“I am excellent, thank you.” His eyes flicked to Reginald, and he gave him a friendly nod. “Is it alright if I intrude upon your afternoon?”
“Of course,” Reginald said with only some reserve in his tone, for Augusta believed that he, too, was suspect of Sebastian’s intentions. The longer Augusta stood here, however, the more that the designs of this visit became clear to her.
This was more than social. This was a pursuit. For her, no less.It had occurred during two other seasons years ago, though neither had ended in marriage for a host of reasons. To feel it happening again at so late an age was strange, but she promised herself that she would remain polite out of respect for the dignity of Reginald’s friend.
The trio took their seats around the coffee table. Augusta poured tea for herself and the two men as they made banal conversation. She knew that they had been good friends all their lives, connecting as altar boys, then classmates, then gentlemen in society. Was it strange for him to see this odd charade playing out in front of him?
“And you, Miss Browning?”
She looked up at the sound of her name. Both her brother and Lord Brightwater stared at her in expectation of an answer to a question she had not heard.
“I apologize, I did not hear the lead-up to your question, Lord Brightwater.”
The man’s brow raised a bit, but he did not give away any indication of being terribly displeased with her.
“Auggie gets lost in thought when she’s bored,” Reginald said, though there was no censure in his voice. Only the affection of an older brother.
Augusta offered both of them a regretful half-smile. “I apologize. What did I miss?”
“Nothing but a bunch of ramblings between schoolmates, I assure you,” Lord Brightwater said, quashing Augusta’s offense easily. “I only asked if you’d be playing at the musicale tomorrow evening.”
“No, I’m afraid I have not played a pianoforte in many years. Music has never been my strength.”
“Oh? What is your strength, then?”
For a reason she could not quite understand, Augusta found her gaze flitting to Reginald, as if to say, ‘stop this, brother.’ Reginald only offered his own reserved glance between Lord Brightwater and his sister. He would not be her savior here, then.
“I don’t have a talent, I’m afraid,” she said. Even now, the lie did not feel quite correct as she said it.
“Don’t be modest,” Reginald said, and this time she did detect a slight chiding in his tone. When she looked over at him, his expression told her that he had made some decision in his mind in regards to Lord Brightwater and her. “Augusta is a very good listener.”
What in God’s name are you doing, Reginald?
“A…good listener?” she repeated, wondering if she had misheard him.
“Yes,” he said, insistent. “You can listen to anyone blather on about anything and find some commonality in it. It is a trait I rather admire in you.”
Augusta did not quite know what to make of such a fact. She understood what he had based his assessment upon, but found that she disliked it, anyhow. Was her greatest trait solely wrapped up in her ability to be silent? To let someone else do the talking?
Plastering on yet another polite smile, she turned back to Lord Brightwater.
“My brother thinks too highly of me. Surely he has had to listen to me blather on a time or two.”
“I’m sure you are everything he has said and more,” Lord Brightwater said. Congenial to a fault. “In my experience, exceptional listeners are also exceptional readers. Is that so withyou?”
Augusta felt a protest die in her throat. She wanted to deny him his little win, but the truth was that he was spot-on in his guesswork.
“I do. And you - are you a great reader?”
“No, though I always tell myself I ought to be.” There again was that self-deprecating humor, the kind that made him so very likable.
“No one ought to unless they truly enjoy it. There are other worthwhile pursuits.”
“I’d say as much. What do you read?”
“Nothing much of interest.”
“I’m interested.” The statement was clear and pointed, with no room for dissent.
