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Augusta stared across the carriage, debating whether to speak. The silence pervading the long ride was not unusual. It was the quality of that silence that gave her pause. Not bristling. Not impatient. There was no accusatory glance or nervous twitching. No, the man who stared out the window was heavy with defeat, searching the darkening countryside with eyes that held the weight of regret… of surrender.
The wheels of the carriage turned steadily beneath them, a soft rhythmic thudding that only seemed to amplify the silence. Alexander shifted, stretching his long legs with a quiet wince. The stiffness in his limbs matched the tension in his frame—coiled, restrained, as though movement might allow emotion to slip free.
Checking first to be sure her cousin was asleep, Augusta leaned slightly forward and spoke in little more than a whisper. “Uncle?”
He started, turning to stare at her as though he had forgotten she was there. His hand moved absently to adjust the blanket covering Leo, tucking it more securely around her shoulder. The gesture was tender, practiced—and an anchor, perhaps, against the storm inside him. The brief smile that touched his lips was forced, but not unkind. “I’m sorry today’s journey is proving longer than expected. I thought we might have made better time. There is an inn not far ahead. We’ll be there soon.”
He straightened and attempted a lighter tone. “A hot meal and a warm bed will be welcome to us all.”
She nodded. “Uncle, I do not mean to pry…” She saw him stiffen slightly. “Can you… will you tell me what happened? Why did Miss Heywood not return to us?”
He inhaled sharply, swallowing as he looked out the window again. Afraid of provoking him, she went on in one breath. “I do not wish to cause you pain. Nor to force you to speak of things you’d rather hold private. I am only…” her eyes darted around, bright with unshed tears. She blinked rapidly and turned to the window, but one tear slipped free and tracked silently down her cheek. “I am confused. Miss Heywood cares for us. I know she does.”
“Yes.” Her uncle’s voice was dull… dry. “She cares for you and Leo.”
“Uncle,” whispered Augusta, her voice uncharacteristically gentle, “She cares for you as well.”
His head shook slightly as he swallowed again. “No, Augusta… she… she might have. But my own foolishness changed her mind. I made a grave error. The fault is mine, and I am sorry you and your cousin must also bear the pain of it.”
“But did you speak to her?”
He nodded, eyes casting about for somewhere to land. He pressed a knuckle briefly to his lips, a habitual gesture—part distraction, part shield. His gaze flicked to the passing hedgerows, as if the countryside might offer words where he could not. “I did. I rode to Trafalgar House and… we spoke.”
“Then—"
“Augusta, please, do not ask me more. I… I made a bad situation worse. Miss Heywood, quite rightly, told me she cannot care for me.”
“But, Uncle, she—”
“I can say no more. I must respect her decision. She is justified in what she said… in her choice.”
He looked at his niece, eyes squarely facing her censure. “I not only hurt Miss Heywood and myself. I have deprived you and Leo of a loving companion. I am truly sorry. You have every right to be angry with me.”
“But I’m not angry with you, Uncle.”
His eyes searched hers, not understanding. “I was,” she confessed. “But I can see how much this has hurt you. Now, I feel only grief… the worst since my parents died. But I cannot feel anger.”
“You are generous, Augusta.”
She huffed a small but genuine laugh. “I cannot remember the last time someone accused me of that.”
He smiled, gaze drifting back to the window.
“I feel sad for you, Uncle.”
His smile faltered, any reply held tightly between clenched teeth.
“I know you care for her. And I am sorry for whatever passed between you. But perhaps all is not lost.”
He released a long breath. “I would like to believe that. But I think it best we focus on you and your future. This trip is for all of us. But mostly it’s for you. Bath will be a step toward a London season. It will allow you to meet eligible men and young women your age. It will give you a sense of what your future might hold.”
“I do look forward to it, Uncle. And I am grateful.”
He nodded. “Miss Heywood…” he nearly choked on the name, blinking rapidly as his gaze returned to the window, “She taught you well. You are ready to enter a new chapter in your life. Even if we cannot be with her, we will benefit from the lessons we learned from her, yes?”
Augusta nodded, a gentle smile curving her lips. The corner of his mouth twitched, and he sat a little straighter. Outside, the wind had shifted—the kind of summer breeze that carried a growing chill. He didn’t reach for the blanket himself, but his hand drifted briefly to Leo’s shoulder, checking the fold of it again.
“Well then. We shall go to Bath. And we will do our best to be the people she believed us to be—wished us to be. I believe the first stop when we arrive should be the modiste. You must be seen as the promising young lady you are.”
“Thank you, Uncle.”
He nodded again, looking back to the window. “Regardless what has happened, we owe it to Miss Heywood to make ourselves worthy of her. She deserves that. She deserves our respect.”
She saw a slight flame in his eye that wasn’t there before. He sat a bit straighter. No happier, but somehow more focused. He held an air of quiet determination. And, perhaps, the tiniest fragment of hope.