Page 8 of The Vagabond Viscount
He got a tired huff in response, and then she was gone, leaving him alone in the darkened orangery. For a moment, Flynn simply stared at the door, struggling with the decision as to whether he should follow her quickly or remain here until Augusta had gone back inside. If he did trail in her wake, people would notice.
They were old family friends, and it was common for those sorts of people to marry within thehaut ton—to embrace the understanding of friendship and comfort over the passion of love. The anguish and defeat he had seen on Augusta’s face spoke of a deep longing, one which couldn’t possibly be mistaken as that of mere friendship. She wore her heart on her sleeve. People would definitely notice.
Near the door, he stopped and picked a ripe orange off one of the small trees. The earl didn’t have much of a taste for fresh fruit, so it was rare for such delicacies to be on offer at Bramshaw House. Flynn deftly peeled it and stuffed a couple of wedges into his mouth. It was good. Sweet and juicy. As he chewed on the fruit, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the expansive and expensive glass windows of the orangery.
A world-weary young man stared back at him.
You look closer to thirty than barely five and twenty years of age.
He could well understand Augusta’s ongoing frustration. She wanted him to declare their love to the world. And as much as his heart yearned to do just that, he didn’t dare.
Any other young nobles would have been free to share their hearts and make plans for a future together. If his had been a normal existence, he would have already spoken to Clifford Kembal, the Duke of Mowbray. Heaven knew, with the liberties he had taken, he should have made an appointment to see Augusta’s father many months ago. If he had, then he and Augusta would have been married well before Christmas and now be enjoying a life of wedded bliss.
“But he wouldn’t ever want that,” he muttered.
The very notion of Flynn finding happiness stood against everything his father had ever done. Ronald Cadnam had made it clear—the only good marriage for his son and heir would be one just as miserable as his own had been.
If he did marry Augusta, he feared she would simply become another prisoner in his father’s house. Made to live a life on the edge of poverty the same as him.
His father would do his utmost to get his hands on his daughter-in-law’s dowry, and the moment he did, the reality of what she had married into would finally be revealed to the future Countess Bramshaw. She would be fleeing to the sanctuary of her family home, begging her father to find a way out of the nightmare. But there would be none—his mother’s life had taught Flynn that harsh lesson.
“I can’t do that to Augusta. Have her suffer the same as Mama did. I won’t,” he muttered.
He stuffed another piece of the orange into his mouth. The bitter taste of Augusta’s pain threatened to overwhelm the sweetness of the fruit.
Right now, she was probably back in the ballroom, silently cursing him for his cowardice. For his indecision.
That he loved her was beyond doubt but finding a way for them to be together seemed near impossible. A better man would have bowed out. Let her down gently and spared both their hearts.
I love her. She is my world.
He couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t ache for the kisses of Augusta Kembal. There was something about the way she smiled that had him drawn to her like the proverbial moth to the flame.
Tossing the rest of the uneaten fruit into a nearby pot, Flynn left the orangery and made his way inside. It was a sin to waste food, but he had to find Augusta. He couldn’t bear the thought of how they had left things. It would have been far simpler to go and collect his threadbare coat, take his leave, and walk home.
I need to see her. To let her know that this is not how we will end. I will find a way.
* * *
Back inside the party, Flynn went in search of Augusta. Passing the door of the supper room, his senses were filled with the enticing aroma of freshly baked pies. His stomach growled its insistent demand for food.
First, I need to find her, then I will think about feeding you.
Spying his quarry, his footsteps slowed. Across the main room, Augusta stood with her back to him, talking to her sister and cousin. Their disagreement had left him rattled. From the way Augusta was leaning in toward her sister, her fingers brushing against Victoria’s deep purple gown, he sensed she was barely holding her emotions at bay. Whether she realized it or not, Augusta had an unusual tell. Whenever she was in distress, she sought the solace of Lady Victoria’s hand.
Flynn came to a complete halt as the younger Kembal sibling reached out and gently took Augusta’s hand in hers. As their fingers entwined, Augusta’s stiff shoulders dropped a little. She had found comfort.
If he went to her now, he would only stir up the pain once more. It was better to let Augusta be, to do as he had always done retreat into the shadows.
He retrieved his coat and discreetly left the party.
ChapterFive
Augusta’s frustrating encounters with Viscount Flynn Cadnam were so common that her pride had its own special little spot in the dark recesses of her mind, a place where it could go and lick its wounds. It had scurried into its familiar home the second she had left the orangery. It was still huddled in the corner by the time she got home.
Alone in their shared bedroom, Augusta and Victoria had taken up their usual spots on the loveseat by the window and were staring out into the night. They each held a glass of stolen brandy. If their father had figured out who the culprit was that helped themselves regularly to his best spirits from his study liquor cabinet, he was keeping his own counsel.
Augusta took a small sip of the strong drink. She didn’t particularly like brandy but holding a glass of it somehow helped to make her feel more like a fully formed adult.
