Page 12 of Claiming His Christmas Angel

She’d forgone providing too many details from the night before. The destruction of her dress and her scratches she’d blamed on having fallen into the rose bushes in her efforts to avoid Stanfield. Octavia had said nothing about Elizabeth’s conversation with her brother, nor had she mentioned Atticus rescuing her from the rose bushes. She’d only said a stranger had been kind enough to assist her to her carriage.

While she’d expected her parents to be distressed about her decision to retire to the country, she’d been stunned by their fierce objections. Octavia had expected her mother to be the most resistant to her plans, but it had been her father who’d been the loudest dissenter. Closing her eyes, the memory of the argument with her parents in the salon at Montford Place was still vivid in her head, especially her father’s fiery reaction.

“I forbid it,” Lord Montford bellowed.

The vehemence of his reaction took Octavia aback. She had expected her mother to be the most adamant objector to her decision, not her father. From her seat on the sofa, Lady Montford stretched out her hand toward her husband in a placating gesture.

“Terrence, please do not shout.” In response to his wife’s plea, Lord Montford’s brow furrowed in a dark frown.

“Forgive me, my love, but for a child who has always been quite level-headed, Octavia has clearly taken leave of her senses. I will not allow her to do something so reckless.”

“You know you cannot stop me, Papa,” Octavia said with a calm serenity that belied her dismay. “I’m of age, and free to do as I wish.”

“Then I’ll disinherit you,” he snapped as he ran his hand through his graying hair in frustration.

“That, too, will be ineffective.” Octavia met Lord Montford’s furious gaze without flinching in the face of his anger. “In fact, the idea of no longer having men calling on me in hopes of marrying my dowry would be a relief.”

“Damn it to hell, Octavia, you cannot expect us to endorse this mad decision of yours. Being a spinster can be exceedingly lonely.” Hands pushing his suit jacket out of the way, Lord Montford pressed his fists into his waist, the flaps of his jacket flying backward to land against his arms as he glared at her. Lord Montford bobbed his head toward his wife. “Ask your mother how happy your Aunt Sarah was living alone in that cottage.”

“Your father exaggerates somewhat, dearest,” Lady Montford said with a pleading look at her husband. “But it’s true that there were times when your aunt was quite lonely.”

“That’s because the man she fell in love with didn’t love her,” Octavia replied with a shake of her head.

Aunt Sarah’s fate was one Octavia had no intention of suffering. Little more than an hour ago, Octavia had been forced to accept the reality of her situation. Atticus had no intention of ending his efforts to call on her. The man was digging in his heels and preparing to lay siege, which meant remaining in London was no longer an option.

With any other suitor, such determination would have been a nuisance. But this was the Duke of Ashurst, not some irritating fortune hunter. Atticus’s behavior last night when he’d come to her aid was that of a man she could respect and like. But it was when he’d walked away from the house this morning that she’d admitted the truth.

Octavia was already halfway enamored with the man, and it wouldn’t take much more for her to fall completely under his spell. If she remained here, she was apt to yield to the man’s tenacity, and the minute that happened, she would be lost. Retiring to the country would ensure there was no possibility of heartbreak where Atticus was concerned. Now, as she noted her mother’s worried look, Octavia met Lady Montford's gaze steadily.

“I know Aunt Sarah had moments of deep loneliness, but she told me time and again not to settle for anything less than true happiness such as you and Papa have.” At her reply, Lord Montford uttered a fiery expletive, and her mother gasped.

“Terrence Oliver Stapleton.”

“Forgive me, Gertrude, but at the moment, words are failing me. Our eldest daughter is far too stubborn.”

“I can’t imagine where she gets it from,” Lady Montford said in a gentle rebuke.

“Yes, yes,” her father waved his hand in an abrupt gesture of agreement. “I know she gets her bullheadedness from me, but this entire decision of hers is nonsense. The girl can’t just walk away from the possibility of marrying and having a family.”

“Are you suggesting I marry Lord Stanfield or someone like him?” Octavia bit out as for the first time she lost the firm grip on her temper. “Are you so determined to see me married that you’re willing to accept how miserable I would be in such a match?”

Lord Montford winced with regret and looked away from her to meet Lady Montford’s gaze. Her parents stared at each other for a moment before Octavia’s father turned back to her and shook his head in resignation.

“No, that is the last thing I or your mother want for you.”

“Then it’s time for you to accept what I did months ago,” Octavia said firmly. “I’ve not met any man in the past three years capable of loving me as deeply as you love Mama. Nor have I developed a fondness for any man that would make for a happy marriage.”

“We understand that, Octavia. But loneliness can be painful,” Lady Montford said with a note of sorrow in her voice. “Sarah once told me she wondered if she’d made the wrong decision not to marry a man she was fond of, but didn’t love as deeply as she did John. She wondered if being alone had been the right choice.”

“Aunt Sarah also understood being alone is not the same thing as being lonely.” Octavia paused for a moment, then crossed the room to kneel in front of Lady Montford and clasped her mother’s hands in hers. “I am aware that there will be times when I will be lonely. But I am more than willing to accept those moments of loneliness if it means not having to suffer an unhappy marriage.”

A loud pop in the fireplace pierced Octavia’s thoughts, jerking her back into the present. It had taken more than an hour of debate with her parents until the three of them had come to a compromise they could all live with. Lord Montford and Lady Montford had agreed not to object to her living in the cottage, provided she agreed to spend a specified amount of time with her family.

Octavia hadn’t hesitated agreeing to the terms her parents had laid out. She was to visit her family for no less than a week every three months. In exchange, her parents agreed not to object to her decision to reside in the country. Her father could be quite cunning when he chose to be, and the routine visits had been his suggestion. She’d agreed, giving no thought to what would happen when it came time to visit her family.

It wasn’t until the end of November that she realized she’d been too hasty in agreeing to her father’s suggestion. If she’d been thinking clearly, she would have clarified she had no intention of attending any social engagements during her visit. From the moment she’d arrived at Montford Place, several friends and acquaintances had paid surprise calls on Octavia or her mother and sisters.

The callers always seemed to arrive when she was in the salon or close by. Almost every visitor had invited her to attend one soirée or another. Faced with so many in-person requests had proven stressful. Only quick thinking had ensured she’d escaped all invitations except for a ball and a small dinner party. That she’d been set up had been obvious from her mother’s guilty looks.