Engaged to a Friend (Convenient Arrangements Book 6)

by Rose Pearson

  “I should think you better than to listen to gossip,” Lady Elmsworth said, primly. “Now, Augusta, do stop being difficult and wear what I ask of you.”

  “No,” Augusta replied quite firmly, surprising both herself and her mother with her vehemence. “No, I shall not.” Taking in the look of astonishment on her mother’s face, Augusta felt her spirits lift very high indeed as she realized that, if she spoke with determination, her mother might, in fact, allow her to do as she wished. She had, thus far, always bowed to her mother’s authority, but ever since she had discovered that her marriage was already planned for her and that she was to have no independence whatsoever, she had found a small spark growing steadily within her. A spark that determined that she find some way to have a little autonomy, even if it would only be for a short time.

  “I will wear the light green silk,” she said decisively, walking to her wardrobe and indicating which one she meant. “It brings out my complexion a little more, I think.” She smiled to herself and touched the fabric gently. “And I believe it brings a little more attention to my eyes.”

  Lady Elmsworth sighed heavily but, thankfully, she set down the primrose yellow and then proceeded to seat herself in a chair by the fire, which was not lit today given the warmth of the afternoon. “You think this is the most suitable choice, then?”

  “I do,” Augusta said firmly. “I shall wear this and have a few pearls and perhaps a ribbon set into my hair.” Again, she smiled but did not see her mother’s dark frown. “And perhaps that beautiful diamond pendant around my neck.”

  Lady Elmsworth’s frown deepened. “You need not try to draw attention to yourself, Augusta,” she reminded her sternly. “You are betrothed. You will be wed to Lord Leicestershire and he is the only one you need attempt to impress.”

  Augusta hid the sigh from her mother as she turned back to her wardrobe, closing the door carefully so as not to crush any of her gowns. A part of her hoped that she would not have to marry Lord Leicestershire, for given he had not yet returned the betrothal agreement to her father, there seemed to be no eagerness on his part to do so or to proceed with their engagement. Mayhap, now that he was of a great and high title, he might find himself a little more interested in the young ladies of the ton and would not feel the need to sign the betrothal agreement at all. It might all come to a very satisfactory close, and she could have the freedom she had always expected.

  “Augusta!” Lady Elmsworth’s voice was sharp, as though she knew precisely what it was Augusta was thinking. “You will make sure that all of your attention is on your betrothed this evening. Do you understand me?”

  “We are not betrothed yet, Mama,” Augusta replied a little tartly. “Therefore, I cannot show him any specific attention for fear of what others might say.” She arched one eyebrow and looked at her mother as she turned around, aware she was irritating her parent but finding a dull sense of satisfaction in her chest. “Once the agreement has been sent to Papa, then, of course, I shall do my duty.” She dropped into a quick curtsy, her eyes low and her expression demure, but it did not fool Lady Elmsworth.

  “You had best be very careful with your behavior this evening, Augusta,” she exclaimed, practically throwing herself from her chair as she rose to her feet, her cheeks a little pink and her eyes blazing with an unexpressed frustration. “I shall be watching you most carefully.”

  “Of course, Mama,” Augusta replied quietly, permitting herself a small smile as her mother left the room, clearly more than a little irritated with all that Augusta had said. Augusta let a long breath escape her, feeling a sense of anticipation and anxiety swirl all about within her as she considered what was to come this evening. Lord Leicestershire would be present, she knew, for whilst he had not written to her directly to say such a thing, all of London was abuzz with the news that the new Marquess had sent his acceptance to Lord Stonington’s ball. Everyone would want to look at him, to see his face and to wonder just how like his brother he might prove to be. Everyone, of course, except for Augusta. She would greet him politely, of course, but had no intention of showing any interest in him whatsoever. Perhaps that, combined with his new title and his new appreciation from the ton, might decide that she was no longer a suitable choice for a wife.

  Augusta could only hope.

  “Good evening, Lady Augusta.”

  Augusta gasped in surprise as she turned to see who had spoken her name, before throwing herself into the arms of a lovely lady. “Lady Mary!” she cried, delighted to see her dear friend again. They had shared one Season already as debutantes and had become very dear friends indeed, and Augusta had missed her at the little Season. “How very glad I am to see you again. I am in desperate need of company and you have presented yourself to me at the very moment that I need you!”

