Miss Octavia Insists (The Henningtons Book 2)

by Camille Oster

  With him gone, the house was in utter silence. The only thing he heard was the standing clock down the hall, and the gentle patter of rain on the stone outside his windows. Sighing hurt, but he didn’t remember until after as the pain flared through him. It wasn’t just his back, there was pain around his chest as well. Probably broken ribs, but nothing to worry about compared to his back.

  There was hope. There was nothing to suggest he wouldn’t mend, albeit slowly, so he simply had to bear through this period without fuss. The more he complied, the faster he would heal, even if he hated being an invalid. The longer-term goals were more important than his immediate boredom.

  Mr. Fuller’s footfalls were heard down the hall. They sounded different from anyone else who came because of the man’s stiff knees.

  As expected, the man came in view at the door. “You have visitors, my lord,” Fuller said and Finn frowned.

  “I expect you told them that I’m not receiving visitors right now.”

  “They insisted,” Fuller continued. “They are aware of your misfortune and have come to see you are well.”

  “I’m not well. Send them away.”

  “I anticipate that the lady will not comply.”

  “Lady?” Had Eliza come to see him? “Who is it?”

  “A Mr. Melville Torville.”

  “What a ridiculous name. I’ve never heard of him.”

  “And Miss Octavia Hennington.”

  Finn blinked. Octavia Hennington was here, to see that he was alright. Had the world shifted on its axis somehow? This was Eliza’s doing. He knew it immediately. And Octavia wasn’t going to leave until she got what she wanted. She was thorny that way. Relentless and stubborn.

  “Well, I’m not decent.”

  “I’ll inform her.” How was he not surprised that it was Octavia who insisted? And who the hell was Melville Torville?

  Fuller disappeared and it was a long time until he came back. Finally he appeared. “Can you be made decent, she inquires,” he said.

  “No!” Finn said, losing his temper. “If she wants to see me, she’ll have to do so as is.”

  “I could perhaps drape a blanket on you,” Fuller suggested and Finn snorted. It wasn’t as if he was indecent. He simply didn’t have anything on underneath the sheets lying up to his midriff. If it wasn’t so damned hot in here with the constantly fed fire, he could manage more. “No, she’ll have to take me as I am.”

  “As you wish, my lord,” he said before leaving.

  Granted, he did pull up the sheet slightly more so a larger portion of his chest was covered.

  Poor Mr. Fuller was having to go back and forth to attend to this situation that was entirely her fault.

  Finn heard her speaking before he saw her. Had he been seen to by a doctor, she asked. It really was the most ill-conceived question. No one in their right mind would leave him without calling a doctor to attend.

  Mr. Fuller assured her that Dr. Peteson was giving him the best possible care. And then she appeared with this Mr. Torville in tow—a dandy by the look of him.

  She paused at the door, and then steeled herself as if she was walking into a lion’s cage. “We received word you’ve been injured, and the communication indicated quite severely.”

  Mr. Fuller brought over two chairs and they sat down. Mr. Torville’s eyes were lingering a little where they shouldn’t, while she was abjectly refusing to look anywhere except at his head—and above it.

  “As you see. I’m convalescing, but thank you for coming and intruding.”

  “Eliza was worried. Julius probably would be too if he was around. Did you get your servants out of an antiquarian museum?” she said as Mr. Fuller left the room. “That man must be a hundred years old.”

  It was a fair observation, but he didn’t want to discuss the complexities of the topic with her.

  “What will you do if he drops dead?”

  Eloquent as always. “There are others.”

  “I’m sorry,” the man said. “We haven’t been introduced. I am Mr. Melville Torville.”

  “My cousin,” Octavia cut in.

  Melville stood and leaned over to shake his hand. Finn complied, but hated to show how weak he was. He could barely do more than lay his hand in the other man’s palm. “It’s a pleasure to meet you in these less than fortuitous circumstances. I understand there’s some concern about your well-being,” the man said.

