Still, a butler wasn’t a wife, he thought, and this only reiterated that he was ready to marry. It had to be the right woman, though.
“And we expect the annual movement of cotton will be around two hundred tons a year,” Mr. Smith said, and Reiner diligently wrote it down in his notebook.
For a moment, Finn wondered what Octavia Hennington would be like as a wife. Too directive. She would try to manage him and everyone around her, and probably entirely unable to listen to reason when her mind was made up about something. Even able to act unwisely when she was convinced of something she didn’t like.
Even thinking about how unpleasant it would be was heating his blood, imagining her waiting for him to come home, probably standing with crossed arms and a distinct pout on her lips. Heaven help the man who married her.
“It’s an interesting proposal,” Sir Reiner said, his hand shaking as he closed his notebook. “I’ll give it some consideration.” Finn felt disappointed in himself as he’d missed the latter half of the presentation, being stuck in his own thoughts of marriage.
Irrespective, he really needed to make an effort if he was going to find a woman that suited him, and the only place to find them was in society. If the season wasn’t such a blatant market, he would admit that it was where he needed to be. To that aim, he should start with the Hennington event. When he got home, he would have Mr. Fuller accept the invitation.
*
The days had gone quickly, even though Finn hadn’t particularly achieved anything. Yet again, he was in a carriage, heading off somewhere. Denham Hall this time. Countryside passed by, the weather tolerable. It was increasingly growing cold, however.
Finally the carriage turned off into a private lane. Long and tree-lined and the house came into view. It was an impressive house, prettily sitting in surrounding parklands. The land was extensive, from what he understood. This was the dwelling of the Henningtons, although Eliza’s husband has inherited another from an uncle, it seemed. Finn vaguely remembered meeting the uncle once, but he hadn’t made the acquaintance with any of the other Henningtons.
Approaching the house, he saw that he wasn’t the only person invited. Quite a few carriages were being unloaded and put away. By the size of the building, it could house quite a few guests. Footmen were organized by senior staff. It would be quite an operation to manage such a large party.
As he stopped, his door was opened and Finn was welcomed as he stepped out. The family was waiting in the salon. Finn followed the sound of murmuring and laughter to what had to be the salon. Quite a number of people were there, including a few he recognized. Octavia was the first Hennington he saw, and she was laughing at something a man said, the man she’d danced with at the Forthills’ ball. It seemed she had a tenderness for him, because she repeatedly spent time with him.
Then he saw Julius, who stood with his bride, a shiny gold band around his finger. Finn approached and said his congratulations.
“Good you could make it, Fortescue,” Julius said.
“You look handsome as ever,” Cressida said, standing with her hand in the crook of her husband’s elbow. “Lydia will be so pleased you’re here. She’s been looking forward to seeing you. We were so disappointed you were unable to make it to our engagement ball, weren’t we, Julius?”
It seemed his absence hadn’t relayed the message he’d hoped it would.
“Yes, of course,” Julius said absently. “Well, please join us for lunch shortly. I understand the staff are sorting rooms for everyone while we dine.”
Other people were arriving and wanted to greet the newly married couple, so Finn stepped aside.
“Wonderful you could make it,” Octavia said, but her tone didn’t convey enthusiasm.
“On such a splendid occasion, how could I not? Did you enjoy the wedding?”
“Considering I think Julius has made a mistake in his choice, I suppose no. But he will not listen to me. My brothers would, without fail, be better off if they took my advice.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t wear him down.”
Octavia’s eyes narrowed as she looked at him. “Men have a habit of insisting on stupid infatuations. Miss Lydia Forthill is here. She was greatly disappointed you didn’t attend the engagement ball.”
“Were you disappointed?”
“Of course,” she said with false enthusiasm. “But never mind. You’re here now. Dear Lydia will be beside herself.” Clearly Octavia had observed how uncomfortable the Forthill women’s attention was for him, and she enjoyed it immensely. “It should be an entertaining few days.”
And annoyingly, now he found he had nothing further to say. No clever remark came to mind, because people didn’t normally rile him up like this. No one made his blood boil. He was much too calm and composed for that, but here he found himself boiling with anger like a schoolboy. “Miss Hennington,” he said with a sharp bow, ending the conversation. She curtsied equally as quickly and they parted ways, like enemies deciding this wasn’t the time for battle, and he was the one retreating!
Taking a breath, he accepted a drink coming his way and took himself over to the window, where he would hopefully not be accosted by any more women, irrespective of their intentions.
