She was shocked and insulted now. Malicious? Her? The very idea. She might find it necessary to put people in their place occasionally, she might have to exact revenge occasionally, too, but maliciously? Hardly.
But he was no doubt referring to her campaign to make Duncan a laughingstock so that she could get out of an engagement she hadn't wanted at the time. That incident, he would take personally. But she hadn't been malicious about it, and it hadn't actually hurt Duncan in the least. It had merely been a means to an end.
"If you find my behavior objectionable, sir, simply say so, but don't accuse me of something that—"
"My dear girl," he interrupted calmly. "If you have been listening, you would have heard that I do find your behavior objectionable. The very fact that I have had numerous people point out to me your habits speaks for itself. You are being gossiped about, and that is unacceptable. Sit down!" he barked when she stood up indignantly.
Ophelia dropped back into her chair. Her cheeks were now burning. If he weren't such a high personage, she would have marched out of there immediately. It was only that that kept her there. It certainly wasn't that he frightened her with his harsh tones and quelling looks.
"Do not misunderstand," he continued in that calm, if implacable, tone. "This conversation would have taken place previously if Duncan hadn't refused to marry you after first meeting you. You need to understand that marrying into this family entails a great responsibility on your part that you may not have been trained for or were expecting."
"I am the daughter of an earl," she replied haughtily. "I assure you my education was not lacking."
The look he gave her was entirely too skeptical to soothe her ruffled feathers, and in fact he continued in the same vein. "Your parents have lived in London for most of your life, so the education you received may not have been the one that will serve you here. This is a working estate. As the future marquise, you will have specific duties that will take up a great deal of your time and bring you into contact with a wide assortment of individuals from chimney sweeps to vicars to the queen herself. But no matter who you will have to deal with, you will conduct yourself as befitting the Marquise of Birmingdale."
"What sort of work?" she asked, frowning.
"The normal duties associated with an estate this size. I assume you have at least been trained in the running of a large household? My secretary will instruct you in the actual estate duties, which will be in addition to your household duties. Suffice it to say, you will have very little time for leisure, entertaining—or gossip."
"No entertaining?" she asked incredulously.
He couldn't be serious. She associated a peer of his stature with lavish entertainments on a regular basis. The ladies of his rank in London were the premier hostesses of the city, their invitations highly sought after. Of course she had envisioned taking her place among them, and being the queen of the lot.
But he was serious, or certainly sounded so as he explained further, "We are not in the habit of entertaining here, far from it. This current gathering was a rare exception for a specific purpose. It won't be repeated. Nor do we keep a house in London, which would be a frivolous expense, when we never go to London."
"I have family in London," she reminded him. "Of course I will vis—"
"Your family can visit here," he cut in. "I was quite serious when I said you wouldn't find time to travel or entertain. Nor will Duncan, not that he would want to. You will need to readjust your thinking in that regard. Consider yourself country now."
She knew what he meant by that, unfortunately. The gentry who lived on their country estates, rather than just visiting them from time to time, rarely left them. They shunned London. They didn't participate in the gay London Season. They more or less gave up any claim to sophistication and became country. They gained new interests; weather, crops, market prices. The London ton, at least those of her circle, scorned such nobles and likened them to the working class.
Ophelia pinched herself, hoping she was just having a nightmare. She wasn't. And this was not what she had taken for granted when she had decided that Duncan would do for her after all. His future title and good looks were not worth the horror that Lord Neville had just described.
But she realized, with growing despair, that she was now stuck with Duncan whether she liked it or not, and simply because she had made an enemy of Mavis. If Mavis were still her friend, she would agree to never say anything about that scene she had walked in on. Of course she would agree, particularly after she was assured that nothing had really happened.
Ophelia wasn't really compromised beyond repair. It wasn't as if she and Duncan had actually made love. But Mavis would never agree to silence. Why would she, when she despised Ophelia? And the only thing keeping her quiet now was the engagement and forthcoming wedding.
To end that, a second time, was out of the question, since it would give Mavis free rein to spread her sordid gossip.
"You don't look very well," Neville said, breaking into her chaotic thoughts. "I don't believe I am," Ophelia replied miserably. "If you will excuse me?" She didn't wait for his permission. In fact, she nearly ran out of the room.
Chapter Thirty-six
The door slammed shut on Ophelia's exit from Neville's sitting room, making him wince at the unexpected sound. But then he leaned back in his chair with a thoughtful look, wondering if he hadn't overdone it a bit with the girl.
"Having second thoughts, are ye?" Archibald asked when he poked his head around the large reading chair by the window where he had sat unnoticed, at least by Ophelia.
"Second, third, and fourth is more like it," Neville said in a tired tone.
"Och, dinna fash yerself, mon. If yer thinking she's the innocent in all this, yer dead wrong. She did something tae enrage the lad, or he wouldna hae taken his anger tae her, throwing caution tae the winds."
"Did he ever tell you what that was, or at least what started it all?"
Archibald sighed as he changed chairs, putting himself on the other side of Neville's desk. "He willna speak o' that night, no' e'en tae me. Believe me, I've asked, but he just gets angry again each time it's mentioned. He blames himself, and his temper, for the whole mess. And it's breaking m'heart tae see him sae miserable."
"You think I like this any better?" Neville asked. "You were the one who claimed it didn't matter what the girl was made of, as long as she was beautiful. You see now that it does matter?"
"Ye dinna need tae belabor the point," Archie grouched. "Why d'ye think I suggested ye hae that talk wi' her? She was looking tae bluidy pleased wi' the results o' this fiasco. Now she isna, and if anyone can figure a way oout o' this, it'll be a schemer like her. And ye did nae more'n tell her the truth, or did ye embellish a wee bit?"
"Embellish, no. Overstressed a bit, indeed. Of course, I already knew she would never fit in here. Knew that after first meeting her, which is why I was so glad Duncan was able to see past her pretty face." Neville sighed at that point. "I just don't think that what was said here today is going to make any difference. There simply is no way to get out of this. The girl can’t break the engagement even if she does now wish she could. Her reputation will be shredded beyond repair if that little incident in her bedroom ever gets out. She knows that as well as we do."
"But ye've heard nothing yet aboot it. The lass who walked in and saw them together in the bedroom,
wherever she went, hasna spread any gossip aboot it. Did ye consider she just may no' be the type tae spread gossip? Even though she might hate Ophelia and relish her downfall as the lass claimed was the case, her scruples may prevent her from getting revenge in such a despicable way."