With those words, whatever fight Sebastian had had was gone. She thought he disliked who she was at her core. That might have been his gravest sin yet.
“I cannot rescind myself from the event,” she continued. “There are few moments like this in a person’s life, where they have the chance to change something for the better. I believe that if I do not take it, I will bitterly regret it.”
At her final words, her voice caught. She cleared her throat, but it was too late; her weakness had so clearly been displayed, and he could see that she hated herself for it. All he wanted to do was wrap his arms around her, to kiss the top of her head until the tears retreated, but he knew it would be wholly unwelcome.
To keep the impulse at bay, he turned to look out the window, holding his hands behind his back as he pondered.
It was ridiculous. Completely ridiculous to even consider allowing her to attend such an event, let alone be the face of it. If he did that, he might as well toss up his hands and admit defeat, admit that he had no control over his own household. It would be such an obvious loss.
Then again, he had already lost, had he not?
It was true. Whatever facade he’d maintained of lording over his household was merely that - a facade. A thin one, at that. And beneath it, he had a gambling, scandalous father, and a bad childhood, and a friend with a broken nose, and a wife who looked at him as though he were her jailkeeper.
“You would…” he started, then stopped himself, thinking some more, as though staving off the inevitable would make this whole thing go away. Finally, he finished the thought. “You would need a speech writer. If you did it.”
The silence was heavy. He resisted the urge to turn and look at her, worried as to the expression that he might find upon her face.
“Do you, erm…know of one? That I might contact?” Her voice was hardly above a whisper.
“No. But I am certain Bancroft does, and as it stands, he happens to owe me a great favor.”
He had not intended for it to be humorous, but his wife gave a sharp inhale, her signature response to anything she found funny enough to respond to, but not funny enough to laugh at. When he turned around to face her again, the slightest hint of a smile remained on her face, which was still reddened from tears withheld.
“You offered a negotiation,” he said.
“Yes,” she rushed to say. “And, while I pray you’ll be kind, I will state plainly that anything you ask of me right now I am very, very likely to give.”
“Alright, then. When word gets out about your involvement, there is likely to be a lot of unrest in theton,as you have already alluded to. I would like to go to the Derbyshire estate with you immediately afterwards. We could…” he was not sure if he wanted to voice his next words, to give life to so precious an image he had held onto.
He swallowed. “We could have the holidays there, with Mother and Georgie. Sit by the fire, sleigh rides, all of that.”
The relief on Augusta’s face was so obvious that it was nearly comical. “Of course. I will go on a thousand sleigh rides and sitby a thousand fires. Anything you wish.”
Having awoken in the cold, lonely guest room that morning, Sebastian could not believe his luck at hearing his wife’s words. He also could not believe the great misfortune that would befall him the following weekend, when his shame was bared to the entire world, plain as day. How the two feelings could exist at the same time was a mystery to him.
“Well,” he finally said, dropping his hands at his sides and feeling terribly impotent. “I suppose that settles it. I should procure a writer for you by the end of today. In the meantime, I, erm…well, I have an appointment to attend to.”
A lie, technically, as he had only decided upon the appointment at that very moment - an appointment with the famous Dr. Pinkton himself.
Augusta nodded. “Yes, of course, I shall leave you to your work. I assume we are to dine together again tonight?”
If there were one thing that could quell the rising angst in Sebastian’s chest, it would be the fact that Augusta did not sound disgusted by the idea of dining with him anymore.
“Yes. I shall update you then.”
She started, then, toward the door. Sebastian thought about not doing what he did next - he had, after all, already conceded just about everything he could concede to her. At the last moment, though, he called out her name.
She paused, turning to look back at him, her hand still poised on the door.
“I love you.”
For a flicker, the air was thick with tension, alive with uncertainty. Before, when he had said those words, he’d known for a fact that he would be met with silence. This time, he had noclue what he might be met with.
Finally, his wife let out a soft sigh. “Thank you, Sebastian. For everything.”
Then, she disappeared into the hallway.
*****
