Miss Octavia Insists (The Henningtons Book 2)

by Camille Oster

  “Do you like children?” she asked.

  “Are you trying to get me to admit I’m a horrible person?”

  “I didn’t think that was still up for debate. You are the most horrid of men.” Her tone was light and teasing. “We still haven’t ruled out that divine justice tried to smite you.”

  All he wanted to do right now was kiss her. The thought struck him suddenly. Unfortunately, he was too trussed up in the brace to do so, or was that fortunately? Well, this was a development.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, concern written on her face.

  “Nothing.”

  “You look concerned. I was jesting. I doubt God was trying to smite you, more that you are inordinately unlucky.”

  “Unlucky enough to have to be rescued by you,” he replied snarkily. But was it unlucky? The earth had given away under him and he’d become her charge. Some could even argue that was a thunderclap from the divine. It’d changed his life entirely and put her in his path. Could there be a clearer message—if he believed in such things? Which he didn’t. No one in their right mind would say they got on. Not to mention that he wasn’t someone she’d chosen to bestow her attention on—except to try to chase him as far away from her family as possible.

  “Some would say just desserts,” she said tartly with her arms crossed. He still wanted to kiss her. That slight pout to her lips wasn’t something she put on to be coy, but it drew his attention. He could imagine reaching for her and drawing her into a kiss, but with this brace, it would just be an awkward hash job. And really, stealing a kiss after she’d let him into her home, after she’d rescued him, was coarse.

  The cold weather had gotten into his clothes. He wasn’t, after all, dressed for outside excursions, and she was less so. “We must go inside before chills are caught,” he said. He held his arm out and she stared at it for a moment before relenting and slipping her arm into the crook of his elbow as they slowly walked back down the length of the building. It was the most mundane touch they’d ever had, slowly walking side by side. It seemed so... normal. Not part of being hoisted or managed, or anything else that suggested he was an utter invalid.

  “You have a very nice house too,” he said after a moment. “And I admit, it is very well run, even with your absence.”

  “Thank you,” she replied. “I do have to see to things, even when I’m not here. According to my brothers and father all these things happen by magic. They don’t.”

  “Are you saying I need a wife?”

  “Men cannot possibly take care of themselves on their own. They simply aren’t built for it.”

  Finn smiled. Frankly, he felt he’d managed well enough. Granted, many of the finer parts were ignored. Things may be a little more dusty, the meals lacking a certain refinement. If he wanted perfect service, a well-stocked wine cellar and exquisite food, he simply had to go to his club.

  He cleared his throat. “I do like children, by the way. I just haven’t had much experience with them.” Even as he’d been younger, he’d been the only child in the house. Beside occasional encounters with the village children, he hadn’t really dealt with other children until he’d gone to school. Seeing the Henningtons, he wondered how different his life would have been if he’d had siblings.

  Although, he wasn’t entirely certain why he was telling her this. Was he trying to disabuse her of some of her more abrasive assumptions about him?

  The warmth inside was notable as soon as they walked in. Lord Hennington was still sitting with his paper, his pipe propped up in the ashtray beside him. Finn returned to the seat that seemed his now, while Octavia returned to the card table where she’d deserted a game of solitaire. He watched as she turned over the cards and then perused the configuration below her. It wasn’t challenging for her, more an amusing pastime. As she played, he watched, watched her fingers, which seemed so dainty and slim compared to his own, watched her breathe and the way it made the neckline of her dress that little bit tighter. Then the curl of dark hair that grazed her shoulder.

  “Uh hum,” Lord Hennginton uttered beside him, clearing his throat. The harsh look suggested Finn had been caught observing the man’s daughter.

  Finn couldn’t help his little smile. Yes, he’d been caught observing Octavia Hennington. She was lovely—once you got past the abrasiveness. Quite lovely.

  Chapter 25

  THE MAIL ARRIVED, WHICH only happened once a week, unless there was something urgent. Octavia sorted it while she sat in the breakfast room alone. Her father had taken himself off to his study after his morning meal. Lord Fortescue tended to spend the early mornings in his room, which was actually a gaming room that had been converted to quite a decent bedroom.

  Business correspondence for her father, a few letters from her friends, and a package for Lord Fortescue from Dr. Peteson. It had to be his medicine, she guessed.

  She could ask for it to be taken to him, but he was up. A breakfast tray had been taken to his room some time ago. Deciding to drop it off to him, she left the breakfast room and knocked quietly on his door. His request to enter came and she opened the door, finding his room dark.

  “Dr. Peteson has sent you some things,” she said, seeing him in the bed with a book. He was dressed and his breakfast tray stood on the table nearby. Walking over she drew the curtains back to let in the fairly bright day. The room changed completely with the sunshine, and Lord Fortescue seemed annoyed with the light. “Do you intend on staying in bed all day?”

  “I was planning on staying a little longer.”

  “You aren’t wearing your brace,” she said, seeing him lying there in a soft cotton shirt. In all, he was rather informally dressed.

  “I find it chafing, so I am forgoing it today. For now.”

  “You might have to use some padding in places where it hurts.”

