A Lady of Letters (29 page)

"Good day, Miss Hadley." He turned and his boots beat a staccato retreat on the polished stone.

Augusta went inside, barely aware of the butler's greeting or of how she managed to put one foot in front of the other. As she passed by the drawing room, her mother appeared in the doorway, a broad smile on her lips.

"Augusta, my dear!"

She dragged to a reluctant halt, her ears hardly registering the rare endearment. "Yes, Mama?"

"You sly puss. Here I thought Marianne was the one going to make the splendid match."

Augusta stared in some confusion. "Marianne is engaged? She said nothing to me about—"

"Oh, do stop teasing, my dear. You know my constitution has not allowed me to go out very often these past few weeks, but I have just heard the most interesting news from Lady Framingham about the attentions a certain gentleman has been paying to you. And now I see for myself that the gossips have not been exaggerating. I vow, I hadn't dreamed it possible you could be so clever! When do we expect an announcement?"

Augusta looked utterly perplexed. "An announcement of what?"

"Why, of your betrothal to Lord Sheffield."

A look of disbelief crossed her face. "You must be joking," she blurted out, even though she knew her mother had precious little sense of humor, especially not on the subject of marriage. "I assure you, Mama. Lord Sheffield has no intention of legshackling himself to me."

"Don't use such horrid cant," snapped her mother out of habit. Then her brow puckered in distress. "What do you mean? The carriage rides, the marked preference at balls—"

"They have nothing to do with the Earl's interest in me personally, Mama. We have merely been trying to solve an... intellectual problem."

Disappointment made her mother's words even harsher. "Unnatural child," she huffed. "A chance to attach a man such as Sheffield and you can think of nothing but your silly books and stupid theories? How many times do I have to tell that you men don't find a bluestocking at all attractive?"

"I'm well aware of that fact," she answered in a near whisper.

Her mother heaved a grumpy sigh. "Well, maybe it isn't too late. Maybe the Earl has suffered some heavy losses at the gaming table and is desperate for a large dowry. At least you have that."

Augusta's eyes pressed closed. "I doubt it would be near enough."

"What was that?"

"Nothing, Mama."

"Hmmph." Her mother started back toward the settee and her tea tray. "Do try to act like a normal female when you are with him. And try not to give him a disgust of you with your odd whims and notions."

She hung her head. "Yes, Mama," was about the only answer she could manage. Why bother informing her parent that it was much too late for that. Why, the moon would turn into a wheel of Stilton before the Earl of Sheffield would cast another look at her. With such a lowering though in mind, she hurried on into the sanctuary of her study and flung her bonnet and reticule aside. Only then, seated at her desk, head buried in her arms, did she allow the bitter tears to flow.

Through the muffled sobs, she did not hear the sound of the door opening and closing a short time later. It was not until a gentle touch steadied her quivering shoulder that she was aware of Marianne's presence in the room.

"Oh Gus, whatever is wrong?" asked her sister.

Augusta didn't look up. "Please, Marianne. Right now I just want to be alone."

Her sister refused to be put off so easily. "Do you? I doubt it. You've always been a source of comfort and wisdom to me when I am upset. Why won't you let me try to be the same?

"Wisdom! Hah! What a charlatan I am to give advice." There was a waver in her voice. "Why, I'm the biggest fool of all, always thinking I have the answer."

Marianne was tactfully silent as Augusta searched for a handkerchief in her pocket and blew her nose. Then she ventured a tentative smile. "You always say it helps to talk things out in rational manner. And you are usually right. Things never seem quite as dreadful after one does."

Augusta brushed at her cheek with her sleeve. "Do I really say that? Then I'm more of an idiot than I imagined. What really makes one feel better is falling into a fit of vapors." Her mouth finally managed to form a rueful grimace. "I have considerably more sympathy for all those brainless heroines who turn into watering pots at the slightest provocation. Perhaps they are onto something."

Marianne stifled a giggle.

She blew her nose again. "In fact, I think I shall curl up for the rest of the afternoon with one of Mrs. Radcliffe's horrid novels and thoroughly enjoy all the rantings and weepings."

"Well, I am glad to see your normal sense of humor reasserting itself."

"Actually I'm being quite serious."

There was a moment of silence, then both of them couldn't repress a soft burst of laughter.

"Dear Gus," murmured Marianne, giving her a quick hug as their voices subsided. "Now out with it. What happened between you and Lord Sheffield that has you in such a rare taking?" Seeing that Augusta's spirits seemed sufficiently recovered, she essayed a bit of quizzing. "A lover's quarrel?"

That was perhaps not the best tack to take. Augusta's expression immediately lost any glimmer of her usual self. "Hardly. For that would imply there was any romantic interest in the first place." She couldn't repress a ragged sigh. "We did, however, have a certain... friendship, but now I'm afraid I've managed to destroy that. He finds me totally repugnant and wants nothing more to do with me"

"Gus, I ‘m sure that is not true. I am under the distinct impression that Lord Sheffield is, er, not adverse to your company."

