Archie shot out of his chair in a grand display of Scots temper. "He wouldna have her? I could've swore he said he'd at least meet the lass afore—"

"He did meet her."

Archie's brown eyes narrowed on Neville at the conclusion that answer drew. "Then she wasna as bonny as you claimed she was?"

"Oh, she's definitely the most beautiful chit I've ever seen," Neville replied.

Archie sighed as he sat back down, truly disappointed. "I'd hoped the lad wouldna let his anger get in the way o' his own happiness, but apparently he needs a wee bit more time tae adjust tae these changes being forced on him."

"Whether he does or doesn't has nothing to do with his refusal of the girl. Would have done the same thing myself, after the way she insulted him. A pretty shell is all she turned out to be, with the sense of a twit, not at all what we want for the boy."

Archie made a mumbling sound, then, "So who was next on yer list of brides for him? Or did ye no' investigate more'n this one lass?"

"There are a few other possible choices, but I won't be making the same mistake again of not meeting them prior to making an offer."

"Ye've made arrangements tae bring them here, then, tae get the meeting oout o' the way?"

Neville stared up at the ceiling for a moment. He would have preferred to roll his eyes for effect, but doing so these days gave him headaches.

Calmly, though, as if explaining to a child, he said, "He only just refused the first girl this afternoon. I've barely had time to absorb the fact of all that time wasted on her, much less think of how to go about meeting the others without letting them know why—"

"Yer tae much of a recluse, mon, or ye'd ken tha' the easiest way tae bring folk t'gether is a blasted party. Throw one, a big'n, and make sure each o' yer other candidates shows up for it. The lad can then do his part and decide which he wants tae offer for."

Neville almost laughed. A party? After he'd just kicked a good portion of the ton out of his house, he was now to invite them back?

"A party might not be a good idea—"

"Och, yer disagreeing just tae disagree wi' me, and well I ken it. A big party is just the thing tae gather 'em all in sae the lad will be having a good selection tae choose from. If ye dinna know how tae throw one, get one o' yer society dames in here tae show ye how."

Neville flushed with color once more. "It hasn't been that long since I've entertained."

Archie was less restrained. When he felt like laughing, he laughed, and just now was no exception. Neville did grind his teeth a bit this time, listening to him, and longed for the days when a duel at dawn was an acceptable way to get rid of one's enemies.

"I do know how to go about it, thank you very much," he continued, tight-lipped.

"Then should ye no' get started sending oout the invitations? Ne'er put off tae t'morrow what can be accomplished t'day"

"If you don't mind, I'll finish my dinner first," Neville gritted out.

"Speaking o' dinner, yer a puir host, mon, tae nae be offering me some o' that fine-smelling beef yer eating," Archie said with a sigh, shaking his head as he stared forlornly at the food across from him on Neville's plate. "I do hope ye'll do better once yer many guests start arriving."

The insult didn't work. Neville pointed to the door behind Archie and replied, this time with a smile, "The kitchen is that way."

Archie gave a hoot of laughter. "Ye just might be a worthy adversary after all, Thackeray, indeed ye might. Time will tell, though, but then we've some o' that tae spare now, since ye blundered on that first lass sae badly. Now, where are ye hiding m'grandson, or did ye send him off tae be eating in the kitchen as well?"

"I assume he's nursing his wounds from that viper's tongue somewhere in private. The girl did shred him to the core, or so I've been told. But please, do relieve me of your presence and go find him. You probably are just the thing to cheer him up just now, though personally, I can't imagine a more distressing thought."

Archibald chuckled on his way out the door. "Ye'll get used tae me, Englishmon . . . but then, ye've nae other choice, have ye?"

Chapter Fifteen

When Ophelia arrived, Sabrina was out enjoying her daily walk, so the London girl was already unpacking to settle in when Sabrina returned to learn of their unexpected guest and joined her upstairs. And she really was unexpected, and alone, without her parents.

A week had gone by since the Reids had returned to London. Hilary had not heard from Lady Mary

yet, so they still didn't know what exactly had happened at Summers Glade that day when they had all been ousted.

