“I hope—”
“Darling!” Arthur crashed into the room. “You are up!”
Lady Emily barely had time to stand before Arthur was there swooping her into his arms, kissing her cheeks. Lady Emily squeaked in delight and surprise. Ophelia watched them, feeling a hole opening in her heart. She had acquiesced to being courted by Lord Fairport, but she couldn’t imagine him swooping in to gather her in his arms. Or smothering her with kisses. Or being affectionate in any way, really.
“What are you doing home? I thought you had—”
“I’m only home for a moment, but Ferris told me you were in the drawing room. I had to see you.” He released her, finally, looking at her with stars in his eyes. Ophelia had never seen her serious, studious, duty-bound brother look so... smitten. And to think, Arthur almost didn’t marry her.
“I’m much better today,” Lady Emily said, puffing out her chest in pride. Ophelia was reminded of a robin, cleaning itself on the stone birdbath in the garden. “I have no doubt this is the beginning of a new era for me and the babe.” She touched her stomach, where a protrusion, though small, was now obvious.
Arthur looked as if should night fall, he could be a streetlamp himself, glowing as he was. “Must dash, but I’m so glad, Em.” He kissed her. As he turned to leave, he spotted Ophelia in the room. The afterthought. “Oh, hallo.”
“Arthur,” Ophelia said, greeting him with a polite smile, as if she had not witnessed perhaps the most intimate display of affection she’d ever seen between two people.
He continued to the door of the drawing room, and then turned, snapping his fingers. “That reminds me. I saw our friend, Sir Julian, out the other day. I invited him and his companion to dinner this Friday. Should be smashing. Lord Fairport as well. Invite whoever else you want, Fee, we’ll get the man to propose before Christmas!”
And then Arthur was gone.
“Who is proposing?” Lady Emily asked the surprisingly still air in the drawing room, now that Arthur had exited.
“No one, yet,” Ophelia said, her heart not quite caught up to her ears.
“Lord Fairport or Sir Julian?” Lady Emily asked, sinking back down into her chair.
“Neither,” Ophelia said, pulling the lap desk back onto her lap. The barely started letter to Justine was there, waiting. Did she dare detail the intimacy she’d witnessed? Would Justine know this kind of affection with Karl Vogel? Likely so. The Bavarians were far more obvious in their emotions than the English. Or Germans, now, she supposed. She wondered what the Vogels thought about that, and she longed to have a free-wheeling discussion with Justine about everything from life in a newly minted state of Germany to how she liked living in Augsburg, to watching her do impressions of her mother-in-law.
“Don’t you want to be married?” Lady Emily asked.
“I want to go to Paris,” Ophelia snapped.
“What’s in Paris?” Lady Emily asked, and Ophelia was glad she switched topics.
“I want to meet my dear friend and her husband there. Justine Brewer? She’s now Mrs. Karl Vogel, and I miss her.”
“Yes, I remember meeting her. She’s difficult to forget.” Lady Emily’s hand settled on her lower belly and she stared into the empty fireplace.
“I miss her,” Ophelia said, trying hard to not sound defiant. During her years in the nursery, Nanny had always told her she was defiant. Despite the slaps and the many nights without supper, Ophelia had trouble controlling her tone, sounding “too confident” or “defiant.” Yet that same attribute was encouraged in Arthur, and not chided in Tristan in the least.
“I have no doubt you do. What can I do to help you see her?” Lady Emily asked.
Ophelia looked up, grateful that Lady Emily understood. Of course she did. Lady Emily knew a great deal more than she let on, which made her an excellent Lady Rascomb. “Help me get through the dinner and have Lord Fairport still like me at the end?”
Lady Emily smiled. “I will do my best.”
“And no fish, please.”
Her sister-in-law drew her head back in surprise. “But—”
“The sauce is atrocious, and someone needs to tell you.” Ophelia turned her attention back to the letter. There was much to plan, and much to tell Justine.
*
“You know, Ididn’t think you would be taking me to dinners with titled aristocrats,” Delphine purred in the carriage. “I thought it would be the other way ’round.”
Julian straightened his collar, which somehow seemed tighter this evening. He wouldn’t have taken her if Arthur hadn’t spotted them together in Hyde Park. Julian was trying to end things with her politely, charmingly, as per Lady Rascomb’s wishes, and then Arthur had charged up and invited them both to a private dinner. He couldn’t very well refuse. And then he accepted her invitation to return to her townhome. “These are family friends. I was good friends with the late Lord Rascomb, and upon my return, I renewed my acquaintance with the family.”
“Which has nothing to do with Lady Rascomb’s status as a widow,” Delphine said, piercing him with her onyx gaze.
