Chapter Thirteen
She ought not to go.
She knew it. She knew that if she walked out those doors and followed Lord Brightwater into the gardens after his transparent offer, she would be walking past the point of no return.
And yet…
“Ginny, I am going to go find my brother. I shall return.”
Ginny, unable to let her friend get away with such a blatant lie, gave her a pointed look. “Enjoy the gardens, my friend. Only, do allow me to be in your wedding party. I would be so bored in the audience.”
Augusta rolled her eyes. “Oh please. I am simply going to find my brother and then I shall toddle right back to you.”
“Yes, yes, of course Auggie. Do not prick yourself on the rosebushes.”
Ginny’s trilling laughter was swallowed up by the crowd as Augusta slid between happy couples and excited debutantes.
She noted that the greatest benefit of being a wallflower was that now, when she finally did something out of the ordinary, no one was bothering to look at her.
So, as she ventured out into the garden with slow, cautious steps, she remained as hidden as a ghost.
The gardens nearest the doors were well-lit by lanterns. As such, Augusta knew instinctively that Lord Brightwater was not nearby. He preferred the privacy of their rosebush patches in Hyde Park, the quiet of her drawing room.
No, she knew precisely which route he had taken - to the right, tall rows of hedges that were poorly illuminated under the night sky.
Not quite a labyrinth in the grand sense, but something akin to it.
Without a word, but with her heart beating wildly against her chest, she slipped away from the light and onto the darkened path.
It was ridiculous. Nothing good could come from this. She could be ruined.
Perhaps she wanted such an outcome.
She could not stop the smile that forced its way onto her lips as she turned down a fresh row of hedges.
It was empty, so far as she could see. Her heart fluttered as her steps sped up.
Down the path she went, feeling for all the world as though she were flying.
So this was what it felt like to be young, to be foolishly happy, to be… not in love. But close. Terribly close.
The smile became nearly painful. A sound threatened to erupt from her, one that seemed foreign. With a start, she realized that it was a giggle. She wanted to giggle.
The hedges and their pathway came to an abrupt end, and in front of her stretched a field with a smattering of oak trees. It was beneath one such tree that she saw the tall, proud silhouette of Lord Brightwater, leaning back against it casually.
He had not yet spotted her. She paused in the shadows of the pathway, watching him. Her nervous energy ceased at once. She waited for her mind to make its usual cold assessments of his form.
It never could; her body was too wound up, her breasts aching in a way that she had not experienced before for another man, her muscles taut with the need to feel his hands against her. When it became too much, her feet moved before her mind could catch up.
She was several paces away when his head snapped up, a grin overtaking his face that made him look like a young boy on Christmas morning.
“You came,” he said, almost disbelieving. “I was beginning to worry you would stay away.”
She did not quite know what to say to that. As she approached slowly, it occurred to her that she had never been in this position before. Already, by following him out here, she had spoken volumes of her own intentions and desires. Now, she had to trust him to take it henceforth.
He stood up to his full height as she came to stand before him, her breath shallow. He looked down at her with an expression that was dark and heady. It made her shift her weight between her feet.
“Here I am,” she said plainly. “Evidently your word has carried great meaning for me.”
“I hoped it would. Might I assume, then, that you are happy for a third pursuit, Miss Browning? I do not believe you would have followed me if you were not.”
There was no denying him the truth at this point. Looking down, her face inflamed, she nodded. “I have decided to accept when something good is in front of me, Lord Brightwater.”
He furrowed his brow for a moment, as if attempting to decipher her meaning. Finally, his expression eased. “Do you often deny yourself, Miss Browning?”
Always, she wanted to say.
“Too often, yes.”
He stepped even closer, the heat of his body emanating against her. It was too close, too hot for her even in the chilled night air. She stepped around him, walking closer to the oak tree as she crossed her arms over her chest and thought.
“I do not know why you have chosen me. But as it seems that you have, I just…I thought you ought to know that I…erm, well, I no longer deny you.”