  “As always, your advice is invaluable,” he said with a hint of sarcasm.

  “Tricks from experienced corset wearers.”

  “Torture devices.”

  “Yes, but one does cut a nice figure.” Octavia blushed, because his eyes did take in her figure with the suggestion.

  Putting the book to side, he rose from where he was sitting. There was still an awkward stiffness, as if he was trying to stop himself from moving his spine. But on the other hand, he looked more natural than she had seen him in a long time, as he wasn’t ramrod straight.

  “Should you be doing that?” she asked.

  “Will you tattle to Dr. Peteson?” he said and smiled. He came over to her and she felt as if this was wrong and dangerous. She didn’t like that he’d forgone his brace. It felt dangerous. Why was he coming over to her?

  As he reached her, he took the package out of her hand, the one she’d forgotten she was carrying. He took it over to the table and groaned as he reached for a penknife.

  “Let me do that,” she said.

  With the knife in hand, he pointed it casually at her. “You should not be in here at all. If your father catches you in here, he will not be pleased.”

  “That’s ridiculous. You’re an injured man who needs care and assistance.” Granted, the notion didn’t sit as perfectly when he didn’t have his brace on. He seemed less an invalid and more of a man.

  Bringing the knife down, he cut the string around the package and tore it open, showing a notion of strength she hadn’t seen in him. By no means did he appear a weak man--she just hadn’t been cognizant of his strength before. Up until now, she’d been so focused on his weakness, she’d forgotten the natural strength underneath.

  “More laudanum and cod liver oil. I thought one of the blessings about coming of age was that one could forgo the dreaded oil.”

  “Your body needs to heal itself. It is probably a wise gift.”

  “Perhaps,” he said absently, and she was surprised he gave up his position so easily. “I think your father might have a notion that we are lovers.”

  “What?!” Octavia said sharply. “That’s ridiculous.”

>   “Is it?”

  What was that supposed to mean?

  “You did rush to my side when I was injured and then dragged me home with you.”

  “I couldn’t just leave you.” And it had been Eliza’s prodding that had made her go in the first place. “My father knows that. We’re not heartless heathens. Neither is my father, believe it or not.”

  “Well, he hasn‘t thrown me out. Do you think that means it would be a match he encourages?” Oh, now the teasing glint was back in his eye. Was this where they were taking their ongoing sparring now?

  “Luckily for you, my father isn’t all that interested in the matches we make. He stays out of it entirely.” But was it a match her father approved of? It hadn’t even been something to consider—because there was nothing to consider. A ludicrous notion all around. And a new battleground that she didn’t know what to do with—or what she wanted to do with. It had unlimited potential for teasing, because to him, marrying her was probably a fate worse than death. And for her, marrying him was... just... inconceivable. “I’ll leave you to your laudanum,” she said tartly, knowing he hated how the laudanum made him feel. He'd rather suffer the pain.

  There were other things she wanted to say. Primarily how ridiculous his assertions were, and secondly, to put his brace on, because he might be injuring his back further by not wearing it. At the same time, though, the point they had just quarreled about was that it wasn’t for her to nurse him, much less act like a wife. So she left feeling much more disturbed than when she’d entered.

  Did her father really think there was tenderness between them? Obviously, he would never assume they were lovers, because he knew her better than that, and she was definitely not the kind of girl to do stupid things with men. She might flirt, perhaps even accept a chaste kiss, but that was all. Truthfully, she’d never really understood why girls did stupid and compromising things. And yes, she’d gone above and beyond the strict bounds of propriety in caring for Fortescue, but her intention had always been with regard to his injuries and clear vulnerability.

  This had also highlighted that being the invalid wasn’t all he was, and she had perhaps forgotten that.

  For the next hour or so, she wrote letters to her friends, who filled her in on the things she was missing in London. The scandals, happenings and engagements. Many asked about Julius. No one asked her about Lord Fortescue. Then again, she hadn’t told anyone the details about him and how she’d been helping him. It was perhaps a little hard to explain. She had rushed to his side when he’d been injured. How could she explain that? The truth was that she’d done it so Eliza wouldn’t. Granted, while at his house, she had been properly supervised by Melville. And here, her father.

  For the sake of her reputation, some distance was perhaps needed. Melville, she could trust not to create ideas out of this that were not there. Her father certainly wouldn’t voice his thoughts to anyone, which left Lord Fortescue himself, and they had a contentious relationship. Wrongly worded phrases from him could really damage her.

  Why hadn’t she even considered this? Through her actions, she’d given her enemy ammunition to practically destroy her. On some level, he was aware of it too.

  How could she have been so stupid, so unthinking? Her actions seemed ludicrous now. Granted, at the time, his situation had been so very dire, but how did one communicate that? At first glance, her actions conveyed sentiments that weren’t there. And in the aftermath, they would see him tall and strong. They wouldn’t see how dire his situation that had been. All they would see would be the threat of impropriety.

  Rising from her seat, she went downstairs, finding Fortescue in the salon, sitting in his brace like he always did. His rebellion had met an end, it seemed. Now that she was here, she didn’t quite know how to word what she wanted to say.

