Chapter 13 #4
Augusta rose as well. “I am glad you stayed, Lord Brawnhite. Despite what my husband would have you believe, you were very welcome.”
Gregory bowed over her offered hand. “You are very kind, Your Grace. And I assure you I shall remember that invitation the next time Ravenhill attempts to have me removed from the property.”
That damned smile returned.
“I shall see you both at the ball, then.”
“You will,” Augusta replied.
Gregory took a step toward the door before pausing and looking back. “Ronan?”
“What?”
“I am looking forward to it enormously.”
Ronan knew immediately that the statement was not about the ball.
“I am sure you are,” he said coldly.
Gregory grinned and left. Ronan remained standing beside his chair as the door closed behind his friend.
He could hear Gregory exchanging some cheerful remark with the footman outside. Then his footsteps receded.
At last.
Ronan exhaled.
When he turned back, Augusta was watching him.
“What?”
“Nothing. It was nice this evening, though.” Augusta smiled and reached for her wineglass. “I liked him.”
“I noticed.”
The words came out more sharply than Ronan intended, and he immediately regretted his tone.
“I meant,” he continued, forcing his voice back into something more neutral, “Gregory makes himself easy to like.”
“I can see why. He is very charming.”
Ronan looked at her. Augusta took a sip of wine, apparently unaware that she had said anything remarkable. The room felt different without Gregory in it.
During dinner, Gregory had filled every gap in conversation before it had time to become uncomfortable. Now that he was gone, the silence between Ronan and Augusta seemed suddenly more noticeable.
Augusta broke the silence first. “I shall need to go into town tomorrow.”
Ronan looked toward her. “For what?”
“Shopping.”
He waited for more.
When she merely looked back at him, he realized that perhaps she expected a response.
“What do you need?”
“A few things for the ball, mostly. I have dresses, obviously, but Temperance insists that none of them will do. Apparently marriage has transformed me so completely that every gown I owned beforehand has become unsuitable.”
Ronan frowned. “Why?”
Augusta smiled. “Because I am a duchess now. Apparently there are degrees of being well dressed, and mine has changed.”
“Why do you care?” The question came out with genuine curiosity rather than criticism.
Augusta considered him for a moment. “You truly do not understand it, do you? Caring about what society thinks.”
“Not particularly. I have never been fussed about things of that sort. You know that about me.”
She looked almost fascinated by that. “You have a title older than half the families in London. You can afford not to care. People may call you rude or reclusive, but they will still invite you everywhere because you are the Duke of Ravenhill. A woman has less freedom. Everything about us is observed.”
Ronan was silent for a moment. “You must dislike that.”
“No,” she admitted. “I do not always like it. There are moments when I think half the rules exist simply so everyone has something to criticize. But they are still the rules, and I know how to follow them. It is easier than being the woman everyone whispers about, and it is better for everyone if I avoid it.”
“You are already the woman everyone whispers about.”
Augusta stared at him.
A reluctant smile appeared on her face. “That is true, I suppose. Calling a duke a murderer in the middle of his wedding did rather destroy my reputation for predictable behavior.”
“And then marrying him did little to help.”
Her smile grew. “At least now the scandal sheets cannot decide whether I am mad or romantic.”
“Mad.”
She laughed. “Thank you.”
Another silence settled between them, although this one felt easier. Augusta traced one finger absently along the edge of her glass.
“In any case, I need a gown suitable for the ball. Perhaps gloves. Temperance will probably convince me I need another dozen things by the time we are finished.”
“Then buy them.”
Augusta looked at him. “That could become very expensive.”
“I do not care.”
She blinked. Ronan frowned, uncertain why she looked surprised.
“You are the Duchess of Ravenhill,” he said. “If you require something, purchase it.”
Augusta hesitated before replying. “I suppose I am still getting accustomed to that. Charity never made me feel dependent upon her or Duncan, but I knew what everything cost. I knew I was living in their household. It was different.”
“This is your household. You do not need my permission every time you want a gown, Augusta. Or shoes. Or anything else. If there is something you want for the ball, purchase it. If there are ten things you want, purchase ten. I am not going to examine bills.”
Augusta smiled. “You may regret saying that.”
“I doubt it.”
She laughed again, and this time Ronan found he did not mind the sound at all. Perhaps because Gregory was gone.
Ronan noticed her glance away from him. Her fingers moved over her napkin, smoothing an invisible crease before folding it more carefully than necessary.
He remembered the previous evening.
“Are you still feeling unwell?” Ronan asked, before he had entirely decided to ask it. “You were pale earlier.”
Augusta looked up, faintly startled. “I am perfectly well. I told you, it was nothing. A moment’s tiredness.”
“You are certain?”
“I am certain,” she said, and there was the ghost of a smile in it now. “Though I am beginning to think you enjoy asking me that question more than you enjoy hearing the answer.”
“I simply prefer facts to guesses.”
“Then here is a fact. I am fine, Your Grace. You may stop examining me as though I am about to faint into the soup.”