  Lady Mary laughed and squeezed Augusta’s hand. “But of course,” she said, a twinkle in her eye. “I knew very well that you would need a dear friend to walk through this Season with you—just as I need one also!” She turned and looked at the room, the swirling colors of the gowns moving all around them, and let out a contented sigh. “I am quite certain that this Season, we shall both find a suitable match, and I, for one, am eagerly looking forward to the courtship, the excitement and the wonderfulness that is sure to follow!”

  Augusta could not join in with the delight that Lady Mary expressed, her heart suddenly heavy and weighted as it dropped in her chest. Lady Mary noticed at once, her joyous smile fading as she looked into Augusta’s face.

  “My dear friend, whatever is the matter?”

  Augusta opened her mouth to answer, only for her gaze to snag on something. Or, rather, a familiar face that seemed to loom out of the crowd towards her, her heart slamming hard as she realized who it was.

  “Lady Augusta?”

  Lady Mary’s voice seemed to be coming from very far away as Augusta’s eyes fixed upon Lord Leicestershire, her throat constricting and a sudden pain stabbing into her chest. He was standing a short distance away, and even though there were other guests coming in and out of her vision, blocking her view of him entirely upon occasion, she seemed to be able to see him quite clearly. His eyes were fixed to hers, appearing narrowed and dark and filled with nothing akin to either gladness or relief upon seeing her. Her stomach dropped to the floor for an inexplicable reason, making her wonder if he felt the same about her as she did about him. Why did that trouble her, she wondered, unable to tug her gaze from his. She should be able to turn her head away from him at once, should be able to show the same disregard as she had done at their first meeting, should be able to express her same dislike for their arrangement as she had done at the first—but for whatever reason, she was not able to do it.

  “Lady Augusta, you are troubling me now!”

  Lady Mary’s voice slowly came back to her ears, growing steadily louder until the hubbub of the room appeared to be much louder than before. She closed her eyes tightly, finally freed from Lord Leicestershire’s gaze, and felt her whole body tremble with a strange shudder.

  “Lady Mary,” she breathed, her hand touching her friend’s arm. “I—I apologize. It is only that I have seen my betrothed and I—”

  “Your betrothed?”

  Lady Mary’s eyes widened, her cheeks rapidly losing their color as she stared at Augusta with evident concern.

  “You are engaged?” Lady Mary whispered as Augusta’s throat tightened all the more. “When did such a thing occur?”

  Augusta shook her head minutely. “It was not something of my choosing,” she answered hoarsely. “My father arranged it on my behalf, without my knowledge of it. When I was present in the little Season, I was introduced to Lord Pendleton.”

  “Lord Pendleton?” Lady Mary exclaimed, only to close her eyes in embarrassment and drop her head.

  Augusta smiled tightly. “Indeed,” she said, seeing her friend’s reaction and fully expecting her to be aware of the situation regarding Lord Pendleton. “He has not signed the betrothal agre
ement as far as I am aware, for it has not yet been returned to my father. However, given he has been in mourning for his brother, my father has not been overly eager in pursuing the matter, believing that Lord Leicestershire—as he is now—will return the papers when he is quite ready.”

  Lady Mary said nothing for some moments, considering all that had been said carefully and letting her eyes rove towards where Augusta had been looking towards only a few moments before.

  “That is most extraordinary,” she said, one hand now pressed against her heart. “And might I inquire as to whether or not you are pleased with this arrangement?”

  With a wry smile, Augusta said nothing but looked at her friend with a slight lift of her eyebrow, making Lady Mary more than aware of precisely how she felt.

  “I see,” Lady Mary replied, her eyes still wide but seeming to fill with sympathy as she squeezed Augusta’s hand, her lips thin. “I am sorry that you have had to endure such difficulties. I cannot imagine what you must have felt to be told that your marriage was all arranged without you having any awareness of such a thing beforehand!”

  “It has been rather trying,” Augusta admitted softly. “I have a slight hope through it all, however.”

  “Oh?”

  Allowing herself another smile, Augusta dared a glance back towards Lord Leicestershire, only to see him still watching her. Embarrassed, she pulled her eyes away quickly, looking back to her friend. “I have a slight hope that he might decide not to sign the papers,” she said as Lady Mary sucked in a breath. “As he is now a marquess and an heir, what if he decides that he must now choose his bride with a good deal more consideration?” Feeling a little more relaxed, no longer as anxious and as confused as she had been only a few moments before, she allowed herself a small smile. “I might be able to discover my freedom once more.”

