Miss Octavia Insists (The Henningtons Book 2) Page 16

  Feeling deeply uneasy, he walked away. He had to. Propriety required it. Perhaps she did too. But his heart beat heavily and a sense of dread washed over him. It was that dread when something, or rather someone, became very meaningful to him. Because caring for someone made it excruciating when you lost them, and it was all he’d ever known.

  This wasn’t something he’d chosen. With Eliza, he’d chosen it. He'd considered her and determined she was an excellent woman. But with Octavia, this had taken him by surprise. No choice had been given, and now his hands shook and he extended his fingers repeatedly to dissipate this unease.

  He didn’t know what to do with himself, so he took himself off to the card tables, because he needed something a bit stiffer than fine French champagne.

  “A whiskey,” he said to the man serving the table and sat down at a spare seat.

  “Are you in, Fortescue?” a man asked and Finn nodded absently. Taking a deep breath, he sat back. It wasn’t every day he informed a woman he intended on courting her, but it was done now. Never had he been this nervous about it. What was that a sign of? It certainly wasn’t a sign of second thought, because he had none. He wanted her. And yes, it was a surprise, but so was how strongly he wanted her.

  “Are you having a good evening?” the man asked. Finn vaguely recognized him.

  “It is an excellent night.” A night that potentially established his entire future. Obviously, someone like Octavia wasn’t going to fall at his feet in gratitude. She liked to be charmed herself, flirted with, adored and cherished, and he would do all those things. Provided she would simply agree that he was someone whose attention she accepted. Dealing with her wasn’t easy. At the heart, it wasn’t wealth and social standing she sought, but something else entirely. It required integrity and honesty. A façade wasn’t going to impress her. Her discourse was on a much deeper level. People mistook that for her simply not grasping the finer points of etiquette. Those people didn’t understand her at all.

  Chapter 30

  OCTAVIA PACED. THE PREVIOUS evening had left her uneasy on multiple fronts. The prince was much more interesting than she’d expected. And then there was Fortescue, who’d left her even more unnerved. Was the man jesting in all this? Was this some new battlefield they had found? It was certainly one she’d skirted around a few times.

  “Please stop pacing,” Eliza said. Even having left early in the evening, Eliza was still exhausted today. She sat with a blanket over her knees. Too tired to do much, but unable to sleep further. It was a tiredness that needed rest and calm rather than sleep.

  “I’m sorry,” Octavia said and sat down, even as she felt too anxious to sit.

  “Did someone say something to you? Has Cressida been awful?”

  “No, nothing like that. Well, she tried, but her antics don’t bother me a bit.”

  “Was that prince terrible? I saw you dancing with him.”

  “No, he was lovely. I actually enjoyed his company.”

  “Good, because I think we’re dining with him tonight. So what is it? You’ll feel unburdened if you just spit it out.”

  Octavia sighed. “It’s Fortescue.”

  “Have you two been fighting again?”

  “No,” she said, feeling frustrated. Eliza didn’t understand. “I think he likes me.”

  Eliza was quiet for a moment. “He is a lovely man. It would be a good match.” See, she didn’t understand.

  “He doesn’t like me.”

  “But you just said he did. Did he say so?”

  “Yes,” Octavia admitted. ‘Charmed’ was the word he’d used. She’d charmed him. The meaning of his words and how they’d been given was hard to misconstrue. He liked her—enough to state it to her. And all Eliza saw was marriage—that it should be a given.

  “But you do not like him?” Eliza pressed.

  “It’s not an issue of liking him. But yes, I want to punch him in the face most of the time. It’s more... His attachment comes from gratitude. I know it. He’d said so himself. And now, that gratitude has caused him to have soft feelings.”

  “I see,” Eliza said. “I understand.”

  “Do you?”

  “It was something I had to grapple with myself when he showed interest in me. Was I simply grateful that he didn’t dismiss me outright like everyone else had?”

