Ophelia didn’t know yet that Sabrina had been invited to the party. She had run off so quickly to prepare herself when Sabrina told her that Duncan had agreed to see her. She hadn’t even asked for the details. Nor had she seemed surprised that he had agreed. Sabrina suspected the London girl just might have taken it for granted, as highly as she thought of herself, but that was an unkind thought that she put aside.

But Sabrina realized, much too late, the horrible impropriety of her accepting an invitation, to anywhere, when she had a houseguest herself. And of course, Ophelia couldn’t be left there alone. Either Hilary or Alice would have to stay with her. And that, too, was going to cause problems, when both her aunts would no doubt like to attend Neville’s party, now that they had an invitation to.

Of course, Sabrina was probably worrying over nothing. Ophelia would come back with an invitation herself, perhaps even be engaged again. The thought was depressing actually, but was highly likely. Sabrina had witnessed it herself, how men behaved around Ophelia. Most were so in awe of her beauty that any sense they might possess was easily misplaced as long as they remained in her presence.

She continued to put off even telling her aunts of the invitation, so sure was she that they would all be going—right up until Ophelia returned, slamming the door on her entrance, and ran upstairs to her room, slamming that door, too. It wasn’t too hard, at that point, to guess that the meeting had not gone as Ophelia had wanted it to, and Sabrina was forced to take her blunder, as she was now thinking of it, to her aunts.

Their reaction was typical of them. She had to go, of course, at least tonight. It was an opportunity they had hoped for and could not be ignored, now that it was already accepted, just because they had an unexpected guest. Were Ophelia not there, et cetera, et cetera. But she would have to explain, gently, to the young lord that she couldn’t come to Summers Glade again, for the rest of the party at least, not unless their own guest decided to go home.

Sabrina found it amusing that, without actually saying so, both her aunts were obviously now hoping that Ophelia would go home, and the sooner the better.

“I’ll stay with her,” Alice offered, managing to hide at least part of her forlorn sigh, that she would miss the party herself. “And I’ll let her know where you’ve gone, m’dear—if she asks. But is there any reason she needs to be told, which would only make her feel offended, if she doesn’t notice your absence?”

This was asked of Hilary, who gave it a little thought before she replied pragmatically. “I don’t see why the gel needs to be needlessly offended. And it will only be for the one night. And if it’s necessary to tell her, she’ll just have to understand that in Sabrina’s excitement, she briefly forgot that Ophelia was visiting.”

Sabrina actually had a much better excuse than that, but then she didn’t think that Ophelia would want it known, what she had asked Sabrina to do, and so she hadn’t told her aunts about her short career in matchmaking. But she would tell Ophelia, if she had to, that her accepting the invitation to Summers Glade had been the condition for Duncan meeting her.

No matter the outcome of that meeting, and Ophelia’s dramatic door-slamming return didn’t suggest it had gone as she’d hoped, Ophelia had gotten her chance only because Sabrina had agreed to attend the party. That wasn’t very flattering to Ophelia, so Sabrina would keep it to herself if at all possible. And as her aunts were hoping, Ophelia might not even notice their absence, might well spend the rest of the evening in her room sulking. Well, one could hope …

Sabrina and Hilary were able to leave the cottage before Ophelia made an appearance, so they wouldn’t know how Alice fared with the girl until their return later. But it didn’t take long, after they arrived at Summers Glade, for them to completely forget about their houseguest.

It was such a huge gathering, quite larger than even those they’d attended in London. But of the fifty or so young women whom Neville had invited, each had to have her chaperone, whether both parents, or a brother or two, or sisters, or even cousins. One invitation could easily have brought four or more guests, and indeed, it seemed well over two hundred people were in attendance.

Sabrina couldn’t imagine where they all had been put for sleeping accommodations, and remarked on it to her aunt. Summers Glade was large, but fifty bedrooms, it certainly didn’t have, let alone two hundred. Having been to at least one such country gathering in her youth, Hilary chuckled and said, “Just be glad we weren’t asked to put up some of them, as our other neighbors were.”

There were several neighbors Sabrina recognized who didn’t have daughters, who she realized now had been invited just so they could be asked to open their own homes. The inn in Oxbow must also be filled to the brim for once.

“Besides,” Hilary added, “it’s only the most important guests that would be given rooms of their own. I remember sharing a room once with six other girls, and Father, who accompanied Alice and me to that affair, didn’t fare as well, was stuffed in with nine other gentlemen. But when you throw parties of this sort that go on for weeks, there really is no other choice.”

“You came.”

Sabrina turned around to find Duncan had come up behind her. She had been smiling at her aunt and so was still smiling as she greeted him.