  Lady Mary did not smile. Rather, her lips twisted to one side, and her brows lowered. “But would that not then mean that your father might, once again, find you another match of his choosing?” she said quietly, as though she were afraid to upset Augusta any further. “Lord Leicestershire is certainly an excellent match, Lady Augusta. He is a marquess and will have an excellent fortune. Surely he is not to be dismissed with such ease!”

  Augusta allowed herself to frown, having not considered such a thing before. She did not want to be saddled with anyone of her father’s choosing, instead wanting to discover a husband of her own choice. There was that choice there that, up until the previous little Season, she had always expected to have.

  “I will simply speak to my father,” she said airily, trying to express some sort of expectation that her father would do precisely what she asked. “He will be willing to listen to me, I am sure.”

  Lady Mary’s expression cleared. “Well, if that is true, then I must hope that you can extricate yourself from this...if you so wish.” That flickering frown remained, reminding Augusta that she was now betrothed to a marquess. A Marquess who had influence, wealth, and a high title. Was she being foolish hoping that the betrothal would come to an end? Did she truly value her own choice so much that she would throw aside something that so many others in society would pursue with everything they had?

  “I...” Augusta trailed off, looking into her friend’s eyes and knowing that, with Lady Mary, she had to be honest.

  “I shall consider what you have said,” she agreed eventually as Lady Mary’s frown finally lifted completely. “You are right to state that he is, in fact, a marquess, and mayhap he is not a match that I should be so eager to thrust aside.”

  “Might I inquire as to how often you have been in his company?” Lady Mary asked, turning to stand beside Augusta so that she might look out through the ballroom a little better. “Do you know him very well? Does he have a difficult personality that makes your eagerness to wed him so displeasing?”

  Augusta winced as a knowing look came into Lady Mary’s eyes. “I confess that I have not spent any time with him at all,” she admitted, “save for our introduction and, thereafter, a country dance.” She lifted one shoulder in a half shrug whilst avoiding Lady Mary’s gaze. “Perhaps I have been a little hasty.”

  Lady Mary chuckled and nodded. “Mayhap,” she agreed, with a smile that lit up her expression. “He may very well be a very fine gentleman indeed, Lady Augusta, and soon, you will be considered the most fortunate of all the young ladies present in London for the Season.”

  As much as Augusta did not want to accept this, as much as she wanted to remain determined to make her own choice, she had to admit that Lady Mary had made some valid considerations and she ought to take some time to think through all that had been said. It was not with trepidation but with a sense of curiosity deep within her that she walked through the ballroom with Lady Mary by her side, ready to greet Lord Leicestershire again. There was a little more interest in her heart and mind now, wondering what he would say and how he would appear when he greeted her. With a deep breath, she smiled brightly as she drew near him, her heart quickening just a little as she curtsied.

  “Lord Leicestershire,” she said, lifting her eyes to his and noting, with a touch of alarm, that there was not even a flicker of a smile touching his lips. “Good evening. How very good to see you again.”

  Lord Leicestershire frowned, his brow furrowed and his eyes shadowed. “Pardon me, my lady,” he said as the other gentlemen he was talking to turned their attention towards both her and Lady Mary. “But I do not recall your name. In fact,” he continued, spreading his hands, “I do not think we have ever been acquainted!”

  Augusta’s mouth dropped open in astonishment, her eyes flaring wide and her cheeks hot with embarrassment as she saw each of the gentlemen looking at her and then glancing at each other with amusement. Lady Mary gaped at Lord Leicestershire, her hand now on Augusta’s elbow.

  “If you will excuse me,” Augusta croaked, trying to speak with strength only for her to practically whisper. “I must...”

  “You are due to dance,” Lady Mary interjected, helpfully guiding Augusta away from Lord Leicestershire. “Come, Lady Augusta.”

  Augusta let her friend lead her from the group, feeling utter humiliation wash all over her. Keeping her head low, she allowed Lady Mary to guide her to the opposite side of the room, silently praying that no one else was watching her. Glancing from one side to the other, she heard the whispers and laughter coming from either side of her and closed her eyes tightly, fearful that the rumors and gossip were already starting. For whatever reason, Lord Leicestershire had either chosen to pretend he did not know her or truly had forgotten her, and either way, Augusta was completely humiliated.

  What happens next with Lady Augusta and Lord Leicestershire? Will they continue to fight or will they find a way to respect each other? Check out the rest of the story in the Kindle Store A Broken Betrothal

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