Page 19 of Claiming His Christmas Angel

“I’ll manage. I’m sure it can’t be too hard.” Atticus rolled his shoulders in a small, nonchalant shrug. At his blasé attitude, her eyebrows arched upward with disbelief. He smiled. “It’s a fair exchange for a delicious meal.”

Octavia started in surprise at the compliment, before her eyes narrowed. She studied him in silence for a long moment, her gaze wary, then straightened her shoulders in a haughty manner.

“Why are you here, your grace?”

“Your parents were worried, and I offered to come and ensure you remained safe.”

“I’m not surprised that my parents are worried, but I find it difficult to believe that my father wouldn’t have sent one of the servants.”

“I volunteered to come.”

“You…you volunteered?” Octavia exclaimed before contempt thinned her lips. “Did you think to curry favor with my father by doing so?”

“No.” Atticus replied in a firm, yet quiet voice. “I came because I was worried about you, just as your parents were. I also wanted to ask your forgiveness for being party to a conversation that caused you pain.”

“I see,” she murmured with a healthy dose of skepticism.

“It’s true.” Atticus cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back. “I know my suggesting you were one of Liza’s most recent…”

“Charity case, I believe, is the phrase you used.” The raw humiliation in her words made Atticus wince.

“My choice of words was offensive, as was my reluctance to agree to my sister’s request. I caused you pain, and I regret that.”

Atticus’s shirt tightened around his neck. He couldn’t remember the last time he had to apologize for being rude. It was an uncomfortable sensation. When Octavia didn’t speak, he cleared his throat and continued.

“Liza’s heart was in the right place. She’s quite fond of you, and it’s regrettable she failed to consider how you might object to her meddling. She should not have meddled.”

“I agree. Elizabeth was wrong to meddle. I had no need of her charity or yours.”

The words were a sharp, staccato beat as they flew past Octavia’s lips. Her stoicism belonged on a marble statue, but her crisp, cutting response, combined with the outrage flaring in her gray eyes, told him how deep her humiliation went. Atticus clenched his teeth. He was going to tan his sister’s hide if he failed in his efforts to earn Octavia’s forgiveness.

“I’m certain if Liza knew you’d overheard our conversation, she would be horrified.”

“You haven’t told her that I heard the entire conversation?” Octavia’s mouth fell open in disbelief, her stoic expression gone as she stared at him with astonishment.

“Am I wrong to believe my doing so would cause you even more pain and embarrassment?”

Atticus’s muscles bunched and knotted the instant her cheeks became rosy red, then drained of color. Drawing in a quick breath, she untied the apron covering her skirt and laid it on the table.

“I’ve already heated the dishwater for you. The soap is on the window sill.” Octavia pointed toward the window behind him, her face still pale. “While you’re cleaning up, I’ll prepare your room.”

Without waiting for a reply, Octavia hurried toward the door leading out of the kitchen. The moment Atticus cleared his throat and said her name, she paused in the doorway. Her knuckles were white as her fingers wrapped around the doorframe in a deathlike grip. When he didn’t speak, she slowly turned around.

“I am sorry, Octavia. I know Liza would say the same thing if she knew she’d caused you pain.” His soft words made her flinch, and his muscles hardened with remorse. “I hope you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me.”

Silence hovered in the air as she studied him for a long moment. Doubt and confusion reflected on her lovely, oval-shaped face, Atticus knew she was debating how to answer his request. Apprehension flared in Octavia’s wary gaze as she studied him. It was clear she was at war with herself as to whether she should believe him or not. The knowledge knotted his gut with misgiving. What if she refused to forgive him? Tension slid through his muscles until they were hard and rigid as he awaited her decision.

“I forgive you,” she whispered.

Relief and elation crashed through him. Now that he’d earned her forgiveness, he needed to reinforce the trust she’d displayed in him and convince her how different he was from all the men she’d met in London.

“Thank you. I promise I’ll do everything in my power to ensure your trust in me is not misplaced.”

Octavia didn’t reply, and with a sharp nod, she left him standing alone in the kitchen.

Chapter 6

December 20, 1890