That one painful thought was never far from his mind, but he tried not to dwell on it for too long. Frankly, he couldn’t.
With a slight wince, he replied, “I hope not.”
“She is growing so weak and I’m so afraid.” Her voice was barely above a whisper but the pain in her words was immense.
Roswell opened his arms, and Octavia hurried into them. She clutched him to her tightly, placing her head on his chest. He could feel her body trembling as she wept, and he understood what she was going through perfectly- he didn't want to lose his mother either.
Neither of them said a word as they embraced. There was no need to search for the right words to express what they were feeling; each understood without having to say it aloud.
After a long moment, Octavia dropped her arms and stepped back. “Thank you, Roswell,” she said, swiping at her tears. “I didn’t mean to get so emotional.”
“Never apologize for your display of emotions.”
She gave him a faint smile, but it conveyed her gratitude. “You are a good brother.”
“It is surprising you say so since you wanted Anette to shoot me at the opera,” he joked.
A laugh escaped her lips. “I did change my mind.”
“Thank heavens for that.” He smiled at her. “Go to bed. I will wait with Mother until Nancy returns.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am.”
“Then I shall take you up on that,” Octavia said with a parting glance at their mother.
After his sister left the room, Roswell sat down and stared at his mother, hoping she would remember him tomorrow.
Anette stepped into the dining room and saw her mother and father politely conversing with one another. Her parents may not have married for love but they appeared to have developed a strong affection for each other over time. She never heard them raise their voices to one another, and they genuinely appeared to enjoy each other’s company.
Her mother glanced up as she approached the dining table. “Good morning, Anette.”
“Good morning, Mother,” she replied. “Father.”
He acknowledged her with a barely discernible nod.
“How did you enjoy the opera?” her mother asked.
A smile came to her lips as she remembered the events of last night. “It was quite enjoyable,” she admitted.
Her mother clasped her hands together. “I am so pleased to hear that,” she said. “Were you introduced to anyone of note last night?”
“I was not. I spent the evening in Roswell’s box and we kept to ourselves.” She left out the part about how the night was perfect. She hated nothing more than the awkward introductions that came as a result of spending time with people she was unacquainted with.
“That is a shame,” her mother remarked. “You were dressed in one of your finer gowns and I thought it would have garnered some attention.”
Her father spoke up. “I am sure that Anette shone on her own and didn’t need the trappings of a fancy gown.”
“One must have the best arsenal when trying to find a suitor,” her mother declared.
As he reached for his glass, her father said, “I didn’t marry you because of your gowns, but it was due to you being the most beautiful young woman in the room.”
Her mother gave her father an approving look. “You say the kindest things.”
“I do try, my dear,” her father said, offering his wife a loving smile.
“How is Octavia faring?” her mother inquired.