She did not know what she thought her confession to him might achieve, but she’d known before stepping foot into the garden that she was going to tell him the honest truth of her mind. It was so much easier to tell him like this, facing away.
Before she could get too comfortable in said position, his hands touched her arms from behind. She jumped, spinning to face him. His hands went to her arms once again, not roughly, but with firmness of purpose.
She could smell him; the scent of rain and parchment. Her lips parted involuntarily.
His own lips were not so very far away from hers now. She could not seem to stop looking at them.
“Miss Browning, I…” his voice was so soft, so far away. “I have something to ask you.” He said the words in a rush, almost fearfully.
The haze fell away. Augusta looked up into his eyes, which shifted around her face, taking in all of her features.
She realized all at once that this was not only going to be a declaration of love from him. No. It was going to be a proposal. She did not know how she knew, but she did. It sobered her in an instant, her mind rushing ahead of all those pesky things her body had done to get her here.
A courtship could always be temporary. Lord Brightwater, however, was going to ask her for forever, not knowing what forever with her would entail.
“Lord Brightwater…” she began cautiously.
“Please, let me say it all. I know that it has been a short time-”
She stepped back, but his grip on her arms only tightened. “Lord Brightwater, please, think about what you are doing-”
“Please, let me finish. I have spent every single day with you for weeks, and it has only intensified my desire for your company. I am like a drowning man asking for a glass of water. I have your attention for hours on end, and yet each day I go home and it is not enough. I am asking for you to give me all of your hours, Miss Browning. All of your attention. And I know that that makes me a greedy man, but it is the truth of the matter.”
He left it there, his words heavy between them in the silence of the night and Augusta’s mouth hanging open slightly.
Just like that, she understood how all the heroines in her novels felt - swept away. Beguiled. Besotted. It was all glitter and jewels, not real love, she knew, but it had worked its magic on her. Her stomach flipped backwards and forwards.
No one on earth had ever expressed affection for her like the man in front of her just had.
“I-” she started, only to realize that she did not know what she intended to say.
I think you are making a mistake. She thought it, but she did not know if she thought it of herself or of him.
Lord Brightwater had stepped even closer to her at some point. They now stood only a breath away from one another. She looked up to see him staring down at her with such intensity. Lust glazed over his blue eyes.
“I…do not think you understand what you are asking.”
Disappointment was clear in his features, but he composed himself. “Do not complicate this, Miss Browning. It is as simple as it could be. Do you want to marry me?”
It was the sincerity in his question that caught Augusta off guard. He did not, in her estimation, appear to be blustering. If anything, he appeared to be holding back.
Would she ever be certain? She did not think so.
At some point, she would have to simply accept his words and hope that they were true, would she not?
And Reginald seemed so dedicated to the idea of Lord Brightwater being the right choice for her.
Her brother had never once done anything against her better interests.
On paper, it was the right thing to do. And, if she was being honest with herself, standing here with his body so close to hers, the scent of him filling her lungs, the sight of his broad shoulders and his eyes bearing down on her, a fluttering in her stomach made her feel that it was right in more ways than pragmatism.
Still, the man deserved to know what he was getting into.
“Lord Brightwater, I am afraid that whatever image you have created of me is painted in too flattering a light.” She swallowed, unsure of how to continue.
She’d never had to explain her spells to anyone but a few doctors.
Even Reginald did not know much of her experience with them, not what it felt to go through one and come out the other side.
“I have an ailment that you ought to know about before I give any answer.”
Curiously, Lord Brightwater did not appear surprised by her confession. Indeed, the man actually nodded with a crooked, sympathetic smile.
“I understand already. Your brother spoke quite openly about it.” He paused, looking around the garden in thought before returning his gaze to her.
“Miss Browning, if I were to walk into a ballroom and lay bare the faults and ailments of everyone in attendance, I am certain we would all be astounded. Everyone has deigned to cover the worst parts of them, and yet you are rushing in to ensure that I do not make a choice in haste, to your own detriment. I have great admiration for such a sacrifice.”