Page 2 of His Duchess to Remember

“Even less than that.” Octavia swallowed. “It is a marriage of distance, of separation, of being utter strangers. He will take care of me financially, and any children we might have, and will visit once or twice a year, but otherwise he will live his life, and I shall live mine. Quite apart.”

Certain that her cheeks were likely an alarming shade of red, she dropped her gaze and pretended to smooth out a crease in the skirts of her pale yellow gown. Those yearly visits would serve the same purpose as the honeymoon, until such time as Octavia decided she did not want any more children.

“It’s of nay concern to me,” he had told her when they had briefly met a few days ago, out of sight and earshot of her family. “As long as ye have at least one son, the rest doesn’t much matter to me. Ye can have just one son and be done, if that’s yer wish.”

She could still remember the cold, detached tone and the stony, green eyes that would not look at her as he spoke. Not at all romantic or sentimental, which was precisely what she wanted.

His letters, to arrange the deal in the first place, had been much the same: blunt and to the point, devoid of any emotion. A business transaction to suit them both.

“Octavia, no,” Evelyn said, as if her heart might break. “That is no way to live, sweet girl. Why not find a husband who can make you happy, who wants to live with you, who wants to build a life with you? Why not choose a man who adores you, instead of that… coarse brute?”

“I do not want any man,” Octavia shot back, her patience fraying. “I have chosen carefully because I do not want a man. They cannot be trusted, and I shall never trust one. You know why, so please, do not question me further. This is my choice and I shall not change my mind.”

Chagrined, Evelyn’s gaze flitted to the clock on the mantelpiece, ticking down the minutes until the wedding.

Discontent lingered upon the woman’s face, and Octavia could tell that her sister-in-law was fighting down the urge to say more, to beg Octavia not to do this.

“It truly is what I want,” Octavia said, her tone softer.

“But it is so far,” Evelyn urged, her voice thick. “And you will be alone in a strange place, a strange residence. At least stay here after the wedding… or… or return to us once your honeymoon is over. Please, Octavia.”

“I will consider it,” Octavia lied.

Ordinarily, she would never have spoken an untruth to her sister-in-law, but she considered the small lie a kindness, to appease Evelyn’s restless, worried heart.

You will never understand, my dear Evie. I am done with society. Completely and utterly done.

She did not want to attend another dinner, another ball, another party, another gathering. Anywhere that men were, she did not wish to be. A faraway residence in the wilds of Scotland was the remedy.

“Thank you.” Evelyn put her arms around Octavia and pulled her into a fierce hug. “This house is yours, Octavia. Always.”

Octavia embraced her dear friend in return, squeezing. “Do not worry about me, Evie.” She allowed herself to savor the sweet moment before saying with a sigh, “Now, let us get to the church; I do not think there is any more primping and preening to be done.”

“I could put some more flowers in your hair?” Evelyn offered.

Pulling back with a smile, Octavia shook her head. “I am ready, Evie. Truly, I am ready for this.”

And though Evelyn’s eyes carried the gleam of sorrow, she did not argue as she escorted Octavia out of the bedchamber and out of the manor, to where the carriage waited to take her to her new life.

Octavia should have known that she would not be permitted to enter the pretty, gray stone church without further attempts at intervention.

This time, from her dear brother.

“I can put you back in the carriage and take you straight to Ravenvale,” Hugo said, pacing a little on the church porch, the flagstones worn to a marble shine by decades of feet. “Say the word, and I will help you run from this marriage. You will be protected. Yes, there will be some gossip, but you will recover from it. He is a Scotsman; no one knows him, no one will care if you jilt him.”

Octavia leaned against the church wall, undeterred yet sorry that she had brought such anxiety to her brother. “My mind is unwavering.”

“There is not even the slightest wobble?”

“There is not.”

Hugo pulled a face and came to a standstill, his hands on his hips, breathing unevenly. “I do not think I can walk you to him.”

“Shall I fetch a footman? Or Dominic, perhaps? He would walk me down the aisle in your stead.” Octavia flashed her brother a playful grin.

Dominic Everhart, the Duke of Alderwick, was the siblings’ cousin, and though she did not want to resort to him, he would not protest or cause a fuss. Not unless his beloved wife, Frances, told him to.

Fortunately, Frances was not in attendance at the very small wedding, for she was at home, just a few weeks away from giving birth to their second child. She had wanted to attend and had sent her apologies with Dominic, but the physician had insisted on complete bed rest.