by Sara Ramsey
“At least they’ll stop talking about Somerville tonight,” Serena said.
Rafe didn’t give a damn about Somerville, other than to wish that he would go to the devil and leave Octavia alone. The bigger issue, of course, was Thorington’s surprising move to capture Callista. They were clearly a love match — the sparks between them over the last few days had been too strong to ignore. But she didn’t look happy with the method of his proposal.
And Ferguson looked as angry as Rafe had ever seen him.
There was no way that Rafe could see, now, to convince Ferguson to let him court Octavia. Not that he intended to court her. But if he did — if he gave in to the urge to talk to her, and then to all the urges that came after that — and if she accepted, Maidenstone would inevitably go to Lucretia by default.
Octavia would never accept that outcome. And he couldn’t ask her to give up all the security of winning Maidenstone, and all the satisfaction of keeping it from Lucretia, in exchange for his ramshackle, uncertain heart.
Love couldn’t save her. Love couldn’t give her a house or a place in society. And if she loved him, it would cost her everything she wanted.
He could still take care of Somerville, though. Perhaps as a wedding gift to her and her future husband.
“You should go congratulate the happy couple,” Rafe said to Serena, smoothing his cuffs. “I’m going to play cards.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“How do you do, Lady Portia?” Octavia asked when the girl appeared in front of her after the country dance.
Lady Portia’s stance was determined and her blue eyes were resolute. “Well enough. May I have a word with you? Alone?”
Octavia was taken aback, but she nodded. Sir Percival left without a word of protest. She was surprised to find that she wished he hadn’t. She had enjoyed dancing with him more than she had expected to. He didn’t look at her as either a necessary evil — like the men who wanted her for Maidenstone despite her reputation — or as a possible solution to his sexual needs.
Sir Percival looked at her like she was interesting and worth talking to for her own sake. After her first full day at Maidenstone, Octavia could tolerate all of Sir Percival’s nonsense in exchange for ten minutes of feeling like a human instead of a grotesque curiosity.
Lady Portia didn’t treat her like a curiosity either. But the girl was only twenty, and an unwed twenty at that. She should be more concerned with her reputation, since Octavia’s standing was far too tenuous to make her a safe companion for an unmarried girl. And they had only met formally the night before, when Serena had introduced them.
Octavia had appreciated the gesture more than she could say. Rafe’s family and Ferguson’s family had made it clear to everyone that they accepted her, which could go a long way toward rehabilitating her reputation — but that didn’t make her safe yet. And she didn’t want Serena and Portia to risk their own reputations by befriending her until her own status was a little clearer.
“Is there something I can help you with, Lady Portia?” she asked when Sir Percival was gone.
“Are you aware of tonight’s gossip?”
Octavia was sure the gossip was about her. She’d seen it in everyone’s eyes all day. “I could guess,” she said with a shrug.
“Did you know that Somerville was coming to the party?” Lady Portia asked.
Octavia didn’t shrug at that. “No. Is he here?”
Lady Portia nodded. “In the card room. The rumor is that he is going to stay at Maidenstone.”
“Lucy,” she muttered to herself, barely realizing that she’d said it aloud.
Octavia hadn’t minded the gossip, or the reactions others had to her. But the news that Somerville was at the party made her temper flare. Only three people could have invited Somerville. Ferguson had set most of the guest list, but Lucy and Lady Maidenstone still had authority over the house.
Emma wouldn’t do it. She was too busy trying to get Lucy and Octavia to reconcile, and to include Callista in their reconciliation. She’d hosted tea for the cousins that morning in an attempt to bring Lucy and Octavia together — an attempt that had been made in vain, since Lucy walked out before Octavia could confront her over the missing invitations.
Ferguson wouldn’t do it. He had been quite welcoming that afternoon when they had met to discuss her situation. He and his wife Madeleine, the Duchess of Rothwell, had spoken to her together, and he seemed to have no qualms about accepting her presence. He had intended for her to be present all along. Which meant, of course, that she had a better chance of winning Maidenstone than she had guessed.
