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He glanced at the dancers, and she let him take in their utterly harmless appearance.
“Has Octavia had a recent disappointment in love?” she asked.
“In love?” He turned back to Harriet with a baffled look.
“Yes, you know,” she said, endeavoring to lift her gaze from the eye-popping waistcoat, “that state of mind in which people fancy themselves deeply attached to another.”
“Octavia’s never fancied herself in love. She and our neighbor Horace Gresham have been intended for one another since childhood.”
He spoke as if he’d never questioned the prospect. “By whom? Their parents? You?”
“No, entirely by their own inclinations. They’ve been inseparable companions since they rode their first ponies together.”
“Really? How old is this neighbor now?”
“Four and twenty, I think. Does it matter?”
Harriet thought it mattered a great deal. “Don’t you find it odd that your sister should come to London declaring her intention of finding a husband by Christmas if she already has a fixed attachment?”
It was a moment before he answered. She sensed that he was thinking for the first time about the suddenness of Octavia’s desire for a husband. A waltz tune appeared to catch his attention. “You must think me quite oblivious.”
“Distracted, perhaps.”
“Charitable of you to put it that way,” he said stiffly. “Has she confided in you?”
Harriet shook her head. She knew the patience required to win a young person’s confidence. Until Octavia did confide in someone, there was no way of knowing whether something had changed between her and Horace Gresham, or whether her brother had misread their relationship all along. “You did say she had an interest in science?”
“Astronomy, actually. She’s a habitual stargazer and quite a fanatic about the moon. She’s been recording her observations of the moon in her sketchbook for years.”
Harriet nodded, more certain than ever that Octavia had suffered a loss of affection that made her wish to reject every aspect of her true self in favor of affecting the airs of a fashionable London miss. “Let me find her. She may need the comfort of your presence.”
As the husband hunter establishes herself in a circle of acquaintance in London, she may not at first observe any disparities of fortune among the gentlemen who solicit her hand for a dance or vie to bring her into supper. A nobody from nowhere, heir to nothing, may be as charming, well-spoken, and fashionable as the next man, as sought after by hostesses to make up their numbers. But the husband hunter must beware, the more attractive this nobody, the graver the danger he poses to her happiness. He is as unacceptable to her family as an islander living in a hut next door to Robinson Crusoe. Whether the family is of long standing in the peerage or newly risen into the realm of gentility, it is the chief concern of her parents to secure their daughter’s station in life.
—The Husband Hunter’s Guide to London
Chapter 4
The following afternoon, Lord Wynford himself accompanied Octavia and Harriet and the Luxborough party to the Royal Institution. Whether the brother and sister had spoken of Octavia’s situation or not, Harriet suspected that Wynford meant to observe his sister more closely. He might be excessively protective, but Harriet could not accuse him of being indifferent to Octavia’s happiness.
They arrived in good time and made their way through the lobby and into the theater. Lord Wynford had returned to his usual understated elegance, and Octavia wore a becoming gown of pale blue wool that set off her fair complexion and dark hair. But she refused to look at or speak to her brother.
When they reached the row of seats Harriet preferred, Octavia went ahead with her new friends, so as to avoid sitting next to her brother. Wynford appeared not to notice, reserving his civility for Harriet. It was the merest politeness, but a novel sensation flustered her briefly at being the object of a gentleman’s attentions. She had for so long followed her charges in and out of rooms, she had forgotten any other arrangement.
“I’m in disgrace,” Wynford confided to Harriet.
“What have you done?” she asked. She expected him to confess that he had pressed Octavia to confide in him, and that the girl had refused.
“I suggested the blue gown.”
“Suggested?” Harriet challenged him. “Admit it, you would not permit her to leave the house in...”
“A striped sarcenet better suited to a country picnic or a shop awning.”
Harriet did not understand him. It was an odd remark from a man who had worn stripes the night before. And they plainly disagreed on how to guide a young woman to sound judgment.
Their conversation was interrupted by an exchange of greetings with some of Lady Luxborough’s acquaintances. Necessary introductions were made, and Harriet read in the other ladies’ faces their astonishment at her companion’s name and rank.
“Are you embarrassed to be seen with me, Miss Swanley?” he asked as she scrupulously tucked away her reticule and gloves.
