Chapter Twenty-Six
Sebastian asked her to dine with him again the next evening, before their date at the theatre. This time, however, he asked her to accompany him to a restaurant near Bond Street.
Augusta knew what he was doing. She had known it since the moment he had apologized to her in his study. Her husband wanted her forgiveness desperately. So desperately, in fact, that it was almost sad.
But she did not believe that he wanted it because he was truly contrite.
No, Sebastian wanted her forgiveness because he wanted to no longer be plagued by the thought of what he had done to her.
He wanted her happy and content with her lot in life so that he could live in his own blissful ignorance, believing that all was well that ended well.
Instead, Augusta awoke that morning feeling furious. It seemed to be the only thing she could feel, besides numbness. Fury at her husband, which burned afresh each time she thought of him. Fury at herself for falling for him. Fury at the world for being the way that it was.
It stayed with her all day, having hardly dissipated by the time their outing rolled around. Dressed in her deep purple evening gown, with her hair done up by Milly, she squared her shoulders and met her husband in the foyer.
He looked up at her as she descended the stairs toward him. Damn the man - that sparkle in his eye could almost trick her into believing he was smitten. He really was a much better actor than she had ever realized.
“You look wonderful,” he said as she approached.
“I figured that if I am forced to get out of bed, I may as well attempt to look like a human being,” she said drolly. “Is the carriage ready?”
He nodded, his gaze still raking over the bodice of her dress. Finally, his eyes returned to meet hers. “Yes.”
She prayed that he would not do what he did next - he held out his arm for her to take. A clear challenge to her willfulness. She pretended not to notice it and swept past him to the door, where she let herself out into the cool night air.
“You should take a coat,” Sebastian said, coming to walk beside her.
“I will be fine, thank you.”
Lord bless her lying, awful husband, he did not argue with her.
Instead he walked with her to the carriage.
When she settled into her seat, he chose to sit across from her rather than next to her.
Perhaps there was hope for their marriage yet.
If they could remain icily detached forever and ever, amen, then this entire ruse might actually be seen through to the end.
They could die in silence, be buried in silence, and everyone would call their marriage a great success.
The ride to the restaurant was wordless, though Augusta did not find it completely uncomfortable. She watched the city go by, gas lamps lit up in the darkness, lending a melancholic quality to the air that appeased her mood. A soft rain began to patter against the cobblestone streets.
When the carriage parked, she took the footman’s hand instead of Sebastian’s, who did not seem in the least bit surprised.
He led her inside the warmly-lit restaurant, where the host guided them to a quiet back room.
A small, intimate table had been set up amongst only a few others, all of them populated by other couples.
In the corner, a lone harpist played. She was a waify thing, all arms and legs, but there was something about her which reminded Augusta of Ginny.
The thought struck her, seemingly out of nowhere - had Ginny ever wanted to do anything more?
They had never had such a conversation. Even with the deep intimacy of their friendship, and even with Ginny knowing all of her secrets, such a topic would be catastrophic if breached incorrectly.
Were Augusta ever to become spiteful, she could do great harm to Ginny’s dream long before it ever manifested itself.
Did she truly know any of the women in her life, then? She was not certain anymore.
“What is playing in your mind now?”
Sebastian’s soft voice broke through her distraction. She blinked, and the harp’s music returned to her, the soft candlelight of the room suddenly blaringly bright.
“What?” she asked, her mind feeling fuzzy.
“You appeared in deep thought. I wondered what it was that had you so enraptured.”
She shook her head as if to shake the thoughts away. “Nothing, I was merely thinking of Ginny.”
She thought that that might be the end of it, but Sebastian pressed on.
“How was her visit with you the other day?”
Suspicion reared its ugly head - it was, after all, Sebastian himself who had told Ginny to visit Augusta. Though Ginny had not been privy to his intentions, Augusta had no doubt that there was something more at play than mere concern for her well-being.
“It was fine.”
