responsible!” she reminded him, even as her cheeks pinkened over his frankness.

  “And your point being? Or do barbarians suddenly have a care for responsibility?”

  “Oh, very well, so you aren’t a barbarian,” she replied testily.

  “Amazing day, I think I’m actually going to faint,” Raphael interjected with a snide chuckle. “The ice queen has made a retraction.”

  Ophelia turned to give him a withering look, but noticed Mavis instead. Her gasp was audible. And she completely forgot about the threesome at the bottom of the stairs as she hurried down the last few steps and across the hall to her old friend’s side.

  “Mavis, I knew you would come before it’s too late. I knew you couldn’t overlook our years of friendship. You have to forgive me. You can’t let me suffer for the rest of my life over a few paltry words that you know I didn’t mean.”

  Duncan rolled his eyes over her description of what it would be like to be married to him. They had followed Ophelia to Mavis’s side, in time to hear her beseeching speech. He might have remarked on that “suffer” part, if Mavis weren’t looking quite confused now.

  Her confusion was understandable, though, when she asked, “Before it’s too late?”

  She was looking at Sabrina for confirmation. Sabrina smiled at her and nodded. You could almost see the weight leave the girl’s shoulders and then the very second that Mavis realized that she held the winning hand again, and that her nemesis was there for her to play it on.

  Ophelia didn’t miss the implications in that question either. “You thought we were already married? So you came here to gloat instead?”

  “Is my name Ophelia?” Mavis shot back. “Gloating is what you do so well, my dear, not I.”

  Ophelia stiffened. It was obvious that she would have returned the insult in kind, but she didn’t dare to do so. It took her a moment, though, to gain enough control to keep her spiteful tongue leashed for once. She was still under the assumption, after all, that she needed Mavis’s cooperation, and she wouldn’t get it if she lambasted the girl in her typical fashion.

  “Then what are you doing here?”

  “As you’ve surmised, I thought that the wedding had already taken place. It’s logical then, that I might come by to wish the happy couple well, isn’t it?”

  Ophelia all but snorted. “Happy? When we despise each other?”

  Mavis pretended incredulity. “You mean there’s actually a man alive who hasn’t dropped at your feet in adulation? I’m shocked, indeed I am.”

  Ophelia’s lips tightened and her voice lowered to a confiding whisper that she thought would reach only Mavis. “He’s not English,” she said, as if that were the only possible explanation there could be.

  “Lucky him, if that’s what it takes to not be blinded by you.”

  “Takes much less than that,” Raphael interjected with a grin.

  Ophelia, reminded that she wasn’t alone, turned a glare on him and said, “Do you mind? I’m having a private conversation here.”

  “Don’t mind a’tall, dear girl,” Raphael rejoined. “But that don’t mean I’m leaving. No, no, wouldn’t miss this for the world, I do assure you.”

  “Miss what?” Ophelia snapped at him. “Seeing me grovel? Do you all detest me that much?”

  Not one reply was forthcoming to deny it, which was probably why Ophelia’s cheeks blossomed just then with bright color. She would have left them there then. It was apparent that she wanted to run. But she couldn’t leave Mavis yet if there was the slightest chance that she could turn the girl back to her favor.

  To that end, she tried to ignore the three interlopers, as she saw them, and faced Mavis again. But Mavis was giving her a curious look now, and she wasn’t long in revealing the reason for it.

  “Two men, Ophelia?” she said, feigning incredulity. “And neither of them smitten by your glorious self? Does that not give you a clue?”

  “What are you talking about now?” Ophelia demanded impatiently.

  “That maybe it’s not them? That maybe it’s you? You’ve been slipping up, Pheli,” Mavis said, using the childhood name that Ophelia had long ago forbidden her friends to use anymore. “You’ve been revealing your real self much sooner these days, before you have a chance to fool anyone new you meet with your pretenses. People simply aren’t as blind as you think they are. Some are even seeing quite clearly that there’s nothing but blackened, bone-chilling ice beneath the pretty surface you present to the world.”

  That last disparaging remark actually provoked a gasp out of Ophelia. She still couldn’t leave, though, much as she might want to.

  Duncan was beginning to feel a bit uneasy himself. From what he was hearing, he would have to surmise that Mavis would never help. Ophelia must be coming to that conclusion herself. If he didn’t have Sabrina’s assurance of why Mavis was there, this conversation between the two lasses would be the last nail for him . ..

  “Are you done insulting me?” Ophelia said in a tight voice that cracked for the briefest moment, just enough for anyone paying attention to hear the hurt inside.

  Mavis didn’t catch it herself, though even if she had, she might not have ended her diatribe just yet. This was her moment of revenge, after all, and Duncan was wise enough to stay out of it, even if he was starting to feel a bit sorry for the blond beauty.

  “Since when is the truth an insult?” Mavis countered.

  “Very well, so I am the most despicable person imaginable. My fiancé has assured me of that. Sabrina has assured me of that. Even Locke there has assured me of it. With so much evidence against me, it must be so.”

