Chapter Thirty-Two
Damn Sebastian for smelling like sunlight just before it gave way to dusk. For feeling like the weight of love in the bed next to her. For looking at her like that when she opened her eyes the next morning and saw him, his gaze intent upon her.
“Good morning,” he said, his voice husky.
“Good morning,” she said back, feeling terribly small and bashful.
Thus far, in her anger, she had taken every moment with Sebastian as something to get through - to painfully endure until she could take her leave. Now, it occurred to her that they still had forever together. An entire lifetime, which could be made up of “good mornings” if she so chose.
She shook the thought off and sat up. “I shall ask the maid to draw baths for us. I refuse to see your mother and Ginny in this condition.”
“I promise,” Sebastian said confidently, “Mother will be ecstatic to see the both of us, no matter what.”
*****
“I cannot believe you.”
The door to the manor had hardly opened a crack before the voice of Sebastian’s mother was ringing through the foyer. In the dimly-lit entrance she stomped toward them.
What a sight the lady of the house presented - currently in her nightgown, hair eschew, her eyes full of fury as she approached.
As if on instinct, Sebastian stepped in front of Augusta, who halted at his back. The door slammed shut behind them.
“Mother, this is not Augusta’s fault…” he started.
His words stopped his mother in her tracks, her short form halting suddenly as she looked at her son, blinking.
“Of course it’s not,” she said slowly, as if Sebastian were stupid. “This is your fault, Sebastian.”
“My fault?” he said, incredulous. “What did I do?”
“Landed my daughter in law in prison, that’s what you did,” his mother said. “And would you believe that I had to hear about it from the servants, too?”
“Lady Brightwater,” Augusta started, “I assure you, this was all my doing…”
Suddenly, the sharp eyes that had been trained on Sebastian now turned on her, instantly softening.
“Of course, love, I heard your speech was brilliant. Not quite what I expected from you, but all of us have our little secrets, don’t we?
And it was up to my son to ensure that you made it home safe after you said your piece. ”
Augusta did not know if she agreed with that. After all, she’d nearly done the whole thing without telling Sebastian in the first place. She hadn’t exactly given him great leave to concoct a solid safety plan for her.
“I promise, Sebastian was nothing but lovely the entire time,” she said, only realizing as she spoke that she was defending Sebastian, even lying for him - sans this past week, he had been anything but lovely. Even so, she found herself chafing against the new position she was in.
“While I am sure that my son has behaved himself, there is no excuse for a gentleman to allow scandal upon his family.” Then, blinking, she looked down at herself, at the state of undress she found herself in.
“Though he appears to come by it honestly. I shall go and compose myself, but…” she turned to Sebastian with a look of pure death. “We are not finished discussing this.”
“I would not dream of such an assumption,” Sebastian said, though Augusta detected more than a hint of sarcasm.
The look that his mother cast did not abate even as she turned on her heels and strode back toward the stairs, ascending them so quickly that she appeared almost as a ghost. It was then that Augusta saw a shadow on the landing quickly retreat into a darkened hallway - Georgie, no doubt, listening in on the chastisement of her elder brother.
In all of her thinking on the shame that her actions might bring, Augusta had always found herself dwelling on the ire of the faceless, shapeless ton as a whole.
It was only now that she realized that she would have to win back the affections of people who actually cared about her, however much they might appear to support her.
They had, through no fault of their own, become caught up in her scandal. She owed them something for that.
Next to her, Sebastian sighed. “It appears she will not be casting us off today. Let us go and get settled, before she changes her mind.”
He said it with a level of cheekiness, but as he forged ahead, Augusta knew that his words could so easily have become a reality. Did she not, then, owe him something too?
She did not want to think too hard upon it, and so she followed him in silence, resolving to display some additional kindnesses toward her husband, so that the nagging voice in her mind might be appeased.
*****
It had been a week, and Augusta had been nothing but kind to her healing husband.
