by Abby Ayles
She followed his gaze with a nervous glance of her own, forcing a smile. “Not now. I’m far too shy.”
“You’d rather talk?” Augustus asked with his own feigned innocence. “I only inquire because I wish you to feel most at ease, and conversation doesn’t seem to be high on your list of priorities.”
She stared back at him, her face pale, and he realized with a start that he’d misjudged her. She wasn’t ignorant at all, and she knew exactly how much he meant to wound her.
“I do not wish to play,” she said slowly; purposefully.
Edmund looked at his sister with a strange expression on his face. “You seem quiet today, Lucille,” he said with a question in his voice. “Are you alright?”
“I’m always quiet,” she mumbled in reply, picking up her teacup and taking a quick sip to mask her discomfort.
Augustus had a strange feeling that he was talking with them about something he didn’t fully understand; on top of Edgar’s blackmail and deception, he was ill at ease with the thought.
She looked up from her folded hands and her eyes fell on a vase of dried flowers sitting above the mantle.
“Those are lovely roses,” she said softly. “Or I suppose they were, once.”
Augustus closed his eyes briefly. She could have no idea how large her misstep had been, but he still blamed her unconsciously.
This little sprite; this wild-eyed girl trapped in a docile body had no right to speak about anything that reminded him of Lettie. And those flowers, stiff and dulled on stalks of dried grass, were one of the few memories in the home that still reminded him of his lost love.
They were in a blue and white vase, dark with age. He could still remember the way she’d looked when he’d handed them to her all those years ago - fresh and soft like the sunset that bloomed gold and red behind her.
She had taken them from him before answering the question he’d come to ask; when she’d agreed to marry him, the flowers had fallen to the wayside and she hadn’t bent again to retrieve them.
Augustus himself had picked them up when Lettie had gone home for the evening; he’d put them carelessly in a vase and forgotten them as all bachelors do.
If the marriage had gone through, Lettie would doubtlessly have discovered the dried flowers and tossed them out for fresh blooms, but instead, they had stayed in a corner of his room until he found them long after everything was lost.
Then, the dried stems had become a memento mori that he could not part with, not for anything.
He followed Lucille’s gaze there and something in him rose up, violent and surly. “They are lovely still,” he snapped. “To me.”
She looked at him with her head cocked to one side and her eyes wide and innocent. “Are they from your garden?”
He didn’t want this, any of this. He didn’t want this little waif with her wide eyes and her father’s wishes. After Lettie, he had determined to live out his days in solitude. One of his distant relatives would inherit his title when he died, and the estate would be preserved.
The idea of any other woman walking these halls where he had so wanted his beloved to walk; any other woman sitting across from him at the table or hosting parties - it was garish.
“Perhaps you would like to see the garden?” he said coldly, walking too quickly across the room.
“Perhaps you would like to inspect the house in detail? If we are to have an agreement - an arrangement, as your father so eloquently put it in his communication - then surely you deserve to ascertain the extent of my wealth?”
“That’s not what I meant.” She stood, her hands limp by her sides. Edmund stayed sitting, clearly bored.
“I was not presuming to know what you meant, my lady,” he said, almost able to taste his guilt and fury. “I was only offering what I know you wish to see so that we are not standing on pretense.”
“Lord, man. Should we leave you alone?” Edmund asked with a weak little laugh. “We can come another day.”
Augustus was tempted to agree, but before he could open his mouth, Lucille took a step forward with a hard little edge in her voice. “Actually, I would like to see the house.”
She stared at him, her eyes level with his and that deep part of her dangerously close to the surface. “And the gardens. Everything, actually. I would like to take stock of your estate, even if my brother does not wish to.”
“Of course I’ll come,” Edmund said, rising to his feet. “You need a chaperone.”
Lucille’s eyes never left Augustus’. “Right. If we didn’t have a chaperone, this entire affair would be ridiculous.”
As Augustus stared in her impossibly green eyes, the fire he saw in them and the blatant defiance in her words, sparked something in his chest – something he hadn’t felt in a long time.
A grim premonition told him that, somehow, Lord Huxley had set before him a trap he couldn’t avoid.
Alas, he wasn’t so sure he actually wanted to.
Do you want to find out how the story continues?
Click on the link below:
http://abbyayles.com/AmB026
Also by Abby Ayles
● The Lady, The Duke And The Gentleman
● A Broken Heart’s Redemption
● Falling for the Governess
● The Lady’s Gamble
● The Lady’s Patient
● Saving Lady Abigail
● Engaging Love
● Portrait of Love
● A Mysterious Governess for the Reluctant Earl
● Loving A Lady
● Redeeming Love for the Haunted Ladies
● The Secret to the Ladies’ Hearts
● Falling for the Hartfield Ladies
● Capturing the Viscount’s Heart
● The Odd Mystery of the Cursed Duke
● Secret Dreams of a Fearless Governess
● A Second Chance for the Tormented Lady
● The Lady in the Gilded Cage
● The Mysteries of a Lady’s Heart
● A Daring Captain for her Loyal Heart
● The Earl’s Wager for a Lady’s Heart
● Melting a Duke’s Winter Heart