He had slipped away unnoticed as well, just before she did, and with the express purpose of catching her alone, having guessed which direction she would take. He’d listened to most of Mavis Newbolt’s allegations, things he’d been unaware of, and he didn’t feel that Ophelia was quite contrite enough for all the trouble she had caused.
He had meant to have a few disparaging words with her himself. He hadn’t expected to find tears running down her pretty face, however.
“By God, they’re real, aren’t they?” he said, setting her back from him to touch a finger to her wet cheek. “And you thought to not share them with anyone? I’m impressed.”
“Leave me be,” she choked out.
He didn’t. Awkwardly, and utterly amazed that he had the impulse, he drew her back to him and let her make use of his shoulder. Appalling shortcoming of his, to be a sucker for tears, real ones, that is, but there it was, and he was bloody well likely to regret it in this instance.
He sighed inwardly, but there was no help for it. Ophelia’s narrow body was trembling with emotion, and it was incredible just how much emotion was pouring out on his shoulder. Not that he thought the ice inside her was melting. No indeed. Never would he think that. The Lockes did not raise fools.
Fifty-one
Amazing how quickly Neville “recovered” from his collapse after being informed of Mavis Newbolt’s brief visit. He even came downstairs himself to make the announcement official, that the two young people had decided not to marry after all, and had severed their engagement amicably this time, it being a mutual decision.
Of course, following that announcement, he pretty much booted those remaining guests out of his house. He did so diplomatically, but did so nonetheless and with concealed relish. By that evening, Summers Glade was actually empty again as it should be, well, except for one unwelcome guest he still couldn’t get rid of yet and wouldn’t, until Duncan found himself a real bride.
That guest sat across from Neville that evening in the formal dining room. They were sharing an aperitif while waiting for Duncan to join them for dinner. With the dilemma of the Reid marriage out of the way, the somewhat temporary truce they had been under in their mutual opposition to it was pretty much at an end.
Congratulations over with and thanks given that Mavis Newbolt turned out to be a decent lass after all, Neville and Archibald were back where they had started, in disagreement over how to get Duncan married.
“He’ll have to go to London,” Neville said, seeing no other solution himself.
Archie groaned. “Gawd, I’ve heard the devil hisself lives in yer London.”
“What utter tripe. Our London is no different than your Edinburgh, I’m sure.”
Archie snorted. “Ye ain’t sure, since ye’ve ne’er been there.”
“And you’ve been to London?” Neville countered. “When was that?”
Archie bristled, being put on the spot like that, and maintained, “That’s neither here nor there. A big city, nae matter the country ‘tis in, isna the answer. What’s wrong wi’ anither gathering here, eh?”
“This house willnotundergo another invasion,” Neville replied adamantly, which was the same as saying that he simply wouldn’t tolerate another mass of strangers peeking into his every nook and cranny. “The social Season is still in full swing in London. Invitations can be easily obtained to all of the upcoming affairs of note, and more will pour in once Duncan makes an appearance there.”
“There’ll be far tae many lassies in a city that big,” Archibald pointed out. “How will the lad e’er be able tae make a choice—”
“Archibald, haven’t we been over this ground once before? As it happens, and it can’t be disputed, Londonisthe place that all the marriageable young women flock to each Season. It’s a well-known marriage mart. If Englishmen have managed just fine finding their wives there for years, myself included, why then wouldn’t Duncan be able to? And no one said you have to accompany him.”
“Then ye mean tae?”
Neville shuddered at the very thought. “No, actually, I was thinking of asking young Locke, who seems to have become quite chummy with Duncan, to take him around and introduce him to all the right people.”
Hearing the end of that as he entered the room, Duncan said, “If there’s any asking tae be doing o’ friends o’ mine, I’ll be doing it. The both o’ you are really going tae have tae stop treating me like a bairn in swaddling that canna do a bluidy thing for himself. And no’ that I’m conceding one hundred percent that Rafe is a friend, but what is it I’m tae ask him tae do for me?”
“Get you immersed in the London Season.”
Duncan, about to take the chair between the two old men, paused with an appalled look. “Whatever would I want tae do that for? Archie, you told me yourself that place is a hellhole nae sane man would want tae visit.”
Archie coughed uncomfortably. “Well, whether it is or no’, Neville is sure that’s the place tae be finding yer wife now. And I’ll hae tae agree wi’ him,” Archie said, gaining a raised brow from Neville since he had just got done disagreeing with him, which he ignored for the moment. “We’ve had an unpleasant detour, but ‘tis time tae be getting back tae the matter at hand, which is finding ye a wife.”
“Then rest easy,” Duncan replied. “I’ve already made my choice if she’ll have me.”
“Who?” Archie asked in surprise.
Neville, figuring out the “who” part and not all that surprised, but not all that pleased either, dropped a hand over his eyes and mumbled the least of his objections. “She’s not titled. You can do better.”
“Who?” Archie repeated, glaring at Neville now since he seemed to know but hadn’t warned him.
