3. Chapter 3
Octavia Underhill selected a blush pink rose in full bloom from the basket of flowers her maid had brought in from the garden and slid it into the center of her arrangement.
She adjusted the greenery, the other roses, and the smaller clusters of white cosmos and lavender verbena until she found the perfect balance.
Stepping back from the vase, she examined it from all angles, refusing to be satisfied until every petal and frond complied with her wishes.
Octavia demanded perfection—from her students, her staff, and most of all, from herself.
One didn't amass a small fortune by being careless.
Controlling one's fate required controlling one's environment and the people populating it.
A talent Octavia always had possessed. At least when it came to servants, young schoolgirls, and society mothers eager to make advantageous matches for their children.
Powerful men presented more of a challenge.
Hence her preference to avoid conducting business with them.
All the posturing and condescension affected her digestion.
Yet an entrepreneurial woman must endure certain unpleasantries from time to time if she wished to ensure the success of her business.
And Octavia craved success above all else.
She frowned at the stubborn rose leaf that refused to submit to her will.
Taking up her pruning shears, she snipped the leaf off at the stem and discarded it.
Disobedience could not be tolerated. Satisfied with the result, she set aside the shears, clasped the cut crystal vase with care, and carried it to the small parlor table her maid had set for tea.
"Vanessa." Octavia called to her maid without looking away from the vase. "Clean up the rest of the flowers then check that Cook has the canapés and madeleines ready. Our guest will be here in twenty minutes."
"Yes, ma'am." The young woman turned her face toward Octavia and nodded, her hands already busy tidying the side table littered with stems and unused flowers.
Vanessa had trained with her since she was fifteen.
Now twenty-one, she'd had ample experience anticipating her mistress's needs.
Not only that, but she'd become quite adept at collecting gossip and hints of scandal from the households of potential clients.
Servants always knew far more than their employers realized.
And when properly compensated, they often found the motivation to learn even more.
Desk drawers just happened to fall open while being dusted, and extra polish was applied in rooms where nearby conversations could be overheard.
Vanessa had developed keen insights for determining which servants could be bribed and which should be avoided.
A skill that allowed Octavia's matchmaking business to flourish and kept Vanessa's family out of the poorhouse.
Octavia paid her a commission for each secret that successfully hooked a client, and with a widowed mother and four younger brothers and sisters at home, Vanessa unearthed scandals faster than the tide unearthed seashells.
"Use the small silver platter with the delicate scrollwork, and arrange the treats in an alternating pattern."
"Yes, ma'am." The dark-haired maid bobbed in understanding. "I'll use the measuring stick for precise placement."
Octavia smiled. "Excellent. I'll inspect your work after I take a short respite."
Passing through the parlor doorway into the hall, Octavia allowed herself a small sigh. Perfection was exhausting. Yet necessary. She would have been penniless by now had she not learned to monetize her position in society.
Her late husband had provided her with status and a fine home, but little else.
Certainly not affection. Clive Underhill had been forty years her senior when she'd married him at eighteen.
Thankfully, he'd had the decency to die early.
She'd only had to endure his attentions for a decade before his heart weakened enough to give out.
Unfortunately, his bank account gave out with similar speed.
In less than ten years after his passing, her inheritance had dwindled to dangerously low levels.
She could have married again. Most women in her position would have.
Heaven knew, her ample curves drew enough masculine attention even now at the advanced age of fifty-five that she could have had her choice of partners in her prime.
But Octavia had no wish to submit to the control of another man. So much better to captain her own ship.
As much as she adored the power and prestige she'd carefully cultivated over the last decade and a half, the path she walked was a lonely one.
Hard to establish friendships when one's existence relied on carefully guarded secrets and manipulative maneuvering.
Thankfully, humans weren't the only option when it came to companionship.
Octavia reached the conservatory at the end of the hall and eased the door open, careful to watch for escapees. Spying none, she slid into the room and closed the door behind her.
"Poopsies," she called in a sing-song voice. "Mommy's here."
