Augusta’s eyes jerked up from her plate of untouched lobster patties.
“Mr. Collingworth was asking whether you had read the latest offering from the Minerva Press.”
“I’m sorry. I’m afraid I was woolgathering.” She forced her attention back to the lively conversation taking place, ignoring the pinch of concern on her sister’s face.
It was with great relief that Augusta heard her mother’s announcement a short while later that she was tired and wished to return home instead of taking up a seat at the whist tables.The carriage was ordered and the wheels had barely started rolling over the cobblestones before a rhythm of bubbly snores, well lubricated by several glasses of champagne, indicated that Lady Farnum had fallen asleep.
Marianne regarded the rigid set of Augusta’s jaw in the flickering light. “What’s wrong, Gus?”
Augusta shifted against the squabs so that her face was nearly hidden in the shadows.
“You were out on the terrace with Lord Dunham for rather a long time,” ventured her sister. “People were beginning to remark on it. He did not ... do anything to upset you, did he? I cannot imagine that even he would be so reckless as to?—”
“There was nothing untoward about Lord Dunham’s behavior,” she said tightly. After a moment she added, “It is my own that is deserving of censure.”
Marianne looked puzzled. “Whatever can you mean?”
Augusta hesitated.How could she begin to explain her feelings?Her sister sailed through life, content to deal with the swirls and eddies on the surface waters without ever delving into the murky depths below. It was not to say Marianne was shallow—far from it. She preferred to turn her cheeks to the sun, steering away from all hint of storm. Augusta found it much more difficult to navigate such a smooth course. Somehow, she was always falling overboard into the waves and chop.
A sigh escaped her lips. There was much she could share with her sister, but there was also much that was best left unsaid.
“It’s not important,” she finally answered. “The two of us simply don’t get along, and I’m afraid I was frightfully rude again—though this time the lemonade ended up on me rather than him.”
Marianne still appeared perturbed. “I don’t understand. The two of you don’t even know each other. What could you possibly be quarreling about?”
Augusta winced inwardly at the unintentional jab. “As I said, nothing of import. And it won’t happen again. We have agreed it is best to stay out of each other’s path, so that’s an end to it.” She turned to stare out the small-paned window, making it clear that she also wished the conversation to be at an end.
Her sister took the hint and lapsed into her own private thoughts.
Augusta kept her eyes on the vague shapes and shadows that were ghosting past the carriage. Sometimes her emotions were as hard to decipher, she mused, and as quixotic as the mist swirling up from the river. It was strange how one moment everything could seem sharp and clear, only to dissolve from view in the next instant.
She longed to voice such thoughts to someone who might understand what she meant.
Edwin would have understood.But now?Her mouth quirked in an odd little smile. Why, the only person she knew who might catch the drift of her reflections was the anonymous ‘Tinder.’ His last few letters had revealed a man—she was sure he was a man—of surprising sensitivity as well as sharp intellect. He had even set down on paper a few personal musings of his own.
Her expression softened. The hints at weariness and opportunities wasted that he had let drop led her to believe he must be quite advanced in years. It was a shame, for she had certainly encountered no other gentlemen who sparked even the slightest interest for her, while he ... he intrigued her.
Then she forced a harsh laugh at herself.What a notion!That was just like her, to fashion a pen-and-paper romance in her head because she was incapable of having one with a flesh-and-blood gentleman. The fellow was probably eighty and squinted.
She gave another inward laugh. It wasn’t as if she were contemplating getting legshackled to the gentleman, merely sharing some of her private thoughts. He had been willing tobare a part of himself. Perhaps she should consider doing the same. It would be such a help to be able to voice her doubts and fears to someone else.
What possible harm was there in that?
After all, she never meant to reveal her true identity.
Four
“… And now that we have come to as close to an agreement as we are ever likely to achieve on the matter, I shall turn my pen to some of the more personal issues that your last letter raised. Be assured, my friend, that I am both honored and pleased that you feel you may unburden yourself of some of your most private hopes and fears without fear of censure or ridicule. I think I have come to know you well enough these past few weeks to understand the certain restlessness of spirit beneath your keen intellect. Perhaps it is because those of us who question the nature of things around them are dismayed at finding there are few absolute answers. But I urge you not to become disheartened by the enormity of what you cannot affect. It grieves me to read your admission that sometimes the morning seems too bleak to bother rising for, and that you feel too keenly all the ills in the world,including yourself. I know that is not so! You have a sharp mind and more of a sense of right and wrong than you care to admit. Instead of feeling angry at yourself for lost opportunity, find something that heats your blood, and I daresay you will discover it is boredom, not lack of ability, that has you feeling blue-deviled.
You should know that you are not alone in your thoughts. I, too, find myself confused at times, unable to sift through the chaff of my own doubts and fears to find the kernels of real substance. Why, just the other evening, as I was returning home from a certain festivity ….”
Marcus poured himself another brandy and returned to his comfortable leather chair by the fire. Light winked off the facet of the cut crystal glass like the bright sparks from the crackling logs. His spirits felt equally ignited. He had been right to trust his instincts and confide in his anonymous friend. It was truly amazing what a few wise words of encouragement from a kindred spirit could do.
His eyes strayed to the sheaf of papers spread over his desk. He now had the courage to put the finishing touches on what he had been working on for the past two weeks. It had been a strange sensation at first, devoting his energies to books and pamphlets rather than the mindless amusements he was used to. But now, the idea of spending an evening in the heady company of philosophers and reformers instead of with his usual cronies—whose idea of a thought-provoking discussion would be debating whether a good claret was preferable to champagne—had become as intoxicating as the copious amounts of spirits he had been in the habit of imbibing.
A wry smile pulled at his lips. No doubt most of his friends would think him dicked in the nob for what he was about to embark on. Not that he cared. He found he had truly become interested in the plight of children forced into labor, especially in the coal mines in the north. Sparked by Firebrand’s first essay, he had sought to learn more, and what he had discovered had shocked and then outraged him. How could a civilized society tolerate such abuses, he wondered, though he knew full well the answer. The people who could effect a change—people like himself—preferred to remain stubbornly blind to such ills. And they would hardly thank him for seeking to open their eyes, of that he had little illusion.
While that mattered very little, he did find himself wondering what his newfound friend would think. He was almost tempted to reveal his plan, even though that would mean giving away his true identity, for he wished the fellow’s frank opinion of his actions. Actually, if truth be told, he wished his friend’s approval, and even admiration. Like many of the feelings he had been experiencing lately, that was a novel one as well. Approval and admiration had always rained down upon him so easily that he had never consciously sought them. Yet they had come for all the wrong reasons.
