Page 15 of The Vagabond Viscount
The harsh lesson of first love had been cruel, but Augusta had finally learned its teachings. She wouldn’t make that same mistake again.
Augusta handed Gideon back the glass of champagne. “Thank you, but I seem to have lost my taste for such things.”
ChapterEight
The Star
Monday 20 January 1817
It is, from beginning to end, a tissue of bombast, silliness, and absurdity.
The curtain fell amid the hisses and groans of a great majority of the House.
Lord Matthew Kembal tossed the newspaper onto the breakfast table and clapped his hands together. “Well, if that isn’t the worst review I have ever read, I am a horse’s ass. At least the champagne and roast beef sandwiches they served at intermission were top-notch.”
Augusta studied her eggs. The Monday morning review of the play they attended on Saturday night was bitingly accurate in its scorn. The audience had indeed shown its displeasure at the end of the evening. She doubted the writers would attempt another resurrection of something that should have been left to die in the first place.
She still held a sense of pity for Flynn over his clear mortification at having invited his friends to what should have been an entertaining evening, only to then discover the play was nothing short of terrible.
Gideon shook his head. “Poor Flynn. He was so excited when he told me he had been given free tickets to the theatre. Now we can all understand why his acquaintance at White’s was so keen to be rid of them. Still, it was nice to be out with friends and family, so I don’t consider the night to be a complete disaster.”
Her eldest brother could always be relied upon to come up with something positive to say. He was a fierce defender of his friend.
“G said the catering was adequate. Though my own experience of Covent Garden is that things are rather bland, and dishes are left to go cold before they are served,” offered Victoria.
If she didn’t know better, Augusta would have sworn that Victoria had been born with a salt and pepper shaker in either hand. No silver rattle for her.
At least the conversation this morning revolved around the play. It helped to keep her thoughts away from the subject of Flynn, of her decision to finally put any hopes she might have held for them firmly in the past and move on.
She had set aside the plans to use other men in order to make Flynn jealous, deciding that if he wasn’t prepared to offer for her of his own volition, then theirs wasn’t a relationship worth fighting for. As he had held her hand at the theatre and made small talk, the truth of the situation had finally crystallized in her mind.
Flynn would never be hers.
Her heart still whispered otherwise. Still held onto hope. She could only pray that in time it, too, would get the message. There was not, and had never been, any real chance of her becoming Viscountess Cadnam.
She downed the last of her tea and rose from the table. “If you would please excuse me, I have some letters to write.”
Augusta made her way upstairs to the main drawing room. This room overlooked Berkeley Square and was one of her favorite places in Mowbray House.
The morning sun shone weakly through the windows. London in January could be cold and dull, and she was grateful for any sort of bright warmth. She took a seat at the oak table close to the window, claiming her regular spot. If her day went as usual, by midmorning her sisters, Coco, and Victoria, would have joined her, and they would be working on their own correspondence.
In Victoria’s case, her efforts would include writing her latest piece of advice on the best places to dine in London and then pasting it onto the pages of the newspaper. Some might view such a thing as being silly or trite, but Augusta had long shared the secret that her sister wanted nothing more than to have her measured comments published. For people to take both her and her love of food as seriously as she did.
The door of the drawing room opened a short time later, but instead of one of her sisters making an entrance, it was her mother. The Duchess of Mowbray swept into the room with all the elegance most other women reserved for formal events.
She headed toward the window, before coming to a halt just a foot or two away from the glass. It was the exact same place she stood most mornings. It was the perfect vantage point for her mother to see and, just as importantly, be seen. The duchess was Berkeley Square’s equivalent of an old town crier. If she was at the window of her drawing room at this hour of the day, then all was well with the world.
“Your father quoted the theatre critics’ thoughts on the play you attended on Saturday night to me earlier this morning. Little wonder the three of you were home so soon after it was due to end. It sounded positively horrid.”
Her daily ritual conducted, Lady Anne moved away from the window and came to join Augusta. She took a seat at the table. By the way her hands tapped gently on the highly polished surface, it was clear she was in the mood to talk. “My maid mentioned that your maid is worried about you, Augusta dear. Is there something you would like to discuss with me? You know you can trust in my complete confidence.”
Her mother might well be a leader of theton, but she had always made time for her children. Under most other circumstances, Augusta would have sought out Lady Anne and talked things over, but she had decided to keep the subject of Viscount Flynn Cadnam a private matter, only sharing her thoughts with Victoria. The duchess didn’t need to be involved. With the relationship now over, any advice her mother might seek to offer was likely moot. “Thank you, Mama. I am well,” replied Augusta.
The duchess shifted in her seat. When she clasped her hands in front of her, the message was clear. She wasn’t going anywhere until Augusta shared her troubles.
I wish you weren’t so stubborn. You don’t need to fight my battles.
“If you don’t wish to discuss specifics or even particular people, we could simply discuss the nature of your problem. Sometimes even general advice can help.”