  She was definitely revealing the hurt now, but Mavis was unmoved by it. “Oh, please,” Mavis said derisively. “Don’t think you can use those tactics on me, Pheli. You forget, I know you. I know how you’ll use every trick in the book to get what you want.”

  “I know you as well, and we both know you’ll end up regretting what’s been said here. You simply don’t have it in you to be this vindictive, Mavis. You know you would rather forgive me. We’ve known each other too long—”

  “I recall forgiving you once before,” Mavis cut in tersely, some of her inner anger showing now. “But what good did that do? Did it change your ways? Did it stop you from ruining other people’s lives like you did mine?”

  “Honestly, Mavis, I thought we agreed you were better off without Alexander.”

  “You tried to offer that as a consolation, but it didn’t work. My heart still wouldn’t reconcile to my loss. Instead of getting over it, I grew so bitter that I barely recognized myself anymore. And the only reason I continued to abide your presence is I have been waiting all this time to witness your downfall.”

  Ophelia was apparently surprised over this last revelation, enough to protest with feeling, “Mavis, you can’t hate me this much!”

  “Can
’t I? Have you yet to realize, Pheli, that no one likes you? You don’t have a single real friend, because you end up using them all, and contrary to what you might think, we’re not all so stupid to not realize it.”

  “That’s not true,” Ophelia said in a small voice. “Jane and Edith are still my friends.”

  “Are they?” Mavis rejoined, stabbing her point home. “Are they here for your wedding then? The wedding of their ‘best’ friend?”

  Ophelia’s silence was telling. And if that weren’t answer enough, the abject expression she momentarily revealed was. Mavis’s smile, which could only barely be called one, still revealed her triumph over it.

  “As I thought,” Mavis continued. “Even Jane and Edith have finally seen the truth, haven’t they? But then how could they overlook it any longer when you turned on me right in front of them? They know now that you can’t be trusted. Of course, they’ve always known that really, when they spend most of their time with you trying to soothe your ruffled feathers, because they know you’d turn your spite on them just as easily as anyone else.”

  “I wouldn’t.”

  “Good God, Ophelia, lie to others all you want, but don’t stand there and lie to me! I was there when you burned them in the past, when you turned your vicious tongue on them more than once. And for what? For some minor trifle not worth mentioning that you just happen to take offense at. But then you take everything as a personal affront, because everything must revolve around you.”

  “I can’t help my temper.”

  Mavis shook her head. “You can. You just never try. You’d rather make excuses, even to yourself, to explain your nasty retaliations. What does that say for you, Pheli? That you still behave like a child? That you never grew up? Isn’t it about time that you did?”

  “Enough. You’ve made your point.”

  “Have I? But has it opened your eyes? I doubt it. You’ll make your excuses, call me a fool and a liar, and go about your blithe way, ignoring anyone’s opinion but your own just as you always do.”

  “I can’t very well go about any blithe way when I’m stuck here . . . Mavis, I’m begging you—there, I’ve said it. Is that what you came here for? To hear me beg? Are you happy now? Please don’t make me have to marry a man who despises me.”

  Mavis shook her head again, this time in amazement. “You see how self-centered you are, Pheli? It never even occurred to you that I might have come here for Lord Duncan’s sake, did it? As it happens, that’s exactly why I’m here, to end a tragedy, because that’s what any marriage to you would be. My silence is assured on all accounts, but not for your sake. You I wouldn’t help if you were drowning. It’s for Duncan, because no man deserves to be stuck with you for a wife.”

  That was Mavis’s last word on the subject; in fact, she stepped around Ophelia, giving her her back, dismissing her ex-friend from her mind completely to address Duncan now. “Lord Duncan, I’m sorry, truly sorry, I didn’t make my assurances to you last night. I’ve let my association with Ophelia nearly destroy my own integrity, though that is no excuse and I know it.”

  “Nae, lass, dinna trouble yourself o’er it,” he replied, giving her a smile. “My relief is tae great tae do aught but thank you for it.”

  She nodded curtly, still embarrassed that she had let him suffer in doubt even one extra day.

  She then turned to Sabrina and took her hand to squeeze it.

  “Thank you for reminding me how heartwarming and selfless real friendship is, Sabrina. I’ll be proud to call you a friend henceforth, if you’ll allow me?”

  “Certainly,” Sabrina replied. “But you sound like you’re leaving.”

  “I am. I can’t delay getting home any longer. I imagine my father has a long list of punishments awaiting me, and I’ll deserve every one of them.”

  Ophelia slipped away from them unnoticed. She knew they wouldn’t care. She also knew she could contain her emotions no longer and sought a private place to release them. She ran back upstairs, but rounding the corner of the hallway at the top, she collided with Raphael Locke.

  He had slipped away unnoticed as well, just before she did, and with the express purpose of catching her alone, having guessed which direction she would take. He’d listened to most of Mavis Newbolt’s allegations, things he’d been unaware of, and he didn’t feel that Ophelia was quite contrite enough for all the trouble she had caused.