"It is true. Last night he called me a stubborn, willful t...t...termagant... " Her voice had begun to quiver. "And that is not the worst of it. Today he said—" The words were lost in a snuffle.

Her sister made a number of sympathetic sounds as she patted Augusta's hand. ‘Well, that wasn't very gentlemanly of him, but I'm sure he will make a handsome apology—"

"No, he won't. I've said enough dreadful things to him that he will never forgive me." She was forced to stop, in order to blink back another wave of tears that was threatening to spill. "Why am I so awkward and outspoken? I... I wish I could be more like you—you find it so easy to be charming, to make people smile and feel at ease." She turned a watery glance at Marianne's lovely profile. "No doubt Alex would have much preferred driving out with you instead of me. He... mentioned that he found your company quite pleasant last night—unlike mine."

Her sister wisely avoided any comment on the use of the Earl's Christian name. But her expression darkened on listening to the last little confession. "Gus, now you are beginning to sound like one of the widget-headed heroines in those ridiculous books. Never say you wish to be like anyone else. I may be fortunate to be endowed with looks that gentlemen seem to find attractive, but that is hardly a credit to any of my own accomplishments. You, on the other hand, have had the wits and the courage to form your own character. You are not awkward and outspoken, rather a unique individual with a style all your own and the strength to stand up for your convictions."

Augusta was rendered momentarily speechless by her sister's passionate words.

"And furthermore, as to the Earl enjoying my company, I'll have you know what he wanted to talk about was you."

"Me! Whatever for?"

Marianne thought for an moment, torn between not wanting to lie and not wanting to ruin the plan to keep her sister out of danger. "Ah, he was inquiring as to whether I thought you might be convinced to act with a little... less rashly in regard to your investigation."

No doubt the Earl had been referring to more than that, thought Augusta as she pulled a face. "Well, unfortunately I seem unable to curb my rash behavior, no matter what the situation." She bit her lip and her fingers began to fiddle with the pen on her desk. "I shall try very hard in the future to stop and think before I act—or speak."

Her sister didn't miss the note of wistful regret in her voice. "Are you sure you don't wish to tell me exactly what caused the unpleasantness between you and Lord Sheffield this afternoon.?"

She drew the nib of the pen across a sheet of blank paper, leaving nothing but a thin scar across the surface. "It's rather... complicated.

"Then I won't press you, if you truly do not wish to speak of it." Marianne brushed an errant curl from her cheek. "But as I said, I imagine you are exaggerating any disagreements with His Lordship. I'd be willing to wager that when you see him tonight at the Yarmouth's ball, the two of you will manage to straighten things out."

Augusta shook her head. "I mean to cry off from going. I simply don't feel up to facing an evening of festivities at the moment."

Marianne fixed her with a look that mingled concern with a certain suspicion. "Gus, I trust you are not contemplating anything, well, rash?"

"Don't worry. Do go along and dress, for I know you have been looking forward to the evening. I promise I am not contemplating anything stupid."

That, of course, was a matter of opinion.

Sheffield was already regretting his harsh words as he took up his perch and guided his team back toward his townhouse. She had not deserved such a stinging set-down. It was not her fault that a simmering desire had left his feelings rather raw and vulnerable, just as it was not her fault that she obviously felt no such heated emotions towards him.

Arrogant coxcomb, he berated himself, to imagine that simply because he wished it, she would fall willing into his arms, like the legion of ladies before her.

Worse than that, he was a fool, for he had let his damnable temper cause him to lose his best friend. He had not failed to see all expression drain from her face at his cruel words and the way her eyes could not even hazard a glance in his direction after such ungentlemanly behavior. While she might have held some admiration and regard for the person she knew on paper, no doubt she now felt only scorn and disgust for the flesh and blood fellow he turned out to be.

Could he blame her?

From the very beginning it was, as she had said, like flint striking steel every time they met. Sparks flew, and though they ignited a certain heat as well, at least in his loins, they usually lit up his worst qualities. Odious. Arrogant. Overbearing. He had been all those things and more whenever they met—and argued. No wonder she hardly welcomed his embraces. Would he ever be able to win the same trust and honesty in real life that his pen had garnered with the scratch of a nib?

He drew in a long breath. And what did it matter? He had told himself he was helping the feisty Miss Hadley out of regard for her late brother, but it was becoming increasingly clear that the reason was not nearly so simple as that. Up to now, he had studiously avoided probing into his true feelings, perhaps because he feared what he would find.

Tired of a superficial life, devoid of all challenge or meaning, he has sought to commit himself wholly to something that mattered. The correspondence with Firebrand had only sparked his determination to find a new direction for his considerable energies. What he hadn't anticipated was that more than his intellect would be kindled into a white hot intensity. And he wasn't sure he was ready to make that sort of commitment.