After the last time they spoke when he had finally come to realize that he had done a terrible job of explaining what their fake courtship was truly about, when she realized that this whole game did not mean marriage at the end, she had become more open to the idea.
There was a possibility of friendship for them at the end of the day, when all was finalized.
Benedict was utterly fascinated by her. Although there were not much women he had conversations with, he knew that she was different from all the others. She was terribly brilliant, witty, and funny.
He smiled as she took a sip of her tea, making a slurpy sound that would be otherwise frowned upon if they were in the presence of any other.
“So, Lady Augusta. I find that there is not much I know about you, save for that you are a heroine to other women and you care not much for propriety. I would like to know more since we are in courtship after all,” he said, going through the food platter in front of them, filled with finger food.
“You are curious about me then?” she asked with a raised brow and an amused smile.
“I am,” he said simply. “There’s so much I want to know. I suppose it would be correct to assume that playing the pianoforte is not exactly a hobby you like to indulge. I also cannot see you trying your hand at embroidery. So, what do you like to do?”
She smiled. “I quite like to read.”
“Oh, as do I.” He beamed. “May I know some of your favorite titles?”
“Nothing you’d know of, Your Grace,” she said.
Benedict stared at her with a raised eyebrow. He did not know whether to be offended by her words or not. He was quite well read, not that he liked to brag about it, so there must be one thing that she had read that he knew of.
“I assure you, Lady Augusta, I am quite interested in reading so you can challenge me. If it turns out to be something I haven’t read then I will read it,” he pushed.
Instead of acceptance of his words, she looked at him skeptically. “Are you certain, Your Grace?”
“Yes, Lady Augusta. If you would care to indulge me, I really would love to hear about them.”
Instead of telling him, she dug into the basket she had carried with her and opened up a page, showing it to him.
“What’s this?” he asked, as he accepted it, extremely confused.
“It’s a novel, Your Grace.”
“Oh, I see.” Benedict was suddenly really embarrassed. He had assumed she thought herself more well-read than he was. He did not realize she meant novels.
Benedict did not read novels, although he had come across them before.
Benedict’s eyes bugled as he pored through the first few lines of the page Augusta had opened. His ears reddened.
“You mean you read this?” he asked her, completely shocked, his jaw dropping.
He snapped the book shut, looking around them like he had committed a cardinal sin before his eyes returned to her.
Augusta burst into fits of laughter, the sound catching the attention of the few people milling around, and Evan and Jane who pursed in their own conversation to stare at them.
Her hand grazed his arm as she keeled over slightly, abandoning propriety. Benedict tensed slightly, the action barely noticeable. Her hand on his arm felt great. Save for when they danced, it was one of the few times they’d had any bodily contact.
He enjoyed the feeling it elicited in him and much to his surprise, he did not think it strange. Her touch felt comforting and normal, like she was always meant to touch his arm… always there to be by his side.
Her laughter died down as she noticed what she was doing. She looked at him awkwardly, her eyes drifting to where she touched him. He suddenly felt heat crawling under his skin. He wished that she had not noticed as quickly as she did.
Augusta cleared her throat, breaking the spell of awkwardness and something else he could not quite place his finger on. She snatched her hand from his body and looked away from him.
“Where did you get this?” he asked, having recovered from his shock.
You would be surprised, Your Grace, as a lot of ladies read this,” she said, clearly enjoying his surprise.
“Ladies read this?” he queried once again, the turning the cover of the book around. “What manner of uncleanliness is that? It is so vulgar.”
