He had her dead to rights there, and she could not denyhim. Despite her deception about her apprenticeship with Dr. Pinkton, she’d never been a very good liar.
“I…am very lucky to be dancing with you, Lord Brightwater,” she said carefully, hoping that that would be enough.
Though he gave her another curious look, he did not press the matter. Instead, he turned the subject to simpler topics.
“Are you staying with your brother here in town?”
She nodded. “Yes, for the winter. We shall travel up to Derbyshire for Christmas with our aunt and uncle, but the rest will be spent here in town. Are your mother and Georgiana still up north?”
“Yes. Georgie will be out next season. I assure you it is the only thing she speaks of.”
Augusta thought of little Georgie, who had been in leading strings the last time she had seen her. “Tell her to enjoy her youth while it is hers. It is all too fleeting.”
“You are not so much of an old crone yourself, and yet you speak as if you are.”
Even as they continued to dance, she gave a shrug. “I sometimes think I was born an old crone.”
Lord Brightwater cracked a smile, though Augusta did not think that she had said anything terribly clever. “I see. Well, please do let me know if your arthritis begins to act up or you feel the sudden urge to knit. I shall call for a doctor.”
Augusta did not laugh, as it was rare that anything ever moved her to do so, but she could not help but smile. Whatever his reasons for accompanying her tonight, he was clearly having a fine time. And he was quite easy on the eyes. “I shall keep you abreast of my ailments.”
“You said you are going to spend the winter here in London. What business do you have in the city?”
For a moment, her stomach dropped. Quickly, she plastered on a more tepid look, hoping that it did not appear too practiced. Lying by omission was one thing, but lying to a direct question was entirely another.
“Merely for entertainment. Reginald is staying as well, and I find I do well when I am near my brother’s company. I’ve spent the last several winters here.”
“Will you go to the country next summer, then?”
“No. I shall be expected to be out for a final season next year,” she said plainly as he turned her about the floor. There was, nowadays, very little shame in her near-admittance to spinsterhood.
“And if you should receive an offer during this season?” A bold question, which earned him a twitch of her eyebrow.
What exactly was he playing at by asking her such a question? Had Reginald set him up to this? Was he attempting to ascertain her feelings about marriage by sending one of his friends to question her?
If so, her next answer was of great importance.
“If that were to happen, I am certain that I would make different arrangements next summer.” It was true. However, she did not, in a million years, believe that she would be in a position to make said different arrangements.
“I wanted to ask…” he started, but soon was cut off by the rustling of couples around them. The dance had ended, leaving everyone to vacate.
Whatever his question might be, she did not wish to hear it. If it was genuine curiosity, it had best be cut off now. If it was subterfuge on her brother’s part, then she needed to get as far away from it as possible.
She dropped her hand from his and stepped back, offering a small curtsy. “Thank you for the dance, my lord, it was lovely.”
With that, she swept into the crowd, allowing herself to get caught up entirely by the bodies and their natural motions, until Lord Brightwater was entirely out of her sight.
Chapter Four
Sebastian had never felt more confused or more curious about a woman than he did the night of the Wallingford Ball.
When he had first seen her in the ballroom that evening, he’d hardly known what to make of her. Were it not for her distinct raven hair curled into ringlets that fell against her round face, he might never have been able to identify little Piglet.
He’d known of Augusta Browning his whole life, although their personal interactions had always been limited. She had merely been Browning’s little sister.
Browning himself had always been a sensible chap, though he had gone through some struggles after Oxford, having gotten himself wrapped up in opiates for a few years before returning to his usual, sober self. From what Sebastian could recall, he’d only spoken lovingly of his younger sister. Even called her ‘uncannily witty’ once.
It had been hard, at the time, to think of Piglet as being ‘uncannily witty.’
