“No, but it is nice to be desired, even for a moment,” Octavia said.
Anette gestured towards Lizette and asked, “Are you acquainted with Lady Lizette Westcott?”
Octavia sat up in her seat, as if she had just remembered to mind her manners. “No, I have not had the privilege, but I have heard much about you.”
Lizette tipped her head. “It is a pleasure to meet you. I must assume that you are Lord Roswell’s sister.”
“I am,” Octavia confirmed. “I am Lady Octavia, and Roswell is my vexing older brother.”
“I believe that is the job of any decent older brother,” Lizette said.
Octavia dusted the crumbs off her hands. “Roswell takes his role much too seriously,” she declared.
“Roswell loves you and only wants what is best for you,” Anette said.
“Yes, but it ishisdefinition of what is best for me. Not mine,” Octavia contended.
With a curious glance at the open door, Anette asked, “Where is your companion? I assume that you brought her along with you.”
“Mrs. Harper is sleeping in the entry hall,” Octavia revealed.
“She is sleeping?” Anette asked.
Octavia bobbed her head. “I don’t know why my father insists I have a companion when I am perfectly capable without one.”
“I am sure it is for propriety’s sake since your mother is sick,” Anette said.
Her friend’s countenance dimmed and Anette wished she could take back her words. No doubt Octavia didn’t need to be reminded of that fact.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything,” Anette said, attempting to right her wrong.
Octavia looked away, her eyes saddened. "No, it's all right. My mother being sick is just my reality. Even if that isn't something I want, it's the truth. At least my mother hasn’t forgotten me yet.”
“I know that Roswell is taking that rather hard,” Anette said. “But he does understand that it is not his mother’s fault.”
“No, it is most assuredly not,” Octavia stated. “I found her wandering the halls again last night. She was confused, disoriented, and I had to take her back to her bedchamber.”
Anette wasn’t quite sure what to say so she did the only thing that she could think of. “Biscuit?” she asked, holding up the plate.
Octavia let out a small laugh. “Biscuits will not fix this problem.”
“No, but they are quite delicious, and they can make you feel better in the moment,” Anette said.
Her friend’s eyes left hers and traveled over to Anette’s canvas by the window. “Why do the clouds have feet?”
“Those aren’t clouds; they are sheep,” Anette sighed.
“Is the dinosaur trying to eat the sheep?” Octavia asked.
Anette placed the plate of biscuits back onto the tray. “That isn’t a dinosaur. It is supposed to be a windmill.”
Octavia squinted her eyes as she examined the painting. “I’m afraid I can’t see it.”
“I am terrible at painting,” Anette admitted.
“Yes, you are,” Octavia said with a smile, “but I don’t think I am much better.”
Anette waved her hand towards Lizette’s painting. “Lady Lizette is rather talented, and she has even sold some of her art pieces.”
