Obviously, she was delighted to be free of such duties, duly installed as a companion to Eliza now. It wasn’t a role she resented by any degree, but having one’s life reduced to the sole purpose of having tea with someone felt a little... undermining.
“Eliza.” Cressida came forward with both arms outstretched as if she was greeting her long-lost sister. Further into the salon, Octavia spotted Lydia as well, intently listening to whatever the prince was telling her. And she was actually batting her eyelids. “It’s so marvelous you could make it. Such strength, in your state. I hope you are faring well. We have a delightful evening planned, but if you should need to lie down for a moment, just let me know. Octavia,” she greeted in a sharper tone.
Smiling tightly, Octavia considered how bored she was of Cressida’s antics. At some point, surely, the woman had to realize that her disapproval simply didn’t mean anything. “Cressida, marvelous to see you,” Octavia said and wandered off to where Julius was standing. He acknowledged her with a nod as she approached.
“Don’t let them monopolize him all evening, will you?” she said, looking over at the prince. “I doubt he wishes to be subject to their ambition all night.”
“Be kind. By extension they are both your sisters now,” Julius said teasingly.
“Did you invite Lord Fortescue?”
“No, should I have?”
Octavia wasn’t sure if she was relieved or not. It felt a little like relief. “No, I just noticed that you and he have become chummy.”
“Are you still going on about his designs on Eliza?”
It seemed her intention of keeping her nursing activities quiet had been remarkably successful. Her father hadn’t said a word. Curious. “One can never be too careful,” she said with a put-on smile.
“Well, you will be pleased. I have insisted the prince sit opposite you for supper. It was quite a fight. Lydia will sit next to him, but please do try to entertain him. I suspect Lydia’s sole impression is how pretty she looks, and that is only entertaining for so long.”
“I’m surprised you trust me with the task.”
“Well, he actually complimented you after your dance, so I gathered it was safe. The family depends on you. And if you should perhaps charm him to the point where he falls in love with you and offers to make you a princess, then, by all means, help the family by doing so.”
“You’re as bad as Cressida.”
“Except I want you to win.”
“I am not going to marry to please you.”
“Then please do it to thwart Cressida.” He was teasing her, but equally, he could be delighted beyond words if she married royalty. It would be quite the boon for the family. Unfortunately, she wasn’t prepared to be sold off like a cart-horse for gain. It simply wasn’t going to happen.
“Maybe you should be careful or she’ll run off with him. He is ever so charming. She might throw you over.”
“Charlatan.” Julius rebuked her tease with a tsk. “Go mingle, and be nice.”
“I’m always nice,” she said with a pointed look. Some of the prominent notables of the city were there—Julius’ friends. He liked to have important friends. Sir Thomas Berhard, Mr. Quentin Dammerley and August Sloane. They were all about Julius’ age, which was probably a good decision on his part, instead of dragging out the aged dukes who would bore the prince to death. If she were a prince, she wouldn’t like those people thrust on her at every opportunity.
“Miss Hennington,” Mr. Dammerley said, a man who would one day be one of those aged, venerated dukes. “Such a delight to see you. You are looking lovely as always.”
“Thank you kindly. How are you this evening? Is your wife not here?” Not so long ago, they had all been young bachelors together in the city, but the whole group was changing. Wives and children were on the agenda for all of them.
“No, she is a little tired at the moment.”
“My deepest congratulations on the birth of your son.”
“Thank you,” he said, beaming. Being a father obviously delighted him. It was strange seeing him so, but she’d seen him a drunken mess more than once, stumbling home with Julius after some raucous night.
“And no one has managed to pin you and your fortune down yet?” he asked. Quentin had always had a bit of affection for her, but it had never been returned. She simply couldn’t see him in that light. It would be like marrying a brother. Not quite a brother, but maybe a brotherly cousin.
“As of yet, no one has lived up to my impeccably high standards.”
“Well, we have a prince in our presence,” he said, as if it had gone unnoticed. “Incredibly handsome, I’m told. You would positively rule London if you married him. No doubt, his wife would be invited to teas with the queen on a fairly regular basis.”
“If I have ambition of drinking tea with queens, that would perhaps be tempting.”
“Not even a prince meets your standards. You will have to be careful or no one will.”
The perception that she was still unmarried because of high standards was perhaps something people misunderstood. “My standards are actually quite mundane. I wish to marry someone I remotely care about. It’s that simple.”
“And it should be that simple,” an unfamiliar voice said. The prince. “I think you have the right theory.”
“A good approach,” Quentin said. “If you weren’t such an ice queen.”
Octavia slapped him on the arm. “Don’t listen to him,” she said conspiratorially to the prince. “I’m only icy with ridiculous men. And unfortunately, London is rife with them.”
“So you do not
