A Closed Heart Read online

  By Camille Oster

  Copyright ©2021 Camille Oster

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the work of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Camille Oster - Author

  http://www.facebook.com/pages/Camille-Oster/489718877729579

  [email protected]

  Camilleoster_author - Instagram

  Chapter 1

  London, 1855

  THE CARRIAGE STOPPED AGAIN and Julius sighed. The streets of London were simply inadequate for the amount of traffic fighting through them. This was why he hated coming, because he spent most of his time waiting to live his life. Checking his attire again, he flicked a piece of lint off his cuff.

  No, enough of this, he thought and tapped the ceiling with his cane to let the driver know he was exiting. “I might walk,” he said when he stepped out of the carriage, “or I’ll be sitting here all day. Return home—if you can.”

  With cane in hand, he walked, prepared to use it as a weapon in case he was accosted. People seemed to be hungrier in the city lately. The economy was bad, but the government should see to it that people ate.

  Another reason he avoided London as much as he could. The teeming mass of humanity. It distressed him to see the state of it. It had no simple solution, but he did applaud the efforts made with public health and sanitation. He sat on a few of the committees, but he found the task weighty at times. When one looked closely, there were no easy answers, unfortunately.

  In no way did he not realize how fortunate he was. He was a privileged man, but his station came with responsibilities that many did not understand.

  The street was filthy and teeming with people. The smells were noxious. For all the work they had done to improve sanitation, it hadn’t transformed the city into a garden as some of the dreamers had hoped.

  Reaching his club without incident, he made his way into the quiet and solemn sanctuary. The chaos of London fell away and was replaced with refinement, hushed voices and intelligent conversation. Compared to the outside, the atmosphere of the club was pleasant. He liked the company and the interesting information he tended to pick up. The people at the club ran this country, and if you wanted to know what was happening, or was about to happen, these were the people who could tell you.

  Accepting his typical whiskey, which the bar staff knew he preferred, he took a seat by the fire. His intention was to come for lunch, but he’d arrived early to read the paper and relax.

  A parliamentary committee had brought him to London, so he was here for a few days. In that time, he might visit some wine merchants, dine with friends and start the process of procuring a new set of boots for winter. Buying footwear, along with most things, was a thing best done without rush. It took time to make a good quality pair of boots.

  Another reason he disliked coming to London was the scandal of his wife living with her Italian lover. The worst of it had died down now, especially from those who had realized he couldn’t be riled about it. And honestly, he didn’t truly care. His marriage had been a transaction that had suited them both, until the time that Cressida had decided she wanted a different life. At the time, he hadn’t expected it, had been more annoyed with her lack of discretion. Whether it was the lover who pushed for a more public life between them, or Cressida, Julius didn’t know. Nor did he particularly care.

  Her lover was royalty and that did impress Cressida. It might be the greater portion of the man’s appeal. In the society the prince kept, they lived like man and wife, and she was even carrying his child. Legally, it was Julius’ child, as they were still married.

  While Julius didn’t care about her disloyalty, he also wouldn’t release her from the marriage, because once one made a commitment, one stuck with it, and marriage was the biggest commitment of all.

  So yes, she could leave the marital house, have her lover and that royal lifestyle she coveted, but she wasn’t being released from her commitment. Some things could not be put aside.

  As it was, he didn’t see his marriage as a failure, like many suggested. Suffering from her absence was perfectly bearable. The marriage had produced a male child, so an heir was secured. The purpose of the marriage had been fulfilled. The transaction had been completed.

  Obviously, he knew it was a clinical way of thinking about it, but it had been the purpose of the marriage all along. There had never been much affection between him and Cressida. They had both enjoyed the benefits of their merger. In the end, she’d found a superior merger, but she would simply have to put up with the fact that she was a married woman.

  “Hennington, how are you?” a voice said, drawing his attention away from his paper. Joseph Straithmarsh, a man he’d known for years. They’d been to Oxford together, but had never been very close friends. Cordial was a better word for how they fared. The Straithmarshes were a powerful family, a duchy, and Joseph had always suffered with pride for it. It wasn’t something Julius begrudged him, but it did make him a little tedious on closer association. It was all fine and good to be proud of one’s background, but there came a point where the elevation of status and privilege didn’t hold up the conversation anymore. Joseph was enjoyable in small measures.

  “Straithmarsh, good to see you. I hope you’re faring well.”

  “As well as can be,” the man said and brought out his pipe to knock the spent tobacco into 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 moving beyond his toddler years. But there was also the matter of keeping him safe. Julius certainly didn’t want his son to get up to the things he and his brother had. That would be much too risky.

  “How long are you staying?”

  “Just a few more days. Then I’ll return to Denham for a while. Spring is an important time. The fields must be sown.”

  “Well, let’s not pretend you do any of that personally,” Octavia said tartly. “I do miss father.”

  “Yes.” Their father had died peacefully in his sleep, not making a fuss, which was how he’d liked to have done it. “He was elderly.”

