Chapter 8
Anne and Elizabeth did not know how to read.
Or write.
Octavia made the realization on her second day as Jasper’s wife. The first—their wedding day—had been a whirlwind of lovemaking and sleeping and bathing and eating. At some point in the night, she had awoken, confused and imagining herself in her chamber back at Tarlington House until her eyes had grown accustomed to the shadows and everything that had happened earlier in the day returned to her. She had made the discovery that she was alone. Although Jasper had been present when she had fallen asleep, he had left her in her chamber.
Disturbed and unable to sleep, she had donned a dressing gown and gone to his chamber, but he had not been within either.
One of her new sisters-in-law, Pen, had been in the dimly lit hall. She had appeared surprised to see Octavia, perhaps even startled. She had been dressed in a gentleman’s trousers, jacket, waistcoat, and shirt. Octavia had taken note, though she had not commented upon the oddity.
“If you are looking for Jasper, he’s in the hell,” Pen had informed Octavia. “He watches over it most nights and sleeps until afternoon.”
The news had left her disappointed. But she had told herself it was to be expected. He ran his family’s gaming hell. He was not a man of leisure. Still, that he had left her bed to spend all night at the tables… Well, it had left her with a lingering sense of unhappiness.
The sense of unhappiness grew and magnified by the time luncheon arrived and she realized she was meant to take tea and her meal in the rafters-tucked chamber that had been designated as the nursery. Apparently, Anne and Elizabeth had spent their time at The Sinner’s Palace first under the dubious auspices of one Mrs. Bunton. In their words, Mrs. Bunton had been a bitch.
They had helpfully learned that word from one of Papa’s guards.
Perhaps the same one who had taught them to refer to Motley as Arsehole.
Octavia marched to Jasper’s office, her outrage growing with each step. They could not read or write. Oh, her poor, poor girls. What manner of life had they lived these last six years? She shuddered to contemplate it. The very notion made tears prick her eyes. And Jasper, not having warned her. Not having hired anyone to teach them but a woman who tippled gin and then fell asleep, who had told them dreadful things so that they would, by their own words, go away.
Scarcely any wonder he had wanted a wife. Only, it was becoming painfully apparent to her that Jasper Sutton did not wish for a spouse at all. Rather, he wanted a nursemaid for his children. A woman he bedded and then abandoned in the midst of the night. One he did not see fit to find for breakfast or lunch. A servant, really, whom he expected to take care of his needs and then disappear into the attics.
She was going to box his ears, and then she was going to box the ears of whoever had taught her darling girls the word bitch. Such a vile oath did not belong in their lexicon.
Hugh stood sentinel at the door to Jasper’s office.
She would see to him after she finished with his employer, and she would not stop until she discovered which of the men were responsible for the vulgar language which had infected Anne’s and Elizabeth’s little minds.
He stepped before the door, blocking her entrance. “Sorry I am, Lady Octavia. But ‘isnabs asked for no interruptions.”
She stopped, blinking, quite taken aback. Of all the scenarios her outraged mind had unfurled while she had traversed three flights of stairs and wound her way through the private corridors of The Sinner’s Palace, being barred from entrance to her husband’s office had decidedly not been one.
“Surely his wife cannot be considered an interruption, Hugh.” This she said sternly, pinning him with her most lofty glare.
Hugh shifted his feet, and the burly man had the grace to look shamefaced, but he did not move away from the door. “Everyone is an interruption, my lady. It’s Mr. Sutton’s orders.”
“Did he explicitly mention myself?” she persisted, undeterred.
And irritated.
“Don’t know what splicitly means.” Hugh frowned. “The rules ain’t changed because I’ve a wife now. That’s what Mr. Sutton said.”
How dare he? The nerve of the man, manipulating her into this marriage, treating her as if she were a servant, telling his guard to disallow her entrance when she sought him out after he had abandoned her for the entire second day of their marriage.
“Hugh,” she said through gritted teeth, trying to hold on to the tattered remnants of her manners, “if you do not move out of my way, I shall box your ears.”
He gaped at her. “You, my lady?”
Yes, he was taller than she and likely two and a half times her size. He could probably snap her in two as if she were a twig. But no one was going to stand between her and Jasper. The girls deserved better, and for that matter, so did she.
“Me,” she confirmed agreeably.
He shifted weight on his feet again, looking torn. “Lady Octavia, I would be more’n ‘appy to take you to the parlor to await ‘isnabs.”
Parlor. Here was another sign of her change in circumstance. No gentleman would dream of having a parlor rather than a drawing room.