  He had meant to have a few disparaging words with her himself. He hadn’t expected to find tears running down her pretty face, however.

  “By God, they’re real, aren’t they?” he said, setting her back from him to touch a finger to her wet cheek. “And you thought to not share them with anyone? I’m impressed.”

  “Leave . .. me be,” she choked out.

  He didn’t. Awkwardly, and utterly amazed that he had the impulse, he drew her back to him and let her make use of his shoulder. Appalling shortcoming of his, to be a sucker for tears, real ones, that is, but there it was, and he was bloody well likely to regret it in this instance.

  He sighed inwardly, but there was no help for it. Ophelia’s narrow body was trembling with emotion, and it was incredible just how much emotion was pouring out on his shoulder. Not that he thought the ice inside her was melting. No indeed. Never would he think that. The Lockes did not raise fools.

  Chapter Fifty-one

  Amazing how quickly Neville “recovered” from his collapse after being informed of Mavis Newbolt’s brief visit. He even came downstairs himself to make the announcement official, that the two young people had decided not to marry after all, and had severed their engagement amicably this time, it being a mutual decision.

  Of course, following that announcement, he pretty much booted those remaining guests out of his house. He did so diplomatically, but did so nonetheless and with concealed relish. By that evening, Summers Glade was actually empty again as it should be, well, except for one unwelcome guest he still couldn’t get rid of yet and wouldn’t, until Duncan found himself a real bride.

  That guest sat across from Neville that evening in the formal dining room. They were sharing an aperitif while waiting for Duncan to join them for dinner. With the dilemma of the Reid marriage out of the way, the somewhat temporary truce they had been under in their mutual opposition to it was pretty much at an end.

  Congratulations over with and thanks given that Mavis Newbolt turned out to be a decent lass after all, Neville and Archibald were back where they had started, in disagreement over how to get Duncan married.

  “He’ll have to go to London,” Neville said, seeing no other solution himself.

  Archie groaned. “Gawd, I’ve heard the devil hisself lives in yer London.”

  “What utter tripe. Our London is no different than your Edinburgh, I’m sure.”

  Archie snorted. “Ye ain’t sure, since ye’ve ne’er been there.”

  “And you’ve been to London?” Neville countered. “When was that?”

  Archie bristled, being put on the spot like that, and maintained, “That’s neither here nor there. A big city, nae matter the country ‘tis in, isna the answer. What’s wrong wi’ anither gathering here, eh?”

  “This house will not undergo another invasion,” Neville replied adamantly, which was the same as saying that he simply wouldn’t tolerate another mass of strangers peeking into his every nook and cranny. “The social Season is still in full swing in London. Invitations can be easily obtained to all of the upcoming affairs of note, and more will pour in once Duncan makes an appearance there.”

  “There’ll be far tae many lassies in a city that big,” Archibald pointed out. “How will the lad e’er be able tae make a choice—”

  “Archibald, haven’t we been over this ground once before? As it happens, and it can’t be disputed, London is the place that all the marriageable young women flock to each Season. It’s a well-known marriage mart. If Englishmen have managed just fine finding their wives there for years, myself included, why then wouldn’t Duncan be
able to? And no one said you have to accompany him.”

  “Then ye mean tae?”

  Neville shuddered at the very thought. “No, actually, I was thinking of asking young Locke, who seems to have become quite chummy with Duncan, to take him around and introduce him to all the right people.”

  Hearing the end of that as he entered the room, Duncan said, “If there’s any asking tae be doing o‘ friends o’ mine, I’ll be doing it. The both o‘ you are really going tae have tae stop treating me like a bairn in swaddling that canna do a bluidy thing for himself. And no’ that I’m conceding one hundred percent that Rafe is a friend, but what is it I’m tae ask him tae do for me?”

  “Get you immersed in the London Season.”

  Duncan, about to take the chair between the two old men, paused with an appalled look. “Whatever would I want tae do that for? Archie, you told me yourself that place is a hellhole nae sane man would want tae visit.”

  Archie coughed uncomfortably. “Well, whether it is or no‘, Neville is sure that’s the place tae be finding yer wife now. And I’ll hae tae agree wi’ him,” Archie said, gaining a raised brow from Neville since he had just got done disagreeing with him, which he ignored for the moment. “We’ve had an unpleasant detour, but ‘tis time tae be getting back tae the matter at hand, which is finding ye a wife.”

  “Then rest easy,” Duncan replied. “I’ve already made my choice if she’ll have me.”

  “Who?” Archie asked in surprise.

  Neville, figuring out the “who” part and not all that surprised, but not all that pleased either, dropped a hand over his eyes and mumbled the least of his objections. “She’s not titled. You can do better.”

  “Who?” Archie repeated, glaring at Neville now since he seemed to know but hadn’t warned him.

  Neville didn’t notice the hot look, with his hand still covering his eyes. But Duncan answered for him. “Sabrina Lambert, o‘ course.”