In Your Arms Again (8 page)

“I beg your pardon?” She added to the appearance of disinterestedness by taking a sip of tea. They were in her little parlor, facing the street. Sunshine streamed through the windows; the muffled clip-clop of horses went on almost continuously in the background. She might have napped if not for the ever-present shadow of Spinton.

The earl had the grace to look uncomfortable. He should, the blighter. “He said he would reconsider investigating the source of the letters.”

“Did he?” Had that growl come from her own throat? It was a direct contradiction to her pleasant tone. “What made you believe I would want him to?”

Beatrice snapped to attention on the other sofa; a little yellow bee on a salmon pink blossom. She knew Octavia’s mood was taking a dangerous turn. Her unease was palatable. Whose side would she choose if the situation escalated?

Spinton’s, no doubt. Beatrice always sided with the underdog.

“Er, well…” Spinton met her gaze in a surprisingly bold manner. “I am
not
going to apologize for wanting to protect you.”

Even Octavia blinked at his tone. Perhaps dear Fitzwilliam had a spine after all. “You might have informed me of your plans before you went behind my back.”

His color rose. “And as my intended, you might have seen fit to share this so-called secret of yours with me.”

Octavia’s shoulders straightened. Backbone indeed. Unfortunately his show of audacity only served to strengthen her reluctance to cow. “While I appreciate your concern, Fitzwilliam, any secrets I have are my own, and I alone will ensure their protection.”

“While those around you unwittingly share in the consequences.”

She smiled—albeit bitterly—at his indignant tone. “So that is what truly worries you—not my safety, but what your involvement with me might mean for your own reputation.”

He didn’t deny it. “And for Miss Beatrice’s reputation as well.”

Ahh, there it was. Could it be that Spinton held her cousin in as high regard as Beatrice held him?

“Perhaps you should offer your hand to Beatrice instead, then neither of you would have to worry about my sordid past.” Oh dear, her temper was running away with her. If she didn’t keep her wits about her, she would reveal too much.

Both Beatrice and Spinton flushed a deep, dark red. Octavia was immediately contrite. She shouldn’t have involved Bea in this. But before she could apologize, her cousin joined in.

“Octavia, that is not fair. Lord Spinton cares far more for your welfare than for mine. Although I do thank you for the consideration, my lord.”

Octavia rolled her eyes as her cousin practically batted her eyelashes at Spinton. He puffed up like a peacock under her defense. It wasn’t a surprise that the two of them were going to join sides against her. They usually did. One would think they would have learned by now that such tactics only made her more resolute to resist their arguments.

“So concern for one’s welfare gives a person the right to interfere with one’s business, does it?” She set her cup and saucer on the tray with a loud clink.

“Of course,” Beatrice’s tone never wavered. It was that same annoyingly soft cadence. “Genuine caring gives a person the right to do most anything to protect someone they care for.”

Pretty words and a lovely sentiment, but hardly realistic. “You might feel differently were this your life being interfered with.” Good Lord, she actually sounded petulant. There wasn’t some part of her that actually
believed
Beatrice’s naive notions, was there?

Her cousin lowered her gaze. “I would welcome that kind of devotion.”

Devotion?
Devotion?
Was she completely mad? But then, perhaps Beatrice did see it that way. After all, she hadn’t any secrets she’d sworn to protect.

“See, Octavia?” Spinton was positively haughty with Beatrice behind him. “Miss Beatrice knows I had nothing but your best interests at heart.”

Unable to take any more, Octavia stood. “Beatrice would side with you even if you committed murder right in front of her and then denied it, Spinton. I am certain she will delight in telling you just how right you were to stick your face into my private affairs, but that will not change the fact that
I
believe you to have been wrong.”

“But—”

She didn’t let him continue, “I do not need, nor do I want
you trying to protect me. I am not some helpless female. Rather than endear you to me, all your refusal to abide by my wishes does is further convince me that we are totally unsuitable for one another. Now, if you will both excuse me, I believe I need to be alone.”

