Page 32 of Claiming His Christmas Angel

“As I said a moment ago, you have difficulty accepting compliments.”

“You mistake my surprise as an inability to acknowledge your praise,” she said with a small shake of her head. “Other than Papa, no man has ever complimented me with such sincere honesty. Thank you.”

Atticus studied her for a moment, then nodded. The emotion glittering in his dark-blue eyes struck a chord deep inside her. A second later, it disappeared as a wry smile twisted his mouth.

“I take that to mean the compliments you’ve received from others were superficial ones.”

“Yes,” she said with a sniff of disgust. “Some were obsequiously nauseating.”

“It’s obvious we have a great deal in common.”

“Such as?” she laughed with a shake of her head to dispute his statement.

“Men seek you out for your dowry. Women seek me out, hoping to gain a title. What neither sex realizes is that you and I are looking for something more.”

“Something more?” she asked. Although trepidation accompanied her question, she could not contain her curiosity.

He frowned as his eyes became fixated on the wall across from him, but Octavia knew he was seeing something else. With a small shake of his head, he returned his attention to her.

“I think we both have certain expectations when it comes to marriage.”

“I see.” Octavia tipped her head and studied him with bewilderment. “How so?”

“I believe the love and happiness your parents have for each other has influenced your expectations where marriage is concerned.” His perceptive insight made Octavia start with surprise. Atticus chuckled. “It appears I am correct in my assessment.”

“I won’t deny my parents have influenced my point of view for what I had hoped for in marriage,” she said with a small smile. “With diminishing odds of finding what I require in a husband, I decided I’d be happier living alone in the country with the freedom to paint and do as I please.”

The words rang hollow in her ears, and the truth rose up out of the back of her mind. Despite having accepted her fate, a small part of her still held out hope for a miracle. Octavia squashed the thought with a hefty dose of fatalism as she met his assessing gaze.

“And you? Are you willing to settle when it comes to marriage?”

“My situation differs from yours.” Elbows on the table, Atticus clasped his hands to support his chin as he met her gaze. “I’m expected to provide an heir to my title. However, I’m of the opinion one can have a happy marriage, even if the couple’s affections are rooted in friendship.”

“I find that highly unlikely,” Octavia said with a shake of her head. “People marry for many reasons, but friendship is not one of them.”

“That’s true, but I know friendship and common interests can strengthen into a bond that is as deep and strong as the one your parents share.”

Chapter 10

“You’re an optimist. All the marriages I’ve seen are a farce. Large dowries tying women to husbands who abuse them or treat them as chattel,” she sneered.

Atticus’s chest tightened at the bitterness in Octavia’s voice. Damn Stanfield and his ilk for making her believe the only kind of marriage she could expect was one where she was subjugated. Octavia would find it impossible to be subservient to him or anyone. Not that he wanted a submissive wife. In fact, her independence and forthright nature were two of the things he liked the most about her. Octavia would keep him on his toes. With a small shake of his head, Atticus disagreed with her statement.

“While I agree there are many men who marry a woman for her dowry, I don’t believe every—”

“The kind of marriage you’re suggesting is absurd. What about all the husbands who take a mistress once they sire an heir, leaving their wives to live a life of humiliation and misery?” Octavia’s words were harsh and vehement as she interrupted him. “Their husbands control their finances, and worst of all, they know their children will be ripped from their arms if they try to leave.”

Atticus stiffened at her fierce criticism of marriage. Christ almighty, her antagonistic outlook on marital bliss was going to be difficult to reverse. It was obvious she’d spent a lot of time observing marriages within the Marlborough Set. But he knew she was wrong. Atticus leaned forward, determined to make her understand she’d only seen the worst of marriages. There were other examples of marriages that were far removed from the kind she’d observed.

“And I find those men despicable,” Atticus said firmly. “But not every marriage is like that Octavia, nor does it have to be.”

“Other than my parents, I don’t know of any other couple who has a joyous marriage—not even one where the couple likes each other and are comfortable in each other’s company.” With a dismissive wave of her hand and a scornful toss of her head, she rejected his statement. “In fact, I remember a friend of my mother’s who had been vivacious and spirited before she married, only to become a shadow of her former self afterward.”

The idea of something similar happening to Octavia made his muscles twist and knot until they were so hard it hurt. What she’d describe was exactly what would have happened to her if she’d not been independent enough to leave town, or God forbid she’d been forced into marrying someone like the men who’d sought her out only for her dowry. Atticus reached out to touch the back of her hand.

“I would never want to witness such a tragedy where you’re concerned. I would hate to see your fiery spirit shackled in such a way.” His solemn words made her eyes widen in her sweet, oval-shaped face as she eyed him in astonishment, then a resolute expression made her lips thin and tighten.

“My decision not to marry ensures I will not suffer such a terrible fate.”