One week.
One.
Entire.
Dratted.
Sennight.
And she could not bear another day. She had to escape.
Seated in the gold salon of Tarlington House as her sister’s family finished their nightly ritual of reciting the newest addition to their unending story, Octavia could scarcely remain still. Mirabel and the children took turns regaling everyone with tales they invented as they went along. Mythical creatures, danger, excitement, silliness—the story was an endless source of entertainment.
Once, it had been enough. But now? Her feet itched to move. So, too, her hands. Ordinarily, this routine she shared with her sister, brother-in-law, niece, and nephews was beloved. Octavia respected and admired Damian Winter, who planned to stand for parliament soon. She absolutely adored Percy, Joanna, Davy, and Gideon. And of course Mirabel was more like a mother to Octavia than Mama was. Although nearly ten years separated them in age, Octavia and her sister had always been exceedingly close to each other.
Still, none of those facts seemed to matter.
Because all she could think about was journeying back to The Sinner’s Palace. And to her shame, her desire to return was motivated by not just her goal of beginning her own gossip journal, but also by the memory of Jasper Sutton’s lips on hers.
“Auntie Octavia?”
She blinked, returning to the present as her niece’s voice interrupted her wildly vacillating thoughts. “Yes, Joanna dearest?”
“What did you think of my story?”
A stab of guilt pierced her heart, for she had not been paying it any mind. “It was an utter favorite of mine, my darling girl.”
She restrained her natural inclination to wince at the lie. Ordinarily, she did not deceive the children. Nor did she ignore them. She was distracted. This would not do.
Joanna, having no notion of her auntie’s fabrication, smiled radiantly. “Thank you. What was your favorite part?”
Oh heavens. She had no wish to disappoint her niece.
Her sister’s gaze was shrewd, pinned to her. As always, she sensed Octavia’s need of assistance.
“I would venture a guess that Auntie Octavia enjoyed the portion of the tale where the dragon discovered the magical lily flowers,” Mirabel said. “Am I correct, sister dear?”
Mirabel knew she had not been paying any heed to the evening’s festivities. Of course she would.
Octavia tamped down a rush of disappointment with herself. “Yes, indeed, that was my favorite bit of the tale.”
Joanna smiled happily.
Octavia’s heart ached.
How terrible she was, being distracted by her own wicked desires. But she summoned a smile for her niece’s benefit just the same.
“Now, then,” Mirabel declared, louder than necessary. “It is past time you are all off to bed.”
Relief coursed through Octavia.
The evening was over.
Perhaps she could find a means of making her way to the mews…
“Octavia?”
As if she had sensed the vein of her thoughts, Mirabel demanded Octavia’s attention. The children rose with groans of protest and made about the business of retiring to the nursery for the evening. Their governess arrived. Soon, the older lads would be off to Eton. How quickly they had grown. Octavia watched them with a creeping sense of sentimentality before turning back to Mirabel.