Chapter 3
THE TOWNHOUSE HAD AN unloved feeling when Octavia arrived, as if the rooms had suffered with the lack of occupancy, and the assault of the summer sun. They weren’t uncared for as such, as the staff kept them in perfect tidiness.
“Has there been any news of my brother?” she asked Mrs. Monty, who’d come ahead to revive the townhouse.
“No, I believe he is still at his estate.”
“Well, how long is he going to linger there?” A general question rather than one expecting an answer. “He must have been away for months, while Eliza has stayed in town. It’s not the time to be careless.” Only a foolish person wouldn’t realize that the staff knew exactly what was going on with the family members, and they had kept as abreast of the Caius and Eliza saga as anyone else.
Caius had his own townhouse now, having inherited his uncle's estate and title. Before Julius, which was a sore point for her oldest brother.
Few people might be in town yet, but Eliza was here. Octavia decided to call on her that evening. It was unfortunate that Caius hadn’t convinced her to go with him, but she could well imagine him determining it wouldn’t be an ideal time as he was busy with the harvest. Caius was silly that way. But so was Eliza, because she was supposed to give the business over to that business partner of hers, but it hadn't fully eventuated. Eliza was still very much involved in her company.
Sitting down on the settee, Octavia sighed. It was nice to be back in London. She loved the hustle and bustle of the city, the parties, the balls, the afternoon calling. At this point, she hadn’t decided what man she would take a liking to this year, but it so happened that there was one man she veered her interest towards. Unfortunately, they had disappointed in the past, and she was starting to fear that men disappointed as a general rule. Surely there had to be some that were good. Men got in their own way too much.
The garden was starting to fade outside the window. No one was here to admire it throughout summer, which was a shame. It should be replanted in autumn with spring plants. Her father wasn’t much for gardening, so it had languished in the state designed by whoever had put it in. As for herself, she had better things to do than redesign a garden.
“Would you like some tea?” Mrs. Monty asked, having returned from directing the footmen carrying her trunk.
“Yes, some tea would be nice.” A bit of rest after the journey would revive her. The clock on the mantle showed it was three in the afternoon. Maybe instead of waiting until evening, she would go catch Eliza at that warehouse of hers.
When it came time to leave, she chose to hire a carriage rather than use her horses that were recovering from their journey. They deserved their rest, so she had one of the footmen procure a ride for her. It was a short journey, so the discomfort wasn’t unbearable.
A drab, black cab stood waiting as she emerged from the house, and she smiled quickly to the driver as she got in. The footman gave instructions on where to deliver her, and they set off. Although it didn’t please her to feel this way, she did feel more conscious of her safety as she crossed the Thames to Lambeth. Even as she understood why Eliza had set up her business here, she didn’t quite understand why she insisted on staying.
The streets were a jumble of activity and it took some time to get through, but they finally reached Eliza’s warehouse and Octavia said goodbye to the hack. A man met her as she walked in, and no doubt he wondered if she was lost.
“Is Mrs. Hennington here?” Octavia asked. “Miss Hennington calling.”
The man looked shocked for a moment, as if he didn’t know what to do. “She’s in her office, I believe.” Then there was an awkward moment when both were in each other’s way, and neither could easily resolve it.
“And where would that be?”
“Sorry, upstairs.” He went to point, but changed his mind. “Follow me.”
Pallets of materials sat in rows. Booklets mostly. There were also chalkboards and books. The warehouse itself was a bit dusty and Octavia sneezed. The upstairs had some kind of printing contraption next to a row of large windows. The office was enclosed in the corner of the space, and she saw Eliza and another woman inside, leaning over the desk.
Eliza looked up and saw her, and for a moment, Octavia wondered if that was a frown on her face before it fleeted. Eliza came to the door. “Miss Hennington. This is a surprise.”
The office was less dusty and Octavia took it in, along with the dark-haired woman. “So this is where you keep yourself. I hope the children of the country appreciate your efforts.” On one of the walls, there were drawings made by children. Whose, she had no idea.
“We believe so. I’m not sure you’ve met Mrs. Broadman, my partner.”
The dark-haired woman stepped forward to shake her hand, which was a bit bold for standard etiquette. But this woman was not ruled to politeness and etiquette. She was something else entirely, and Octavia was a little curious. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. Enchanted,” Octavia said with a nod while she shook her hand. “I’ve just arrived back in London and thought I’d come see how you are. Caius is still at Bickerley, I believe.”
“Yes, dealing with the harvest.”
Mrs. Broadman gathered up a bundle of papers. “I’ll leave you to reacquaint,” the woman said and smiled as she left the room. It was curious how loyal Eliza was to that woman. They seemed to be close friends. Unlike many, Octavia didn’t have a best friend as such, two closer friends in Rose and Annabelle, but they weren’t as close as some, and less so as they’d both married. She had lots of friends and even more acquaintances, but not one she knew as intimately as one would a best friend.
“I didn’t want to be out and about too late, so I thought I’d come see you here. I suppose there isn’t a cafe nearby?”
“There’s a pub not far away,” Eliza said with a note of uncertainty. “Or we could go to my house. It isn’t far.”