A smock hung on a hook by the door, and Octavia slipped it on over her lavender batiste gown.
Reaching into the smock’s oversized pocket, she fingered a couple scraps of dried meat and extracted them.
Vanessa made sure to replenish her supply when she cleaned the sand box in the corner and repaired any damage her pets might have done to the room.
Pursing her lips, Octavia made kissing sounds as she hunted for her little darlings. “Machi. Velli. Mommy has treats for you.”
Potted ferns and draping ivy had transformed the ordinary sunroom into an adventuresome habitat, complete with rolled carpet tunnels and plush sleeping cushions.
Cabinets with doors purposely left open and a sideboard with every other drawer exposed created stair steps as well as the hiding places her pets adored.
She reached into her other pocket and pulled out a bell wheel. Crouching on the wooden floor, she set the cast-iron toy on the boards and rolled it into the middle of the room. The bell housed in the metal ball between the two wheels jingled a merry tune.
“Come out and play, my little bandits,” she sang.
Velli shot out of her carpet tunnel, her brown and white elongated body navigating the narrow space with ease.
She launched herself at the bell toy, making guttural squeaking sounds as she hopped and pounced.
Not to be outdone, her brother Machi scampered out of the sideboard drawer where he kept his hoard of stolen stockings, feathers, thimbles, ribbons, and buttons.
His black overtones and larger size gave him the advantage as he tackled Velli and playfully nipped at her neck, but his sister had a few tricks up her ferret sleeves.
She pushed the wheeled bell with her head and sent it rolling in the opposite direction then outraced her brother to reach it first.
Octavia chuckled softly. “Well done, Velli. I applaud females who use their heads to best a man. Or a hob, in this case.”
She extended her right hand toward Machi, holding the meat where he could see it. His little black nose twitched before he forfeited the bell contest and moved in for a different prize.
“There’s Mommy’s good boy.”
Velli had the most energy and offered the most entertainment value, but Machi was the best cuddler.
And at this moment, Octavia required soothing more than levity.
Machi accepted the dried meat from her fingers and munched on the treat.
While he was distracted, Octavia scooped him up and carried him to the cushioned chair in the center of the room.
The floral-patterned upholstery was in embarrassingly poor shape.
Small tears and dozens of puncture wounds from ferret claws marred the fabric while scratches and teeth marks scarred the wood.
Yet the padding conformed to Octavia’s hips and back in a way that provided sufficient comfort, making it the ideal choice for this room.
Rubbing Machi’s sable-soft fur against her cheek, Octavia lowered herself into the chair and exhaled a long breath.
Clearing her mind of all the details surrounding her afternoon appointment, she focused instead on the silky texture of Machi’s fur.
Arranging him in her lap, she offered him another scrap of dried meat to munch on while she stroked his pelt, keeping one hand tucked beneath his belly to keep him from bounding away without permission.
She slowed her breathing and turned her attention inward.
Calm. Soft. Easy. Smooth. Worries slid away with each rub of Machi’s fur.
She stroked her pet just as she planned to stroke her guest’s ego.
Soothing him. Letting him think he was in control, while she secretly orchestrated things behind the scenes.
He’d be putty in her hands, just like Machi.
Wooed into doing her bidding by a few tasty treats and a bit of petting. Everything would be—
Velli pounced from the arm of Octavia’s chair into her lap, her slender masked face aglow with mischievous delight.
Machi squirmed out of Octavia’s hold, unable to resist the lure of playtime.
The two ferrets scampered down her smock then dashed about the conservatory like a pair of overzealous circus performers.
Ah, well. Ferrets would be ferrets, she supposed.
She’d return after tea with Velli’s favorite peacock plume.
Perhaps the rambunctious lady would settle enough for a cuddle session of her own after a game of snatch-the-feather.
The furry imps tended to enjoy a late afternoon nap before perking up around dinnertime.
Octavia rose from her chair, pulled her arms from the smock’s sleeves, then returned the protective garment to its hook by the door.