“You should take a coat,” Sebastian said, coming to walk beside her.
“I will be fine, thank you.”
Lord bless her lying, awful husband, he did not argue with her. Instead he walked with her to the carriage. When she settled into her seat, he chose to sit across from her rather than next to her. Perhaps there was hope for their marriage yet. If they could remain icily detached forever and ever, amen, then this entire ruse might actually be seen through to the end. They could die in silence, be buried in silence, and everyone would call their marriage a great success.
The ride to the restaurant was wordless, though Augusta did not find it completely uncomfortable. She watched the city go by, gas lamps lit up in the darkness, lending a melancholic quality to the air that appeased her mood. A soft rain began to patter against the cobblestone streets.
When the carriage parked, she took the footman’s hand instead of Sebastian’s, who did not seem in the least bit surprised. He led her inside the warmly-lit restaurant, where the host guided them to a quiet back room. A small, intimate table had been set up amongst only a few others, all of them populated by other couples.
In the corner, a lone harpist played. She was a waify thing, all arms and legs, but there was something about her which reminded Augusta of Ginny.
The thought struck her, seemingly out of nowhere -had Ginny ever wanted to do anything more?
They had never had such a conversation. Even with the deep intimacy of their friendship, and even with Ginny knowing all of her secrets, such a topic would be catastrophic if breached incorrectly. Were Augusta ever to become spiteful, she could do great harm to Ginny’s dream long before it ever manifested itself.
Did she truly know any of the women in her life, then? She was not certain anymore.
“What is playing in your mind now?”
Sebastian’s soft voice broke through her distraction. She blinked, and the harp’s music returned to her, the soft candlelight of the room suddenly blaringly bright.
“What?” she asked, her mind feeling fuzzy.
“You appeared in deep thought. I wondered what it was that had you so enraptured.”
She shook her head as if to shake the thoughts away. “Nothing, I was merely thinking of Ginny.”
She thought that that might be the end of it, but Sebastian pressed on.
“How was her visit with you the other day?”
Suspicion reared its ugly head - it was, after all, Sebastian himself who had told Ginny to visit Augusta. Though Ginny had not been privy to his intentions, Augusta had no doubt that there was something more at play than mere concern for her well-being.
“It was fine.”
“You are quite protective of your friendship with her,” he said thoughtfully. “Even…” he cleared his throat, “...before. You never spoke much on it. In a way, that is how I know she must be special.”
He was correct in every way. Augusta hated that.
“We have always needed one another, I suppose.”
“In what way?”
This was genuine curiosity from her husband, she believed. For a moment, it endeared her to him, and a part of her wanted to tell him all of it - all the great and small ways that she and Ginny had saved one another in the messiness of theton, and what it meant to her to have so dear a friend.
But that, too, could so easily be taken away. Besides, her husband was likely acting again, though she struggled to tell the difference even now. So, she said, “It is nothing. I was simply being dramatic.”
The waiter arrived then to fill their wine glasses and take their orders, blissfully filling the air with simple questions that Augusta could easily answer.
“Have you heard much of the play we are seeing tonight?” Sebastian asked once the waiter had gone away.
“No, I am not interested-”
“-in the theatre, yes, I know.” There was no small amount of defeat in Sebastian’s voice as he finished her sentence.
The conversation could have died there, if she let it.
“I am sure it will be excellent, though,” she offered up, still uncertain why she did so.
