Tristan let out a dry chuckle, then both of them looked up as a bout of mirthful laughter came from Theo. Alistair was by her side, a hand wrapped around her waist as the other was bringing a forkful of cake to her mouth. Their foreheads were pressed together, their eyes fixed on each other as they smiled.
“They truly do make marriage and children look as if it will not be all that bad,” Ophelia noted.
“Oh, they make me sick,” Tristan retorted. Ophelia laughed and poked his hand playfully with her fork.
“Oh, come, even you have to admit they are perfect together,” she goaded.
“Yes,” he sighed in resignation, “With that I must agree. Even their parenting skills are perfect. Their children are lucky.”
“Mine will be too,” Ophelia said matter-of-factly, then helped herself to another bite of cake.
Tristan raised an amused brow.
“Oh, will they now?” He asked.
“Oh, yes. I will raise wild daughters who never have to brush their hair or wear skirts if they do not wish to. They will be heathens bent on disrupting society and I will love them all the more for it,” she replied.
Tristan let out a genuine laugh, the image forming readily in his mind.
“And if you have boys?” He asked.
Ophelia made a face as she shook her head.
“Oh, no, the good Lord knows better than to give me boys,” she replied, “He will give me daughters and that is that.”
“And if your husband wants a boy?” Tristan asked.
Ophelia gave another careless shrug.
“Then he will go find a woman who will give him a boy,” she said plainly, surprising Tristan.
“You…would encourage your husband to infidelity?” Tristan ventured.
“It is not as if we would truly care for one another,” Ophelia said with another passive shrug. “Besides, I doubt he will want to touch me after I make myself as plump as possible. And what man would not want a wife’s blessing to dally whoever he wants?”
Tristan found himself unsure of how to answer. He had found her amusing at first but as she went on, he felt pity begin to grow for Ophelia. She may not be the most well-behaved woman in their society, granted, but she did seem to understand the ugly truth behind most marriages. He just hated that she was expecting such a marriage to be hers.
The urge to protect her from such a fate came on sudden and strong, disarming him so greatly that it rendered him into silent confusion. What did he care? This woman was a menace. To society and to him!
An image conjured in his mind then, one that made his heart feel pulled in two very different directions. He imagined being married to Ophelia and nearly groaned aloud. Their life would be filled with arguments. Arguments and…passion. His mind flashed to the other night. To pleasure-riddled annoyance she had made him feel. To the heady satisfaction he’d felt when he made her release on his tongue as payback.
“Here,” Ophelia’s voice shook him from his reverie. He glanced back at up at her and saw that she had replaced the plate in her hand with a flute of champagne. A second one rested in the grip of her other hand and was extended to him.
“You look as if you could use this,” Ophelia said, nudging the offered glass toward him.
“God, I really do,” he murmured under his breath as he snatched it from her fingertips. He barely raised it toward her before he upended the glass and drained it of its contents.
“You on the other hand, are going to make an excellent parent. Your children will be perfect.”
Tristan choked on his champagne, barely covering his mouth in time to stop droplets of spraying over Ophelia’s face.
“I beg your pardon?” He coughed out.
Ophelia was grinning now and he scowled at her obvious pleasure of catching him off guard.
“You would,” she insisted, her tone off-puttingly kind, “We all saw the way you looked after Theo. Even before your mother passed on. She was never without your guiding hand or comfort.”
“Yes, well…she is my little sister,” he muttered, darting a glance toward Theo.