“I’m sure we can get some tea here,” Octavia said, looking around. “It’s been a long journey.”
“You’ve just returned?”
“Today, actually.”
“I’ll organize some tea,” Eliza said and walked out of the room. She returned within a minute. “Please sit,” she said, indicating over to the window where two chairs stood. Then she moved and carried over a small table and placed it between the chairs. It would serve. Octavia sat down. She could see down onto the street from her position.
“It’s a shame you couldn’t join Caius in Bickerley for the harvest season,” Octavia said.
“Caius said he’d be busy the entire time, and we have a big order to get out the door. Schools start very soon, so we have a great many orders to process.”
“Have you been to Bickerley?”
“Yes, I went a few months back.” Well, that was something, at least.
“It’s a handsome house. I always thought so. I haven’t visited in years. Our uncle was meticulous in how he kept things, but you know how the elderly are. Things slip. Denham would be a mess if it wasn’t for me. Father has no interest at all. I do wish he’d marry, but he shows remarkably little interest.”
“Julius seems to take after him,” Eliza said. So her and Caius were not close enough that they discussed Julius’ relationship.
“He’s involved with a woman at the moment. I think he intends to marry her.”
“Oh, I had no idea.” Was that a sign that they weren’t as close as they professed? “Is she a good choice for him?”
“Terrible, but you know Julius, you can’t tell him anything. She’s of the right pedigree, so he’s content.”
A look of concern crossed Eliza’s features. It really was as if every emotion was written on her face. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Julius will get the marriage he deserves,” Octavia said dismissively. As he utterly refused to listen, Octavia had stopped being concerned about his choices. They were his choices to make, and if he wished to spend his life with someone like Cressida, then that was hi
s choice. Maybe they got on perfectly together. “One doesn’t always understand the things that make others happy.”
Astounding as it was, people weren’t the same. Not everyone saw things the way she saw them, despite the perfect logic. But neither of her brothers were logical and reasonable when it came to their women. That much she’d learnt in her time. Eliza was a good choice for Caius. He’d chosen well, but he’d been too emotionally invested to see the forest for the trees when the storm had come, and he’d suffered dearly for it. So had Eliza. Except she had turned her misfortune into a thriving business.
“I take it you enjoy this,” she said. “The cut and thrust of business.”
“I do,” Eliza said. “It’s like a child. Something you create and nurture, then watch grow.”
More importantly, would there be real children to nurture? Were they… trying? Surely they had reconciled to that point. It wasn’t something one could ask.
“Well, I do hope you allow yourself some time for leisure,” Octavia said. “You are the only sister I have, and I hope you’ll spend some time with me. And even if Julius marries this woman, you will still be the only sister I have.”
Eliza chuckled. “I’m pleased you see me that way.”
“Of course. So please come to supper one evening.”
“As none of the men are here to see to us, we will have to do so for ourselves.”
One of the mistakes Caius was surely making was squirreling her away in his townhouse, while what she really needed was to be drawn into society again. No doubt it was one of Eliza’s fears, and how could she embrace being Lady Warwick if that continued? No, she had to be reintroduced, so she would learn that there was nothing there to fear. And there would be nothing to fear—Octavia would see to it, and God help anyone who tried to reject her.
“We should definitely plan an evening,” Octavia said with a smile.
Chapter 4
A LULL OF ACTIVITY FOLLOWED the harvest and Finn felt a little lost. The barley was in and sent for dehusking, a process best left to the professionals. Finn sat in the salon and watched the gardeners slowly going about the business of clearing away the fading summer blooms and preparing for autumn. The orchard harvest would come later in the year, but for right now, the work was largely done.
A few years ago, he would now be rushing off to the nearest friend for entertainment and mischief. But life was changing—his friends were changing. And really, the joy he’d found in a drunken night with friends had passed them all. Neither did he want to just sit there and mope either. He wasn’t in his dotage just yet.
Perhaps he should see to his business ventures. They always thrived with more attention rather than less. His thoughts turned to Eliza Hennington and her business. He respected her for what she’d built. Quite a remarkable woman. And he wondered what she was doing. Each month, she paid the rent diligently, never failing on a payment. The kind of tenant every building owner wished for.
Contrary to what most men thought, women actually had a good head for business. Perhaps not all of them, but the few he’d met tended to know their business very well. Probably because they had to. There had to be a hardness to them. Most likely, they were doubted by others, and bamboozled by some trying to take advantage of them. Women were more wily than many presumed, and Finn enjoyed this trait considerably.
No, maybe it was time to spend some months in London. There was, after all, no company of wily women to have here at Wilkeston House. It might not be drunken nights he was after, but he sought a new place in society, one he didn’t entirely understand. Meeting Eliza had ignited something, but there was an excitement in him about it. What it meant, and where it would lead, he wasn’t entirely sure. Perhaps even marriage.
Had he reached that point? Was this what the urge in him was? All the things he’d rejected, the things people had so desperately tried to push on him. It would be his own desire that would undo him in the end. Who would have thought? No, maybe no, but he did seek more mature company. That was what it was.
“Mr. Fuller?” he called, knowing the man wouldn’t be far away. Sure enough, he appeared. “I am thinking I might take a trip to town.”
