Five minutes passed, then another five. She was just about positive that she would be vomiting in the bushes if she had to endure this embarrassment even one more minute, and decided it would be better for her stomach, at least, to just leave. Then she heard the footsteps behind her.
She swung about just as Duncan began to say, “The butler said you—” He stopped, surprise lighting up his features as he recognized her, then added, “You! So youdolive around here, aye?”
“Well, yes, our cottage is just off the road on the way to Oxbow, about a twenty-minute walk from here.”
“‘Our’? You’re no’ married, are you?”
She blinked, then grinned. “Not that I’ve noticed lately. I live with my two maiden aunts.”
He frowned. “Are you new tae the neighborhood then, that m’grandfather wouldna know you tae invite you tae this party o’ his?”
This was approaching what could be called a sticky subject, and she’d just as well not go into the details of exactly why Lord Neville wouldn’t send her any invites. Duncan was proving much too inquisitive—about her—when he should be asking about her message.
So she said merely, “I’ve never met Lord Neville, so no, he doesn’t know me.”
“Well, then.” He smiled at her. “Since I know you, let me extend a belated invitation—”
She held up a hand to stop him. Had she really thought she could avoid the subject?
“I fear I may have misled you. Your grandfather has never met me, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know of me, and I think I can safely say he wouldn’t consider me an appropriate guest for the purpose of his party.”
Bright red, her cheeks were, by the time she got all that out. But he nodded in understanding, then surprised her by saying, “So you’ll come anyway, at my request, and bedamned what the auld mon has tae say aboot it.”
“No, really, I couldn’t. Now, you really must let me deliver my message and be on my way.”
He twisted his lips a bit, as if he might argue, but then he sighed. “Verra well, what message is that?”
Now that she had to say it, the words just wouldn’t come out. Her cheeks, with barely a chance to cool off, were surely scarlet now. She glanced away from him, getting desperate, aware that he was waiting.
Spotting the edge of the stable off to the side of the house, she procrastinated after all. “It was very strange, seeing coaches milling about a stable yard, rather than horses, but still not as many as one would expect to see from a gathering this large. Have some been put out to pasture then?”
“Put out—?” he began, but the image her words produced, of fifty or so coaches grazing in a pasture, had him laughing before he finished.
Sabrina couldn’t find anything amusing about what she’d said just then and took advantage of his distraction to blurt out, “Lady Ophelia would like an opportunity to speak to you in private. She suggested a meeting in the common room at the inn in Oxbow so that she might apologize to you.”
She had managed to catch him completely unawares. In fact, he was looking at her now as if she were daft. But as quickly a scowl came and he bit out, “More like insult me again.”
“No, really, she has assured me she regrets whatever it was she said to you before. Will you meet her?”
“Nae.”
Oddly, Sabrina felt her embarrassment subside, hearing that emphatic answer. But she wouldn’t be honestly discharging her duty if she didn’t at least make another effort or two on Ophelia’s behalf.
So she said, “Is that an ‘I’ll think about it’ nay or an ‘I’ll need more convincing’ nay?”
“‘Twas a flat-oout ‘ne’er tae be considered’ nay.”
“Oh, dear, and I’d thought that type was obsolete.”
“What type?” he said in a tone beginning to sound like exasperation. “Whatareyou blathering aboot now?”
“Your ‘never to be considered’ no. I thought everyone left a little room for changing their minds these days. Saves embarrassment, you know, if you try evasiveness instead—just in case youdowant to change your mind later.”
“Aye, but e’en more time is saved if you know your own mind and say so.”
She gave up on that tack, asked instead, “Would it really be so hard on you to hear what she has to say?”
“Hard, nay. A waste o’ m’time, aye.”