  Guilt roared through Octavia again, because she had been one of the people who’d utterly dismissed Eliza as a consequence of those false accusations, and it was a guilt she still lived with. In fact, she’d had cause to question many things about herself as a consequence.

  “I took care of him when he had no one do to so, and now he feels fondness. It’s natural, but it’s not enough. How much is gratitude worth?”

  “It’s not enough to base a marriage on,” Eliza admitted, reflecting exactly what Octavia felt.

  “No,” she said. So why was she so terribly uneasy about all this? He certainly wasn’t the only man she’d left behind her who’d professed his deep regard for her. She left and she didn’t look back, and that was what she had to do this time too.

  “Do you like him a little in return?”

  “No, of course not. He’s a horrid man,” she said, but smiled. “I do like it when we are friends. But I know he’s a man who is alone and I was there for him when he was vulnerable. It’s left a loyalty on his part.”

  “When he gives his loyalty, he does so fully, I think.” And he had given that loyalty to Eliza.

  “Sometimes I wonder if the world would be a simpler place if he would just marry Lydia Forthill.”

  “I don’t think it would be a match to suit him.”

  Octavia’s head ached and she didn’t want to think about what kind of matches would suit him. “The society matrons will find him something suitable, I’m sure.”

  “Lord Fortescue is not a child. He’s a grown man. His suitabilities are not for you to worry about,” Eliza said with finality, and perhaps that was what Octavia needed to hear. She wasn’t responsible for him. Stepping away from him was in both of their best interests.

  Fortunately, in light of this, they couldn’t be friends. The man’s loyalties kept him locked, and if she continued to be around him, his interest would stay locked. His history showed he stayed loyal until there was absolutely no hope—so she couldn’t give him any.

  But even thinking this hurt. That bond formed due to his injury sat with her too, that anguish when he hurt. Caring for him had created a link between them that didn’t now serve either of them. It certainly wasn’t a bond that was enough for marriage. She knew it would go there if she let it. Fortescue would take his loyalty as far as it would go. Such loyalty was... dangerous.

  Eliza was right, however, she did feel better after voicing her concerns. Now she needed to stop thinking about it. Sitting here and dwelling on it wouldn’t help. “Would you like me to get you some more of that tea from Fortnum and Mason?” she asked.

  “Yes, please,” Eliza said. “I would ask Caius, but I can’t trust what he comes back with, I’m sorry to say.”

  “Caius is a strategist. The finer details can be lost for him,” Octavia said. A trait she had learnt when she’d asked him to retrieve a kitten for her from the neighbor's litter. She’d described exactly the one she’d wanted, and Caius had returned with another, then stated it was a cat and that was what she’d wanted. Then she’d had to go through all the trouble of correcting his mistake, and had, in the end, come away with two cats.

  *

  It was both with delight and trepidation that Octavia walked into the family townhouse with Caius and Eliza. She had no idea who’d been invited, but suspected it wasn’t an intimate family supper with the prince. At no point had she been included in the planning, which was perfectly fine. It wasn’t as if she’d performed that role perfectly for years, but Cressida saw it as her job now.

  Obviously, she was delighted to be free of such duties, duly installed as a companion to Eliza now. It wasn’t a role she resente
d by any degree, but having one’s life reduced to the sole purpose of having tea with someone felt a little... undermining.

  “Eliza.” Cressida came forward with both arms outstretched as if she was greeting her long-lost sister. Further into the salon, Octavia spotted Lydia as well, intently listening to whatever the prince was telling her. And she was actually batting her eyelids. “It’s so marvelous you could make it. Such strength, in your state. I hope you are faring well. We have a delightful evening planned, but if you should need to lie down for a moment, just let me know. Octavia,” she greeted in a sharper tone.

  Smiling tightly, Octavia considered how bored she was of Cressida’s antics. At some point, surely, the woman had to realize that her disapproval simply didn’t mean anything. “Cressida, marvelous to see you,” Octavia said and wandered off to where Julius was standing. He acknowledged her with a nod as she approached.

