“I couldn’t tell you in a million years.” She’d spent the whole morning thinking on it, wondering at what moment Lord Brightwater had even noticed her. Had she come up in one ofhis conversations with Reginald? She could not imagine a single thing her brother could have said that would warrant such sudden interest.
No, it had to be something else. She’d begun to suspect as much even before last night, which had prompted her question as to what he was playing at. But there was something so unsubtle about his conversation with her that made Augusta believe it had to have been off the cuff and authentic. Were he attempting to manipulate her in some way, surely he would have done a better job of it.
Whatever had besotted him with her must have taken over his mind so completely that even an outright rejection would not deter him.
He had been alone with her. He’d asked her such improper questions, and expected answers. And she’d given them to him. What a fool she had been in that library. She’d handed over so much information about herself to a man who would likely be gone from her life in a week or two. It had so vexed her that she could hardly work through her studies upon returning home.
Never again would she allow that to happen.
Her pacing brought her over to the window, where rain gracelessly pelted the glass in a steady rhythm. Much as Lord Brightwater had irked her last night, he’d been correct in his assessment about her love of dreariness. She wondered what it meant that he’d so easily read her emotions, despite the fact that she had not said a word.
What would it be like? To have someone in her life who could do such a thing? Who looked at her andknew, without her having to state it all aloud?
“You are lost in thought again,” Ginny said teasingly.
Augusta turned back to her friend. “Sorry. I was just…oh, I don’t know, Ginny. Am I being completely obsessive about this?”
“Yes, but it is well-deserved. Matters of the heart always are.”
Augusta did not contain her most unladylike snort. “Hisheart, perhaps. Not mine. It is not for the taking.”
“Why shouldn’t it be? You work so hard and keep so many secrets, Auggie. You hardly share about your work with me for fear of word getting out. And yet…” she lowered her voice, lest a servant be listening from the hall. “...is not the point of an alienist to allow your patients to heal and live a lovely life? You do not even let yourself live a lovely life. It is tragic.”
That was laughable, though no laughter emanated from Augusta. She’d never entertained the possibility of tragedy and romance for a single moment in her life. She’d been Piglet, and now she was a spinster who had, potentially, wasted the last three years of her life working toward some unknown end goal that, in all likelihood, would never materialize. Romance had sidestepped her life.
“You’re a good friend,” Augusta said with a small smile. “When we grow old, we are going to be the two loveliest spinsters that ever angered theton. We shall drink wine, and I shall sit in libraries all day and talk of hysteria to people who do not wish to hear of it. How is that for a lovely life?”
Ginny paused her playing. The room plunged into sudden, heavy silence.
“You deserve to be happy, you know. Truly happy. We both do.”
Augusta’s spirits, which had been bolstered by her thinking of a future in which she wasted away in fiction in darkened rooms, sank back to their normal state in a fierce collapse.
“You know I don’t believe in ‘deserve,’ Ginny,” she said, unable to bring her voice much above a whisper. “If everyone got what they deserved, we would all be in such dire straits.”
*****
There was no rest for the weary, Augusta pined: Lord Brightwater called almost as soon as she returned home. It was Reginald who came to fetch her from her writing desk again, where she’d only just begun going over her notes from the day before.
“Are you mad?” she asked him, furiously smoothing her skirts as she stepped out of her room. “My skirts are still drenched from the rain. I am hardly in a state to be presented to guests.”
Reginald hardly glanced at her skirts before he disregarded her worries. “It’s Brightwater. He will not begrudge your appearance if it means he can have your company.”
“You say that because you are his friend and a man. It is different.”
Her brother paused, cocking one brow up. “Are you saying you care so much about his estimation of your looks, then?”
Well that…Augusta would not dignify that with a response. Rather, she rolled her eyes and shuffled past him, heading for the drawing room.
Brightwater stood from his seat beside the tea trays as she entered.
“Good morning, Miss Browning,” he said. There was a slight twinkle in his blue eyes that made her decide to sit in the seat furthest from him.
“Good morning,” she said coolly. “I apologize for my appearance.”
“I assure you I find it as handsome as ever.”
Before she could offer an uninviting retort, Reginald sat on the chaise between them. “Augusta was actually busy with a friendthis afternoon.”