She especially had a better chance since Ferguson was unhappy with Lucy’s actions. “Should I assume that Lucretia is the reason you did not come to Maidenstone earlier?” he had asked at the beginning of their meeting.
She’d hinted as much to him the night before, when she had arrived full of anger and a need for vengeance. But by the afternoon, she was more preoccupied with Rafe, and his claim that he couldn’t give her the love she deserved, than she was with Lucy’s treachery. So she had waved a hand and said, “Lucy certainly didn’t make any effort to ensure my attendance. But if I am still eligible to win Maidenstone, there was no harm done.”
Ferguson and Madeleine had exchanged a glance at that. “Per the terms of the will, you’re entirely eligible,” Ferguson said. “I would even go so far as to say that if your grandfather wanted me to choose the one who is most like a Briarley, it would be you. You’re even more scandalous than Callista, and she’s an American. But most of your peers don’t look very kindly on how you’ve spent the past few years.”
“There’s little I can do to change that,” she pointed out.
“No, you cannot change your association with Somerville,” Madeleine said. “But you can win everyone over — or at least win enough of them over that your children won’t be ostracized. There are examples of mistresses who’ve married well. Fox married his mistress, and she’s received in many circles.”
She’d thought of the comparison before. But while there were a handful of mistresses who had married into the peerage over the last few decades, none of them had come from her background — and they’d always carried the whiff of scandal with them. Not all of them were accepted after marriage, either. It entirely depended on the man, the woman, and how well-liked they were.
“Fox was one of the most power men in England and society has had over a decade to accustom themselves to the marriage,” Octavia said. “And Mrs. Armistead was very popular for years before that, albeit not accepted. My situation is different.”
“True,” the duke said. “But if you were the rich heiress of Maidenstone Abbey, and if you married the right man, most people would come around.”
“And who do you think the right man is? If you’re to be the judge of it, I may as well curry your favor and marry someone you approve of.”
Ferguson laughed. “Any man I invited is eligible. You don’t need to play me quite so obviously, my dear.”
“Sir Percival would drive you mad within a fortnight, so you might want to stay away from him,” Madeleine added.
“Have you given this same advice to Callista and Lucy?” Octavia asked.
Ferguson shook his head. “Lucretia would marry an ogre if I told her it would help her to win Maidenstone. For once, I judged it better to avoid giving advice.”
Ferguson had a reputation as a meddler, but his instincts about people were proving to be accurate. “And Callista?”
“She’s a lovely girl,” Ferguson said. “But she’s entirely too taken with Thorington. My only suggestion to her was to avoid him at all costs.”
The enmity between Thorington and Ferguson was well known within the ton, although she’d never heard a specific reason why they hated each other. “What if she doesn’t avoid him?”
“I won’t give Maidenstone Abbey to Thorington or any of his brothers. If she marries Thorington, I’ll be sorry to see it, but it will impro
ve the odds for you and Lucretia.”
Octavia raised an eyebrow. Rafe had told her as much the night before, but she hadn’t entirely believed him. “His brothers aren’t eligible either? I thought anyone you invited was allowed to win.”
“I didn’t invite them. Lucretia did, for all the good it’s done her. Thorington schemed his way into an invitation. I’ve already warned Lord Rafael to stay away from you — but if you want to win Maidenstone, you’ll stay away from him as well.”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” she had said tartly. The wound from the previous night, when Rafe had said he could never give her the love she deserved, was still a sharp, bleeding cut. “I won’t sacrifice Maidenstone for his sake.”
Ferguson had smiled. “I’m glad to hear it. Now, let’s think about how to rehabilitate your reputation.”
The conversation had continued for another half an hour, as she and Ferguson and Madeleine had discussed wardrobes, etiquette, and who to cater to or who to avoid among the guests at the party. But it was the earlier part of the conversation that had played through her head as she had navigated the tricky waters of drawing room conversations.
