Perhaps because of their unhappy conversation at breakfast, Reginald had asked nothing of her affairs when Augusta called for the carriage that evening. She hadn’t even needed to use the lie that she had made up, which was that she was going to call on Ginny.
As she headed toward her actual destination, which was a small gathering near the University of London, she wondered what itmight be like if someone were sitting in the carriage next to her. Someone who cared for her, who wanted to listen to her blather on about the finer details of her work.
Then, she banished that thought completely; even if she were to be so foolish as to marry Lord Brightwater, she would never be able to tell him her secrets. She would be as alone as ever in her endeavors.
When they pulled up to the hall, the driver - whom she had paid off handsomely all these years, and would continue to do so - dropped her off at the back, as was their usual custom.
Inside, the hall was largely darkened. This was fine by Augusta. She had never been spotted at one of these events, but anything to help disguise her identity was greatly appreciated. Over the years, she’d even become cautious as to who she was introduced to, so as not to let word get back to her brother. Thankfully, these academic types were often so stuck in their work that they hardly took notice of her name. As she always left her title out of it, little room had been left for word to get out.
Tonight she took a seat at the back of the lecture hall, encased by shadows as much as possible. Despite the dark, she knew precisely who slid into the seat next to her just before the speech began.
“Pinkton,” she said quietly in greeting, not bothering to look at the man.
“Browning,” he said in return. After a short pause, he said with faux casual airs, “You know, if things were different, you could be sitting right up front without shame.”
She rolled her eyes. Leave it to the man to bring up the topic within seconds of seeing her.
“I told you that I would consider the speech, and that is precisely what I am doing. Considering it. If you would like me to stopconsidering it, then please do press the matter.”
She did not need to look at him to know that he was smiling.
“We have your first house call with Lady Wallingford next week. I shall write to you the location and time to meet me. Be discreet.”
Augusta turned in her seat to look at him, wide-eyed. “You are joking. She is ready for us so soon?”
“I am quite as serious as I could be.”
She could hardly contain herself. However, before she could express the unmitigated glee she felt, the speaker walked up to center stage and addressed the audience, and everyone went quiet.
The speaker, if she was being honest, was terrible. Which was likely why her mind wandered so quickly to less academic topics. Namely, Lord Brightwater.
Only, that was not the only place her mind wandered to. No, she thought greatly of courtship as a whole, and her heretofore unhappy experiences with it.
Lord Grayson, an earl in his late thirties. He’d been kind to her early on, and she had found herself falling for him. Not foolishly, as she’d assumed true love would feel, but enough so that she’d been able to glimpse a happy future.
The man had run at the first spell of hers. Granted, it had been a particularly bad one - several weeks of few words and bad company had been enough for his affection to disappear, along with all intentions of a proposal. If she had been able to feel anything at the time, she would have been devastated. Instead, she’d awoken from her spell just in time to witness the destruction it had left behind, and had to move onward as though nothing had occurred at all.
Her thoughts flitted to Lord Brightwater. To the way he had looked at her in the park yesterday with unmistakable heat in his eyes. With a fresh perspective, she saw him anew. Not as a person to be denied, but as a true potential suitor.
If, in fact, she did let him court her with any degree of seriousness, then there were a few obvious things to recommend him. He was handsome. Ladies always tittered when he was around.
Though her conversations with him had largely been against her will, she could admit even to herself that he had some eloquence. A rare trait. There was never a long lull or uncomfortable silences. He appeared somewhat permissive of his sister Georgiana, which could translate into him being permissive of a wife, as well.
That is, if his sudden, unexplainable affection for her could withstand the test of time. Lord Grayson had liked a great many things about her figure and disposition, but it had not been enough to maintain his interest when things became difficult. Lord Brightwater might have some starry-eyed notions regarding her, but how likely was it that they were true enough to last all the way to the altar?
In that vein, what could it hurt to let him show a little interest? She had survived Lord Grayson’s disappearance from her life. She could simply enjoy the attention Lord Brightwater now gave, and then wave it away when he inevitably rescinded said attention. Everyone involved - herself, Brightwater, Reginald - could exit the situation without hurt feelings. They could know that a courtship was attempted and merely fizzled out, as these things tended to do.
And that was all it had to be.
She tried to return her mind to the lecture, the topic of which she had already forgotten, hoping that her newfound resolutionwould offer her mind some clarity. But try as she might, she could not fight the sensation of Lord Brightwater’s hand against her mouth.
Chapter Ten
The day of the Haversham Ball, Sebastian awoke with a smile on his face. For the first time since his father’s passing several weeks before, he felt lighter, more like he had at Oxford when he, Browning, and Bancroft would mess about without a care.
He had a great many cares now, but it seemed at the moment that all of them were being looked after. His father’s debts would soon disappear, and his family’s fortunes would be secured. He would marry a woman who, despite her dour countenance, intrigued him, and who made him lie awake at night thinking of the way her breasts spilled out over the neckline of her gown.
They had spent nearly every day together since that day in Hyde Park. He either called on her at home, where they drank tea with Reginald and spoke of appropriate topics, or they walked in the park, where they spoke more loosely with one another, though Miss Browning never strayed much fromton-approved talk.
