Her surroundings returned to her with sharp clarity. A presence stood behind her chair, and it was talking to her. Sebastian. Who let him in here? Or had she forgotten to tell the staff not to permit him?
“Augusta,” came his insistent voice, a desperation in his tone that was barely concealed.
“Hm?” she grunted, turning her head slightly to acknowledge him, though not enough to see him in her peripheral.
There was a short silence, during which time she dared to hope that he would turn and leave. No such luck for her.
“I was hoping you might join me for breakfast.”
Augusta looked down at the parchment in front of her, devoid of any words. Not even a ‘no.’
“I can give you some time, as well, if you’d prefer,” Sebastian said, less confident this time. “Perhaps we could meet tonight in my study. Before dinner.”
Dinner - ah, yes, she would have to dine with him. If she did not feel so tired, she might be able to feel deep fear at the prospect. Maybe if she respected him more, she would find it within her to cower a bit.
Alas, she did not, and she had nary a thought in the whole world that she wished to convey to him.
“Augusta, we will need to speak eventually.”
She was no longer certain that that was true. If words remained lost on her, then by all accounts this could go on forever. Likely, that would be preferable to him. A silent wife who left him alone.
Distantly, she was aware of his retreat. The door slammed upon his exit.
Then a few days went by, and she did not note them, and she did not feel them. She was vaguely aware of speaking to Milly, but nothing that either of them said stuck with her. Ginny called one day, and Augusta refused her to stay in bed.
At one point, she thought she felt a depression in the bed, a heavy weight next to her and someone stroking her hair. When she awoke, however, there was no one.
In past spells, Augusta had always felt moments of reprieve from the oppressive wall that seemed to fall upon her. But this spell felt different. It so wholly consumed her every waking thought that, in some of her worst moments, she wondered if she was even real.
On the fifth day of this, she awoke with clearer vision. The worst of the fog appeared to have lifted, leaving only aching joints and a dry mouth in its place.
Her bedroom door opened. Milly stepped into the room and cleared her throat. Augusta nearly missed the sound, as it was so hesitant and light, but finally it reached her ears. She lifted her throbbing head.
“Dr. Pinkton is here to see you,” Milly said.
Oh, heavens. Surely he was here to ask her on another visit, which she would have to refuse. Then she would have to relay the embarrassment of being found out.
“I shall be down in a moment,” she said. An over-confident statement, seeing as how she was still in her dressing gown.
“Of course, ma’am,” Milly said with a small curtsy, before retreating back into the hallway.
With a groan that was most unflattering, Augusta swung her legs over the side of her bed and planted her feet upon the cold floor. The pressure in her head peaked, then dissipated slightly. Slowly, the room around her came into sharper focus.
When she felt ready, she stood with a wobble and dressed in the nearest clean frock. She did not bother to put her hair up - she was certain Dr. Pinkton had seen more scandalous things, and she could not imagine putting in the effort to change her hair when she knew, deep down, that she would only be returning to bed as soon as he left.
The drawing room door was already open as she approached.
Dr. Pinkton sat in the chair nearest the tea table, pouring himself a cup. He looked up when she entered, but did not stand. That particular formality was not unknown to him, but she knew that he did not see her as a superior worth standing for. In a way, the inaction bolstered her spirits, and she recalledthat feeling she had had when he’d called her his colleague.
“Lady Brightwater,” he said with a polite nod as she sat in the chair next to him. “I know you have told me to write before I call, but you did not answer my letter the other day. I figured a direct attack was required in order to get your atten-”
He cut himself off, eyeing her with a furrowed brow.
“You are ill,” he said with absolute confidence.
“No,” she said quickly, though it came out in a rasp, as she had not spoken at all today. She cleared her throat and attempted a smile, which felt wholly unnatural. “No, I am quite well.”
“You are not. What is it? Are you in another spell?”
