Johanna Lindsay - The Heir

"So you're going to stay with us until the gossip settles down?"

"Goodness, no, that might take forever. I do make a wonderful target for gossip, after all. No, we're going to rectify this ourselves."

Sabrina blinked. "We?"

"Yes." Ophelia nodded. "It's the least you can do, after I befriended you in London and helped with your launch there. You simply must help me with this now."

"Well, certainly—if I can."

"You can," Ophelia assured her. "And you needn't even do much. Just arrange a meeting is all." "A meeting with whom?"

"My ex-fiancé, of course. We're going to get him to ask me to marry him again. Then it will all seem like a silly lovers' tiff that caused the breakup, which will be quite acceptable and put an end to the gossip."

"You just show up at the door."

Truthfully, Sabrina was so appalled by Ophelia's newest scheme, and in particular that the girl wanted to

involve her in it, that she could barely put two thoughts together. And even Ophelia's suggestions for how to go about it, she found highly distasteful.

"I didn't receive an invitation, Ophelia, any more than you did," Sabrina reminded the girl. "But you're a neighbor. Neighbors don't need invitations to visit." "During a party they do."

Ophelia waved a dismissive hand. "A minor point. And besides, you don't really want to enter the house, where you might be overheard by one of the guests. No, no, you want to draw him outside where you can be assured of privacy when you speak to him."

On the one hand, that sounded like something Sabrina would very much like to do, speak to Duncan MacTavish in private, that is. But on the other hand, she knew it was bad form, really bad form, to come visiting your neighbor when you knew he was having a party—that you hadn't been invited to. Beyond rude. Simply not done.

And the subject matter that she was to broach, well, that would be utterly embarrassing as well. She didn't know the first thing about matchmaking, after all, which was pretty much what Ophelia was asking of her.

Besides, all things said and done, she liked Duncan. So did she really want to see him married to a woman like Ophelia who schemed and started rumors about people whether they were true or not? Liking him, and quite aware that she had no chance whatsoever to have him herself, then yes, she would like to see him marry someone as beautiful as Ophelia was, but hopefully someone with a bit more moral fortitude and honor than the London girl had.

So she didn't really want to help Ophelia. However, she couldn't refuse outright either, when Ophelia had befriended her in London. She owed her some help in kind for that. But she did want one thing clarified first before she agreed to this latest scheme.

"Do you want to marry him now, or is this only a means to end the gossip about you?"

Ophelia seemed surprised by the question. That she had to give it some thought before answering didn't greatly reassure Sabrina, either.

But she did finally say, "Of course, I do. I told you, if I had actually noticed him when I met him, rather than just that silly kilt he was wearing, none of this would be necessary now. He is quite handsome, after all, which I realized after it was too late."

"There was always a possibility that he might be handsome," Sabrina pointed out.

"Not really," Ophelia disagreed, and shook her head just to stress it. "My mother knew Lord Neville from years ago, when she used to live here, and she confessed he was quite plain looking himself, which didn't offer much hope that there would be any improvement in a grandson of his. Quite ironic that the Scottish side of Duncan, which was the side I objected to, or at least I objected that he was from the far northern regions that are known to still be quite barbaric, would be the side to give him his good looks."

Sabrina was forced to accept that reasoning, not that the northern Highlands were barbaric, because who knew, after all, what they were like, when Englishmen so rarely visited there to tell about it? No, she

accepted that reasoning only because she knew that people did fall in love based on mutual attraction, and if Ophelia was now attracted to Duncan, that might be all that was necessary to turn her into a good wife for him. The London girl had schemed and lied because she had felt desperate and trapped, but now she found it had all been wasted effort on her part, that she was pleased with her fiancé, or ex-fiancé at the moment, after all.

So Sabrina found herself walking to Summers Glade that afternoon, even though she'd rather be walking in any other direction. She really, really didn't want to be doing this, not just because she liked Duncan, and didn't really like Ophelia all that much, after getting to know her, but because this matchmaking thing just wasn't something she would ordinarily do. Ordinarily? Never was more like it. It was tampering with people's lives, trying to match make them, when they might end up with a disastrous marriage that she would then see as all her fault.

But a favor—no, a discharge of an owed debt was how she tried to see it. And the sooner she got her part out of the way, the sooner the bile in her stomach would go away.

Frazzled, that was how Duncan started feeling, once Neville's guests began arriving at Summers Glade. It was bad enough before the party began, when he had to sit through the arguing over the agenda for it. He'd swear, if his grandfathers were any younger at all, they'd be taking their fists to each other, so much did they hotly disagree on things.

But once the guests showed up, he had Archie taking him from room to room to point out the physical attributes of each lass they came across. Then he had Neville dragging him aside to point out the family histories of each girl, and which ones were more desirable socially. He'd had to put his foot down finally. There were just too many women there for him to keep track of all the information being given to him about each. So now the two old men were sending him notes, and the butler, delivering them, was becoming as frazzled as he was.

He had to wonder, what ever happened to the old tried-and-true fall-in-love-and-then-get-married philosophy that served so many people well? This getting married because this lass was the prettiest, or this one had the most titles in her ancestry, just didn't sit well with him.

He'd already seen the most beautiful, and so knew firsthand that prettiest did not make for best choice. Of course, Archie insisted they couldn't all be senseless twits like Ophelia Reid, and so he was still pushing for beauty rather than credentials. Neville agreed that beauty often came paired with too much vanity and overweening pride, so was still insisting on the better social status. Duncan was inclined to think they'd disagree just to disagree.

He had to admit, though, that he was being offered an abundance in the way of choices. Since he had agreed to get married—a moment of insanity, surely—if he couldn't find at least one lass to his liking out of the fifty or so who had been invited, then he'd be deliberately not trying. During that first day of the arrivals, and on into the next morning, he did find himself continually looking for a pair of lilac eyes, but none were to be found.

Not that he was thinking of that particular girl as a possible candidate for matrimony. He'd simply enjoyed her company, and was looking forward to a bit of her humor, which had managed to lighten his mood that day he met her, and he was definitely in need of mood lightening again.

When he began to wonder why she hadn't made an appearance, since she had seemed to be a neighbor

of Neville's, having been out for a walk in the area—and who better to invite to a party than your own neighbors?—he decided to take his question to his grandfather.