It felt off-putting to hear him refer to her as anything but Auggie, but she supposed that that was part of whatever he’d decided during their previous conversation with Brightwater. He was trying, now, to present her as a proper lady in the eyes of his friend, rather than a child. Much as she wished otherwise, she had the distinct feeling that Reginald had begun to approve of his friend’s intentions.
She would have to disabuse him of that later.
“Is that so?” Brightwater said with one of those bright, charming smiles that Augusta had come to understand as his signature. “You spend a great deal of time with Miss Greene, do you not?”
“I do.” She left the topic there, and was happy to find that both Brightwater and Reginald did the same. Augusta would not allow strangers into the perfect friendship she shared with Ginny, and the only way to ensure perfection, she’d found, was to never speak on the subject at all.
She poured herself a cup of tea, happy to scent that it had been richly brewed. A part of her hoped against hope that they would continue to speak amongst each other and leave her out of it.
Lord Brightwater, who had so easily read her in the library last night, did not seem to read her now. Or perhaps he did, and forged ahead anyway.
“What was your opinion on the music last night?”
She lumped several sugars into her tea, which gave her hands something to do. “Perfectly respectable, I believe, though as I’ve said, music is not my strong suit. I have neither the talent for it nor the ear.”
Best to leave it there, her deficiency hanging clear between them. She’d noticed last night that Lord Brightwater appeared to be particularly taken with music. Let him now imagine himselfshackled to a woman who could not share his enjoyment.
“I understand. I found it to be very enjoyable myself, though I suspect that that can partly be due to the air of the room.”
His wording piqued Augusta’s interest, despite herself. “The air of the room?”
“Yes. I believe that much of one’s enjoyment of music is dependent upon the surroundings of the players. A concert hall is lovely, yes, but there is an artless romance in that which is performed in a home on a dreary day. When it is raining and frigid outside, but the room is warm inside, and the gas lamps are softly lit, I find it easier to be carried away. A good player of course can always accomplish that through effort alone, but it does still aid the goal.”
It was not until he’d stopped speaking that Augusta realized just how much she’d hung onto his words. She had never, in her whole life, heard someone speak so eloquently of that feeling wherein one was enveloped by the moment and enraptured by a work of art, by watching someone become lost in creation.
It was the kind of honest observation that made her wish that she herself had made it.
“I see,” was all she said, once she realized that the silence had gone on too long and her response was expected.
“Sebastian, will you be going back to Derbyshire for the winter?” Reginald asked.
It took longer than Augusta would have liked for Brightwater to take his eyes off of her and turn them on her brother.
“No, much to Georgiana’s dismay.”
Augusta had only met Georgiana a handful of times, but each had been a pleasant experience. The girl was sweetness personified. This was no surprise to anyone who had metSebastian’s mother, who was only an older version of her daughter, though quite withdrawn. It had been his father who Augusta, on the few occasions in which she’d found herself at his estate in Derbyshire, had avoided. She had not mourned him upon his death.
Thinking of the miserable man made Augusta soften a bit toward Lord Brightwater. It could not have been easy to grow up in a house without a chance for escape from him, nor could it have been easy to inherit his estate so recently. He might have behaved ill toward her last night, but he had done no permanent damage, and in the end he was still Reginald’s friend.
“I would love to see Georgiana when she comes to debut,” she said softly, looking down at her tea. “Perhaps we could arrange a dinner after she arrives. I know it is some time away, but I am sure it will arrive quickly.”
Lord Brightwater had the good sense to look surprised for only a brief moment before he composed himself.
“I would love that. In the meantime, I am wondering if I might accompany you on a walk in Hyde Park tomorrow. The gardens there are quite exceptional, and I have heard they are excellent to sit and read in.”
It was such a clear and obvious step in his pursuit that Augusta was greatly tempted to reject him. Every step forward that he took in his perceived courtship would only make it more difficult to ensure that her messaging remained transparent; that she would not be his future bride.
Then again, she did so love the gardens at Hyde. Ginny always offered to go with her, but balked at the first hint of rain. Augusta suspected that Lord Brightwater would trudge onward even in a storm if he believed that she would accompany him. And just because she went did not mean she had to entertain him.
“I…alright. A walk.” Then, because she could not be too amiable, “But I am afraid I shall bring my book and thoroughly ignore you the whole way through.”
She’d meant it in earnest, but Lord Brightwater laughed at her nonetheless while Reginald shot her a withering look. “That is quite alright, so long as I am allowed to read alongside you. And if my book is dreadful, then I will have a great storyteller at my side to step in and fill the gap.”
Augusta ducked her head in embarrassment. “Perhaps that will occur at some point, though I believe you will be disappointed. My brother imagines much of my genius.”
“I do not believe you would have me any other way,” Reginald said lightly. “Besides, I do not imagine it. If I did, you would also be the greatest pianist to ever play, and I happen to admit that you are a foul pianist. Therefore, I am telling the truth.”
Brightwater laughed while Augusta offered a polite smile.
