by Eva Devon
Philippa suddenly looked sheepish.
"You did this?" Augusta gasped.
Philippa defended quickly, "Well, not exactly. I mean, it's not as if I shoved you into his arms."
Augusta’s mouth dried and the room swung about her as Phillipa’s confession crashed down on her. “No, you just shoved me into a hall and forced him to marry me."
"I did not force him to marry you!” Philippa protested vehemently. "He absolutely could have turned you out into the street and never had anything to do with you. He's a good person, so he married you. And, Augusta, you deserve someone like him. Someone strong who can support your abilities.”
Augusta was horrified. "How could you do such a thing, Philippa?" "I did it for you. I did it for all of us.” Phillipa lifted her chin. “This way Felicity can be married too."
"Oh, Philippa," Augusta cried. "What have you done?"
"I've made it so that you can be happy,” Phillipa insisted. Then she added, as if it justified her dubious matchmaking, “I've seen how happy you've been in these weeks."
"But now," Augusta said through gritted. "Now every day I am full of anxiety and worry because he seems so desperately unhappy to be here with me."
Phillipa blanched. "You said you didn't think it was you."
"Well, I don't think it's entirely me.” Augusta swallowed back a dose of panic. “But what if we go back to London and he does not wish to be with me at all?”
Phillipa shook her perfect blonde coils. “He won’t do that. I’m certain—”
“Don’t be foolish, Phillipa!” she blurted, wishing her sister was not so sweet or innocent. “You don't understand. He's barely spent any time—"
Phillipa grabbed her hand and whispered, “Augusta people are staring."
Augusta frowned. "I don't know if I care that they're staring." "Well, you should,” Phillipa rushed. “This is a celebration for the school that you're opening."
That was true, Augusta realized. She really should try to put in a very good effort because she wanted the school to go well, and so she forced herself to smile and slipped her hand from Phillipa’s.
"We shall discuss this later.” She squared her shoulders, even as she longed to sink into the floor. “Oh, Philippa,” she breathed, “I know you meant well, but what a disaster."
Philippa frowned. "I refuse to believe this is a disaster. I did the right thing."
“No,” Augusta said firmly, leveling her sister with a loving but honest stare. “You did not, Philippa. You did a very wrong thing indeed."
And with that, Augusta walked away from her sister, barely able to understand how Philippa could have played with people's lives so fiercely.
Did she dare tell Adam the truth?
She should.
She did not like the idea of secrets between them at all. So as horrified as it made her, she began making her way to him.
There was no time like now. Long ago, she'd learned that prevarication and procrastination only resulted in more pain.
She could not hold the secret. If she tried, it would only grow harder and harder to speak to him.
Augusta’s chest felt crushed with tightness at the horror of how he’d been forced to wed her. To do the right thing.
But in the end, that was her husband. A man who did the right thing.
Would he ever forgive her for this?
All she knew was that she had to tell him. She could not bear to keep it secret. That was not the kind of person she was. No. She'd seen the way that secrets and darkness rotted at people's souls. As she crossed the room to him, she felt as if a great void was opening up between them and that she was going to step in at any moment and fall to her ruin and damnation.
Slowly, he turned to her, spotting her from the corner of his eye.
Adam arched a brow, clearly sensing something was amiss. Then, much to her shock, he strode to her quickly and took her hand in his.
"What is it?" he asked, concern deepening his voice. “What has happened?”
Tears stung her eyes. After all his distance, to see the way he responded to her obvious distress only deepened her agony.
She drew in a shuddering breath. “I need to speak to you immediately."
"Come then," he said, and despite their guests, he whisked her out into the hall and into a small secluded study.
Slowly, he faced her and took her hands in his. “Tell me," he said, "what can I do to be of aid?"
The coldness and distance that had been in him vanished in an instant as he urgently seemed to take her care and consideration into his hands.
"Tell me, Augusta, what is it that I can do?"
She shook her head, horrified. "I cannot bear this."
"You will have to bear it,” he urged. “Now tell me."
Silly, silly tears filled her eyes, but she blinked them away. She did not wish to force his sympathy. “You will hate me forever."
He shook his head, then gently cupped her cheek. “I’ve never hated anyone except for perhaps my father."
Unable to bear his gaze, she looked down, but then she realized what a coward that made her.
“I'm sure that you shall hate me now,” she said, studying his face.
"Then tell me whatever it is,” he repeated, "and we shall see if I am correct or you."
She smiled, despite herself, at that. "One of us must be right.” “Yes," he agreed, smiling too. "One of us always has to be right. It is the nature of us."
"You asked me if I caught you on purpose in the hall at that ball,” she began, her body shaking.
He was still, calm, but wary. “Yes.”
"I did not,” she whispered. Augusta cleared her throat and bit out, "But my sister did. You seemed to think it was possible and I could not believe that Philippa would do such a thing, but she did. She shoved me into that hall and she left me knowing that I would encounter you with my gown in that state."
He drew up slowly, saying nothing for several moments, before a wise knowing look filled his dark gaze.
