“What is that, dear?” her mother asked innocently.
“You are trying to play matchmaker with Roswell and me,” Anette replied.
Amusement came into her mother’s eyes as she responded, “Or perhaps I am trying to bring Octavia and Caleb together. Have you considered that?”
“No, I didn’t,” Anette admitted.
“Really, Anette, not everything is about you,” her mother said lightly.
She was pretty sure she knew what game her mother was playing, but that didn’t mean she had to play along.
ChapterEight
Roswell sat at the edge of his mother’s bed as she slept. He was a coward. He could come back when she was awake, but he was afraid she wouldn’t remember him… again. It was heartbreaking to be removed from all the memories of her past.
He knew it wasn’t her fault, but that didn’t take away the pain. He wanted to be the dutiful son, but his own sorrow was working against him. He should be there, regardless, and not expecting anything in return from his mother.
But he couldn’t do it.
The door opened and his sister stepped into the room. “We need to depart if we want to be on time for dinner tonight,” she said in a soft voice, so as not to disturb their mother.
With a sigh, Roswell rose and walked over to the door. “Why did you agree to this dinner?”
“Because Lady Oxley has been nothing but kind to me- to both of us- and I didn’t dare refuse her request.”
Roswell followed Octavia into the corridor, being mindful to close the door behind him, and they headed towards the main level.
His sister glanced over at him. “I thought you would be pleased to see Anette again this evening.”
“Well, I’m not,” he lied. He cherished every moment he was able to spend with her, not knowing if it would be his last.
Octavia gave him a skeptical look, and he feared she would question him further. Fortunately, she did not. “I am still mad at you,” she declared.
“That is not surprising.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I,” Roswell said.
Octavia looked displeased by his response. “You don’t trust me, do you?”
“Au contraire, dear sister, I trust you, but I do not trust anyone else, especially other gentlemen,” Roswell said.
“I am old enough to make my own decisions.”
“You are eighteen.”
“Mother was already married by my age,” Octavia contended.
“Is that what you want?” Roswell asked. “To be married during your first Season?”
She grew quiet and he knew his words had hit the mark. “Not particularly, but I suppose I will choose to marry when I obtain a love match.”
He was pleased to hear that Octavia wanted more out of marriage than what high Society dictated. “You deserve a love match.”
“As do you.”
Roswell shook his head as they started descending the stairs. “I think not. I do not think I will ever get married.”
