Lady Octavia’s lips twitched. “You know what they say about women and thinking…” She paused. “It is a terrible combination.”
Lord Roswell groaned. “That was terrible.”
“I thought it was quite clever,” Lady Octavia said.
“Well, you would be wrong,” Lord Roswell said. “We should get to our seats before the performers step on stage.”
As Enid stepped inside, Lady Octavia looped her arm around hers. “You will sit by me.”
“You are the worst to be sitting next to,” Lord Roswell said from behind them. “Octavia likes to talk throughout the performance.”
“Hush, Brother,” Lady Octavia ordered. “Enid is old enough to make her own decisions and I won’t have you making disparaging comments.”
As they went to sit down, Enid claimed the center seat and noticed an older woman was leaning her head against the wall, her mouth hanging partly open.
Enid pointed at the woman. “Is she all right?”
Lady Octavia followed her gaze. “Yes, that is my companion, Mrs. Harper,” she replied. “She may look like she is dead, but she is just resting. Trust me. I have made that mistake a time or two.”
“Can anyone rest during the opera?” Enid asked.
“That is the best time to rest one’s eyes,” Lord Roswell said. “The lights are dim and everyone is paying attention to the performers on stage. No one cares a whit about what I am doing.”
Lady Octavia shook her head at her brother. “People care, but it isyouthat does not care.”
“Precisely,” Lord Roswell said with a smile.
Shifting in her seat, Lady Octavia addressed Enid. “You eloped, your father disowned you, your husband died, and now you are back home where you belong. Did I miss anything?”
Enid laughed softly. “You left the part out about my daughter.”
Lady Octavia’s eyes grew wide. “You have a daughter?”
“I do,” Enid said. “Marigold is a year old and I just adore her.”
“Can I see her?” Lady Octavia asked.
“You may.”
“What kind of tricks can she do?” Lady Octavia asked.
Lord Roswell chuckled and chimed in. “Marigold isn’t a pet. She is a baby.”
“They are similar, are they not?” Lady Octavia defended. “Both are dependent on someone else to survive.”
“Heaven help us if you are ever responsible for raising a child,” Lord Roswell joked.
With a shrug of one shoulder, Lady Octavia responded, “That is what nursemaids are for.”
Lord Roswell leaned closer to Enid. “Run, Enid, run while you still can,” he whispered. “It is too late for me, but save yourself.”
Lady Octavia leaned in and matched his low tone. “I can hear you, Brother.”
“I am well aware,” Lord Roswell said as he straightened in his seat.
“Just ignore Roswell, everyone does,” Lady Octavia advised with a smirk on her lips.
Enid watched a performer step onto the stage and the room went quiet. Well, all except for Lady Octavia.
