Chapter Twenty #2
“Well, I think that is excellent,” she said, not adding that it would be more excellent if Greeling were not involved. “Your influence is invaluable.”
Sebastian shot her a grateful look. No doubt, he had expected some sort of chiding for keeping silent on his involvement with the Tories. Augusta may not have been able to make sense of why he had chosen to keep it a secret, but she decided not to henpeck him for it. She understood secrets.
Lord Greeling sat back in his seat and sighed. “Yes, well, we certainly have our work cut out for us. It seems that the rot of society continues to fester. Soon the maggots will have a buffet.”
Augusta winced at the crude imagery, as well as Greeling’s dire tone.
Sebastian attempted a laugh, though it came out hollow. “Surely it is not so harrowing out there.”
Greeling leveled him with a look. “You’d be surprised. If the Liberals had their way, your wife would be the one wearing your britches and filling your coffers.” With a scoff, he shook his head. “Soon we’ll be getting examined by women doctors, God help us.”
He said it with the severity of a war declaration. Augusta refused to look at Sebastian, to see his reaction to the statement. If he was anything but open, it would crush her. It was best not to know, in the end.
But she could not bite her tongue. Not after her dinner with the Society, and the bright, intelligent women whom Greeling should only hope would be willing to examine him.
“I should hope you are not insinuating that a woman doctor would be lesser,” she said steadily.
It was an act of ignorance; of course that was exactly what he was insinuating, and what every other man in the room likely agreed with on some level.
But by playing the fool, she forced Greeling to actually look her in the eye. That was a victory.
The man’s eyes narrowed, and she sensed the target that she had just placed upon her person.
“Rather outspoken, aren’t we, Lady Brightwater?”
She swallowed. “Not typically, no.”
“Perhaps politics are not proper nightcap talk-” Sebastian started to say, only to be cut off by Greeling.
“I should hope not,” the man said to her, ignoring her husband completely. “I would hate to think that Brightwater here is sympathetic to the Liberals, with a radical for a wife.”
Augusta thought she heard a choking sound emanate from Sebastian’s throat at the word ‘radical.’
“He certainly isn’t,” Lord Bancroft said resolutely, shooting Sebastian an unmistakable warning look. “I assure you, Greeling, he is on our side.”
In a flash, he sent that same warning expression Augusta’s way. She felt the sting of it right away. It ought to have cowed her. Instead, it incensed her further.
“Perhaps your side ought to try actually speaking to a woman sometime,” she said to Lord Bancroft, unable to mask the vitriol in her voice. God, she hated the prick.
“And perhaps your husband ought to learn to control his wife,” Greeling sneered, his voice rising with each word.
Augusta reared back as though she had been slapped. She opened her mouth to bite back at the beast, but Sebastian beat her to it.
“Bite your tongue, Greeling,” he said sharply. “Before I decide that being in your corner is no longer of value to me.”
Bancroft’s attention snapped to Sebastian so quickly that Augusta thought his neck might snap. The air in the room grew hot.
“Brightwater does not mean that-” Lord Bancroft started, but Greeling was already standing up.
“I believe I will be cutting my nightcap short,” the man said with no small bit of disgust. “I’d say it was an honor, Bancroft, but I do not color myself a liar.”
Before Bancroft could plead his case and convince the man to stay, Greeling was gone, striding out the door with purpose.
Augusta breathed a sigh of relief. She was not sad to see the gentleman go. Although, it did not dissipate any of the tension in the room - especially when Lord Bancroft turned his ire back on Sebastian.
“What the hell was that?” he demanded, standing up. He was already an imposing man in stature, but right then, he was positively looming.
Sebastian stood as well, likely trying to mitigate the effects of said looming. Augusta followed, curious if he was going to storm out, as well. But no; he stood his ground against his friend.
“That was me seeing Greeling for the cad that he is.”
“‘Cad that he is,’” Lord Bancroft scoffed. “He is a politician, it is practically symbiotic with being a cad. Your whole job was to assure him that he will win, and that you will be in his corner. That was all.”
“You heard the way he spoke to Augusta,” Sebastian said defensively, gesturing to her.
Lord Bancroft’s nostrils flared, rage etched into his every feature.
“You are throwing away your future for a chit and her bloody dowry,” he bit out.
“Bancroft!” Sebastian growled, irate. His eyes flew to Augusta, as though trying to ascertain her reaction.
For a moment, she did not have a reaction. The words, so strangely ordered, merely rang in her mind. Why would Lord Bancroft bother mentioning her dowry? It was so out of pocket, so irrelevant.
So why did Sebastian look so guilty?
“What?” Lord Bancroft said with a haughty, cruel laugh. “It is not as though she is above keeping secrets from you.”
He turned and looked at Augusta, and his gaze pierced into her, and she knew. By God, did she know that the man before her knew everything, all of her secrets, all of things she’d hidden so well. Soon had arrived. It would happen whether she liked it or not.
But how? How did he know?
She had no time to dwell on the question. Lord Bancroft set his own drink upon the fireplace mantle and moved closer to Augusta and Sebastian. Augusta stood, frozen in place, knowing that even if she ran out of the room right that moment, she would not be able to outrun the inevitable.
“Would you like to tell him, Lady Brightwater? Or shall I do the honors?”
Yes. The honors of ruining her life.
She had a million questions for the demon in front of her. Where had she slipped up? Why had he cared enough to know her lies? What could she have done differently? None of the answers mattered now.
Besides, she had suddenly grown mute.
“What exactly is going on here, Bancroft?” Sebastian asked, frustration clear in his voice.
“How well do you think you know your wife?” Lord Bancroft clearly spoke to Sebastian, but his deep green eyes never left Augusta.