Leaving the room with as much dignity as she could muster, Octavia was caught somewhere between righteous vindication and crippling guilt, but she stomped upstairs as though righteousness was her only emotion. Of course Spinton had acted out of what
he
believed to be her best interest. And of course Beatrice was only thinking of her happiness whenever she tried to smooth things over between Octavia and her would-be husband. Their intentions were good and honorable. They were
always
good and honorable, just as Beatrice and Spinton were themselves.

But after thirty years on this earth, shouldn’t Octavia be able to make such decisions for herself? She was not a child, though at times she surely acted as one. She was a grown woman, with the means and intelligence to live her life as she wanted, yet here she was, still allowing others to dictate to her how she should act and live. No wonder Beatrice and Spinton found it so odd when she got angry—they weren’t used to her noncompliance. Well, they would just have to
get
used to it. When it came to prying into her private life—digging into those things that she called hers and hers alone—Spinton would soon discover that the woman he wanted to be shackled to for the rest of his days was no meek miss. Much of her life had been decided for her by other people. She had allowed her mother and grandfather to dictate large aspects of her future, but Octavia was determined that the rest of her life would not always be ruled by others as her mother’s had been.

For now she would try to swallow her anger and regain control of her emotions. It was either that or go back down
stairs and tell Spinton there was no ruddy way she was going to marry him. Ever.

That would be breaking her promise—the one thing her grandfather had ever asked of her. And he had done so much for her. Hadn’t he? She always thought so, but right now all she could think was that he had taken her from a place where she had been happy and turned her into a new person.

Oh, and there was the fact that he had most likely saved her from having to flit from man to man for “protection” as might have happened had she gone ahead and chosen a life on the stage.

Alone, in the solace of her bedroom, she fell onto her back on the bed, barely bouncing on the firm mattress. The bed was huge, the room spacious—everything she had dreamed of as a child. So why did it sometimes feel more like a prison than a haven? Perhaps because like everything else in her life, it had been given to her without anyone asking her opinion—not that she would have wanted any changes. She’d been too overwhelmed to ask for anything, and after that wore off, she simply felt too beholden.

Why had
she
been the one picked to marry Spinton? Was it really because of her grandfather’s love for her father and his guilt for ignoring her and her mother all those years? He claimed not to have known where they were, but really, how hard had he looked? Not very. So why was she ruining her life to assuage a dead man’s guilt? Why make her life—and Spinton’s—miserable in the process?

And they would make each other miserable, of that there could be no doubt. Spinton would try to be a good husband, and Octavia would constantly find fault with him, just as he would constantly find fault with her. They were poorly suited, and it seemed only one of them knew it.

That made it all the worse. Spinton actually seemed to
want
to marry her. It might be easier to break her promise to her grandfather if she didn’t think she’d be breaking Spinton’s heart as well.

Lord, she really was a piece of work. She sneered at Spinton behind his back and pitied him at the same time. He wasn’t weak enough to earn her contempt, nor was he strong enough to garner her respect.

A knock sounded at the door. Octavia ignored it. It was followed by another—sharper this time.

“Please go away.”

“Tavie, it is me.”

Only one person could call her such a juvenile name as “Tavie” and not make her cringe.

Octavia groaned into a buttercup yellow cushion. “Bea, I am tired. I want to rest before dinner.”

“I am coming in.”

Octavia bolted upright on the bed. Damnation, she should have locked the door! “No, Bea—”

The door opened and Beatrice slipped inside, silently shutting it behind her.

“You do not listen very well,” Octavia chided with a resigned sigh. She wasn’t angry at Beatrice, not really, and even if she was, she couldn’t stay that way for long.

“Of course I do not listen,” her cousin replied with a smile. “I am related to you.”

Octavia grinned in response. She patted a spot beside her on the bed. “Come sit then.”

Beatrice did so. “I want to apologize.” Meek and mild she might be, but Beatrice rarely beat around the bush when she had something she felt needed to be said.

Grasping her hand, Octavia squeezed gently. “So do I. I behaved unpardonably just now, stomping off like a spoiled child.”