  “I’m surprised you came,” Finn said frankly to Octavia.

  “If I didn’t, Eliza would probably have tried to, and she’s not fit for travel in her state.”

  At no point in his association with Eliza Hennington had she denoted anything other than that she was a lovely, caring human being. It was a shame things had worked out as they had, but such things couldn’t be helped. As it was, he would appreciate her friendship. “Then tell her that I’m convalescing and will be restored—eventually.”

  Now an awkward silence spread between them.

  “It’s a lovely house,” Melville said after a while. “Has it been in your family for long?”

  “Quite some time,” Finn said, tugging the sheet up a little higher.

  “Are there other servants?” Octavia asked. Why did everything she said sound so accusing?

  “Of course.” There were five in total, which would probably displease her, because it wasn’t enough to run a house like this. “The others are at the townhouse.” Where he had intended on living before he’d been hounded out of London through social machinations. The staff here was simply to see to the house while he wasn’t here. “They haven’t been recalled.”

  “Are they all elderly?” she asked. “Do you run a convalescing home for retired servants, as well?”

  Oh, that tone in her voice—how he had not missed it. “They have been with the family for a very long time,” he said, managing not to sound as defensive as he felt. In essence, in some way, she was accusing him of mistreating these people. “They have a home here for as long as they wish.”

  It was so like her to hone in on any issue he was grappling with, such as his bachelor status, and what to do with his elderly servants. Any hint of deficiency in his life, she sought it out and probed endlessly. Maybe he was extrapolating a little out of what he’d experienced, but she seemed to seek out any discord in his life. Perhaps she would blame him for getting injured.

  “How did you get injured?” she asked bluntly, almost as if she was reading his thoughts.

  “Landslide,” he replied.

  “Landslide?” she said, looking astonished. “Did the earth try to swallow you up?”

  “Are you disappointed I survived?”

  “Why would you say such a thing? I came here to ensure you were being cared for sufficiently.”

  Melville’s gaze was traveling between them as if he was enjoying the show. Just then, Mr. Fuller came with a tea tray, and a misstep had the sugar bowl sliding off the tray—almost as if to prove her point that his household was in shambles. “My pardon,” Mr. Fuller said, deeply embarrassed.

  Do not be cruel to my man, Finn ordered silently.

  “Let me assist you,” she said sweetly and rose from her chair. “I think you were the victim of a kink in the carpet.” She smiled as she took the tray from him. Mr. Fuller appreciated the excuse. And you, Finn said silently to Mr. Fuller, do not fall under her charm. “I suppose we have to assist you too,” she said, returning her attention to Finn.

  “I can manage a teacup,” he said sternly. If it was small and barely filled.

  “It’s almost like you’re family,” Melville stated with amusement. What an odd man. And what a strange and distressing thing to say.

  Chapter 19

  THE ROOM WAS REALLY WARM, but perhaps it was necessary. It wasn’t impossible to see Fortescue’s form under the sheets. A strangely languid sight. For sake of propriety, she really shouldn’t have come into his bedchamber, but these were extenuating circumstances. They had to establish that he was well, and that
couldn’t be done by taking someone’s word for it. It was possible that servants could misrepresent something, or be told to say something that wasn’t true.

  What was clear was that Fortescue couldn’t move. He was weak, but he was trying to hide it. Typical man, always trying to make themselves more than they were.

  “We will leave you to rest,” she said from her seat. “Come, Melville, we should leave him to sleep.”

  They rose to leave.

  “It’s not necessary,” Fortescue said as they reached the door. “I have done nothing but rest.”

  Octavia paused and then she looked at Melville. Fortescue was bored to tears, which was understandable. They returned to their seats.

  “Why don’t you tell us who you’re showering with interest these days,” Fortescue said and Octavia was about to rise again.

  “Please do,” Melville added. “It was James Fervoy last time I checked.”

