By Camille Oster
The Henningtons, Book Two
Copyright ©2020 Camille Oster
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the work of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
Camille Oster – Author
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Chapter 1
Denham Hall, 1849
“I’LL NEED MY NEW GOWN TOO,” Octavia said to the two maids packing her trunk. “And the cloak. It may get cold. Have either of you seen Father this morning?”
“I believe he’s in the morning room,” Mary said.
Octavia strode quickly out of her room and down the stairs. The warmth of late summer had just left and the house was starting to cool. The whole of the house was pleasant in summer, but as the halcyon days faded, the number of usable rooms dwindled along with the summer warmth. Julius and her father didn’t seem to mind, even as they were both crammed into the same parlor in the depths of winter. A trait she never understood in her brother and father—their insistence on staying in the country through the most bitter winter. London was infinitely more comfortable, and more amusing.
“Really, Julius, why don’t you come? You can see that horrid fiancée of yours.”
“Cressida is perfectly happy corresponding by letter,” he said and re-shook his newspaper as if it threatened to crumple on him.
“Caius would be happy to see you.”
“After staying in London for the whole summer, he’d be infinitely better off coming here. I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”
“You know perfectly well,” Octavia said dismissively and continued to the morning room, where her father still sat in his morning coat. “Well, I’ll be leaving soon.”
“So you said. Months ahead of the season. Are you perhaps so keen on finding a husband, you’re willing to leave early?”
“I told you I’m worried about Caius. Someone needs to keep an eye on him.”
“I suspect Eliza is doing a perfectly good job.”
It couldn’t be that good, because they still weren’t living together. It had all appeared to go in the right direction with their reconciliation, but they never seemed to reach that perfect union. She still had that awful house in Lambeth, and her business occupied her mind. It wasn’t something Eliza was prepared to give up just yet.
When queried, though, they both insisted they were perfectly happy. Then why weren’t they living together? It wasn’t right, and Octavia had sat here all summer worrying about it. Their reconciliation seemed to have lost traction and they’d just paused where they were—neither going forward nor back. Something had to be at the root of it.
“After such a long summer, it will be nice to see some people again. You should try it. It would improve your disposition, I’m sure.”
“Nothing would achieve that. Besides, I’m needed here.” It was what he always said, even as he got under their estate manager’s feet more than he helped. Why were the Hennington men so impossible, each one of them? Pig-headed, uncouth and grumpy.
She sighed. “Someone has to see things are going the way they need to. Every once in a while, people need help, a little nudge here and there. Good outcomes aren’t guaranteed.”
“Well, you go and save the world, darling. I’ll be right here when you get back.”
With an exasperated huff, she left him. “And what shall I say if I meet Lady Buckley?” Interest had flowed between her father and Lady Buckley for several years, but for some reason, the man refused to act on it.
“Why don’t you ask how her barley fared this year?”
Shaking her head, she rolled her eyes. “You would be much happier with a wife.”
“Wives are more trouble than they’re worth.”
Julius seemed to have been of the same disposition, until he’d started courting Cressida Forthill. Odious girl. Snobbery was at the crux of her personality, but Julius also invested a great deal into his snobbery, so it was probably what attracted him, and her substantial fortune. Not that theirs was anything to scoff at. At the heart of it, Octavia believed Julius cherished Cressida because he was wealthy enough to be acceptable to her.
It bored Octavia even thinking about the match her brother had chosen for herself. Caius had done much better, until everything had gone so wrong with those stupid false accusations. But it was all being put right, even if the pace was distressingly slow. Octavia simply had to go and ensure all was right. It had worried her endlessly all summer since she’d learned that Eliza wasn’t actually living in Caius’ house. What possible reason could there be?
But she would get to the bottom of it, and if there were fears to be alleviated, or disagreements to be soothed, she would do whatever was required. There was also the issue of that man who’d pursued Eliza. Lord Fortescue. He was still around, she’d learnt. Was that the basis of the problem? Was that man trying to pry himself in where he didn’t belong? That would be… unacceptable.
“Are you ready to leave?” Mr. Tennyson asked.
“Yes, I am,” she replied and waited while Tennyson retrieved her bonnet and umbrella, in case it was needed. It was still too warm for a jacket, especially in the confines of the carriage, so she should be comfortable enough. He returned promptly and she took the bonnet in hand rather than put it on. She’d only take it off in the carriage anyway.
Tennyson assisted her into the waiting carriage, where her trunk had already been loaded. The windows were down on both sides to encourage airflow during the journey. “And Tennyson,” she said. “Tell my brother he’s a bore.”
“Is that the porcine kind, or the socially less diverting kind?”
