“Fifty?” Justine asked. “Wait, did you ask him how many lovers he’d had? Ophelia. You can’t just ask someone something like that. It’s private.”
“How could it be private, when what we did, what he saw of me is the least private thing one can do?”
Justine sighed and frowned. “It is very private between you, yes. But is that not why he should keep his acts with others also private?”
Ophelia wiped her cheek with the flat of her palm, unsure if there was moisture there or not. “But if I’m the special one, then—”
Justine shook her head and put her hand on Ophelia’s arm. “Jealousy is a terrible emotion, Fee. But Julian has a right to keep this to himself. And, I must remind you, he is not your husband. He is nothing to you.”
“He’s my climbing partner to-be.” Ophelia defended.
“That’s not enough. You should talk to him if you want to keep him in your life.”
“Is it wise to, though? He might force me to marry him. Or Arthur might.” Ophelia made a face. Her older brother was quite the stickler for appearances, and if Ophelia had been compromised, it was only right for Julian to marry her. But what if Lord Fairport proposed? Would that not solve the issue as well? But then she’d be married to Lord Fairport. “What if I do not wish to marry?”
Justine shrugged. “Then don’t. But you told me that you were open to it, which is why when your mother suggested going back to the Season, you said yes.”
“I did, but I didn’t think anything would come of it. I’m so old.”
“Positively decrepit, yes, but I love you anyway.”
Ophelia gripped her hand, feeling better. “So I should speak with him.”
“I think that would help.” Justine scooched off the bed and began searching through the clothes on the floor. “Now let’s get you dressed.”
