Johanna Lindsay - The Heir

And Ophelia didn't even know who Raphael Locke was yet, had never met him. None of the girls had, prior to yesterday when he'd arrived here with his sister. Amanda, they knew, of course, and had cornered her to find out that he was her brother, the Locke heir, who had only just returned to England from several years abroad, which was why they'd never met him or even heard of him before.

Unfortunately, it was more than likely that once he met Ophelia, he would fall at her feet in worship just as every other silly male did, Duncan MacTavish being the only exception to that, which Mavis truly admired him for. Edith and Jane were of the same opinion, had only just been telling Ophelia about him as they brought her up to date on what had been happening, that he was the heir to a dukedom, how handsome and rich he was, how ideally suited he was for her if she was done with her ex-fiancé—when he'd appeared with Sabrina at his side. And it wasn't by accident that they just happened to leave the room at the same time. They were talking and smiling together as they went off in search of chairs to sit on while they ate.

Of course, the three girls had been there to witness Sabrina's success last night, in managing to capture Duncan MacTavish's undivided attention for most of the evening. Jane and Edith had even been having a friendly argument over which of them would try to win him for themselves, now that Ophelia was done with him, until they'd seen how enthralled he seemed to be with Sabrina.

Not that they would ever mention that to Ophelia, at least Jane and Edith wouldn't, and prayed she didn't hear of it elsewhere. So they were both a bit incredulous when Mavis remarked with a snort, "Underdog, my foot. I tried to tell you that Sabrina has a winning way about her, but you all scoffed. The proof is she's got the two most eligible men here vying for her attention."

That immediately brought Ophelia's narrowed blue eyes to Mavis with the demand, "What other man? Who are you talking about?"

"Why, your Duncan, of course," Mavis relished saying before Jane and Edith could stop her.

Having said it, she barely managed to hide a triumphant smile. But she then scored even better, though she didn't realize it yet. She couldn't know, after all, that Ophelia had spent the night being uncommunicative with her hosts, locked up in her room, trying to figure out why Duncan hadn't behaved as he ought to have behaved yesterday at their meeting.

"Didn't Sabrina tell you how he barely left her side last night?" Mavis added.

Since Ophelia didn't even know that Sabrina had been here at Summers Glade last night, she was being dealt a double blow. Nor was she adept at concealing her feelings. Though she tried to sound nonchalant in her reply, the myriad of emotions that had crossed her features were a dead giveaway that she was anything but.

"Sabrina isn't one to reveal confidences," Ophelia pointed out.

"Nor successes, apparently. Pity," Mavis replied. "I for one would love to know what they found so amusing, that had them laughing for most of the evening."

"Imply all you want, Mavis," Edith jumped in, still trying to defuse Ophelia's temper, though even she knew it was likely a lost cause, after everything Mavis had revealed. "It doesn't mean either man would actually consider marrying her. Or are you forgetting her bad blood?"

"Well, who could forget that?" Mavis rejoined, tongue in cheek. "Especially when she appears so happy and—alive. But then it was such a silly rumor."

"Are you forgetting who started the rumor?" Jane said in Ophelia's defense.

"No, actually, I remember perfectly well who spitefully instigated its circulation again."

There it was at last, a direct insult to Ophelia. Mavis was thrilled that she'd finally had the nerve to do it. And it didn't go over Ophelia's head as she'd feared it might. The gorgeous blonde wasn't quite so gorgeous when her face was beet red with fury.

Edith gasped. Jane was too shocked for speech. Ophelia was sputtering, "Spiteful? You're ... calling . . .

me—!"

"Oh, yes, please do make a scene that will get you booted out of here for a second time," Mavis interrupted with a brilliant smile. "Then perhaps the rest of us can actually enjoy ourselves again."

Mavis turned to leave, aware that she'd completely severed her ties with this group, and proud of herself for finally doing so. But Edith and Jane, she had liked, at least when they weren't behaving like brainless twits around Ophelia, and so she paused long enough to tell them, "When are you two going to wake up and realize that she's no friend to you? She'd backstab you in a second if she thought it would get her something she wants, and have not a single regret for doing so."

Mavis sauntered away with a bounce in her step and a grin on her lips. She knew she might as well pack her bags, that some atrocious rumor would start about her that very day. She just didn't care anymore.

"Well, I never," Jane huffed, unable to think of anything more appropriate to say after that shocking speech of Mavis's.

"I never either," Edith agreed.

"I'm not surprised, myself," Ophelia said, recovering nicely, if boiling inside. "She's such a liar, after all. I've caught her at it, oh, at least five times before, but was kind enough not to point out that I knew she was lying. Poor dear, I wonder if she just can't help it. Some people can't, you know."

"Sit down, Archibald, we have a problem." The Scotsman took the seat across from Neville's desk in his sitting room and gave his nemesis a narrowed if skeptical look. He hadn't liked being summoned, as he saw it, hadn't had his breakfast yet, hadn't slept well last night, and the heat in this particular room had started him sweating the moment he entered it. More problems, he didn't need.

"We?" he questioned. "And how would we be having a problem when the only thing we share in common is the lad, and he's doing exactly what we asked o' him? A fine passel o' lassies ye hae gathered here, by the way, if I do say sae m'self. If I'd known ye had such an abundance o' beauties down here, I might hae come tae visit after m'dear wife passed on, and found me anither one m'self."

"Would that you had, then we might not be fighting over Duncan now," Neville grumbled.

"Who's fighting, eh? I could hae swore we were finally in agreement o'er the dividing o' heirs."

"Hardly a fitting solution, but not the point I wish to discuss either," Neville replied. "If you didn't notice last night, Duncan has done some inviting himself to this party, of one Sabrina Lambert, whom he proceeded to waste his time on the entire evening."

"The buxom wee lass? Nicely shaped, but no' exactly a beauty, sae dinna fash yerself o'er her, he'll pick a pretty one in the end."

Neville sighed and said in a weary tone, "I wish you wouldn't harp so much on superficial beauty. A pretty face does not make for an ideal wife, as was so drastically found out with the Reid girl."

"Course it does," Archie disagreed blithely. "Ye dinna hae tae listen tae a wife, can ignore them as ye please, but ye do ha' tae look at them every sae often, sae a pretty face does take precedent o'er an empty head."

Neville rolled his eyes, but pointed out, "Duncan must not feel the same, since he is showing a marked interest in this particular girl. Now, he may just enjoy her company. He admitted as much. She amuses him. If that's all it is, then there is no problem."

Archie frowned at that point. "Yer no' making sense yerself, mon. If ye dinna care if he weds a beauty or no', as ye keep harping, wha' is yer problem wi' this lass? Is she no' titled tae yer satisfaction?"

Neville sighed again. "Sabrina Lambert's looks have not a thing to do with my concern, Archibald. As it happens, I think she's quite pretty. Her eyes make all the difference, remarkable as they are."