“Did you think I wouldn’t?”

“After the ooutcome o’ that meeting you arranged, aye, I did have m’doubts.”

“What meeting would that be, m’dear?” Hilary asked beside her.

Sabrina managed not to blush, saying evasively, “Nothing of importance, Aunt Hilary. And may I introduce you to Duncan MacTavish?”

Duncan cut a bow for her aunt, very gentlemanly. Actually, he did look quite the gentleman tonight, formally dressed in a midnight-blue tailed coat that brought out the deep blue of his eyes.

“You don’t look anything like your grandfather, young man,” Hilary told him, adding in her blunt way, “I consider that quite fortunate—for you.”

He laughed, but another party was heard from. “Do you indeed? And who might you be, madame?”

Hilary raised a brow at the old gentleman who’d joined them. “Don’t recognize me, Neville? I’m not surprised, it’s been more’n twenty years.”

“Is that you, Hilary Lambert?”

“Indeed.”

“You’ve put on a bit of weight, gel,” he humphed.

“And you’re looking like you belong in a sickbed. So what else is new?”

Sabrina put a hand to her mouth, wishing she were about ten feet away so she could laugh in peace. Duncan, glancing between the two older people who were glowering at each other, said, “Then you do know the lass?”

“What lass?” Neville demanded grouchily. “You’re not calling this old bird here a lass, are you?”

“I think he means my niece here, you old coot,’ Hilary supplied helpfully.

That brought Neville’s eyes to Sabrina, who was at the moment no longer in need of laughing. Hilary’s testiness could be amusing, but not when she resorted to actually insulting their host.

He hadn’t seemed to notice that, however, was now staring at Sabrina with avid curiosity, and finally said, “Well, damn me, they really are lilac, aren’t they? Thought the boy was exaggerating.” Then, as it suddenly dawned on him, “Good God, you’re a Lambert?”

Sabrina, of course, knew exactly why he was suddenly so shocked. Unfortunately, like her aunts, she sometimes was more blunt than she ought to be, and replied, “Last time I noticed, yes, and still alive, too.”

He had the grace to blush. She blushed for her own reason, that she’d been less than diplomatic in her response. Duncan, seeing the blushes, frowned, said, “Excuse us,” and dragged Sabrina off into the next room.

The next room was just as crowded, of course, but since it was the ballroom, which was easily the size of three large rooms combined, and had been set up with a buffet for dinner rather than for dancing tonight, he was able to find a spot off in one corner where they wouldn’t be overheard. And she knew exactly why he wanted a bit of privacy. The poor man was quite confused, and understandably so.

“Would you be explaining tae me what that was all aboot?” he demanded as soon as he stopped and let go of her arm.

She winced, deliberately. “Must I?”

For answer he just stared at her, and stared, until her next wince was genuine. “Very well.” She sighed. “But this story would be much more interesting if you heard it from someone else. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have your grandfather tell it? I’m sure he could exaggerate for effect. Most people do.”

“Is that a wee bit o’ bitterness I’m hearing, lass?” he asked.

She blinked at him, then smiled. “You’ve found out my secret.”

“I’m still waiting tae hear it.”

“But you just did.”

He tapped a palm to the side of his head a couple of times, saying, “Then something mun be wrong wi’ my hearing, lass, ‘cause I’ve heard nae secret yet.”

“Now, how could you forget so soon, when you only just said you heard my bitterness? That’s my secret. The rest,” she said, waving a dismissive hand, “is public knowledge, so hardly a secret.”

He was staring again, quite pointedly, letting her know that her silliness wasn’t going to lighten his mood this time. But just in case she wasn’t sure of that, he said, “Should I remind you that I’ve no’ been part o’ this public for verra long, and any knowledge taken for granted in this area would be unknown tae me?”

“Let me give you the brief version then, since it’s not really all that interesting. Lamberts, those closely related to me, that is, are known to have died not by natural means, but by their own incentive, as it were. This has given rise to the general conclusion that ‘bad blood’ runs in my family, and that surely I will follow this same path. Honestly, some people just can’t understand why I’m still alive. Some even swear that I’m not, that surely I must be—”

“A ghost?”

“Ah, you remember my mentioning that?”

He nodded, replying, “I’m thinking I’d rather hear the long version, the one that explains why you’re a wee bit bitter o’er this.”

“I’m not really bitter, Duncan. Truly, sometimes I find this quite amusing, like when poor corpulent Lady Marlow shrieked to the rafters before she fainted upon seeing me. Now, everyone present might not have heard her shriek, but they surely felt it when she hit the floor. One fellow even complimented our host on having such good architecture that the floor survived that fall—the lady really was very wide of girth. Oh, go ahead, I know you want to smile.”