  “Don’t you start,” Octavia said accusingly.

  “Fervoy is pretty,” Melville added.

  “I think he disappointed,” Fortescue said with a shrug, but he seemed to suffer for the movement.

  “What injuries do you have?” Octavia asked, a little concerned that a small shrug should cause him so much pain. “And isn’t that doctor giving you anything to quell the pain?”

  “He was, but we’ve reduced the amount. Pain can be very informative.”

  “Also painful,” she replied. “Can you not move at all?”

  “It’s encouraged that I do not move until sufficient healing has been done.”

  “Healing to what?”

  “My back.”

  Melville winced. “That is bad.”

  “It’s a setback, but not irrecoverable.”

  “So you will heal?” she said.

  “Provided I don’t do anything to impede the process.”

  A broken back. That was bad. Many never walked again, and it sounded as if that could be his fate. It also sounded as though all hope was not lost on that account. “The doctor said so.”

  “Yes, apparently pain is a good sign.”

  “It must be the only time when it is.”

  Another silence settled, as they, in reality, had very little to talk about.

  “A lovely house,” Melville said.

  “Yes, I think we covered that already,” Octavia said. This felt very awkward now. “What are you planning to plant next year?” Which was possibly the most inane question to ask, but what else could she ask?

  “Barley, mostly.”

  “Oh.” They had nothing in common to talk about.

  “What did Eliza want assistance with when she wrote?” he asked. Eliza again. Time to give up.

  “Rats, apparently. I cannot mention how glad I was to be involved with that situation.”

  “Then you will be equally pleased to be involved with this situation.”

  “Well, someone had to check on you.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re clearly not.”

  “Anyone for a bit of tipple?” Melville asked brightly.

  “He’s practically on his death bed.”

  “I am not.”

  “What better time?” Melville suggested. “What will you have?”

  “Whiskey.”

  “Absolutely not. The doctor would be shocked,” Octavia cut in.

  “An ale then. It’s fortifying.”

  When Mr. Fuller arrived, Melville turned to him. “I think we will fortify Lord Fortescue with two ales, and Miss Octavia will have a sherry.”

  “Should I also have rooms prepared for the night?”

  Octavia hadn’t actually thought so far as to where she’d stay while she was here. “We can take ourselves to an inn if need be. Is there one nearby?”

  “I’m perfectly capable of housing guests, unannounced as they are,” Fortescue said. He didn’t stretch as far as saying unwelcome, which would have put him on league with her father in terms of rudeness. “Have two rooms prepared for the night,” he said, addressing Mr. Fuller. “And to answer your question, there isn’t an inn nearby, but if you insist, the village reverend does put up lost travelers if he must.”

  “Then we will depend on your generosity,” Octavia said tartly. “In fact, I might go see that our effects are directed.”

  “My staff are perfectly capable.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you’re managing the household needs superbly from your bed.”

  Like most men, he probably wasn’t lifting a finger to make the necessary decisions for the house, and as she went downstairs, she saw ample evidence of it. Some places looked like they’d gone a bit too long without dusting. The brass was barely polished and the crystals of the chandelier were so dusty they looked like drops of snow rather than ice.

  “What plans have been made for supper?” she asked as she reached Mr. Fuller, who was directing that looked like stable boys to carry their trunks up the stairs. Wafts of horse and hay passed her as they did.

  “I believe the cook is preparing something light for his lordship,” Fuller said. “Soup and bread. And I must apologize as we weren’t anticipating visitors.”

  Good staff knew how to accommodate on short notice, but it seemed the house was functioning on the barest of staff, of which all seemed to be of more advanced years.

  “I will go see to the kitchen,” Octavia said. For a moment, Mr. Fuller seemed pressed to argue, but held his tongue. “How many maids are there?”

  “Two,” Mr. Fuller said.

  “That is not sufficient for a house like this.”

  “There are more in London.”