“A trip, my lord?”
“I dare to say it, but I might attend the season this year.”
“My lord,” Fuller said in surprised acknowledgment.
“But I am concerned about the house. Actually, I have some concerns about the roof. I think there are some patches that may leak. My concerns aren’t grave enough to suggest action needs to be taken just yet, but I think we need to monitor the situation quite closely as the autumn deepens.”
“I wasn’t aware there were issues with the roof. Should I call someone to come assess it?”
“I think we’ll wait to do our own assessment this autumn and winter. If we keep an eye on the attic, we should see any ingress of water. It would be helpful to do a proper survey of where any moisture comes in, so we know exactly where repairs need to be made.”
Obviously, this could be done by a professional, and there weren’t any significant issues with the roof that he knew of. “This is obviously very important,” Finn continued. “So I’m torn by taking you with me to London,” for which the trials and tribulations would be strenuous for a man of Mr. Fuller’s age, “and keeping you here to perform this crucial work. If we don’t do this well, the financial hit for the estate could be devastating.”
“You can of course depend on me,” Mr. Fuller said with his typical solemnity.
“I know I can. You are, of course, invaluable to the estate. So perhaps it’s best that I forgo the comfort of your attendance this upcoming season. It is a sacrifice, but it must be borne.”
If Mr. Fuller knew what he was doing, he didn’t give any indication. Having the man stay here would be a much calmer time for him, even with regular tours of the attic. Well, it was the best he could think of for a plausible task crucial enough to keep the man here. Taking him to London, with the constant activity of the season, would exhaust him, maybe even dispatch him. It felt too cruel to force him into retirement. Since he’d been a young lad, Mr. Fuller had been in service to this estate. He knew nothing else. The trick was to reduce his duties without injuring his sense of honor.
“But if you would prepare my trunk, I would be much obliged.”
“Of course, my lord.”
Maybe Finn had been a little spoilt, because Mr. Fuller knew everything that needed doing. His skill and willingness weren’t in doubt, but his body was increasingly failing him. Maybe Finn should have thought of a task that hadn’t involved so many stairs, but he wasn’t sure Mr. Fuller would believe it if it was too easy.
*
Rain set in as Finn traveled to London. It made for a slow and difficult journey, but it couldn’t be helped. Travel was never a pleasant endeavor, but the closer they got, the better the roads were.
The townhouse hadn’t been opened, as his decision to come to town had been a quick one. Sheets covered the furniture and Mr. Walters, one of the footmen, was the one tasked with opening the house that smelled of stale air and dust. The windows were all opened, even as it was late. Finn didn’t mind the cool air sweeping through the house. Clean air was worth this short inconvenience. If it bothered him, he should have had the foresight to send someone ahead to open the house.
In fact, Finn took himself off to his club. Technically, it was his father’s club, but membership was inherited. In his youth, he’d had to meet his father here on a number of occasions, but for quite a while after his father’s death, he’d had no interest in this club, seeing it as his father’s purview.
But they did a good meal, and they had a well-stocked bar, traits he was starting to appreciate. The porter guarding the door was a little surprised to see him, but the man still knew who he was. They had good memories of their members and their offspring.
“I seek a good meal,” Finn said.
“Then I dare say you have come to the right place. It’s a plea
sure to see you again, Lord Fortescue. We have missed your father’s presence.”
“Thank you. I look forward to the evening.”
Finn walked inside. The club room hadn’t changed at all. The same wood-paneled walls and roaring fires. There was comfort in the consistency. Finn made his way to the bar and ordered a drink. The room was busy, but not uncomfortably so. A few familiar faces, some looking older than the last time he’d seen them.
“Finley?” a man asked. “Lord Fortescue now, I believe.”
“It is.” Finn considered the man of his father’s generation. Unfortunately, he didn’t recall the man’s name, but he had a vague recollection of him. “My father passed, sadly.”
“Yes, he was a loss. A regular member of the club. It’s a pleasure you’ve joined us tonight. Are you staying for supper?”
“I thought I would. I’m sorry, I don’t recall your name.”
“Sir Michael Trudy.”
“Yes, of course. I do recall you from my few visits here.”
Not everyone in the club was elderly. When he’d visited here as a youth, everyone had seemed old. Now there seemed to be a mix, which probably happened quite naturally as one generation replaced the previous.
“That’s lovely. I take it you’ve just returned to town,” the man said. Another joined them. “Lord Forthill, you’ve made it this evening.”
“Yes, yes,” the man blustered. A thick gray mustache covered his lips and gave him a soft look with the roundness of his face. “An evening away from the house does the constitution good.” The man looked at him as if he tried to place him. “Lord Fortescue,” Sir Trudy filled in.
“Ah, of course. I was sorry to hear of your father’s passing. Good man. A year or so back, wasn’t it?”
“Two years.”
“And how had you been spending your time prior to taking over? Are you an academic?” The question was really if he was one of the louts that sat around and drank themselves silly while waiting for their titles to come their ways. And for a while he had been, but it had grown tiresome.
Miss Octavia Insists (The Henningtons Book 2) Page 2