And perhaps she was a coward, but she had avoided Rafe because of it. He seemed not to want her. Between that and Ferguson’s admonishment, Octavia should have left well enough alone, closed off her heart to him, and sought out a new alliance among the suitors at the ball.
But she couldn’t quite succeed in that as long as Rafe stood on the other side of the ballroom, watching her as though he wanted nothing more than to kiss her again. His words said he wouldn’t have her — but his body told another story.
Which story should she believe?
And why was she even considering it, when falling in love with him might ruin her only chance to get revenge against Lucy?
Lady Portia had stayed silent for several minutes after Octavia had realized that Lucy had betrayed her by inviting Somerville to the party. But finally, she said, “Perhaps you would be better capable of handling Somerville if you had a suitor by your side.”
Octavia slanted her a glance. “Are you here to suggest that I give that role to Rafe?”
It wasn’t lost on Octavia that while Portia was talking to her, Serena had approached Rafe — it was unlikely to be a coincidence. Portia flushed, but she held her ground. “You seem to like each other.”
“You’ve never seen us together,” Octavia pointed out.
“Serena did. And you call him Rafe. And if you’re already friends, it’s obvious that you must have feelings for each other simply because you haven’t talked to him in public,” Portia said triumphantly.
“That’s convoluted logic,” Octavia said.
“But it’s logic. Serena and I would dearly love to see the two of you happy together.”
Between Ferguson, and Rafe’s sisters, and Emma, and all the rest, it seemed like the guests at the house party had nothing better to do than to promote mad schemes for others’ lives. Octavia shrugged. “I cannot win Maidenstone with one of your brothers. And Rafe isn’t the marrying type. Do you have other advice?”
“Rafe would make a wonderful husband,” Portia said.
But there was enough doubt in her voice that Octavia laughed. The laughter hurt a bit — mostly because Octavia would have said the same thing a few days earlier, and now wasn’t quite so sure. “He would make a wonderful soldier, and perhaps a wonderful brother. But I’m not convinced that you’re right about his ability to keep a wife.”
Portia frowned. But before she could come up with another argument, there was a disturbance in the center of the room. Octavia looked up just in time to see Thorington kissing Callista, full on the mouth, as though he owned her.
And then, as though this happened every day, he announced their engagement.
“Dear God,” Portia said, covering her mouth as soon as she blasphemed. “He’s gone mad.”
“Do you not want him to marry Callista?” Octavia asked.
Portia shook her head. “We adore Callie. She is perfect for him. But he should have known better than to do that. She won’t be happy with that public display.”
Callista’s face had turned to stone — not the look of a girl who was so madly in love that she couldn’t help but kiss her fiancé in public. Octavia looked around the ballroom. People were shocked, but almost gleeful in their shock — everyone adored a scandal. Ferguson was bearing down on the newly proclaimed couple, and she remembered his declaration that he wouldn’t give Maidenstone to Thorington.
If the engagement held, and if Callista didn’t jilt him, Thorington’s action had just removed Callista from the competition for Maidenstone Abbey.
That left Octavia and Lucy. As long as Octavia made the right match, Ferguson would give Maidenstone to her. She could toss Lucy out on her ear. All the revenge she had dreamed of was within her grasp.
But she glanced at Rafe. He watched the scene with the same fascination as everyone else — but there was a dark look on his face. And then he left abruptly, walking toward the card room, if she wasn’t mistaken.
She wanted to follow him. She wanted nothing more than to discuss these developments with him — or to kiss him, which would be far more pleasurable.
But if Thorington had removed Callista from the competition, and left Octavia and Lucy to fight it out amongst themselves, he had also left Octavia no choice. Octavia could no longer hope that Callista would inherit if Octavia failed. Now, Octavia either had to inherit it herself — or let Lucy win.
