Page 5 of The Storybook Hero
As Mrs. Phillips droned on, Octavia couldn’t help thinking back over the last half year. It was a shame that neither her father nor she had ever given much thought to what would become of her when he was gone. She had known that he was by no means a wealthy man, but had never comprehended the true state of his finances. Once the innumerable creditors had been paid off with the proceeds of the sale of their snug cottage, there was scarcely enough for an outside passage on the mail coach to London.
Dear Papa. Octavia blinked back a tear. She couldn’t have asked for a more interesting or kindly companion. However, it would have been helpful if he’d shown a tad more concern for the real world rather than that of the ancients. Greek and Latin—along with a host of other languages—were all very well, but she would have gladly traded the lot of them for a roof of her own and a modest stipend for bread and books.
That the only relative willing to offer her a place to live turned out to be an ill-tempered cousin looking to save a few pounds a year by not having to hire a nanny was bad enough. It was her husband who had proved intolerable. The memory of his groping hands in the shadows of the nursery corridor was enough to bring on a fresh wave of nausea. At least, she thought with a grim smile, she had had the satisfaction of seeing his corpulent face twist in agony as her knee had smacked into his groin.
She must remember to thank her old childhood friend Johnnie Ferguson for that interesting bit of advice on how to deal with an aggressive male when his regiment returned from the Peninsula.
It was not to be expected that the odious man would take rejection in stride, but even she hadn’t anticipated the depths of his malice. Manipulated by his slanderous lies, her cousin had fallen into a fit of near hysteria, calling Octavia an ungrateful slut—and worse—for trying to seduce her noble husband. She had been all for tossing Octavia and her meager possessions onto the street without further ado. However, her husband, a smirk of virtuous honor on his face, had argued that such a course of action would hardly be a Christian thing to do.
He had gone on to say that while it was impossible for Octavia to remain under their roof, he had taken it upon himself to find an appropriate position for her—one that would not offer her further temptation of such scandalous transgression. He had heard word that the deputy minister at the embassy in Moscow was in desperate need of an English governess for his ward, the third such female in as many months having fled for home.
Octavia was lucky, he added with a barely suppressed chortle. The man and his wife couldn’t afford to be choosy. There was no doubt she would be acceptable, especially as she spoke a few words of the heathen language.
Russia? she had blurted out.
A nasty smile had spread over his face.Yes, Russia.
In the end, Octavia really had little choice. It was that or the streets, and she was not so naïve as to not know what that would mean.
So here she was on a merchant ship bound for the Baltic Sea. Her friends at the Historical Society had been aghast when she had given them the news of her imminent departure. It was a land of barbarians, one of them had exclaimed.
Well, they certainly couldn’t be more barbaric than her own relatives.
Besides, she had always had a spark of adventure in her and found the idea of exotic travel intriguing. The experience should prove immensely interesting. That is, provided she survived the journey.
“MISS Hadley!” Mrs. Phillips had raised her voice to a level where it finally cut through Octavia’s reverie.
“Sorry,” she murmured. “I really am feeling a bit under the weather.”
“I said, shall we repair to the main salon for supper?”
“I believe you had better go on without me,” answered Octavia.
“Very well. But you had best try to keep your strength up. You never know what trials may await you in such a foreign land.”
“He didwhat?”demanded Thomas, nearly spilling the contents of his glass over his burgundy and grey striped waistcoat.
“He embarked not an hour ago,” replied his uncle. “I just received the note he sent around with his man … Squid.”
William frowned. “I can’t believe he would actually undertake such a daunting journey, especially when the odds seem so great against any sort of success. Why, Alex hasn’t make an effort to do aught but engage in one scandalous escapade after another. Deep play, indiscreet dalliances, the duel with Lord Eversham over that piece of mus …”
His gaze strayed to where his wife and sister-in-law were seated by the fire, and he awkwardly cleared his throat. “It seems he deliberately behaves in a reckless manner that is designed tobring scorn on himself and his family. That he would put himself in danger for a child he has never even met?—”
Chittenden fixed his eldest nephew with a withering look. “Put himself in danger? Good Lord, William, what do you think he has been doing for the past ten years? Are you so willfully blind that you fail to see that all of his actions are nothing but a tempting of Fate to deal him the same hand as Jack?”
The marquess shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “It is regrettable that Alex is tormented by guilt. But if he hadn’t been so damnably irresponsible that day, Jack would still be here,” he said, a note of defensiveness creeping into his voice.
The earl set his glass down on the walnut desk with a thump that set the candelabra to teetering. “Perhaps it is time to put that gross misconception to rest once and for all.”
There was utter silence, save for the crackle of flames reducing the logs to ashes.
“W—what do you mean?” muttered the marquess after a long moment.
“I mean that if guilt must fall on anyone, it is Jack who should bear the burden of it. It washe, and not Alex, who was completely cupshot that day!”
Wright paled. “But Father was adamant about the fact that?—”
“That Jack, as the Wright heir, could not possibly be fallible?” The earl had moderated his tone somewhat, but an edge of irony still shaded his words. “Yes, we are all aware of your father’s pride in the noble lineage of the Leigh family. Heaven forfend that the future marquess might be revealed as anything less than a paragon of perfection. And so, to keep his precious illusions alive, he convinced himself the blame lay with Alex. The real tragedy was that he succeeded in losing two sons instead of one.”
