Worth the Wait

by Chasity Bowlin

  “No one who knows you would ever think such a thing, Augusta.” He couldn’t defend himself when her anger was not at him but at what others thought of her afterward and yet that very much appeared to be the source of her anger. “I was aware that you lacked the fortune that others possessed and I cared not at all. You must believe that.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Your conceit is boundless, my lord. This is not about what you felt, what you thought, what you believed. This is about what happened to me and to my life after you simply walked out of it… Oh, I received many offers after that, my lord, but none of them were for marriage. I was as ruined as any woman can be… I was no longer deemed worthy of marriage.”

  “I would have helped you,” he said. “I would have provided a dowry for you, I would have done whatever was necessary to ease your grandfather’s suffering. If you had but asked—.”

  “Would you have done so?” she interrupted furiously. “Would you have gone begging to the woman who broke your heart? To ask for something as crass as money?”

  They both knew the answer to that, so he remained silent on the matter. “I cannot change what happened and I cannot be held accountable for the actions of others.”

  “I am not holding you accountable. I am simply relaying to you all the reasons that I could never permit you to be a part of my life again… I cannot trust you. I cannot depend upon you. And I cannot live every day of my life being reminded of what I have lost when that was my entire reason for desiring to leave London behind.” She paused then, a laugh bubbling up from her that was dark and bitter, bearing no semblance at all to humor.

  When she turned away from him, her eyes were cool and distant as she stared across the fields and spoke as dispassionately as any woman could. “And yet, by painful coincidence or diabolical design, I find myself ensconced in the home of a woman who would have been my neighbor, staring across fields at a house that would have been my own, and standing next to a man who might have been my husband had he not chosen someone else. You’ll forgive me, my lord, if it puts me in an ill humor.”

  “And what would you have me say to that, Augusta? It wasn’t a choice, I never had a choice.” Years of frustration and what might have been drove him to continue, “I was put in untenable situation… If I had turned my back on Felicity after being caught in such a compromising position, it would have ruined us both. I could not do such a thing. Honor demanded it!”

  “And my honor demands that I hold onto my anger and my grudges and that I remember those who have wronged me. I cannot forget what happened to me.” Augusta stopped and drew a breath, hoping to collect herself enough to speak calmly. “I find that I am more tired from my journey than I initially believed,” she said finally. “Make my apologies to Mr. and Mrs. Atwell, please. I think I will retire without dinner this evening.”

  Hugh watched her walk away, her posture rigid and head held high. Frustrated and angered by her intractable attitude, it was all he could do not to simply march after her. He desperately wanted that kind of fire and even that fury in his life, he realized with a start. To feel something after so long, to erase the years of, as unkind as it was to admit, boredom was something he hadn’t even realized that he longed for. Not until she’d entered his life again and reminded him of all that he’d lost when he lost her.

  Augusta’s very presence made him sorely aware of just what had been absent in his marriage to Felicity. For the longest time, he’d put the deficits in his marriage and and thought of Augusta as far from his mind as possible. He’d done what he was supposed to do, what the laws of society dictated that he should. And the simple truth was that his life had not been unpleasant. Felicity had been a good wife, but she had not ever been the wife he would have chosen had the matter not be taken so resolutely from his hands.

  But it wasn’t simply a matter of reclaiming the girl he’d once loved. There were glimmers of her in the woman who’d just marched away from him with her spine stiffer than any soldier’s. To deny that Augusta was changed by her experiences, to ignore the loss of naivety and idealism in her would be to do a disservice to them both. She had been forced to deal with the harsh realities of life, loss and poverty while still not much more than a girl and she had done more than just endured it all. Augusta had survived with her honor intact, as she pulled the shreds of her pride about her like armor. If he meant to lay claim to Augusta Penworth, it would have to be as she was in the present, thorns and all.

  Chapter 7

  Augusta retreated to her room, thankful that she hadn’t run into Rachel or anyone else as she made her way back. Safely inside, she closed the door behind her and leaned back against it. Her lower lip quivered but she would not give in to tears. She’d already shed enough tears for him and for many other things and they’d never done her a bit of good. It was so like another day, many years ago, when she’d rushed from his side to cry alone in her room.

  Thinking of it all—of the hope and the disappointment, the utter disbelief when he’d sat in the small parlor of their rented and still not fine enough drawing room —left her shaken. The memories washed through her, down to the smallest detail.

  The small gold pin in his cravat had winked in the weak sunlight that had filtered through the windows. He’d looked tired then, with deep hollows under his eyes and a haunted look about him that she’d never seen. In that moment, she’d thought perhaps he’d had second thoughts.

  “Miss Penworth, forgive me for calling so late. I did not realize the hour,” he’d said in a curiously flat tone of voice.

  It was near luncheon and just a bit beyond the normal hours for a morning call, but not so much that it had sparked her concern. “There is nothing to forgive, Lord Elwynn. You are always welcome regardless of the time.” As she watched, he shifted uncomfortably, seeming nervous and so very unlike his usual self. Even as she pondered what might be wrong, he began to pace the length of the room. “My lord, won’t you sit?”

