The Second Mrs Darcy. Elizabeth Aston

wishing Arthur would keep his long nose out of her business. “And you had no right to talk to him without consulting me first. I didn’t want to ask George Warren for a single penny, thank you!”

      Octavia spoke more sharply than she had intended, but she was alarmed. Arthur’s interference now was as nothing compared to how he would behave when he knew about her inheritance; he would immediately do everything in his power to take control. He couldn’t, in the eyes of the law, but where family was concerned, law didn’t enter into it. Another dreadful thought occurred to Octavia. This Mr. Portal, so inconveniently travelling abroad, what if he were a crony of Arthur’s, an habitué of the same clubs? Men were all the same; they all had the idea fixed in their minds that a woman, particularly a young woman, and one who had hitherto always been at the bottom of the family pile, would of nature be incapable of looking after money, land, or in any way taking care of her own affairs.

      Mr. Portal and Arthur might very well be of one mind—although, how much power did an executor have? The lawyer had said executor, not trustee. Octavia tried to remember the lawyer’s exact words, for there was a world of difference, she felt sure, between the one and the other.

      “Tell me, Arthur,” she said, cutting across his grumbles. “An executor is what, precisely?”

      “An executor?” He stared at her. “There you are, fancying you can deal with things yourself, and as simple and basic a concept as that is beyond you. Who is the executor of Darcy’s will?”

      “It doesn’t matter. He’s a lawyer. I only want to know what the powers of an executor may be.”

      “Give me his name, and I will go and see him, as I already told you that I would.”

      “No, Arthur, you will not.”

      “I know what an executor is,” said Penelope. “For a good friend of mine was left a legacy and the executor sorted it all out. But once it was done, he had no say in how he was to use the money, that was entirely up to him.”

      Arthur gave his niece a quelling look. “The word gives the meaning, Octavia. He executes, that is to say, carries out what is specified in a will. It will hardly be an onerous job in your case, with so very little— I dare say the lawyer’s fees will swallow up more of the very little you have, that is why you need me to see to it all for you, I will make very sure they don’t take a ha’pporth more in fees than is right.”

      “I wanted information, merely, Arthur, not assistance.”

      “If you are going to be so headstrong, then I shall take my leave. It was always the way, you have always been obstinate and difficult, refusing to see what is best for you. You do not deserve to have the family you do, taking care of you and looking out for your best interests.”

      “And he is quite right,” said Theodosia. “Shocking behaviour, a shocking way to speak to your brother. Penelope, I did not like to hear you speaking up so pert just now, it is not for you to open your mouth on subjects about which you know nothing, less than nothing.” Octavia, noting the stormy look in her niece’s eye, quickly asked if she might be spared to help her with her packing.

      “Packing? Alice will pack for you,” said Theodosia.

      “But Penelope knows the household in Hertfordshire, she will be able to advise me on what I shall need. In the way of evening dresses and so on.”

      “I do not think the advice of a girl can be of any use to you, and as to evening dresses, I hardly believe that there will be any need for anything special, and besides, what do you have?”

      The change of subject had, however, as Octavia had hoped, taken the edge off her irritation at her sister’s treatment of Arthur and reminded her that her tiresome guest would be departing in the morning.

      “Go with your aunt, then, Penelope, and see if you may make yourself useful.”

      “Do you really require my services?” Penelope enquired, as they went upstairs.

      “No, Alice will have seen to everything, but it occurred to me that you might have been tempted into an argument with your mother, and in her present mood, it would be unwise.”

      Penelope gave a rueful smile. “You are right, it never does to argue with Mama. Subtlety is the only way. If you don’t need me, then I shall go to my room for a while, I have some letters to write, and Mama won’t bother me if she thinks I am with you.”

      Once inside her own room, Octavia had to laugh at the duplicity of her niece. If only she’d ever learned to handle Augusta the way Penelope did, her time in London as a girl would have been much easier. The more she saw of Penelope, the more she liked her, and the more apprehensive she felt about Penelope’s future. There was a resolution to the girl, a strength of character that meant she would fight for what she wanted, for what she thought was right, and how could she come off best in any such contest?

      She’d need all Penelope’s resolution herself once the family knew of her inheritance. It wouldn’t be long now before she came into possession of her fortune. Mr. Wilkinson had given no precise date, but assured her that she might draw funds to the tune of whatever she wanted. A line to him at any time and he would be at her service. He thought she might reasonably expect everything to be settled soon after she was returned from the country, for by then Mr. Portal would be in London, and would finish off his duties as executor of the will.

       Chapter Eight

      Octavia enjoyed the first part of her journey, as the coach left the Spread Eagle in Gracechurch Street and made its way northwards through the busy London streets, even though her eyelids were drooping.

      The night before, she had finally fallen into a fitful sleep shortly before dawn, to be roused after what seemed like minutes by her maid: the stagecoach left at eight o’clock, she must be up and about. Theodosia had almost brought herself to apologise for not sending her to Hertfordshire in one of their carriages; they would be needed, they could not spare the horses. Octavia was not to know that Mr. Cartland had expostulated with his wife.

      “Damn it, you can’t pack her off on the stagecoach! She is your sister, our sister, that is no way for her to travel. If she is not to travel in our carriage, then she should go post!”

      “There is no point in her growing used to comforts which she will not be able to enjoy in her situation. I have paid for a good seat, and she is no miss to be frightened by the journey, she has travelled in India where there are bandits at every corner, I dare say, and snakes and who knows what other dangers besides; going on the stagecoach—and only as far as Hertfordshire—is a mere nothing in comparison.”

      Mr. Cartland gave up the argument as a lost cause. Once Theodosia had made her mind up, there was no dealing with her, particularly when, as in this case, she knew herself to be in the wrong.

      “Mr. Ackworth will be very shocked when he discovers she is travelling on the stage,” Penelope said to her father. “If he had known what Mama planned, he would have sent his own carriage all the way to London for her, you may be sure, but I suppose Mama took good care, when announcing the time of Octavia’s arrival in Meryton, not to mention her mode of travel.”

      Octavia would have preferred to travel in her brother-in-law’s carriage, as who would not, but going on the stage was not such an ordeal, and she was thankful for any conveyance that took her away from London and from Theodosia and Augusta. Augusta had called on the previous evening, to add her own instructions to her about how she was to behave and what she was to spend her time doing, which was polishing her social skills—“For what will pass in Calcutta will not do in London; to be a provincial is bad enough, but to have a strange foreign touch will not do at all. The Ackworths are sensible, practical people who know how things are; they will put you in the way of acquiring some polish before you return to town.”

      “And there is the matter of clothes,” Theodosia said. “Perhaps there is a dressmaker, some local woman, who could provide the elements