They helped him roll up the map and tuck it safely away in its leather case. “The last time I saw you, Miss Ophelia, I believe you were ten years old.”
Her eyebrows went up of their own volition. “I’m very sorry to say I don’t recall the event.”
“I daresay you wouldn’t. I was a young man, very much trying to gain the attention and respect of your father. I believe you were lecturing your brothers on some matter. You’d all been allowed to dine with us.”
“Once the children became interested in the outdoor pursuits, we would allow them out of the nursery when we dined with future explorers. We thought it would take the spark out of them when they heard how physically rigorous it was.” Ophelia’s mother looked to her affectionately.
“That worked on Arthur, but I’m afraid it only whetted my appetite,” Ophelia said.
Sir Julian looked down. “I know that it is difficult to speak of failed attempts—I can’t tell you how many of my own I have had—but I should be very curious about the Matterhorn expedition, Miss Ophelia. If you’d be willing to tell me.”
Heat filled her cheeks. “Another time,” she said, wondering if she would be brave enough to do so.
“Thank you for your hospitality, my lady. May I call upon you again?” Sir Julian stood, slinging his map case across his body.
Lady Rascomb stood, as did Ophelia. Her mother didn’t even bother looking at her when she told he was welcome to visit them anytime. It wasn’t that Ophelia minded, but she felt quite at odds with herself. There was something she didn’t like about this man, this stranger, having this paternal connection to her father without her knowing about it. As if he somehow was claiming something that belonged to her.
