“I love you, too,” she replied. It was absolutely not the first time she’d said those words.
But right then, with the intermission ending, and her husband looking at her with that same glittering in his eyes, it did not occur to her to think too hard upon it.
And several hours later, in their bedroom, she had far too many other things to occupy her mind. Namely, the letter in her hands, written by Dr. Pinkton in reply to her own letter in which she had told him about her nuptials.
Behind her, on the bed, Sebastian slept soundly. Even the light snoring in his inhales and exhales was amenable to Augusta, a kind of music that played as she read through Pinkton’s words.
I would like to congratulate you on your marriage. It may be too soon (and in poor taste) to ask, but I thought you ought to knowthat The Society of Women in Medicine is having a very private dinner this coming Wednesday evening. You are invited. It would be an excellent chance to meet the rabble-rousers face-to-face.
Augusta nearly laughed at the cheekiness of his last line. At one time, it might have angered her, but it seemed all she had time for these days was mirth. Checking over her shoulder to ensure that Sebastian was still asleep, she wrote back immediately.
It is in poor taste, as you predicted. However, I am so well-bred a lady that I shall still accept your invitation. Should I see one single brick or smell even the hint of fire, however, I shall vacate the premises immediately.
In all seriousness, Doctor, please expect nothing to come from this acceptance. I still have not made my decision, but I am very much of the mind to remain distant from the Society. Speaking on their behalf is less and less appealing with each passing day. I now have the reputation of not only myself, but my husband to consider.
In the following days, she did not receive a reply to that letter. She’d known she wouldn’t. But when Wednesday arrived, she put on a fine gown, had Milly do up her hair, and told her husband a bold-faced lie.
“I will be dining with Ginny,” she said, surprised that she did not stumble over her words.
And her husband - her wonderful, trusting husband - believed her. Without missing a beat, he called a carriage for her departure.
She thought about that lie the entire ride to the dinner.
It was held in a townhome not so far from Bond Street. Augusta asked the footman to drop her off at the back entrance, near a small courtyard.
“You may leave me here,” she told the man. Then, producing some coins from her purse and handing them to him, she added, “And perhaps we keep this location between ourselves, yes?”
The footman took her coins and offered a nod of acceptance, the same one that she had received from Milly many a time.
Having anticipated her clandestine entrance choice, Dr. Pinkton met her at the rose bushes at the back of the home.
“I see we’ve collected an escapee,” he said.
“I assume I am not the only one who has arrived under cloak of night,” she replied. “The Society would not have made it this far if everyone in the world knew of their whereabouts.”
“Too right you are,” Dr. Pinkton said, offering her his arm. She took it, some of the guilt of her lies dissipating as she returned to such a familiar order of things - her, sneaking around, doing what she loved.
He led her through the kitchen doors, past a few modest rooms, and finally into a dining room wherein half a dozen women were seated.
Augusta was not sure what she had expected the ladies of the Society to look like, but she had not expected them all to be so…so…ordinary. All were done up in fashions not so far from her own, though most of them were plainer. All seemed to be respectable, educated. All held their heads high as she entered the room, casting her curious glances.
It felt so similar to walking into a dinner in theton, though Augusta suspected that her own heart would be beating slightly less rapidly if this were such an occasion.
“I see our guest has arrived,” came the high voice of one of the women - a blonde at the head of the table. She looked Augusta up and down with cunning, fox-like eyes.
“Yes,” Dr. Pinkton said quickly. “This is Lady Brightwater, previously Browning, whom you have all heard me speak of byan alias thus far.”
Augusta offered a small wave to the group, feeling supremely silly.
“Good evening,” she said, her voice cracking a bit. It hit her that, besides her own wedding, she had never been the guest of honor before. “It is lovely to meet you all.”
“Likewise,” said one of the women, a rail-thin woman with large spectacles. “We have heard lovely things from Dr. Pinkton. We almost believed he was inventing them himself, but here you are in the flesh. He may be many things, but I suppose he is not a liar.”
A soft titter rolled through the table, and Augusta felt that they were laughing with her rather than at her, so she joined them.
“Yes, well, he does exaggerate my abilities, I am sure.”
“Nonsense,” the bespectacled woman said. “Come, come, join us.”