Again.
The crowd returned to dancing, although gossip still raced around the room. A couple of men appeared on the verge of approaching her — perhaps still held back by her reputation, but spurred on by the realization that the possible Briarley heiresses were down to two.
She turned to Lady Portia. The girl was sweet — but she knew nothing about expediency or revenge. Octavia hoped she never had to learn it.
“Go to your sister,” she said softly. “I appreciate your advice, but I believe it’s time to dance.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Rafe thought of several possibilities as he walked to the card room.
He could plant papers in Somerville’s townhouse in London — something to implicate him in treasonous activities. Rafe knew a handful of forgers in London who could make any documents he needed. But that would take time, and Octavia didn’t have time.
Or he could call him out for something — Somerville wasn’t known as a marksman, and Rafe was excellent. But Somerville could choose sabers instead of pistols. Rafe could still kill him with a sword, but either way, if Somerville died, Rafe would have to flee Britain. Somerville deserved it, but Rafe didn’t want to spend the rest of his life living in some backwater because of it.
By the time he reached the door, he had also considered and discarded poison, kidnapping, and burning down Somerville’s estate to lure him away from Maidenstone. Perhaps Rafe was going soft from being in England too long.
But for once, he chose the direct assault. “Somerville,” he said, as charmingly as he could through a jaw that wouldn’t relax. “May I have a word?”
Somerville looked up. He wasn’t playing — he was observing a foursome at whist, perhaps waiting for an opportunity to cut in. “Lord Rafael,” he said. “I had intended to find you earlier, but you were talking to your brother.”
That must have been how Rafe had missed Somerville’s entrance. But Rafe wasn’t pleased to hear that Somerville had looked for him. What could the man possibly want with him?
Rafe nodded, though, too cautious to ask what Somerville wanted from him in front of anyone else. They left the card room and skirted around the ballroom, looking for an empty room. Eventually, they found the library. Somerville gestured at the decanters. “Care for a drink? I know you don’t usually go without the stuff.”
“No,” Rafe said. “This isn’t a social call, Somerville.”
“My business isn’t social either, I�
�m afraid. But you found me — you should start.”
Somerville sat as he said this, crossing one leg over the other, entirely at ease. Too at ease, for someone whose former mistress was in the ballroom and being judged for his presence.
Rafe didn’t like this. His instincts were suddenly alert to the possibility that this was a trap.
But he was in the middle of it now. He had to play the hand as it was dealt. He took the seat across from Somerville, mimicking his relaxed pose. “Your arrival is not doing Octavia any favors. If you care at all for her, you should go home.”
Somerville nodded. “I agree. I shall leave in the morning.”
Rafe blinked. The trapped feeling intensified. “Why did you come at all if you didn’t intend to stay?”
“Oh, I intended to stay,” Somerville said. “I need a wife. This party would be convenient for finding one. Not a Briarley, of course — they’re all too mad. But there are enough other women here who would suit my needs.”
“Then why leave so easily?”
Somerville flicked an invisible piece of lint off his coat. “Lucretia invited me to the ball days ago, but she unexpectedly sent word this morning that I was welcome to stay at Maidenstone for the remainder of the party. It wasn’t proper notice, but I accepted. It would be far easier to find a bride if I stayed here. However, she neglected to inform me that Octavia was suddenly in residence. If I’d known that Octavia was here instead of at the hunting lodge, I wouldn’t have come.”
Trust Lucretia to invite Somerville — although one would think, given all the problems she had caused for Octavia, that she wouldn’t tempt fate by adding another problem quite so soon. But Lucretia wasn’t the main issue.
“It would be better if you left,” Rafe said. “At the very least, you should stay away from Octavia. The rumors won’t be kind.”
“Your concern for her is touching,” Somerville said. “But it reminds me of the business I have with you.”
Rafe felt a flicker of possessiveness. “Octavia is no longer yours to be concerned with.”