Her cousin’s smile was one of patient understanding. “Per
haps, but it would not have happened had you not been provoked. I am sorry for siding with Spinton. I suppose as an outsider I find it easier to understand his motives.”

Octavia arched a brow. “Nicely put.” Let her cousin deny her favoritism. It didn’t matter.

Blushing, Beatrice glanced away. “But as much as I believe his motives to be pure, his way of carrying them out certainly leaves much to be desired. He cares for you very much, you know.”

Ah, so this was what it felt like to be stabbed. Remorse as sharp as a blade cut through Octavia’s chest as her cousin’s dark gaze once again met hers. Beatrice would no doubt give anything to have Spinton—or any man—care for her well-being to such an extreme. Unlike Octavia, she had never talked of wanting anything more than a husband and a family, the two things that seemed to be creeping further and further out of her reach the older she became.

“Why do you stay here with me, Bea? Why do you not find yourself an amiable man and get him to give you some lovely fat babies?”

Having finally regained her natural color, Beatrice flushed again. “Even the most amiable man wants a wife with
something
to recommend her. I have connections to be sure, but I am no beauty. Nor do I have an impressive figure or dowry.”

Now, looks and build were two areas where Octavia believed her cousin to be very well endowed indeed.

“You are fair of face and form,” she announced in a tone that brooked no argument. “And I will make it known that you will have a dowry.”

The lower Beatrice’s jaw fell, the wider her eyes became. “I cannot allow you to settle money upon me.”

“You cannot stop me.” Oh! It felt nice to be the one in control, the one deciding what was going to happen and ignoring
all resistance. No wonder Spinton did it. It must make him feel very manly.

“Oh Tavie, thank you!”

Octavia was rocked by the force of her cousin’s embrace. Beatrice squeezed her as though she thought she could force Octavia to accept her gratitude through her very pores.

She was also shamed and oddly touched. Why had she not thought to make such a gesture for Beatrice before this? Why had she not seen how unhappy her cousin was? Had she been that caught up in her own petty problems that she couldn’t even see what was right in front of her face? How selfish she had been.

But then again, she was selfish by nature. Even her decision to
eventually
marry Spinton was tinged with a bit of self service. Yes, it was something she’d been talked into agreeing to, but she was not unaware of the benefits it would bring to her. She would be a countess, a very wealthy one. She would have all of London society at her beck and call, and all the freedom marriage allowed. Once she and Spinton were united and she produced the necessary heir, she would be able to do whatever she liked, with whomever she liked. It was perhaps a cold and harsh way of thinking, but there was no danger in admitting it—at least not to herself.

“Now that you are smiling and I am done sulking,” Octavia said, gently pushing her cousin away. “We had better dress for dinner. Poor Spinton is probably ravenous.”

Beatrice giggled. “Yes, of course.” For a moment Octavia feared she might hug her again. Her ribs couldn’t stand it. “Thank you again.”

“You are welcome again.” Smiling, Octavia watched her cousin skip from the room. She actually felt better than she had ten minutes ago. Amazing what thinking of someone else could do for one’s mood.

She rose from the bed and rang the bell for her maid before
going to her dressing room to begin changing. Janie arrived a few moments later and set to work helping Octavia into a gown of rich blue satin and arranging her hair in a more elaborate style.

Somewhere between thirty and forty-five minutes later, Beatrice came to collect her to go downstairs. They would rejoin Spinton in the parlor for a drink before going on to the dining room. And of course Octavia would apologize to the earl for her outburst and hope that Spinton would cease in his investigation. The letters were nothing. She was certain of it. Just someone from her past playing a trick on her. Or someone thinking he knew a secret when really it was nothing at all—and nothing in any way related to her life before coming to live with her grandfather.

Beatrice was a cute little bud in a rose-colored gown that brought out the creamy perfection of her complexion. Yes, with a little money behind her she should have no trouble at all snaring a husband.

Mercenary lot.

What would Octavia do without her? It wasn’t as though she had many friends. She had never been one to make friends easily. Perhaps that was something else she should apply herself to.