She hated it.
Not the kindness, so much. It was nice to continue the good graces that they had found before the rally, to no longer feel that burning hatred every time she sensed that he was near. She was happy to move forward in this part of their relationship.
No, she hated the formality of it. Each night they shared a bed with respectful space between them. Each morning they said, “Good morning,” and nodded politely at one another. Each afternoon they walked the grounds as far as the weather would allow them, speaking only on pleasant topics.
Every second that they spent together, Augusta saw the restraint in her husband’s posture.
After kissing her so lovingly their first night back in Derbyshire, he had not laid a hand upon her.
Even during their promised sleigh rides together, he did not place his arm around her, but kept to himself.
Augusta should have been pleased. Instead, she was utterly bereft.
She knew that he was waiting for her to approach him, and she did not know if she had the courage to do so.
And why not? She had done nothing wrong. Though she’d wondered and worried for days after their arrival that her speech had only incited violence and rage, it was a letter from Lord Bancroft, which had arrived the morning prior, that had put all of those fears to rest.
I write this on my way north, where you shall see my sorry face in due time. I might have said all this to you in person, but it has never been my way to say anything too truthful aloud. Therefore, it will all be contained within this letter, and it would be best if it were never mentioned again.
In truth, you were brilliant. I’ll only say it once.
So brilliant that the Tories have taken notice. Not that I have much intimate knowledge of my own party anymore - my presence at the rally has, predictably, shunned me from all subsequent gatherings. To hell with them - they were all cuckholds anyways.
I have heard secondhand that there is already change brewing, no doubt from pressure from some of the wives who have been influenced by your speech. They will, no doubt, find themselves at their own rallies soon enough, goaded by henpecking.
All this to say something that could be stated much more plainly:
Damn the ton, and do as you please.
Their ire comes as quickly as it goes, and is frequently replaced with admiration once the patina of time has clouded their memories of events.
They will no longer call you brazen, but bold.
They are fickle, requiring only another scandal before the last is forgotten.
Should your speech inspire change in law, they will adjust, and claim that they always knew it was the right thing to do.
I will be in Derbyshire presently. Please tell that husband of yours that he owes me a game of cards.
Augusta kept that letter in the top drawer of her desk, and each time she opened it for a pen or fresh paper, she smiled at the letter. Somehow, Bancroft had wormed his way into her good graces, though she doubted he would stay there for any great length of time.
In forgiving him, it had become clear to Augusta that she had already forgiven Sebastian.
Her hesitance to act on the urges she had felt since the rally - to walk up to her husband and kiss him deeply, and let him take her to their room and stay there for a great long while - had largely been due to uncertainty.
If she forgave so openly, therefore giving Sebastian what he had wanted since that dreadful night in the library, would he truly take responsibility for her heart? Would he treat it differently in the future, or would it only be a matter of time before he broke it again?
These were the things she sat and thought about on an oddly warm winter’s day, wherein the sun threatened to melt the topmost layer of snow and, indeed, had already melted a large part of the trails around her new home.
It had allowed her to sneak away on her own and find a lovely bench to sit on, whereupon the sun could shine on her face and she could think of her troubles uninterrupted for a time.
She had been ruminating for nearly an hour when the crunch of dead leaves nearby pulled her back to earth. Holding up her hand to block the sun’s rays, she saw the form of their neighbor, Lord Harris, walking toward her on the trail.
She was surprised to see the man. He and Lady Harris had recently welcomed a son into the world, and most of Derbyshire had not seen hide nor hair of them since.
“Good morning,” the gentleman said as he made eye contact with Augusta. He approached, coming to sit on the bench next to her. It was at that point that she noticed the pallor of his skin and the bags beneath his eyes.
“Good morning,” she replied. “Have you just come from seeing Lord Brightwater?”
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 that she 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 husband who has sent me to see you.”
Augusta’s head snapped up, and a great many things changed within her, all at once.