  “Don’t let them monopolize him all evening, will you?” she said, looking over at the prince. “I doubt he wishes to be subject to their ambition all night.”

  “Be kind. By extension they are both your sisters now,” Julius said teasingly.

  “Did you invite Lord Fortescue?”

  “No, should I have?”

  Octavia wasn’t sure if she was relieved or not. It felt a little like relief. “No, I just noticed that you and he have become chummy.”

  “Are you still going on about his designs on Eliza?”

  It seemed her intention of keeping her nursing activities quiet had been remarkably successful. Her father hadn’t said a word. Curious. “One can never be too careful,” she said with a put-on smile.

  “Well, you will be pleased. I have insisted the prince sit opposite you for supper. It was quite a fight. Lydia will sit next to him, but please do try to entertain him. I suspect Lydia’s sole impression is how pretty she looks, and that is only entertaining for so long.”

  “I’m surprised you trust me with the task.”

  “Well, he actually complimented you after your dance, so I gathered it was safe. The family depends on you. And if you should perhaps charm him to the point where he falls in love with you and offers to make you a princess, then, by all means, help the family by doing so.”

  “You’re as bad as Cressida.”

  “Except I want you to win.”

  “I am not going to marry to please you.”

  “Then please do it to thwart Cressida.” He was teasing her, but equally, he could be delighted beyond words if she married royalty. It would be quite the boon for the family. Unfortunately, she wasn’t prepared to be sold off like a cart-horse for gain. It simply wasn’t going to happen.

  “Maybe you should be careful or she’ll run off with him. He is ever so charming. She might throw you over.”

  “Charlatan.” Julius rebuked her tease with a tsk. “Go mingle, and be nice.”

  “I’m always nice,” she said with a pointed look. Some of the prominent notables of the city were there—Julius’ friends. He liked to have important friends. Sir Thomas Berhard, Mr. Quentin Dammerley and August Sloane. They were all about Julius’ age, which was probably a good decision on his part, instead of dragging out the aged dukes who would bore the prince to death. If she were a prince, she wouldn’t like those people thrust on her at every opportunity.

  “Miss Hennington,” Mr. Dammerley said, a man who would one day be one of those aged, venerated dukes. “Such a delight to see you. You are looking lovely as always.”

  “Thank you kindly. How are you this evening? Is your wife not here?” Not so long ago, they had all been young bachelors together in the city, but the whole group was changing. Wives and children were on the agenda for all of them.

  “No, she is a little tired at the moment.”

  “My deepest congratulations on the birth of your son.”

  “Thank you,” he said, beaming. Being a father obviously delighted him. It was strange seeing him so, but she’d seen him a drunken mess more than once, stumbling home with Julius after some raucous night.

  “And no one has managed to pin you and your fortune down yet?” he asked. Quentin had always had a bit of affection for her, but it had never been returned. She simply couldn’t see him in that light. It would be like marrying a brother. Not quite a brother, but maybe a brotherly cousin.

  “As of yet, no one has lived up to my impeccably high standards.”

  “Well, we have a prince in our presence,” he said, as if it had gone unnoticed. “Incredibly handsome, I’m told. You would positively rule London if you married him. No doubt, his wife would be invited to teas with the queen on a fairly regular basis.”

  “If I have ambition of drinking tea with queens, that would perhaps be tempting.”

  “Not even a prince meets your standards. You will have to be careful or no one will.”

  The perception that she was still unmarried because of high standards was perhaps something people misunderstood. “My standards are actually quite mundane. I wish to marry someone I remotely care about. It’s that simple.”

  “And it should be that simple,” an unfamiliar voice said. The prince. “I think you have the right theory.”

  “A good approach,” Quentin said. “If you weren’t such an ice queen.”

  Octavia slapped him on the arm. “Don’t listen to him,” she said conspiratorially to the prince. “I’m only icy with ridiculous men. And unfortunately, London is rife with them.”

  “So you do not recommend this city, Miss Hennington?”

