She could not speak at the demonstration. The Society of Women in Medicine was the kind of group made up of women who were, at their core, the angriest of creatures, and they wanted everyone to know it. They screamed in public places and wrote horrid letters to Parliament filled with profanities. It was not the behavior that Augusta believed would earn women the sympathy that they needed in order to progress.
To speak for them would be an endorsement. Such an endorsement would be dishonest at its core. Augusta did, indeed, want the law to change to allow women more chances to work in hospitals and asylums. Indeed, for women to work anywhere they pleased, titled or not, wealthy or not.
But she did not see the need to yell and break things for it, nor did she think that there was merit in bullying one’s way into being heard. She could act as a lady to the fullest extent and allow others to see her worth within her work once the time came. Such behavior was what had earned her a spot at Dr. Pinkton’s side as an alienist, albeit completely in the shadows.
Besides, had the Society’s meager changes to law ever amounted to anything? For all the riots and rage, their efforts did not always translate to true, identifiable outcomes. All of that public disgracing of their character, and for what? Only a fewbluestocking women in positions worthy of note. Hardly the great stride forward that the Society so petitioned for.
Then again, she could not say that her own hands were clean of disgrace. Augusta might not have shouted or burned buildings, but she’d done a great many other, more surreptitious activities. From the moment she’d begun attending lectures and meeting with Dr. Pinkton in smoky cafes, she’d been acting in great deceit.
None had known of it but Ginny, who’d only given her greatest support. When Augusta had earned the attention of other alienists, the silence she’d kept only grew in magnitude as she’d attended quiet functions outside society filled with conversation, all without alerting Reginald to her clandestine actions.
Soon enough, nearly all of Augusta’s life was kept in the silence of her mind. It was all she thought about, and yet none of it ever crossed her lips unless she was near Dr. Pinkton or Ginny.
Yes, it had been terribly sneaky and wrong. But it had only felt sneaky and wrong for the first little while. And besides, it had never harmed her obligations in society. She had attended every ball at Reginald’s behest and hosted every houseguest with the utmost civility. If her independent studies did not cause troubles for anyone, then it could not be so bad at all, she’d reasoned.
Well, if things did not change soon, then none of it mattered all that much in the end, anyways. Without her work with Dr. Pinkton, she had no idea what kind of hand she would have in the alienist community. Perhaps none.
Just thinking about it made Augusta tense and worried. No, she could not do this speech. She could hardly guarantee her own future in psychotherapy; how could she ever try to presume the future of anyone else’s career? To fight in a battle with so uncertain a victory? She could be completely cut off and tossedaside, only for the law and the minds of everyone in London to remain steadfast in their obsolescence.
She was no warrior. Only an earl’s near-spinster sister.
A knock at her bedroom door surprised her to such a great extent that she jumped, nearly spilling her ink across her parchment.
“Oh, drat,” she muttered, settling the bottle to a safer place and stuffing her notes into the top drawer of her desk, as she had done only the other day.
“Come in,” she called, turning around in her chair to face her intruder.
Reginald stepped through. “You have a caller.”
Damned Pinkton. He hadn’t even written to warn her. What more could he want from her today? He’d already asked for the impossible.
“Tell him to wait,” she said sullenly. “I shall be finished soon enough.”
Reginald furrowed his brow. “Aren’t you curious as to the identity of the caller?”
“It is Dr. Pinkton, is it not?”
“No, actually, though if he has your attention so, I ought to demand an audience with him soon. Your caller now is Lord Brightwater.”
Augusta’s head snapped up. “Brightwater? What could he possibly want with me?”
“I assure you that I have already asked him the exact same question. He says that you two were unable to finish a conversation at the Wallingford ball last night. He intends to finish it now.”
Unable to finish, indeed. Lord Brightwater had been a veritablefountain of questions during their waltz the evening before.
She scoffed. “Don’t worry, I am sure this will be short. I am assuming you will be our chaperone?”
“If you’d rather, I could fetch a maid, but otherwise you are stuck with me, yes.”
She waved away his false modesty. “No, no, you would be better suited. Then the two of you can continue to socialize after I’ve made my exit.”
As she walked with Reginald toward the drawing room, she wiped the ink from her hands and composed herself into her most proper form - shoulders back, chin tucked slightly, hands firmly at her sides. By the time she stepped through the drawing room door, she was the picture of respectability.
Sebastian stood at the window when they entered, looking down at the street below. He turned upon hearing them, and gave Augusta a smile so radiant that she felt the sudden urge to turn around and run, for anything so bright was surely suspicious in nature.
“Miss Browning,” he said. “How are you this morning?”
“I am well, thank you.” She paused to await his response, before realizing that she had not asked after his own condition. “And you?”