  As if realizing what he was doing, he simply halted midstride, pivoted and moved toward the small settee across from her where he finally sat. It did nothing to dispel the tension. Everything in him appeared coiled tight and ready to burst apart.

  “Miss Penworth, I spoke out of turn to you last night,” he said softly.

  Her heart stuttered in her chest, the overwhelming feeling of disappointment settling inside her like a chill. Still, she pasted a pleasantly vague smile on her face and went on. “It was a ball, my lord. Many things are said and done in such an environment that seem imprudent in the bright light of day.”

  “You’ve no idea the truth of that sentiment, Miss Penworth,” he agreed with a bitter laugh. “I spoke to you about an arrangement between us, about petitioning your grandfather for your hand in marriage… but alas, I am not now free to do so.”

  It was the careful wording of his statement that was so telling. He did not deny that he desired to wed her, only his freedom to do so, and that left only one possible conclusion. “Are your feelings are otherwise engaged?”

  “No. Not my feelings. I am… otherwise engaged… but rest assured, Miss Penworth, my heart is not in it. Nor will it ever be.” He paused for a moment as if to collect his thoughts and then continued, “Were I a different sort of man, I would throw caution to the wind and marry as I choose and not as I am now obliged.” If his father were still alive, it would not be an issue. His mother’s meddling would be in check and he’d be able to do as he pleased. But he was not, and the consequences of that loss were becoming clearer everyday. He was constrained by the rules of society, by the meddling of his mother, and by the weight of the title that now rested so heavily upon him. “But the world would think poorly of me for it and I fear that at some point, you would as well.”

  It had been such a blissful moment, she thought. When he’d said that he wished to ask for her hand, everything in her had rejoiced at the thought. Now, to hear that it was simply not to be, crushed did not even begin to describe the weight of disappoin
tment and utter humiliation that pressed down on her.

  “Obliged…” she sounded the word out carefully. “That is an unusual turn of phrase when speaking of becoming betrothed, my lord.”

  “There was a situation… it was entirely innocent, but on the surface it appeared quite compromising. If I do not marry the lady in question, she would be ruined. I cannot do that. Please tell me you understand.”

  “You were caught in a compromising situation with another woman only moments after you’d told me you wished to ask for my hand?” she struggled to make sense of what he was telling her. “Did you mean any of it? All those lovely things you’ve said and the way you’ve danced attendance on me since we met at the Somerfield ball… did you mean any of it?”

  He looked utterly aghast. “I meant all of it. Every moment between us has been sincere and when I said that I wished to ask for you hand, I had every intention of doing so… Augusta, you must understand that a man in my position—there have been women over the years, and their scheming mothers, who have attempted to persuade me less than gently to the altar. In a moment of foolishness last night, I forfeited my usual caution and this is the result, forfeit of so much more. Can you forgive me?”

  No, she thought, I can’t. But to say that he’d done the unforgivable would require that she also confess the depth of her feelings for him and now that was something that pride would never allow her to do.

  Augusta forced herself to speak as lightly as she could, “There is naught to forgive. You spoke in haste and have had to rescind your offer. I am certainly not the only woman to whom this has ever happened. While your attentions to me have been marked, no arrangement has been announced and our behavior has been circumspect enough that it should certainly all blow over after a time.”

  He frowned, “That is all you have to say? Do you not wish to rail at me, Augusta? Scream, throw things, slap my face? I deserve all of that and more.”

  She did want to rail and scream, rend her clothing like mourning women of ages past. As surprising as it was to her, given that she’d never struck another person in her life, she wanted to hit him as well. But she had never been the sort of girl to make such a scene. Her pride simply would not allow her to throw herself upon the floor and wail like a child in full tantrum, and yet that is what she desired to do above all things in that moment.

  “There is little point to such behavior,” she replied smoothly.

  “It will be announced in the papers tomorrow… my engagement to Miss Felicity Redmond. I did not wish you to be taken unaware by it.” That was not his reason for saying it. There was something in his tone that alerted her to his true desire. He was goading her now, wanting a reaction from her. She would not give it.

  “I am not taken at all, unaware or otherwise. But it is quite unseemly, my lord, for you to be calling on me alone when your engagement to another woman will be announced on the morrow. In keeping with the theme of the day and your appearance to the world as the sort of man you ought to be, perhaps it is best if you take your leave.” That the suggestion was couched as such and offered in a tone that, while cool, was still civil was a testament to the iron will of every governess she’d had as a child.

  “Augusta—.”

  “Miss Penworth,” she corrected firmly. “We are not in a situation that permits such intimacies as calling one another by our given names, my lord. Above all things, let us both remember our places here. You are engaged to another woman. Formality in our dealings is the only way to proceed.”

  He shoved a hand angrily through his hair. “I didn’t want this… I don’t want to marry her. I wanted—I still want—to marry you!”