“You are quite protective of your friendship with her,” he said thoughtfully. “Even…” he cleared his throat, “...before. You never spoke much on it. In a way, that is how I know she must be special.”
He was correct in every way. Augusta hated that.
“We have always needed one another, I suppose.”
“In what way?”
This was genuine curiosity from her husband, she believed. For a moment, it endeared her to him, and a part of her wanted to tell him all of it - all the great and small ways that she and Ginny had saved one another in the messiness of the ton, and what it meant to her to have so dear a friend.
But that, too, could so easily be taken away. Besides, her husband was likely acting again, though she struggled to tell the difference even now. So, she said, “It is nothing. I was simply being dramatic.”
The waiter arrived then to fill their wine glasses and take their orders, blissfully filling the air with simple questions that Augusta could easily answer.
“Have you heard much of the play we are seeing tonight?” Sebastian asked once the waiter had gone away.
“No, I am not interested-”
“-in the theatre, yes, I know.” There was no small amount of defeat in Sebastian’s voice as he finished her sentence.
The conversation could have died there, if she let it.
“I am sure it will be excellent, though,” she offered up, still uncertain why she did so.
A spark of hope lit in Sebastian’s eyes. “I have heard the musical accompaniment is incomparable.”
“Oh,” Augusta offered. “That will be quite nice for you.”
Then, perhaps because she had just been musing over Ginny’s musicality, another thought occurred to her, which slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it.
“Did you ever play an instrument?”
Her question seemed to so surprise him that she may as well have slapped him in the face.
“I…erm…well, yes, actually. When I was a boy I played the violin.”
Well, if she had already asked the question, what was another? “Why did you stop?”
“Same reason all the other boys stopped playing with toys, I suppose. I grew up, went off to university. You can’t exactly run an estate by playing the violin at everyone.”
In another world, Augusta might have laughed at that.
“But you simply…gave it up, then?”
Sebastian shrugged. “Yes, of course. Putting away childish things and all that. Now I enjoy from afar.”
He said it so pragmatically, so devoid of passion, but Augusta could see some old fire beneath his exterior. Some past devastation of a love that had been taken away from him and replaced with ledgers.
Perhaps her husband would be able to understand her better than she thought. Perhaps he, too, had once been heartbroken by the way things were.
And if that were true…
No, she would not let hope bloom just yet. Not here. Hope was made for private quarters and darkened hallways, not a restaurant.
And yet, something had changed already. The rest of their dinner carried an ease which Augusta had not felt in Sebastian’s presence thus far, not even in those blissfully ignorant honeymoon days.
The ease of knowing that everything was spoken between them, for better or worse, and yet here they sat, still married, the world still turning.
Well, nearly everything had been said. All but one pertinent thing, which the clock ticked ever quicker towards. A thing which her husband would learn about almost as soon as it occurred.
Would she tell him before then?
No.
Well…
Looking at him then, as he animatedly spoke of the orchestra which would accompany whatever play they were about to witness, she could almost imagine blurting it out right there. Even more, she could almost imagine him nodding, albeit reluctantly.
It would never be what they once had. She could never return to wide-eyed, childish love for him again. But what about a partnership? Mutual respect? An alliance, even? So many greater things had come from alliances than had ever come from blind admiration.
It was too much to decide then and there. But as Augusta drifted through the rest of the evening and, dare she say it, somewhat enjoyed the play, she found that the quandary did not leave her. In fact, the questions only grew.
When they returned home that night, she was exhausted from thinking so deeply. A good night’s rest, she believed, would set her on the straight and narrow once again. If hope remained after sleep, then she would deal with it then.
She would have been happy to leave the events of the night where they were. As she started up the stairs toward her chambers, however, Sebastian’s voice stopped her.
“Augusta,” he said, and it was with that tone, and she knew what was coming next. As she turned to look at his forlorn expression, he was already saying it. “Good night. I love you.”
And damn him - damn him - why did it feel like he was not acting?
“Good night, Sebastian,” she offered back, then swept up the stairs before she could say anything more foolish.