Then came the rumble, low and quiet and menacing. “Once more. Just once more, Dragon, and I’ll bluidy well haul ye back to Northumberland myself.”
“Don’t be stupid, boy. More powerful men than you have attempted to intimidate me and discovered their folly too late.”
“Aye. Powerful. But none with my experience breaking stone dragons into dust,” he answered. “Now, keep your tongue civil or we leave. Ye ken?”
While they argued, Augusta’s head spun. How did one salvage pride so thoroughly obliterated? Answer: One did not. One bound up one’s wounds as best one could manage, then donned one’s armor and did what must be done.
She opened her eyes. Tugged her gloves tighter. And faced the titled trio. “My apologies for the oversight. Yes, I am Miss Augusta Widmore.” She gestured toward the stairs, where Anne had frozen halfway down. “The drawing room is this way. Mrs. Higgins, if you would be so kind as to bring tea, that would be lovely.”
A quarter-hour later, Augusta found herself seated beside Lady Tannenbrook, who seemed oddly delighted to be in her presence, confusing Augusta greatly.
“Hampshire! Oh, I’ve heard it is splendid. Serene and temperate. You own a cottage there?”
Augusta sipped her tea, eyeing the infamous dragon over the rim. “Indeed I do.”
“Widmore,” the old woman interrupted. “A very old name. A very distinguished line.”
Augusta inclined her head.
Sharp green eyes narrowed. “You are Sir Edmund’s daughter, I take it. The eldest girl.”
Her heart twisted upon hearing his name, knowing how much shame she’d brought upon it. Quietly, she set her Wedgwood cup in its saucer. “You were acquainted with my father?”
“Once. A fine man. Better than most.”
Augusta swallowed. “Yes.”
“Better by leagues than your uncle, dear girl.”
Raising her chin, Augusta lifted her own imperious brow. “Yes. He was.”
Those eyes took on a considering glint. “What would he think of Mr. Reaver, do you suppose?”
Everything inside her tightened. Squeezed against the need to strike back. “I’ve no earthly idea.”
“No? I do. I suspect your father would not have let you within ten miles of a gaming hell proprietor, a rough brute with trade in his blood and blood on his fists. But, then, I suspect you would not be here at all, were your father still alive.”
For all of three seconds, she managed to suppress her anger. Her shame was her shame, and she would swallow it. But she would not stand for Sebastian to be insulted.
“You are correct, my lady,” she snapped. “My father would not have approved of Mr. Reaver, nor would he approve of my current circumstances. But, you see, he is not here. The title belongs to my uncle, whom you rightly characterize as, shall we say, lacking in certain fundamental virtues.” She leaned forward to set her tea upon the table. “As to Mr. Reaver’s character, you are wrong.”
“Wrong?” Her tone suggested Augusta had accused her of being a frog. “A novel accusation. Do tell, my dear. This should be amusing.”
“Sebastian Reaver is the best man I have ever known. He may be lowborn, and a tradesman, and yes, a bit rough.”
“Evidently, you know him quite well.”
“No finer man exists. If you knew him at all, you would agree. Perhaps you are too accustomed to weaklings who bow and simper and corset their gluttonous stomachs until they waddle like pompous geese.”
“Oh, my,” breathed Lady Tannenbrook.
Augusta paid her no mind. She was incandescent, her head lifting off her shoulders. How dare this highborn, imperious dragon come into Sebastian’s house and insult him? “Perhaps you enjoy their fatuous flattery and padded pantaloons,” she continued. “As for me, my dear lady, I shall take my rough giant. And I suspect, one day, when all your fine gentlemen have revealed themselves for the flaccid, useless, vain creatures they are, you shall be envious not to have done likewise.”
“Oh, Miss Widmore,” Lady Tannenbrook sighed, giving a small sniff. “I think I may adore you.”
Augusta was having trouble understanding the young countess. Was she an eccentric? She seemed sane, apart from her beaming grin and affectionate declaration after Augusta’s diatribe. By all rights, the little beauty should be gasping in shock and revulsion.
In fact, Augusta noted as she glanced at the other two, none of them appeared either shocked or repulsed. Lord Tannenbrook wore a faint smile. Lady Wallingham, far from being insulted, took a calm sip of her tea and gave what appeared to be a satisfied smirk.
“Excellent tea, my dear,” the old woman said pleasantly. “I have found good tea requires a firm hand. Otherwise, one might find it too flaccid for one’s palate. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Hours later, Augusta still had not reconciled their behavior. Lady Tannenbrook hugged her three times before they departed. Lord Tannenbrook assured her Sebastian was “everything you described, Miss Widmore.” Then, he’d suggested, “Encourage him to visit Derbyshire. I think you’ll both find it pleasing.”
Augusta blinked and frowned, but she hadn’t time to puzzle out his strange message before Lady Wallingham declared, “If you are in town during the season, dear girl, you shall attend one of my luncheons.” She patted Augusta’s shoulder and wore a look of anticipatory delight. “Lady Colchester may need a physician afterward.” The old woman chuckled and left.
The entire visit had been bewildering. First, she still did not know how Sebastian was connected to Lord Tannenbrook. She had her suspicions, of course, but the titled trio had not bothered to provide details, and she had been in too much turmoil to press for more.
After Augusta’s outburst and their odd reactions to it, the conversation had turned to a discussion about Shankwood—evidently, Tannenbrook’s seat—and Lady Tannenbrook’s amusing stories about a pair of elderly women known as the Starling sisters. Lady Wallingham had dominated the remainder of the hour with descriptions of her new grandson, whom they had taken to calling Bain, but whose real name was Charles Rupert Elliott Bainbridge III, along with the courtesy title of Lord Steadwick. Oh, and the infant was astonishingly clever, already having selected his pet name for his grandmother: Bam. It was his first word, naturally. They were quite close.
Augusta had entertained genuine debates with herself about whether walking out of the room and leaving the titled trio to their tea and insanity would further damage her already obliterated reputation. In the end, her mother’s training won out.
But now, as she sank into Sebastian’s new study chair and ran her hands over the oak of his new desk, silence closed in upon her. She laid her forehead upon folded arms and breathed deep. Two truths repeated in her mind.
She loved Sebastian.
And whatever hope she’d had of honoring her father’s name was gone.
Her concerns about being discovered as the village washwoman were laughable now. She was ruined. Truly. Inexorably.