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He inclined his head, acting as if he were the soul of munificence. “If I may say, my own sons have been raised to be far more stoic, as is expected of them, and as is expected of my nephew. You show the boy far too much affection.”

Her jaw ached, and so did her knuckles, fisted in the silk of her skirts to keep from the temptation of slapping him for his effrontery.

“I show him the affection of a mother who loves her son,” she defended herself coolly.

His lip curled. “Yes, a mother who wants her son to be weak. Perhaps you would prefer to have his lordship forever under your wing, all the better to control the title and estates.”

His accusation was so cutting that Ophelia flinched. “I don’t want my son to be weak, but if knowing he is loved makes him so, then I would far prefer it to him believing I don’t care for him and his happiness and well-being.”

“Indeed, however, you have just left the poor child for an extended period of time, have you not? Just where have you been, my lady?” Lord Timothy pried, all whilst wearing a polite smile. “I’m afraid that my nephew was not certain.”

As if her whereabouts were his business. But then, by Corbett naming his brother as the children’s guardian, her actions had become Lord Timothy’s concern. She was left at the mercy of his icy scrutiny. In a way, it felt as if her husband were ruling her from beyond the grave. It was as if he had found yet one more way to exert his power over her, a reminder that in this world of theirs, women never truly had any rights that couldn’t be thieved from them by a man. Even in death.

“I was on a trip to the country,” she said evenly. “I paid a call along with my friend, Lady Aphrodite Isdale.”

It was the lie she and Aphrodite had decided upon when the opportunity to hostess the Wicked Dukes Society house party had first become available to Ophelia. If anyone questioned her, Ophelia was to claim that she and Aphrodite had been to a house party together.

“Lady Aphrodite will vouch for your presence?” His gaze searched hers, a frown drawing down the corners of his mouth.

She wondered—perhaps unkindly—if he ever smiled. She had only known him as the dour and disapproving younger brother of her husband. She didn’t think she had ever openly witnessed him looking happy before. Perhaps he was incapable of it, for he certainly seemed unable to experience compassion for others.

She swallowed hard against a rush of resentment that she had to endure his inquiries before continuing. “Of course she shall. However, I am not certain why she would be required to do so.”

“I am responsible for the welfare of Lady Catherine and the young marquess,” Lord Timothy said, his countenance still dour. “What manner of guardian would I be if I never questioned why the mother of two young, impressionable children would see fit to be gone from their home for over a week?”

“How do you know how long I was gone from London?” she countered instead of answering him, her blood going cold at the realization that he had likely been questioning Reggie.

Perhaps even the servants as well.

“I have eyes and ears everywhere, my lady.” He gave her a small smile at last as he said this.

But the smile wasn’t genuine. Rather, it was meant to be smug and arrogant, to intimidate and remind her that she was at his mercy.

“This household does not belong to you, my lord,” she reminded him sharply. “You have no right to make demands of the servants.”

“Your own son was quick to tell me of your lengthy absence.” Lord Timothy shook his head and clucked his tongue. “Even you must agree, my dear, that abandoning your children for over a week with your husband so newly in the ground is an egregious sin, my lady.”

“I don’t agree with that, no,” she defended herself, for Corbett had been gone for over a year. “Nor do I answer to you.”

“You answer to me as long as I am the guardian to the two precious children my brother left behind. I swore to him on his deathbed that I would honor his wish, and I intend to uphold that.” Lord Timothy paused, his lip curling. “No doubt he had concerns about the manner in which you would comport yourself after he was gone. Your most recent actions prove he was right to be worried.”

She clenched her jaw, trying to calm herself. It didn’t bode well to argue with Lord Timothy. He would be relentless, she knew. Ophelia took a deep, steadying breath.

“Corbett’s concerns, such as you call them, were brought on by his illness. He was unwell for the last few months of his life. He was not fully possessed of his faculties.” She thought back to that wretched time when Corbett had been confined to a bed, withering away until he was nothing but a husk of his former self. To all the visits between himself and Lord Timothy behind a closed door. Not for the first time, she wondered if the concerns her brother-in-law spoke of hadn’t been the product of his imagination.

“He had his wits about him until the end,” Lord Timothy snapped. “How dare you suggest otherwise, madam? My brother may have been ill, but he was not mad.”

“I never implied that he was mad,” she countered, striving for calm and finding it almost impossible to keep the anger from her voice, “but that he was ill. His thoughts were muddled. He was ailing. I knew nothing of the arrangement he left behind until his death.”

And she had every reason to believe that Lord Timothy had pressured Corbett into assigning him as guardian of Catherine and Reggie. Although Ophelia and her husband hadn’t been a love match, they had always mutually respected each other. He had never spoken a word of his supposed concerns to her.

“He knew what manner of woman he had married,” Lord Timothy said, his tone cutting. “That much is apparent. If I were a mother of two small children, I would never leave their sides, and yet you saw fit to abandon them in the care of a nursemaid for over a week. What were you doing that was so compelling, my lady? Why could you not take your children with you?”

She drew back her shoulders, understanding this was a battle she could not win. Lord Timothy had come with the intent to take her by surprise, to attack her like a skilled general. She’d been unprepared.

“I am sorry for disappointing you and failing to meet your expectations, Lord Timothy,” she forced out. “However, I am weary from traveling, and I do need to oversee the unpacking of my belongings. I think it would be best if you see yourself out.”

“No answer,” he said, his voice smug. “Just as I thought. Because you are not a good mother. You don’t deserve to watch over these children.”