  “Only if you wish to marry.”

  The statement made him laugh, but she wasn’t entirely sure why. And Julius would probably not be happy with her for denigrating the whole city. “Unfortunately, things are not better on the continent.”

  “Well, that is disappointing to hear,” she said.

  “You believe no marriage is better than a bad one?” he asked.

  “Of course. We get one chance to marry. People should give some consideration to who they wish to spend the rest of their lives with. I would think that would be fundamental to a happy life.”

  “But you require a man who is beautiful, wealthy and gallant. Stylish and with pristine character. An impossible standard,” Quentin stated.

  “Quentin, you have spent too much time considering my requirements in men.” The statement embarrassed him and she hadn’t intended on it. “I know you have my best interests at heart, but believe me, my standards would lower considerably if it was the right man.”

  “Really, which of your standards would you lower?” the prince said.

  “Can I say how happy I am that this is our topic of conversation,” she mentioned. “And yes, likely all of them.”

  “Even pristine character?” he asked, and she noted that he had actually remembered each of the things Quentin had accused her of caring about.

  “If the intentions were right.” After all, Caius could be accused of having been less than honorable, leaving his wife based on a wrongful accusation, but she knew the hurt that had driven him to react so.

  “A criminal?” the prince asked.

  “Are you taking this as a challenge on how base a man I would consider?”

  “Some crimes are justified, are they not?”

  “In very rare circumstances. Intelligent men find ways around resorting to criminality.”

  “Very true,” he said. Surprisingly, he seemed to enjoy this discussion. Julius would likely be mortified. “You are not saying very flattering things about your countrymen if you cannot find one to marry with such low standards.”

  “No, you are extrapolating wildly from this conversation.”

  “But even with your supposed low standards, you cannot find a husband.”

  “And for the record, the crux of the conversation was finding the right husband, not simply a husband.”

  “Well, it would please us all if dear Octavia could manage,” Cressida said, attempting her most regal stance. “And as much as I dread stealing you away
from listening to all of Miss Hennington’s woes, supper is about to be served. Would you do me the honor of taking me in?”

  “Of course,” he said, not that Cressida had given him a choice. The blatant dismissal burned, but Octavia closed her eyes and reasserted that nothing Cressida did bothered her—even if inescapably insulting. On the other hand, no doubt to Cressida’s chagrin, Octavia’s seat was opposite the prince.

  Lydia was already seated next to him and talking about how fine the horses her family bred. They regularly won awards, apparently. The prince seemed to listen intently. “And do you like horses, Miss Hennington?”

  “No, beastly creatures. I can’t abide them.” It wasn’t actually true. While she had no real affinity for horses, she didn’t think them beastly. But she certainly wouldn’t breed them for sport.

  “Do you wish your carriage was drawn by swans, do you?” Lydia said with a light, tinkling laugh. It sounded quite angelic, along with her blond hair and pretty face.

  “Or are you a proponent of steam?” the prince asked.

  “Steam is the gateway to the future,” Octavia replied. Lord Fortescue certainly thought so. It might have been him who’d said so. She couldn’t recall.

  “And we will not lose something by iron crisscrossing the land?” he asked. Obviously, there was a contingent of the population who objected to the impact on the aesthetics of the countryside with all the rail being deployed. And that all sorts of people would be traveling through their districts.

  “If it will replace long carriage rides, it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make,” Octavia countered.

  “But as an unmarried woman, you don’t actually have any land,” Lydia said. Was that outright hatred Octavia saw in her eyes?

  “I do, actually,” Octavia said. It was a portion of land that she’d inherited from her mother, a portion that stayed with the female line of the family—a stipulation made generations back resulting from a bad marriage. It was an eminently sensible precaution, in her mind.

  Her rebuttal didn’t please Lydia at all. Octavia now wondered if the Forthill sisters intensely disliked her, or whether it was simply that the prince was speaking to her? She smiled at the prince. “There are no horses on my land presently.”