“What are you on about?” Sebastian asked roughly. “What business do you have speaking of her?”
“What business does she have sneaking around with a common man?”
So there it was. The silence. The room tilted and everyone looked at her, and the pieces fell into place. The image - the truth of her situation - came together with slicing clarity.
She had nothing to say. Nothing at all.
Sebastian was the first to break the spell. “My wife would never be unfaithful, Bancroft. Whatever little scheme you’ve cooked up over there, I suggest you drop it now.”
“I never said she was unfaithful,” Lord Bancroft said, almost gleeful in his theatrics now that he’d captured the attention of the room. “I merely said she was sneaking around. You haven’t been cuckholded by another man, but by an entire career. Your little wife here is a practicing alienist.”
Before Augusta could even try and find her voice, Sebastian’s rang out.
“How dare you. My wife is as respectable as a woman in the ton could ever be. Are you so miserable and small that you must make up lies, then? Is your political career so insignificant that you must tell stories to keep yourself occupied?”
If ever a man had looked so hateful before, Augusta had not seen it. Lord Bancroft looked as though he was about to snap.
“I am only speaking the truth, Brightwater. You merely do not want to hear it because you have grown so sentimental over your sad Piglet. Perhaps if you had kept in mind that you only married her for her dowry, you would not be so blinded.”
A strangled sound escaped Sebastian’s throat.
“That’s what you called her, isn’t it?” Lord Bancroft asked. “A sad Piglet?”
Augusta was aware that her gut felt as though it had been punched. She was also aware that her throat ran dry and the air felt stale. But it was hard to truly feel those things when she suddenly felt deeply, unendingly hollow.
She wanted to stand tall, but her gaze flicked to Sebastian before she could stop herself. Just before he looked away, she saw the same expression from a moment before written across his face: guilt.
Piglet. What a name for a girl who had cried easily, who had been strange and obsessive and chubby, and stood up for baby pigs who could not defend themselves.
What a name for a girl who had wanted so badly to understand the bleakness of her own mind when no one else had seemed terribly interested in doing so.
Indeed, what a stupid, sad Piglet she’d always been.
“Greeling was a part of our deal,” Lord Bancroft said plainly, unperturbed by the destruction he had just wrought.
Her dowry. A deal. Hollow. Hollow. Hollow.
Whatever love she’d had, whatever flights of fancy had overtaken her these past weeks, all of them fled in an instant. All silly thoughts of ‘we’ and ‘us’ made a quick heel turn and left her mind completely. She was, once again, the dour, single Miss Browning in every way but name.
As if he knew what was occurring within her, Sebastian stepped forward, laying a hand on Augusta’s arm to hold her in place.
“Please, love, let me explain-”
She slapped his hand away and stepped back. This close, she saw every feature with new eyes. He had a few wrinkles around his eyes. His lips, which had brought her so much pleasure only the day before, now appeared to her a most unpleasantly pale color. Slight graying had begun at his hairline.
She had never noticed any of it before, because she’d never noticed anything unbecoming about Sebastian until just this moment. He’d been the dashing hero these past weeks. Now, he was just a man. Another sad, disappointing man.
“Not so different from your father after all, are you, Lord Brightwater?” she said coldly, because cold was all she could muster.
Several emotions swirled through his expression at the same time - irritation, hurt, regret. Quickly, he composed himself, appearing humble once again. Augusta noted what an actor he was, and wondered how she had missed it before.
“We should talk this over together in private,” he said. “Neither of us is in our right minds at the moment.”
“I actually believe I might be experiencing the most clarity that I have ever felt in my entire life.” A terrible, destructive impulse overtook her, and she felt the deepest urge to set her whole life ablaze if it meant that for a moment, the man in front of her might burn as well.
“Since we are uncovering secrets,” she added, “Lord Bancroft is correct. I have been acting as an alienist alongside Dr. Pinkton at the University of London, though I suppose that that shall be ended now.” Just saying it aloud made tears prick at her eyes.
“For all your schemes, it seems Lord Greeling was right; you could not keep control of your wife.”
Placid though her voice was as she spoke, her words won her the intended outcome. Sebastian looked outraged by the time she finished.
“I never wanted to control you,” he said through gritted teeth.
“No,” Augusta said with a humorless laugh, “You never wanted me at all, did you?”
His face fell, and she knew that she was right.
“I want you now,” he said weakly.
She would keep it in and hold back her tears. She could still hear the laughter of the young boys whenever she’d cried as a child in Derbyshire. Now, she was a woman in London, and she would not let them see her break.
“I do not believe I could possibly want you less,” she said.
The look of despair on Sebastian’s face gave her the strength she needed to finish this whole charade. With it, she turned on Lord Bancroft for the final time.
“You may be one of the worst people I have ever met,” she said, holding her head high. “But…thank you. For telling me the truth. It would seem you are the only one who would have done as much.”
Lord Bancroft, to his credit, appeared somewhat contrite as he looked down at the floor. Evidently, he was only now realizing what he had just done.
She felt something at her elbow. Looking down, she found Sebastian’s hand resting there, as if to stay her next words.
But there would be no staying them now. Looking from her husband to Bancroft, the two men blurred together with the rest of the room, everything flat and colorless.
“I cannot believe that I have given it all up,” she said with quiet resignation. “For someone like you.”
She turned and walked out, and when her husband tried to call out her name to bring her back, she ignored the strange clench in her empty, unbeating heart.
She made it to the hallway before her face crumpled in agony.
She made it to the carriage before the first sob tore from her, loud and ugly as she shouted a strangled “Home!” at the driver.
She managed to shut the curtains before she fell to the carriage floor, hugging herself tight because there was no one else in the world who could.