  “Still, I just didn’t see it coming. Have you heard from Caius?” Octavia asked.

  “He came by for supper the other day. I believe he and Eliza will travel to Bickerley in April, and they will spend the summer there.”

  “Well, I do hope they’ll drop in.”

  “I’m sure they will. You really should spend more time in London. Who do you have to talk to staying there all winter?”

  “Granted, it is a little slow on riveting conversation.” And since his father’s death, there was even less of it. At times, he had considered taking himself off to London, but it had felt a little like admitting defeat. Saying that, he absolutely loved Denham and the estate around it. There was something exhilarating about going for a ride on a frosty winter’s morning. The countryside was beautiful through the cold season, but most didn’t stay to see it. “One makes do,” he said, wishing this particular topic didn’t continue.

  “I hear your wife is galivanting all over Europe with her Italian prince.”

  An even less desirable topic. “I wish her well.” And that was true. He had no bitter feelings about it. Perhaps a little judgmental about her character for not sticking to her bargain, but it wasn’t as if he was jealous. In all that, perhaps it said something about the state of their marriage, as it had been. Marrying for mutual benefit was more common than people admitted to. If one had requirements outside the marriage, one conducted such things with absolute discretion. One didn’t run off to take up a lover in the most public manner possible.

  The rebuke was battling to get out of her lips, how she’d told him the marriage would be a disaster. While she thought so, the marriage had been a success. It had achieved everything it had intended to. The fact that it was now effectively over was happenstance. Obviously there could be no reconciliation. His standing and pride could never tolerate it. She had made her choice and she had to live with the consequences. Truly, he felt it was little of his affair now. The truth was that he had discreetly inquired about a divorce—had even instructed his solicitor to make progress. But his sister’s pressing was annoyed him deeply, so he refused to acknowledge he was doing anything at all. It would be fair to say he’d hampered the progress because of it too. It also annoyed him that Cressida tried to dictate to him to make him do what she wanted. The woman was used to getting what she wanted, and Julius was in no mood to by anyone. If that gave her sleepless nights, then it was less than she deserved.

  To be fair, there had been a hope that they would fare really well together. They had many things in common—values and perceptions, but they hadn’t ever settled well together and achieved that sedate comfortableness that married couples often had together.

  Thinking about it was putting him in a bad mood.

  “I met Joseph Straithmarsh yesterday,” Julius said.

  “Oh, that ponce,” Octavia said and sat back with her teacup. “That must have been tiring. No wonder you’re eager to leave.”

  “Don’t be unkind. He sends his best regards.”

  “I’m sure he does,” she said sarcastically.

  “Well, he is tedious, but he had some good points. I need to have a portrait made.”

  Octavia’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “You wish a portrait of yourself?”

  “Are you not sorry we don’t have a good portrait of Father? You children are never going to know what he looked like.”

  Taking one of the ginger biscuits, Octavia considered the statement. “I suppose what you say is true.”

  “And why have a portrait done when you’re old and decrepit?” He hated that he was repeating all of Joseph Straithmarsh’s points, but they were good points.

  Octavia conceded. “It takes a great deal of time. Eliza had some miniatures done of her children by that artist we met once. Remember the girl from Brighton that we dragged around with us one season?”

  “The one that didn’t manage to find someone to marry?” Julius replied, less than impressed.

  “She did an outstanding job. Made the little monsters seem like angels. If ever there was someone to make you look handsome, it would be her.”

  Julius gave her a chiding look. “I’m not looking for a miniature.”

  “She has remarkable skill. The artist Eliza chooses, and she deals with artists fairly regularly. That should tell you something.”

  The woman Octavia was referring to was a mere slight of a girl that Julius vaguely remembered. A charity case, if he recalled right. For some reason or another, Eliza had decided to give the girl a season. Well, it had been a waste of time and money, as no one had offered for her, in the end. Seemed she still worked as an artist.

  “Well, she would have to come to Denham,” Julius said. “I’m certainly not going to Brighton.”

  “I will ask Eliza to write to her and see if she’s available. If you’re going to have a portrait done, you don’t want to spend all that time and then find out that the artist wasn’t up to the job.”

  Actually, now that he thought about how long it would take, he was starting to have second thoughts. Was this really something he wanted to subject himself to? Hours of sitting while someone painted him? But then he wasn’t someone who backed away from things simply because they were uncomfortable. This was his personal legacy, what he would leave behind of himself other than a well-managed estate.

  “Fine,” he said. Eliza did know a great deal more about artists than he did, so if this was the one she chose to paint her children, he should trust her judgement. It wasn’t as if he had any means of making judgement on good art. It was something he barely paid attention to at the best of times.

  “Now, you really must come to supper. We’ll invite Caius and have a proper family meal. Finn will be happy to see you. I have no idea why he likes you, but he does.”

  From the moment they’d met, Finn and him had gotten on famously. While he would never admit it, he couldn’t imagine putting his sister in better hands, and their marriage seemed to be very successful.