He chuckled instead, then cut it off and tried to look serious again, he really did, but he couldn’t quite manage it. She could have got him really laughing at that point with not much more effort, to where he just might forget about wanting to hear the “long version,” but he’d remember eventually, and she’d just as soon get it over with, so she could enjoy her one night at Summers Glade.

“It was my great-grandfather Richard who started the scandal by killing himself. No one really knows why he did, but it was pretty obvious that he did, and his wife, unable to bear up under the tragedy of it, did the same not long after. Their only child, my grandmother, was already married at the time and had two daughters herself, the two aunts I live with. She bore up well under this double tragedy, for a while anyway. But after she gave birth once more, to my father, she, ahh, fell down some stairs. My aunts insist this was an accident, but no one else was inclined to think so, thus the ‘bad blood’ theory arose and took further root when my own parents died together.”

“I’m sorry aboot your parents.”

“So am I. I regret mostly not even knowing them, since I was too young at the time to remember them. But they didn’t kill themselves. It was tainted food. Even the doctor who arrived too late to help them said so. Of course, it makes for a much better story, that they took poison together. And now, even though my aunts, from the same tree, are quite hale and hardy, with no inclination to go walking off any cliffs, I’m next in line to take the tragic plunge.”

“I canna think o’ anyone less likely tae take anything so seriously that they’d come e’en close tae contemplating ending it all.”

“Goodness, I believe you’ve just called me a carefree scatterbrain.”

“I did nae such thing,” he snorted.

“I’m gravely insulted.”

“The devil y’are.”

She humphed. “Well, it was certainly a golden opportunity to say so.”

He burst out laughing, loud enough that a few heads turned their way. One fellow who’d been walking around with plate in hand—Neville didn’t possess two hundred chairs either, so not everyone could sit down to eat—sauntered over to them. Sabrina could almost feel Duncan stiffening and was quite annoyed that her effort to amuse him had just gone to waste.

“So here you are, and who is this?” the fellow asked. “Don’t believe we’ve met.”

He was looking to Duncan to make the introduction, but the Highlander was suddenly blushing, and Sabrina realized, belatedly, that she’d never given him her full name. Before Duncan had to admit that and be even more embarrassed, she supplied, “Sabrina Lambert.”

The fellow was surprised at first, but then seemed quite delighted. “The walking ghost? This is a pleasure. I was quite disappointed to have missed you in London recently. Truly wanted to meet the young lady who had everyone showing what bloody fools they are.”

She smiled, realizing that she was actually meeting someone who didn’t believe the rumors about her. “And you would be?”

“Raphael Locke, most definitely at your service.”

“And most definitely intruding,’ Duncan added.

Raphael wasn’t insulted, seemed instead to have expected just such a remark. “Oh, come now, old chap, you don’t think you can monopolize the most interesting lady here, do you?”

“Should you no’ be chaperoning your sister?’ Duncan reminded him pointedly.

Raphael looked appalled. “The dear chit is surrounded by a gaggle of giggling friends. God forbid I get anywhere near them. Do have a heart. Besides, you should brave that bunch. You’re the one shopping for a bride, after all, not I. How can you make a proper decision if you don’t mingle?”

“Perhaps I’ve already made a decision.”

“Never say so! My sister will be sooo disappointed.”

“Your sister will be relieved.”

“You’re going to ask for her then?”

“Bedamned, go away, mon.”

Raphael chuckled, apparently satisfied that he’d annoyed Duncan enough—for now—but he did part with, “Very well, I shall go in search of that old Scotsman who claims to be another grandfather of yours. Very amusing, what he has to say about you, and I just love good ammunition, don’t you know.”

It took quite a while for the color to leave Duncan’s cheeks after Raphael Locke left them. Sabrina might have been able to put him at ease sooner, but then again, she might have made his annoyance worse, the roots being in male rivalry, which was beyond her comprehension. Besides, she was having a real hard time with the realization that she just might have been the bone of contention they’d just fought over.

In the end she decided she’d imagined it, and by then Duncan had calmed down enough to ask her, “Have you heard o’ him prior tae just meeting him?”

“No, should I have?”

He shrugged, saying, ‘Auld Neville is delighted he’s here. A duke’s son, he is, apparently.”

She smiled. “That would make his sister a fine catch for you then.”

“D’you think so? She seems a bit scatterbrained tae me, and aye, this time I said it. E’en her brother agrees, but I just might marry her tae spite him.”

“Oh my, you really don’t like him, do you?”

“Och, nay, how can you think so, when m’fist is so eager tae get more friendly with his face?”