A Closed Heart Oster, Camille (ebooks that read to you .txt) 📖

the ashtray. “The weather is deary. One does start to long for Tonleith after a long winter. The weather isn’t quite fine enough yet, but it will get there.” Tonleith was the family seat and it was a genuine castle that had been in the family from back to the Norman Invasion. They were infinitely proud of their heritage—one few could compete with.

It certainly would be unlivable in the winter, which was a detriment to the family’s long history. Denham Hall was much more comfortable, especially as it had been extended in more modern times. Not quite as refined a history, but a much more tolerable house.

“How is your sister?” Joseph asked. “I heard matrimony finally called her.”

Another thing that his family prestige didn’t get him, Octavia’s interest. There was a certain bitterness about it.

“Yes, she is happily wed. Lady Fortescue now.”

“Don’t know the man.”

Well, he wouldn’t. Finn cared about as much for refined society as Octavia did. Actually, that wasn’t true. Octavia did enjoy society somewhat, but her reasons for traversing it had changed. No longer was she interested in the unmarried men of society, and she had remained absent for a while now as she raised her young ones.

Octavia threw herself wholeheartedly into things, and for the last few years it had been her husband and children. Over time, he expected her to start noticing the outside world again.

“Will you be attending Ascot this year?” Joseph asked. The quick change in subject was intended to be dismissive of Octavia, but Joseph didn’t understand the lack of caring on both his own part, and on Octavia’s. Such moves came across as simply tedious to the uncaring.

“I had intended on it,” Julius said. “We have raised some fine horses in the last couple of seasons, so I have high expectations.”

“I’ll have to see the specimen you bring. My uncle has commissioned a portrait of our prized stallion, and I have to say it came out nicely. He keeps it in his study. We’re considering commissioning the artist for some family portraits as well. Saying that, I don’t rightly know if those gifted in painting equine subjects are as gifted with people. But it is important to have portraits. How else are our descendants going to know us? Our family portraits are very much a part of the treasures of the family.”

“I have to admit,” Julius said in absolute candor, “we don’t actually have one of my father. He wasn’t interested in portraits.” And now that he was gone, they had missed the opportunity to.

“That is a shame. To future generations, he will be invisible, I’m afraid. If you don’t have a portrait, you might as well not exist. Do you have one yourself?”

“My mother had one commissioned when I was young.” It was a nice portrait, but it was very much a child’s portrait.

“Well, don’t wait too long. You want one done when you’re young and virile, rather than some decrepit man with a wig.”

What Joseph said was eminently sensible. Obviously, he wanted a portrait that his son was proud of, and one the boy could one day tell his grandchildren about. Because as it was, his son wouldn’t have any memories of his own grandfather, and no portrait of him. “That is a good idea, now that you mention it.”

“Not all artists are good. I’ve known a few that have paid good commission and received paintings they can’t stand the sight of. It’s not an area worth scrimping on. Like I told my uncle: with portraits, it’s better to get someone very good. It is, after all, the only personal legacy one leaves. Are you dining?”

“Yes, I intended so.”

“We should dine together. How are your investments? I hear you do well.”

Chapter 2

“TELL YOU THAT CHILDREN are utterly exhausting?” Octavia complained as she sat down. “I haven’t had a moment to think all day. Even with nursemaids, I must guide them all day long. I must decide what they eat, when they go out, what they wear. The decisions are endless. And, of course, the children wish to be with me every moment. How are you, Julius?”

His sister did look tired, but she also looked happy, despite her complaining. “As well as can be expected, I suppose. I abhor coming to London.”

“You’ve always hated London. Tea?”

“Please.”

Octavia poured from the dainty oriental teapot into equally dainty cups that Julius worried would break if he grabbed hold of them. Somehow, they’d manage to keep this tea set away from the children. Unlike himself, who had kept Atticus with his nursemaid for most of his life, Octavia’s household was much freer. The children had run of the house, it seemed. Although the adults were firmly locked in the salon, while the little monsters raged outside. “You do need to practice some discipline,” he finally said.

“They are five and three. Life is magical to them. What is the point of discipline now?”

“If you don’t start early, they will never have it.”

“Posh. They’re not machines set in their motion, Julius. How is your son?”

“Fine.” At least he thought so. He saw the boy typically every few days when he came to the study. The conversation wasn’t much, but the boy was six. In all honesty, Julius couldn’t really think what to do with the boy. Mostly he spent his time in the nursery or went for walks with his nursemaid. Although he supposed the boy missed his mother. “He grows.”

“I suspect he will be tall.”

Truthfully, Julius hadn’t thought about it. He was very handsome with rosy cheeks and clear blue eyes. Saying that, Julius remembered full well what terrors boys could be with lax discipline. It was a surprise both Caius and himself had survived their childhood.

On second thought, maybe he should give the boy a little more freedom, especially as he was now