  “Well, the master is currently residing here, so they aren’t much good there. And from the looks of it, he may be here for quite some time. Is the house equipped to deal with an ailing master?”

  “We make do.”

  “I’m sure you do,” Octavia said, not blaming him for the state of affairs. A bachelor simply wasn’t equipped to properly manage a house, and it had probably been like that for a while. No doubt their rooms would be very hastily prepared. “You might have to hire some staff to do a bit of dusting and polishing. The furniture will be damaged if it’s left too long.”

  “I will discuss it with his lordship.”

  “Very good,” Octavia said. Running the house had been second nature to her for a while. It was a role no one else was going to perform in her house, and she liked having exacting standards and expecting them to be met. It meant she got to live in a house that ran smoothly, and where the dust was well managed. Even now, she felt a sneeze building up. It wasn’t decrepit by any stretch, but neither was it exacting. “Is the dining room this way?”

  “It is.”

  Octavia set off into the darkened room. No fire was lit, nor lights. Mr. Fuller now lit a few of the sconces. It was understandable if it wasn’t managed as the master wasn’t leaving his room. The room was dusted, generally, but she could see dust on top of the candles on the table, which meant Fortescue hadn’t used this room even before he’d been injured.

  “We may have to fashion him a room on this floor,” she said. “At some point, he will leave his room.”

  “God helping,” Mr. Fuller added.

  “And likely he will wish to leave his room before his back is fully healed. Stairs will be difficult for him to manage. We cannot have the stable lads carry him up and down the stairs, can we?”

  “I suppose there is the music room,” Mr. Fuller said.

  “Let’s have a look at it.”

  Mr. Fuller looked reticent. “I’m afraid it may need some attention before being viewable.”

  As Octavia expected, a few rooms of the house weren’t being managed at all. “Is there a housekeeper?”

  “Not currently residing here.”

  “It’s an interesting state of affairs the housekeeper not residing in the house.”

  “She is presently managing the house in London.”

  What in the world was Fortescue thinking?
Was he reticent to hire staff? There were some odd people who were so against staff they ran their houses to the ground. She hadn’t taken Fortescue as a man of such colorful disposition, but one never knew. “So who is performing the housekeeper’s duties?”

  “The house’s requirements are managed between myself and the cook. The maids, of course. It is an effort by all.”

  “A house is not a democracy,” Octavia started, but didn’t finish in the vein she intended. “I’m sure you have all managed admirably with your depleted resources. But we must prepare to move his lordship down into the music room. His recovery will ultimately not be managed from upstairs.”

  “Of course, Miss Hennington,” he said with a quick bow. He may not like being directed, because she suspected the staff here hadn’t received direction perhaps for years, but it was necessary in times like these.

  Chapter 20

  MISS OCTAVIA DIDN’T RETURN for her sherry, which sat on his bedside table glinting like a jewel in the fine glassware. Mr. Fuller sought to impress by utilizing the best glassware in the house—the Austrian crystal.

  “You’re not drinking?” Melville said.

  It hurt Finn to admit this, but it was true. “The glass is too heavy for me to manage, I’m afraid.”

  “Ah,” Melville said and took the glass from his hand where it rested on his upper thigh and tipped most of it into his own glass. “There,” he said, putting it back in his hand, with a fraction of the liquid left. “We can top up as needed.”

  “Thank you,” Finn said and managed to lift the glass to his mouth. The liquid was earthy and smooth, and the burn tickled his throat. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had anything other than water, and the awful sticky taste of laudanum that never really went away. This was the most refreshing thing he’d had lately, and he savored the taste of it. It felt like a tiny but important step to normalcy.

  “You were at the wedding celebration, I believe,” Finn said, vaguely recalling the man. They hadn’t been introduced.

  “Yes, I was there. Can’t say I remember much of it.” By the way Melville got through his ale, Finn suspected he was a bit of a drinker. “Enjoyable few days. So how exactly do you know the family?”