"Oh, Papa, it was the most amazing thing," Meredith enthused. "Augusta bought me a beautiful souvenir handkerchief with a picture of Mr. Mitford's balloon on it. And she said you would explain why it is that the people sometimes get quite cold when they go up in a balloon, even though they are actually closer to the sun."
Harry cocked a brow and slanted an amused glance at Augusta while he replied to his daughter. "She said I would explain it, did she? What made her think I would know the answer to that?"
"Come, now, Graystone," Augusta chided. "You usually have all the answers, do you not?"
"Augusta—"
"Will you be going out again this evening, my lord?"
"Unfortunately, yes. I shall not be back until quite late."
"We will, of course, not wait up for you." Without waiting for a response, she started sedately up the stairs to her bedchamber. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw Meredith tug at her father's sleeve.
"Papa?"
"Come into the library for a few minutes, Meredith. I will attempt to answer your question."
Augusta heard the library door close. She picked up her skirts and ran the rest of the way to her bedchamber. As soon as she reached her sanctum, she sank down onto the chair behind the escritoire and yanked open her reticule. If you would learn the truth about your brother…
Perhaps, just this once, Graystone did not know all the answers. She would show him, Augusta vowed. She would produce the proof of her brother's innocence and confound Harry with her cleverness.
After careful consideration, Augusta decided the safest way out of the town house and into the night-shrouded garden was through the window of her husband's library.
The only other option was the back door, but that route would take her through the kitchens near the servants' quarters. There was too much chance she might awaken someone.
It was no trick to open the window of the darkened library and slip out into the garden. She had, after all, explored the route in reverse on the fateful evening when she had paid her midnight call on Harry.
Looking back, she was still amazed that Graystone had wanted to marry her after that hoydenish act. His sense of honor had no doubt tipped the balance when it came to making his decision.
Augusta dropped down onto the ground, leaving the window open behind her for a quick return. She gathered her dark cloak around her, pulled up the hood, and stood listening for a moment.
When she heard no sound she went cautiously toward the garden gate. One had to be careful about this sort of thing, she warned herself. She must keep her wits about her. She would question whoever was waiting in the lane very thoroughly. And she would make certain he kept his distance. She could always yell for help if necessary. The servants or the neighbors would hear.
She paused before opening the gate, straining to detect any sounds out in the lane. There was not even a whisper or footstep to be heard.
Augusta unlatched the gate and opened it carefully. The hinges squeaked in protest.
"Hello? Is anyone out there?"
There was no response. Down at the end of the lane the lights were shining in all of Lady Arbuthnott's windows, but the other nearby residences were in darkness. Carriage wheels clattered out in the street and moved off into the night.
"Hello?" Augusta peered anxiously into the deep shadows for a few minutes. "Please, are you there? I got your note, whoever you are. I want to talk to you."
She took a step out of the safety of the garden and her toe collided with a hard object on the ground.
"What in the world?" Automatically Augusta glanced down and saw a square shape lying on the paving stones. She started to step over the object and then realized it was a book of some sort. She bent down and picked it up.
As her hand closed around the leather-bound volume she heard the sudden ring of hooves on stone at the far end of the lane. She whirled about in time to see a horse and rider disappear around the corner.
Someone had been watching her from the shadows, she realized with a chill. Someone had hovered there in the darkness, waiting until she had retrieved the book, and then he had vanished.
For some reason, Augusta was suddenly very afraid, far more afraid than when she had set out on this adventure. She jumped back into the garden and hastily closed and latched the gate. Clutching the thin volume in one hand, she flew toward the safety of the house. The dark cloak swirled around her and as she ran her hair came loose from its pins.
By the time she reached the library window, she was breathing quickly. She tossed the volume over the sill onto the carpet, planted both hands on the stone wall, and hauled herself into a sitting position. Then she threw one leg over the sill and started to drop down onto the floor.
She froze as the lamp on the desk flared into life. "Oh, no."
Harry sat back in his chair and regarded her with hooded eyes and an unreadable expression. "Good evening, Augusta. I see you are paying another of your unconventional calls."
"Harry. Good God, I did not realize you were home. I thought you would be out late again tonight."
"Obviously. Why do you not come all the way into the library, madam? It cannot be terribly comfortable sitting in the window in that manner."
"I know what you must be thinking, my lord, but I can explain everything."
"And you most certainly will do precisely that. From inside the library."
Augusta eyed him warily as she slowly swung her other leg over the sill, arranged her skirts, and jumped down onto the carpet. She looked at the volume lying at her feet as she slowly removed her cloak. "I fear 'tis a rather unusual story, my lord."
"With you, it always is."
"Oh, Harry, are you very angry?"
"Very."
Her heart sank. "I was afraid of that." She stooped down and picked up the book.
"Sit down, Augusta."
"Yes, my lord." Dragging the cloak behind her in one hand, she went across the room to sit down on the other side of the desk. Her chin lifted as she prepared to defend herself. "I know this looks very bad, Graystone."
"It does, indeed. It would be amazingly easy, for example, for me to jump to the obvious conclusion that you are returning from some illicit midnight rendezvous with another man."
Augusta 's eyes widened in horror. "Good heavens, Harry, 'tis nothing of that sort at all."
"I am, of course, relieved to hear it."
"Honestly, Harry, that would be a perfectly ridiculous assumption."
"It would?"
Augusta straightened her shoulders. "The thing is, my lord, I was conducting my own investigations."
"Into what?"
She frowned at his obtuseness. "My brother's death, of course."
"The hell you were, madam." Harry sat forward swiftly, looking vastly more dangerous than he had a minute ago.
Augusta pressed herself back into the depths of her chair, alarmed by the sudden show of anger. "Well, yes. I was, as it happens."
"Damnation. I should have known. You are surely going to be the death of me, madam wife. Innocent fool that I am, I assumed you were merely taking a shortcut back through the gardens after a late visit to Pompeia's."
"Oh, no, it had nothing at all to do with Pompeia's. I went to meet a man, you see. Only he was not there. Rather, he was, but he did not show himself until—"
"You just told me this did not involve a man," Harry reminded her grimly.
"Not in the way I assumed you meant," she explained, trying to be patient. "There was no romantic rendezvous, you see. Let me tell you the whole story and then you will understand."
"I sincerely doubt that I will ever understand you, Augusta, but by all means, tell me this story. Please tell it quickly and succinctly, as my patience is hanging by a thread. That fact makes your situation extremely precarious, my dear."