This time there was no smile to hide as Ophelia drew her lips back in genuine sneer.
“No, you may not dare,” she chastised, “The first time was barely humorous, but now a second barb? Are you trying to wound me? Do not ever compare me to the Dandy Lord of Perfection again.”
Though she said it with a gruffness, Ophelia erupted into laughter along with Theo and Rose.
“You know,” Rose said through her laughter, “You are probably the only person in the entirety of England that does not like Tristan. He is such a proper gentleman. Certainly the most gentlest of his kind.”
“He is annoyingly well-liked among our society,” Theo added with a droll tone. “Growing up in his shadow was not easy.”
Ophelia rolled her eyes as they made their way to the end of the stall-filled street.
“That is because I am the only one who sees him for what he is,” she replied dryly. “A pompous prig that cares too much for reputation and likability.”
She kept to herself that there was one thing and one thing only she liked about her best friend’s brother- his hands. “From an artist’s perspective he had the perfect hands. Strong and masculine, but not too meaty. Fingers neither too long or too clubbed. A perfect proportion of veins. They were what she pictured when she practiced drawing or painting the human form.
They left the busy market street for the quieter streets leading toward their homes. Away from the collection of people, the crisp autumn air blew softly around them as a few leaves loosed from the nearby trees and fluttered from the ground. It was Ophelia’s favorite time of the year. One, because the bright, vivid hues of greens and purples and pinks of the summer shifted to the more subtle tones of gold, red, and rich brown of theautumn. Two, because it meant that the summer parties and balls garden tea gatherings were drawing to an end.
Ophelia took a moment to appreciate the changing colors surrounding her, then looked down at Theo’s swollen belly and smiled fondly.
“Enough about Lord Perfect,” she went on, “How are you? How is my little nephew or niece?”
Though none of them were bonded by blood, Ophelia was an auntie to all of her friends’ children. Seraphina, the first of them to get married, and her husband Hugo, the Duke of Merrivale had three children now. The twins; one boy, one girl were now four, and their little girl, who’d just turned one. Amelia and her husband Dominic, the Duke of Ellsworth had a little girl who was now two. Rose and her husband Everett, the Duke of Stapleton, had just had their little boy about nine months ago. Theo and her husband Alistair, the Duke of Caldermere, already had a bouncy baby girl delivered just a few months before Rose’s baby boy, and she was now three months along with her second.
Then of course there were the other children who had found themselves under the care of their strange yet close knit group. Everett’s twin nieces, now almost seven. And of course Amelia’s younger sisters, who were adopted by her and Dominic shortly after they were married. The oldest had come out this past season and had a plethora of admirers, and the youngest was not too far behind.
“I am fine,” Theo sighed, stroking her belly affectionately. “My morning sickness has finally subsided, but now I’m starving all of the time and my feet are horribly swollen. I had to have the cordwainer making me new ones nearly three times bigger than my usual slippers!”
On the other side of Ophelia, Rose tsked.
“Theo! Why did you not tell us so? We would not have walked so much. Or at least we could organized a carriage!” She chastised.
“Indeed,” Ophelia quickly agreed. “You should not keep such discomfort from us.”
“Ladies, please,” Theo laughed softly, “I am fine! I wanted to walk today. Besides, with the weather turning this might be my last walk in the warm air before the baby arrives.”
She then wagged her eyebrows suggestively as she drew in a little closer to Ophelia.
“Additionally, Alistair gives me heavenly foot massages, and he gives me an extra long one when he knows I’ve been walking extensively.”
Rose laughed along with Theo as Ophelia rolled her eyes. The only true problem she had with her friends was that they were all married to Tristan’s closest friends. Alistair had been the most recent addition, which was probably why Ophelia minded him the least, but for the most part, she was annoyed by them all.Their only upside was that they did not try as hard as Tristan did to appear perfect in each and every way.
“Do not roll your eyes!” Theo chastised on a laugh. “If you ever find a husband-ora paramore- you will understand the pleasure of a foot massage, and the lengths you will go to obtain one.”
Ophelia smiled cheekily at Theo, appreciating that she added theorafter husband. Though at one time nearly all of them were against the idea of marriage, it was Ophelia that had been the most steadfast to such an idea. She’d preached of her hope for spinsterhood often the last few years, and now at the age of twenty-seven, she’d finally secured it. She was now too old for the marriage mart, and blessedly, too old to catch the eyes the desperate men seeking wives for the sake of their titles.
“You truly are not going to venture for a paramour, are you, Ophelia?” Rose asked, her tone laced with worry. “I know you do not want to marry but you should at least honor your reputation.”
“My dear Rose, there is no need to worry,” Ophelia stated. Normally she would answer such a question with more wit, but not with Rose. She was the most sensitive of them all. Not only did she have the tenderest heart among the five of them, but she was also most familiar with rumors of paramours; thanks to the brutally public display her mother had put on for years after Rose’s father died.
Thankfully Rose’s mother, Betty, had grown sober and more mature in the last two years or so. Even still, Rose was sensitiveto the gossip of thetonand was the one that paid the most attention to it.
“Shall you come in for tea?” Theo asked when they reached her and Alistair’s London estate. “Rose is staying. She and Everett are joining us for dinner later. You might as well, too.”
“Thank you,” Ophelia said, leaning in to kiss Theo’s cheek first, then Rose’s, “Alas I already promised my time to my father this evening.”
At her own home, Ophelia was welcomed back by their family’s long-serving butler, Mr. Potter.
“New paints, I see Miss Wexley,” Mr. Potter said jovially as he took Ophelia’s basket.
