“Come in,” came her voice, more confident than it had been the last time he’d stood here.
He opened the door slowly, as if that could somehow soften his wife’s understandable anger. As soon as he saw her expression, he saw that this approach had not worked one bit.
She sat at her writing desk again, having only turned slightly in her chair to acknowledge his presence. Everything about her was guarded - her back pin-straight and tense, her face stony as though waiting for the next blow. The hand that rested upon her desk tapped away anxiously as he approached.
Lord, please let his contrition be clear upon his face, and let his wife feel merciful.
He held his hands behind his back and sighed. “I came to apologize for my behavior at breakfast this morning.”
She blinked slowly at him, likely assessing how serious he was. Finally, she sat back in her chair and folded her hands over her lap. “Alright, then. You are forgiven.”
He had to pause before he spoke, trying to keep the words he’d practiced from tumbling out of him at lightning speed. Never had he been more nervous to speak something aloud. “There is a lecture at the British Museum tomorrow. Something about that Edison fellow. I thought perhaps you might want to attend it with me.”
The seconds seemed to tick by slowly as Augusta’s icy stare refused to melt. “I am not interested in electricity.”
“Neither am I. I merely thought it would be more stimulating to you than spending an evening at home.”
“Thank you for taking the time to consider my boredom,” she said. “But I am perfectly content with stimulating my own mind.”
God, she was making this difficult.
“I would like for you to attend something with me.”
She pursed her lips and gave him a tired look, as though his very presence drained her. “What event?”
Anything. Everything.
“I shall get us tickets to the theatre for tomorrow evening,” he said, thinking quickly of something that would force them to be in close quarters for some time without the expectation of speaking to one another, as speaking seemed to lead to fighting now.
“If you insist, I shall go,” she said, sounding like someone who had just been told that they would be sent to the stables to shovel horse shit.
“Good,” he said, though he found that he did not feel good at all. He felt nervous. “I would also like for you to dine with me tonight.”
He’d expected her to bristle at this. Instead, she did something much worse; with a sigh, she conceded.
“Yes, my lord, whatever pleases you,” she said plainly, quietly, without a hint of life.
That, he thought, was his cue to leave her be. There was only one bit of business left to do.
“Augusta?”
She looked up at him expectantly, awaiting his next demand.
Mustering up his courage, he said the words that he knew shewould not repeat to him.
“I love you.”
He might as well have stabbed her, if the way the light died in her eyes was any indication. With a cold expression, she turned around in her seat and returned to her writing, as clear a dismissal as he’d ever seen.
*****
At dinner, she sat across the table from him, thus putting as much space as possible between the two of them. He made a mental note to tell the servants to set up only the seats next to one another next time.
She did not look at him. Instead, she focused on cutting up her food into miniscule pieces, though she hardly ate a bit of it.
“Do you dislike your dinner?” Sebastian asked. He had asked for roasted game hen and potatoes with sauce, as he knew she adored it.
“It is perfectly fine,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