  If he wouldn’t leave, she would. Regardless of who did the walking out, she needed to be away from him while she could still contain her tears. She rose, locking her knees to hide their trembling and to keep herself from toppling to the floor. “I cannot decide if that is more unfortunate for you, my lord, or for your bride.”

  “And is it not unfortunate for you?”

  Augusta considered her answer carefully, striving to be dispassionate enough to preserve her pride. “I could not say, my lord. I had held you in great esteem, thinking you a man of honor and a man of your word… Both of those things are now in question for me. So perhaps in this regard I am the lucky one, am I not? Still, I wish you and Miss Redmond the best. Good day.”

  She moved quickly toward the door, jerking it open far more forcefully than necessary so that it banged against the wall behind it. Her steps grew quicker until she was all but running up the stairs, her slippered feet hitting the treads hard enough to sting through the leather. She didn’t stop until she was safely in her bedroom, the door closed behind her. Only then did she let the tears fall, did she give in to the heartache that he’d wrought with such careless promises.

  The knock at her door pulled Augusta from her painful memories. She wasn’t foolish enough to think that all of the heartbreak in her life had occurred because of Lord Elwynn. It wasn’t that at all. It was simply that he’d been the catalyst of it all. He’d elevated her hopes beyond anything she’d ever expected and when she’d fallen, crashing so much lower than the place where she’d begun, it seemed impossible to ever imagine anything good coming into her life again. In the dozen years since, she’d become defensive, suspicious and judgmental. They weren’t traits she particularly liked about herself, but she felt at a loss to how to change them.

  “Augusta?” The tentative tone was quite unlike Rachel. “Are you in there?”

  “I’m here, Rachel, I’m simply very tired. I’ll get some rest and see you in the morning,” she called back.

  “I wish you’d let me in. I’m worried for you, dear friend.”

  “I’m quite all right. Utterly fine, I promise. Once I’ve had a good night’s sleep, I’ll be right as rain.”

  “Very well then. I will see you at breakfast, even if I have to drag you down to it myself.”

  “I’m perfectly fine as I am. My life is perfect fine, as well,” Augusta whispered aloud as her friend walked away. “We will have our small cottage. We’ll live a simple country life here. He will go back to town and I’ll never have to think of him again.”

  The vow rang hollow, even to her own ears. She would think of him every day. And if she were to be completely honest, she’d admit that she already did think of him every day. The thoughts were rarely kind, often bitter, and yet even buried within all of that had been the fantasy that he would come back to her. Now that dream was right there within her grasp and she was afraid to reach for it, afraid of once again losing something that was so dear.

  Removing her gown, stays and petticoat, Augusta climbed into the bed wearing only her shift. She had heavier night rails to battle the cool winter air. But most of them had been taken down by Alice to be laundered or brushed depending on their state of filth following their tumble from the carriage. It seemed a shame to disturb the girl again so she snuggled beneath the heavy coverlet instead and closed her eyes. She uttered a quick prayer for pleasant dreams not plagued by memories or wistful fancies of a man she dared not love again before drifting off to sleep.

  Chapter 8

  Luncheon was a disaster. Seated near the end of the table, as her social status and limited connection to the family dictated, Augusta found herself directly across the table from the Misses Tate. Twin sisters of indeterminate age, beyond simply classifying them as ancient crones, they were a trio of spinsters. Of course, Miss Euphegenia and Miss Esmerelda had very little to say to her, not because they deemed her scandalous or beneath their notice. Rather, the sisters were disinclined to speak to anyone beyond one another. Even in speaking to one another, it appeared they were practically speaking in code as one would begin laughing long before the other even finished her sentence. To say that the meal was awkward would be to stretch that word to the very breadth of its meaning.

  In addition to the Tates, Mrs. Constance Brandon had arrived with her sixteen year old daughter
in tow. The small house party was intended to be practice for the girl before coming out. It was Mrs. Brandon’s relation to Lord Elwynn that made her presence so unbearably difficult. She was the late Lady Elwynn’s sister and she’d been glaring daggers at Augusta from the moment they’d been introduced.

  From her position to the left of Mrs. Atwell, Mrs. Brandon addressed the group at large, though in truth her statement was intended for Augusta alone. “I heard the most alarming gossip in town before I departed. A certain young miss has eloped to Gretna Green with a man her family forbade her to see. He was a fortune hunter you see.” In a whisper that would have done any actress proud, she added scandalously, “Gaming!”

  “Who is it?” her daughter asked eagerly.

  “I cannot reveal her identity… but I will say that her last name begins with an L,” Mrs. Brandon said, clearly delighted to have the attention of everyone in the room. That her topic, given Augusta’s presence, was indelicate in the extreme, seemed to concern her not a whit. “At any rate, her family has disavowed her entirely. Let that be a lesson to you, Elaine! Marry well and marry where your family instructs or life can very difficult indeed.”

  Seated to Mr. Atwell’s right and on the same side of the table as her, Augusta could not see Hugh to know his reaction, but she could only imagine that it was unfavorable. She did not have to wonder long. The clattering of silverware as he dropped his onto the plate and rose to his feet was deafening in the room.