"Oh, Augusta,” he said, "you're so kind. Of course Philippa did." She blinked. “You knew and you’re not angry?"
"Why would I be?” He gave a slight shrug of his broad shoulders. “I'm not surprised at all. Philippa is the most mischievous sort and she loves you dearly, and I can tell that she desperately wished to help you. I thought for several weeks that she likely did such a thing. You don't seem the foolish type to head into a hall alone, and I don't think that your sister conveniently just left you there."
She struggled to understand how he could take this so easily. "You don't hate us?"
"How can I hate you?” he asked simply. “You did the very best that you could, and you, Augusta, certainly did nothing out of maliciousness.”
He let out a dry laugh. “Neither did Philippa. It was incredibly misguided, and I think Philippa thinks that she knows what's best for everyone. She'll learn the hard way that's not true, but I'm not going to condemn you and make you feel horrible for something that I'd already surmised. Your family had little recourse.”
She winced. "Good God, what you must think of us."
"I think nothing poorly of you, Augusta.” He tucked a lock of her hair back behind her ear. “I actually admire you and your sisters greatly."
"Then why are you so distant?" she dared to ask. "Why have you vanished from me?"
He stilled, his warmness fading. "I cannot speak of it now."
"Why not?" she urged, shocked by how imperative it felt to know what troubled him now that he had eased her fears. "Look what happened when I told you my secret. You don’t hate me as I thought you would. Tell me, and all will be well."
“Augusta," he said tightly, his voice strained with emotion. “It is a vow I made a long time ago and I don't think that I can bear to tell you.”
“I am worried for you. The more distant you become, the harder this is.” Her words tumbled out of her mouth so quickly, she did not even think as she finished, “I'm falling in love wit
h you."
She gasped and put a hand over her mouth as if she admitted to something that she never believed that she could say aloud.
He stilled at that. "Please don't say such a thing."
“Why,” she demanded boldly, knowing she could not go back now and feeling oddly free for having said it. “It is the truth.”
"Oh, Augusta,” he gritted. “Of all people, I never thought you could love me.”
“And you don't love me," she surmised, even as her heart spasmed.
He met her words with silence, his stony face unreadable.
She wished to run, but she did not. Instead, she drew in a fortifying breath.
"You don't have to love me," she said. "You never promised that you would, but you also don't have to withdraw from me like you're doing."
He remained silent, and she wanted to shake him just as she'd imagined shaking him that morning over her tea when she'd studied her completely destroyed financial accounts and read the article about his gambling. She'd wanted to shake him for his loss of opportunity, and now she wanted to shake him again for potentially throwing away their future happiness.
A muscle tightened in his jaw and fear danced through his beautiful gaze. “It has been made very clear to me since my return here that I cannot permit you to be close to me."
The words crashed down upon her like blows. “Whatever has made you think thus? It is sheer foolishness.”
"Please," he said. "I know that you've known much unkindness in your life, and if I could protect you from myself, I would, but I cannot risk falling in love with you. Forgive me,” he said. "I never promised you love. You cannot expect it from me."
"No," she said tightly. “I cannot expect it from you."
Each word was like a barb in her throat, and she wished that she could stop him and stop herself.
"I saw a glimpse of something between us,” she said, even as she felt herself losing her chance at love with every word. “I thought perhaps we could have happiness together—”
"Augusta," he cut in. "There's no such thing as happiness. I thought you were so pragmatic, so practical, but now I see that it is actually you who is the romantic, not I. I am the practical one, and you are the dreamer."
"You don't believe in happiness at all?" she gasped.
His shoulders sank and he could not meet her gaze. “I haven't believed in happiness in years, Augusta."
And with that, he turned from her and strode away, taking her future with him and all the hopes she'd slowly been forming over the last weeks with him in London.
What a fool she'd been to think that he could love her. A rake wasn’t capable of love. Oh, he mightn’t be the rake she’d thought. But in the end, she had not been mistaken. The Duke of Blacktower was a man who did not fall in love. And he was a man who would never embrace the privilege he’d been born with. And he would never choose her. That? That was the truth and it hurt. It hurt more than she ever could have imagined.`
Now, with his departure, she stood in the hallway of one of the greatest houses in the land, completely alone. And she would be alone for the rest of her life.
She fought back a sob, but it tore up her throat and crashed from her mouth. She stumbled forward.
Tears stung her eyes.
She couldn't cry.
She couldn't cry now. She had too much to do. There was a whole host of people out there waiting for her, and yet she could not. She could not face them, could she?
Yes, she could.
Augusta drew up, straightening her spine.
She was made of stone.
She'd been made of stone her whole life, and the one moment when she decided to try to allow herself to be vulnerable, it had all been snatched from her.
Slowly, she turned back towards the doors which led toward the ballroom. She lifted her head high and dashed the tears from her cheeks. She sucked in a long breath and faced what she had to. She had a duty to perform, and she had to leave him and her heart behind.