They did know, however, couldn't help but know since it was all the entire neighborhood was talking about currently, that the Marquis of Birmingdale had decided to do some entertaining on a grand scale, after all. And it had gotten out, through the servants' grapevine, which was usually much more accurate than the ton’s gossip mill, that the reason for the extended house party was that the marquis was shopping for a new fiancée for his grandson.

That had been a shock, to Sabrina at least. She still couldn't quite credit it, that for whatever reason, the young Highlander had rejected Ophelia after meeting her, which was the tale making the rounds. It was, of course, what Ophelia had hoped for, but still, Sabrina had been sure that once the two young people met, they would both be quite pleased to be engaged to each other. Instead, Duncan MacTavish was apparently looking for a new bride now, and with the wide selection of eligible young misses invited to Summers Glade, was sure to find one in short order.

Sabrina and her aunts, of course, had not been invited to the grand party, no doubt because the old family scandal had resurfaced again and had reached even the marquis's ears, if he didn't remember it from years past. One avoided scandal at all costs when looking into matrimony; one did not marry into a scandal.

Summers Glade had begun filling with the elite of English aristocracy since yesterday. More than a hundred guests had already arrived, including some of those who had been ousted just last week. But then it was being touted as the party of the year, so not to be missed.

That was partly because so many of the ton were as curious as Lord Neville's own neighbors were, to finally meet the reclusive lord. Others were of a mind that you simply didn't tell a marquis no, for whatever reason. But one countess had even canceled her midseason ball so that she could come to Yorkshire instead. That alone would make the invitations highly coveted, once word of it spread.

Hilary and Alice were disappointed that Sabrina hadn't been invited, and even had a row about it. Not that they thought she might catch the eye of the future marquis, but because all the other eligible young men would be at a party that size. Sabrina was disheartened herself, but not for the same reason. She simply regretted the lost opportunity to see Duncan MacTavish again, after enjoying so much her first encounter with him.

But now here was Ophelia, back in Yorkshire, and most likely she didn't have an invitation to Summers Glade either. Once Sabrina's initial surprise subsided, she could only wonder why, and that was the first thing she inquired about, in her less-than-direct fashion, as she joined Ophelia in the room she had been given and got the greetings out of the way.

"I would have thought you would be glad to be back in London where all the excitement is," Sabrina said.

Ophelia all but snapped, "When just about all of London happens to be here just now?"

Sabrina raised a brow at the tone. Ophelia might be here, but apparently she didn't really want to be here, so what the devil was she doing here? Unless ...

"You've been invited back to Summers Glade then? Have they just run out of room—?"

"Don't be obtuse," Ophelia retorted. "Of course I wouldn't be invited back there. I've come here to hide, if you really must know, and to see what can be done to rectify this appalling situation."

Sabrina was having trouble keeping up with Ophelia's thought processes. "Hide from whom? Your parents? Don't they know you've come here?"

"I swear, Sabrina, you can be annoyingly dense," Ophelia said unkindly. "My parents don't care where I go. They are most displeased with me just now. My father even slapped me. Can you believe that? He slapped me! For which I will never, ever forgive him."

"Then you are hiding from them?"

Ophelia threw herself down on the bed with a very loud sigh, indicating that she was done explaining things to people who didn't have sense enough to understand her. Sabrina didn't take offense. She'd witnessed this type of theatrics from the London girl enough to not be impressed by them, though she would allow, Ophelia didn't seem to be pretending this time. She really did seem upset.

Sabrina chose not to comment further. Silence did have a surprising effect on Ophelia. More often than not, it tended to get her to come right to the point of a discussion without any further prompting, where otherwise, she would go round and round a subject until her listeners were ready to expire from curiosity—or exasperation.

This time was no different. After a few moments, she mumbled to herself and sat up, glaring at Sabrina as if it were all her fault, whatever it was that had upset her, though she cleared up immediately just what it was.

"I'm in disgrace," she said, then on a rising note that turned into a wail, "I'm being pitied! Pitied! Can you believe that? No, of course you can't, because it's simply far too unbelievable."