He nodded, albeit distractedly. “Yes, yes I have. I hoped I would see you on my walk back.”
Augusta raised her brows. “Me?”
“Yes. I…well, I wanted to discuss something with you, if you have a moment.”
She had no clue what business Lord Harris might have with her, but the poor, stammering man seemed so tired and broken thatshe felt denying him his speech might send him spiraling into madness.
“Certainly.”
The man wasted no time, clearly having prepared what he was going to say.
“It is my wife. She gave birth a few months ago and she…” He swallowed and looked down, distraught. “She has not been the same since. A few weeks ago she even wondered aloud to me if she ought to be admitted, but she does not want to be away from our son. The doctors keep telling her the same advice, but nothing is working. I fear she might attempt to harm herself if something is not done.”
As Augusta listened, she could easily imagine the man’s wife - alone, isolated, needed by her baby and yet struggling to provide whatever love she could not even feel for herself.
It quickly dawned on her why he was speaking to her like this, in hushed tones with nervous eyes. And yet, she feared that saying it aloud might break her heart.
“Would you like me to speak with her?” she asked slowly, cautiously. “As a friend, of course.”
Understanding dawned in the man’s eyes. “Yes, if you could. I have heard that you are a…good friend.”
Oh, how she ached to be a ‘good friend’ to someone. Even in the relative contentment she had found in the new, platonic routine that she and Sebastian had created together, she still thought nearly every moment of those stolen afternoons with Doctor Pinkton.
Still, she shook her head. “I am sorry, Lord Harris. You will have to speak to my husband first regarding this matter.”
Lord Harris’ brow furrowed, confused. “Why, it is your husbandwho has sent me to see you.”
Augusta’s head snapped up, and a great many things changed within her, all at once.
Chapter Thirty-Three
His ribs had healed, at least insofar as Sebastian could feel, and he had been granted the sleigh rides that he had requested of his wife. They even continued to sleep in the same bed after the night at Browning’s estate, albeit with the kind of tense energy that two strangers might have if forced to share a bed.
So here he was, with everything he’d asked of her. She was back in his life, back in his room. And still, greedy as he was, he wanted more. He wanted her to look at him the way she had when he’d first asked for her hand - without reservation, completely open.
Back in London, he had quite convinced himself that if he could only get Augusta up north, could only woo her in the place where he’d envisioned his future family, then things would fall into place precisely as he had imagined them.
Sitting in his study now, watching the sun dip below the horizon, he found himself unsure if that would ever happen.
He’d begun to wonder, in fact, if it was time to give up. Not on his marriage, but on his expectations. He and Augusta had gone all the way to prison together, and still he felt the shield that she held like a Roman soldier when they spoke, or when he entered the room. Perhaps he’d need to accept that shield as the third member of their marriage.
A knock at the study door nearly made him jump. This surprised him - he had not realized how deeply he’d been woolgathering.
“Come in,” he called, then cleared his throat when he heard the disuse in his own voice.
The door crept open slowly, and he knew before he saw her that it was Augusta. She was the only person he knew who could make opening a door seem like an uncertain activity.
When she stepped through, something appeared different about her, though he could not immediately place his finger on what it was.
“Are you quite busy?” she asked, shutting the door behind her.
“No, not at all,” he said, not bothering to hide the fact that he, indeed, had very little work at all these days.
Upon hearing this, she stepped further into the room. Much further, actually. Despite their ceasefire in recent weeks, it was still rare for Augusta to close the space between them of her own accord. It was always Sebastian’s job to decide how close to get, how much to ask of her. Not today, apparently.
She came right up to his desk, allowing her delicate fingertips to brush against the oak.
“I spoke with Lord Harris this afternoon.”