  “In light of our discussion earlier,” she started. “There is the potential to make the situation seem different from how it was.”

  “And how was it?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. It annoyed her.

  “I’m speaking for the potential for you to make it seem things were different than they were, for the sheer reason of harming me.” No point pussyfooting around what she wanted to say.

  “That would be ungenerous of me.” He didn’t argue the point. As she suspected, he was aware of this ammunition he had over her. What was it they said about the fallibility of good intentions?

  “So you seek to use my generosity against me?”

  He watched her for a moment from where he sat, unerringly stiff-backed. “I will not,” he finally said. “Your generosity was never anything other than generosity.”

  Octavia didn’t know how to take this, or what he meant. "It would be ungenerous of you to besmirch my character based on my attentions to help you.”

  “It would.”

  “My father really wouldn’t forgive you, if you did something despicable.”

  “Contrary to what you believe, I’m not one to delight in despicable acts.”

  Awkwardly, he rose from the chair. All she saw now was the invalid. When he wore that brace and was so encumbered by it, she saw him as an invalid. He moved closer. “If it makes you feel better, provided your cousin and father are amenable, we can agree to never mention your assistance to me. No one else knew.” Eliza and Caius knew.

  “Then how did you come to be here?”

  “I threw myself on your father’s mercy as I passed. Intent on making it to London, I simply couldn’t make it.”

  It would solve all the potential difficulties, but her father, Melville, Eliza and Caius would all have to agree. Melville might be the weak link in the chain. He might tell people why he’d left town for a while. She would write to him, and Eliza. “Thank you.” Obviously, he could lie, but she didn’t believe he was a liar.

  “Now we simply have to worry about your father’s fear that I would kidnap you and run away with you.”

  “My father would never fear that,” she said with a shake of her head.

  “I would never fear what?” he said, walking into the room.

  Now this was awkward. “That I would ever find Lord Fortescue charming.”

  “Really?” her father said. “Has he been trying to charm you, then?”

  Well, if her father had suspicions before, they certainly weren’t doing a good job dissuading him with this argument. “Not my type in the least.”

  “Uhm,” her father said non-committally and took his chair by the fire.

  “And we have agreed, in light of people making faulty assumptions,” she continued, “that any assistance given to Lord Fortescue shall never be mentioned by anyone again.”

  “Ah, so you will expunge it from the annals of history.”

  “Entirely. As neither of us wishes for people to get the wrong impression.” Importantly, she felt she was communicating the right point here.

  “So you will not mind at all when Lydia Forthill comes over and tries desperately to get his attention?” her father asked.

  “No, it’s a match I have encouraged myself,” she said with a smile.

  “Out of spite,” Fortescue said. Who was he trying to help here?

  “Only an idiot would marry that woman,” her father said and rustled his paper before burying himself behind it.

  “Your son just married her sister,” she said incredulously.

  “Julius married the Forthill fortune—something I suspect doesn’t draw Fortescue here.”

  “That is true,” Fortescue added. “I seek a comfortable and happy marriage.”

  “Well, in that case, I think you are safe from his attempts to charm, Octavia.”

  Octavia stood with her mouth open, not that she was at all surprised her father would say such an uncouth thing. “Good, so we all have the same understanding.”

  Fortescue was amused by all this. He would be, because her father had just savagely insulted her. But in all, it served her purposes, so she wasn’t going to argue.

  Chapter 26
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br />   OCTAVIA’S EXCITEMENT WAS clear as she watched at the windows for Julius’ carriage coming down the long driveway to the house. Lord Hennington seemed to be himself utterly, mostly spending his time reading or looking annoyed whenever Octavia asked him questions.

  “Shall we go for a quick walk?” Finn offered. By quick, he meant up and down the veranda. As of yet, he hadn’t managed to make his way down the stairs to the lawn. Stairs would be an awkward undertaking, and at this point, entirely unnecessary. As it was, he was simply happy his strength was returning. Each day, he felt better, to the point where the brace was the burden, more than the injury. His head was clear, his strength was good—provided he didn’t overly exert himself. A rest in the afternoon and early to bed. It was all becoming quite manageable.

  In fact, it was probably time for him to continue to London soon. What he hadn’t expected was that his time here had been both interesting and enjoyable. His relationship with Octavia was evolving. Although he’d always teased her, he understood her better now. While their dealings were no less contentious, there was a different tone. At some point, he’d started feeling more comfortable whenever her attention was on him.

  “Alright, fine,” she said. “But only for a moment. It’s chilly today.”

  Lord Hennington harumphed and re-shook his newspaper to steady it.

  “I’m sure he’ll be delighting me with sonnets, Father.”

  “Hell would freeze over,” Finn said under his breath, but loud enough for Lord Hennington to hear.

  The wind was sharp as they stepped outside. It was sunny but cool, and as she took her place at his side, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. There was an ease between them, and it wasn’t the ease of a courting couple pussyfooting around each other. It was the ease of a friendship. A friendship could develop between them. Increasingly, he liked dealing with her, arguing with her—teasing her. He liked to see her bristle, and then come back at him. But at the heart of it, it wasn’t friendship. It was something else.