"That much is obvious. And I would not say the matter was trivial. But you have certainly blown it out of all proportion. How long have you been fretting over this? How long have you visualized me as Caesar waiting to denounce Pompeia?"
"I have felt like that from the beginning, my lord," she whispered. "I knew then that in marrying you I was taking a grave risk. I was aware I might never be able to earn your love."
His hands tightened on her. "Augusta, we are talking about trust, not love."
"The kind of trust I want from you, Harry, must spring from love."
Harry eased her a small distance away and raised her chin with his forefinger. He studied her shadowed, shimmering eyes, wanting to comfort her and at the same time annoyed that it should be necessary. He had already given her all he had to give to a woman. If he had anything left that she might term love, it was behind a locked door somewhere deep inside and he knew that door would never be opened.
"Augusta, I care for you, I desire you, and I trust you more than I have ever trusted any other woman. You possess everything I have to give to a wife. Is that not enough?"
"No." She freed herself, stepped back, and snatched a small lace hanky out of her tiny, beaded reticule. She blew briskly and dropped the scrap of lace back into the little bag. "But obviously it is all I am going to get. When all is said and done, I have no real grounds for complaint, have I? I knew I was being very reckless when I agreed to let our engagement stand. I knew I was taking an enormous chance."
"Augusta, you are very emotional tonight, my dear. It cannot be healthy."
"Just because you do not care for strong emotions, my lord, does not mean they are unhealthy. The Northumberland Ballingers have always thrived on strong emotions."
At the mention of those ghostly figures he could never equal in her memory, a raw anger flared in Harry. He reached out, clamped a hand over her bare shoulder again, and swung her around to face him.
"Augusta, if you dare throw your damned Ballinger ancestors in my face one more time, I believe I shall do something extremely drastic and unpleasant. Do I make myself clear?"
Her mouth fell open in astonishment as she gazed up at him. She closed it quickly and gave him a mutinous look. "Yes, my lord."
Harry pulled violently on the reins of his temper, more annoyed with himself for losing it than with Augusta for being the cause. "You must indulge me, my dear," he said dryly. "Something about knowing I can never live up to the standards of your illustrious forebears makes me exceedingly short-tempered at times."
"Harry, I had no notion you were thinking along such lines."
"Most of the time I do not," he assured her bluntly. "It is only on the odd occasion when you point out my deficiencies. But that is neither here nor there at the moment. Let us get back to the matter at hand. Do you believe me when I tell you that Sheldrake does not know the source of the poem?"
She continued to study him for a long moment and then her lashes settled wearily on her cheeks. "Of course I believe you, my lord. I do not doubt your word. Truly, I do not. 'Tis just that the subject of Richard makes me very unsettled. I do not always think clearly when it is raised."
"I am well aware of that, my dear." He pulled her back against him and pressed her face into his shoulder. "I am sorry, Augusta, but I must be blunt. It would be best if you could leave your brother in the past where he belongs and not concern yourself with what he may or may not have been doing two years ago."
"I believe you have already read me this lecture once or twice before," she muttered into his coat. "It has become quite dull."
"Very well," he said gently. "The fact remains that I wish to find the answers to the questions raised by that poem.. Sheldrake and I can accomplish more working together than one of us on his own. There is a great deal of territory to be covered in Town. It is a question of efficiency, Augusta. That is why I am returning to London in the morning."
"Very well. I can understand the importance of efficiency." She raised her head. "Return to London if you must."
Relief soared through him. She was going to accept the inevitable after all. Harry smiled slowly with deep approval. "That is the way a good wife should answer her lord. I commend you, my sweet."
"Oh, rubbish. You did not allow me to finish, Harry. You may indeed return to London in the morning. But be warned, Meredith and I shall accompany you."
"The devil you will." He thought quickly. "The Season is over. You will be quite bored."
"Nonsense. It will a most educational trip for your daughter," Augusta said, unfazed. "I shall take her about the Town and show her the sights. We shall go to the bookshops and Vauxhall Gardens and the museum. It will be great fun."
"Augusta, this is a business trip."
"There is no logical reason it cannot be combined with an educational experience for your daughter, Graystone. In the interests of efficiency, of course."
"Damnation, Augusta, I will not have time to dance attendance on you and Meredith in Town."
Augusta smiled a very determined smile. "We shall not expect you to do so, my lord. I am certain Meredith and I are fully capable of entertaining ourselves."
"The mind reels at the thought of you turned loose on London with a nine-year-old child who has never been out of the country. I will not have it and that is final. Now we should be getting back to your guests."
Without waiting for a response and more than a little uneasy about the one he would get if he did wait for it, Harry took hold of Augusta's arm and started back toward the house.
Augusta said nothing as he guided her toward the lights and music and laughter that spilled through the open windows. In fact, she was unnaturally quiet. He had expected more protests and tears and a series of arguments couched in the emotional style of a Northumberland Ballinger. But all he was getting was a suspicious silence.
Harry told himself Augusta had finally realized he was quite serious. He comforted himself with the thought that she was coming to grips with the realization that when he gave orders in his own home, he intended them to be obeyed. It was no doubt something of a shock to her because he had indulged her so liberally in recent weeks.
It was unfortunate that she was unhappy with the present situation, but it was for the best. Harry knew he was going to be extremely busy in London. He would not have time to accompany Augusta or Meredith on their outings and he did not like the thought of Augusta going to a series of entertainments alone. Especially evening entertainments.
Augusta was at her most dangerous at night, from what Harry had observed. His brain quickly summoned up a multitude of all-too-vivid scenes: Augusta paying midnight visits to gentlemen's libraries; Augusta dressed in breeches while she attempted to break into a locked desk that was not her own; Augusta dancing with rakehells like Lovejoy; Augusta playing too deep at cards; Augusta in a darkened carriage, shivering with passion.
It was enough to make any intelligent, cautious husband extremely wary.
Harry was in the process of reassuring himself on that point when the toe of his boot struck something soft in the grass. He glanced down and saw that it was a man's glove.
"What the devil? I believe one of our guests will be looking for this, Augusta." Harry scooped up the glove and then he saw the gleam of a boot in the bushes. A pale blue satin slipper was right next to it. "Then again, perhaps he knows precisely where he dropped it."
"What is it, Harry?" Augusta turned to see what he was doing and then she closed her mouth on a soft little giggle as she saw the boot and the blue slipper. She started to smile.