History

Like many women, Octavia’s mother had debuted, been married and lived her life as a wife and mother with minimal input surrounding the whole ordeal. Her father had a plethora of daughters and sons in good health, so it was easy for Margeret Hughes, third daughter of the Marquise of Dalhousie, to fade into the background, to develop into her own woman outside of the narrow lens society would inevitably view her through.

Her match to Jack Denver, a prominent member of the HBC had been one she had little say in, he was well-off and a desirable match, so they were wed. The love, thankfully, came later, though as she would later tell Octavia with twinkling eyes and rosy cheeks, it was well worth the time it took.

It bloomed slowly, needing to be nurtured as it grew into something able to withstand the forces of life by itself, but eventually it grew into something hearty and warm, a flame encouraged from a simple match, and then came Octavia, with her fiery red hair and her temper to match. She was a small baby, one who prompted all sorts of scepticism surrounding her capabilities and survival, but she wasn’t the sort to give up so easily. Octavia spent most of her younger years in the newly christened country of Canada, surrounded by natives and settlers alike. Her time split between being aboard ships and the different forts her father visited, Octavia grew up with a very healthy sense of adventure.

Little of her time was spent in London, though it was inevitable that she would need to return there, for her father’s business and her mother’s family, it was time spent dreaming that she was anywhere but there, much to her mother’s chagrin. Margaret had grown fond of Canada, of her life with her husband and her new companions, but like most affairs of her married life, it had taken time. A small, squirrelled away part of her perhaps dreamed that Octavia would long for English streets and English rain, for the parasols and gentle sun of garden parties and whatever else her childhood was composed of, but Octavia seemed to take after her father in that regard. She ached for the snow on her skin and a good ride through the woods. As she grew, she followed after Jack whenever she could, a wild grin on her lips as he brought her through the forests and the fields, her mother trailing after them with reluctant but steady steps.

Margaret loved Octavia, but she mourned the woman Octavia could have been.

It did not help that after Octavia, Margaret was much too frail to try for another child and as much as she wished for it, Jack was nothing but against another attempt, not if it meant losing the love of his life prematurely.

Of course, Octavia was not destined to live a quiet, predictable life like her mother as, shortly after her seventeenth birthday through a series of rough storms and poorly-made decisions, she found herself waiting at the port for a boat that would never arrive, for parents that would never see her face or the warmth of the sun again.

It would take decades for the ship to finally be located, leaving Octavia with a hollow in her heart and a farewell with no closure, but that did not matter nearly as much as what the world would do with the newly orphaned Octavia Denver, with no family aside from the hired help in Canada and relatives in England that wanted little to do with her. Perhaps on purpose, Margaret had neglected to maintain her relationships with her siblings, too many to count and too self-centred for her to entertain, so when her eldest brother inherited their father’s title and decided he wanted little to do with her and her little Canadian, it wasn’t much of an issue, until she was no longer there to determine how that would affect her daughter.

Eventually, Octavia was taken in by her grandfather’s friend, the Duke of Bedford, who wanted little to do with Octavia save for her prospects as a future debutant and the resources her family had left for her, the property that sat until she could be wed off to whomever had the best offer.

For the Duke, of course. It was only obvious that Octavia’s opinion was not exactly of the highest priority.

Though, she made her judgement known in different ways. After a myriad of (mostly suppressed) minor scandals, at the end of her season, Octavia found she was to be wed to David Cockfield, the Earl of Perth. More importantly, someone with a keen interest in Canada and its entrepreneurial opportunities. Someone to take her home. It was only a slight hindrance to their engagement that he seemed more enamoured by his childhood acquaintance, Lucile Loon, a native woman whom he hadn’t seen for at least six years.

Octavia had hardly admonished him when this had been revealed, especially considering that, after meeting the woman, she echoed the sentiment.

Once again, it would be too simple for life to proceed smoothly, for after all she had done to prevent her marriage, destiny had provided her with all she had ever wanted just to pull it away from her again. This time, it was in the form of a hunting accident that took her fiancé’s life and returned her back to England, though this time there was no evil Duke of Bedford waiting to bargain her off, instead it was her son, the gentle and noble (at least in her eyes) Francis Russell, whose new title settled upon him like a crown of thorns.

It seems that once again she is to be married off, though Francis is not as persistent and as materialistic as his father, she is not one to be lulled into a false sense of security. England is her home now, at least for the time being, and she intends to make the most of her time here, eager to make friends and enemies wherever she goes.

That part is a little simplified, Octavia doesn’t care for most people, but there are beautiful dames wherever she turns her head and she is more than keen on making use of her newfound freedom to forge some very pretty companionships.