Chapter 32
Adam urged his horse over the rugged moor back towards the elaborate stables of his ducal estate. He crashed through the darkness, not giving a damn, for he knew this land well. It was in his bones, even if he hated it.
Hell consumed him as he cut towards the house as the last stars of night began to fade. Even the wild ride had not been able to drive Augusta from his thoughts.
Pain coursed through him, but not physical pain. Not really. It was his heart, his damned heart. It ached with so much passion and pain that he could barely countenance it. How could so many years of suffering and fighting that suffering finally come to the surface in one evening?
Why the blazes had she had to say that she loved him? His throat tightened at the very thought of the word.
All his life, he tried not to hurt people, as his father had done. But Augusta? He'd hurt her. The agony had shone in her stricken eyes.
He cursed himself.
He'd fail her. Just as he'd failed. . .
He jumped down off the stallion onto the cobbled courtyard. A sleepy stable boy ran forward, his cap cocked to the side over his disheveled hair. Adam handed the reins off to him with a quick nod of acknowledgment.
Drawing in a fortifying breath that barely touched the thoughts circling around his head, he strode towards the house. The gravel crunched beneath his boots and he savored the feel of it biting into his leather soles.
There was only one way to make his pain and endless thoughts of failure stop. A bottle of brandy. But just as he was about to take the steps and head to his study, a footman rushed towards him with surprising purpose.
"Your Grace,” the young man said tightly as he held out a silver tray with a small sealed missive on it. “An urgent message for you."
Adam stared at it as if it could stab him. He knew the danger of urgent messages.
Dawn laced the horizon with a soft blue light now. The soft glow stretched towards him and the foreboding contents of the note.
If the emptiness of the stables was an indication, most of the guests had already left and any stragglers would be departing before the sun could rise over the horizon.
Adam snatched the letter, striking the wax.
In it, he read a report that sent a chill through his veins. The young man that Felicity, Augusta’s lovely, kind-hearted middle sister was so desperately in love with was being discharged from the military for dishonorable conduct.
He had a record of several misdeeds over the past and throughout the empire. Those misdeeds had finally caught up with him.
Bloody hell.
This was who Augusta's young sister wished to marry? An absolute scoundrel?
He had to put a stop to it somehow. He crumpled the note in his fist.
He had to find the man and send him off.
Should he go without telling Augusta?
It didn't seem the right thing to do, but nor could he bear the idea of seeing her at present.
No, he'd pen her a letter. It was the only thing he could do. He could not face her, though he hated to admit his cowardice.
As soon as he’d written the missive, he'd head to London immediately to try to stop Captain Barrow. Yes, perhaps somehow then he could make amends.
Would it be enough? He doubted it.
There was one thing he could never give Augusta, and that was what she wanted.
His heart broke at it. His heart, his wretched heart, which he'd not allowed to feel anything in years. Now it seemed to feel everything. He could scarce draw breath. The pain of the past, the pain of the present, they were both coming together in some awful hurricane of woe and worry and pain. He'd let down everyone. He'd let down his first wife and their child.
They'd died alone. And now he was letting Augusta down too.
What kind of man was he?
A worthless one, that was the kind of man he was. And yet he could not give into love, to that terror of losing again.
Was that what it was? It wasn't some great
vow on his part to honor the memory of his first wife? Was he simply afraid? God, what a coward he was.
He took the letter and stormed into his study. He whipped out a sheet of parchment and he began to write. There was only one thing he could do to possibly make Augusta smile again, and that was to take care of her sisters. If he could not take care of her heart, at least he could take care of all of them.
Chapter 33
Aside from the fact that Augusta's heart was broken, the evening had been a tremendous success. Her marriage was over in every meaningful way, and yet somehow she had won over the lords, ladies, and merchants of the county.
She should have been overjoyed. It was a mark of achievement for herself and for all young ladies everywhere.
She did not feel triumphant.
Even though she had insisted she would make her heart stone, she felt an impending dread knowing that her life would stretch on and on without the love that she had so foolishly let herself hope for.
Philippa, her well-meaning, wonderful youngest sister, who she loved more than anything, had tried to give her happiness. She couldn't be angry at her. Not really. After all, that's all Philippa had wanted—for Augusta to be happy.
It meant a great deal that Philippa had wanted her happiness so much. Still, she did not know now if she could ever be happy again. She would, of course, have to try. She was not made of weak stuff.
Her heart, her silly heart that she had always assumed was so very strong, was now splintering apart.
She tried to square her shoulders, something that usually always kept her in line when everything felt as if it was falling apart, but they did not wish to square. No, they wished to curve and slump inward as she crossed the foyer touched by dawn’s light.
Now where were her sisters?
She knew they had not gone to bed as of yet.
They had danced every dance until the last guest had left and they had helped to bid everyone goodbye. But towards those last few moments, she had noticed that Philippa was still waving to everyone, thanking them for coming.
But Felicity? Felicity had vanished.
Augusta frowned. That wasn’t like Felicity to suddenly disappear from a party.
A footman approached her quickly. "Your Grace, your sister left this for you."