My Last Duchess (The Wildes of Lindow Castle #0.5) - Eloisa James Page 0,45
offer Ophelia what she already has. She doesn’t need money or status. I bring along a sullied name, eight children, and the endless trouble that comes with the dukedom. She has no wish to be a duchess.”
“You are the only thing that matters,” his sister said. She pulled off her hat and threw it on a chair. “You, Hugo.”
“Ophelia refused my proposal.”
“Oh, for—” But she bit off the words. “Where do your children come into this? Did you pay attention as Yvette’s three asked their questions to Edith over tea?”
“Louisa, couldn’t you have asked what the questions were before allowing them to blurt them out? It didn’t help that the older boys were roaring with laughter at the idea of false teeth.”
“I had no idea what their questions would be before they asked Lady Astley.”
“Lady Woolhastings was greatly offended, particularly, I think, by the question of whether she had false teeth,” Hugo said. “I can’t blame her for that.”
“I expect that Edith is sensitive about her age. She is certainly a woman who is trying to stop the clock. I don’t say this to put you off, Hugo, but did you observe her hair, or rather lack of it?”
“What hair?” Hugo was aware of a leaden misery in his stomach that he hadn’t felt in years. The moment he saw Ophelia walking beside Lord Melton, he was swamped by a surge of possessiveness so acute he wanted to throttle the man.
“Edith’s wig,” his sister said. “Your fiancée’s wig.”
“What about it?” Ophelia’s hair had escaped in silken curls that he longed to tame. Why hadn’t he remained in her house and refused to leave in the morning? In retrospect, walking away had been the most stupid action of his life.
“Edith shaves her head, one must assume,” his sister said. “Her hat was pinned to her wig, and at one point the wind blew it to the side and I caught sight of bare skull.”
His stomach churned. “I planned to marry a woman whom I wouldn’t bed. You agreed!”
“We were wrong,” Louisa said flatly. “Your supposed fiancée may claim not to have a false tooth—though based on her rather startling rage at the question, I would bet a guinea that she has at least one. That’s neither here nor there. She isn’t the right person to mother your children.”
“Because she doesn’t like rats? No one likes rats.”
“She’ll make you bitter,” his sister said. “Another woman who doesn’t love you, and whom you cannot love? We were idiots to think that was a possibility, Hugo. Can you see her at Lindow Castle? Do you think she’ll tolerate the way Fitzy screams at all hours?”
“Peacocks do scream.”
“She’ll gild his beak and serve him for New Year’s dinner,” Louisa said. “The stuffed alligator in the drawing room? Dispatched to the attics. The armor in the entry? The dust heap.” She hesitated. “Me?”
“She daren’t ask you to leave,” Hugo stated.
“She won’t ask, but I’ll leave.” Louisa said it easily, without bitterness. “I can’t live with the woman, and I do have my own estate, if you recall.”
“No!” The word felt as if it was punched from his chest.
He was at a crossroads. One way was . . . No. He couldn’t even visualize it, which didn’t say much for a happy future.
The other way held Ophelia, who had refused him, but looked at him with her eyes brimming with emotion. After Lady Woolhastings’s profound rudeness, Phee walked away up the slope, her hair practically on fire with righteous indignation.
Yet his fiancée would likely be surprised to hear that she had insulted Ophelia, since all she offered—to her mind—were sound observations drawn from a thorough grounding in “polite” society.
“What am I going to do?” The words ripped from his chest. “I can’t marry her, Louisa.”
“True.” His sister came over and kissed his cheek. “I was just waiting for you to catch up to the truth. Edith’s chance of being a duchess was over when she told Betsy not to eat another piece of buttered toast.”
“It’s a cock-up,” Hugo said.
It helped to acknowledge that truth.
No matter what happened with Ophelia, he wouldn’t inflict Edith on his children. That would be as stupid a marriage as his to Yvette.
“Christ,” he said bleakly, thrusting his hand through his hair. “I have balls-all luck with women.”
“I’d say the opposite,” his sister retorted. “Marie was a darling. Ophelia is far more interesting, perhaps because we’re all of an age now. Marie never had a chance to become interesting.”