Somewhere within the sad man before her, there was still her dear, compassionate William.
“Fine. But if I have angry villagers storming my gates, I shall have you to thank, and I shall hand you over to them without any compunctions.”
“You shall have no such thing. Who would raise such a fuss in Brookfield? Why, only the driver knew!”
“I don’t know,” said William. “This entire situation has me at a loss.”
“Perhaps it is good for you?”
He peered at her and stopped pacing for a spell. “You are truly enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Indeed, but surely you knew that already.”
“Why?”
“It is important to help when needed but, apart from that, it has been so long since I’ve seen you with any spark.”
That seemed to stun William. He ran a hand through his hair self-consciously, causing the curls to become even more disordered. “Perhaps I don’t want a spark,” he mumbled.
*
“How pleasant it is to spend an evening this way!” said Lady Jane. “I must declare, Miss Brooke, that reading a book in turns is my favorite way to pass the time. I am delighted to find you well-read, my dear.” She paused. “What a pity that my nephew has not graced us with his presence. Yet again. I even chose the second parlor, which he prefers.”
“Perhaps he is simply busy,” Augusta said. She did not think it was really the case, but she wanted to be polite to the woman who had shown her such warmth over the last week.
“He is simply sulking.”
Augusta bit down a laugh. “That would be his right. As the duke.”
“He really is good company,” said Lady Jane. She appeared wistful. “Or he was. He still can be, when he chooses.”
Augusta smiled at Lady Jane, who was seated opposite her on the crimson sofa, wondering how anyone could possibly enjoy Lord Ainsworth’s company when he was so unpredictable. Her smile conveyed none of her skepticism. Although their time together had not been long, Augusta had begun to feel a sense of attachment and affection toward the duke’s aunt and did not want to wound her.
Lady Jane spent the bulk of her day with Augusta, and she was beginning to feel badly for withholding her true name from the kind woman. Unlike Lord Ainsworth, however, she did not seem to take this as a slight or an inconvenience. She treated Augusta with courtesy and respect, extending hospitality as though she were the one running the manor.
“I quite enjoy reading,” said Augusta, mostly to change the subject. “My mother insisted that I become more than proficient.”
She thought back to hazy memories of Mama bringing home tattered books that had been discarded from the houses she cleaned, and of reading the family Bible over and over again. It was a long book, after all, and full of vocabulary to learn. The Bible was a resource that they couldn’t exhaust because it was always present and her father did not disapprove of her reading it. On the other hand, more secular books proved a challenge to his patience. So did newspapers. He did not like many of them, and could not see the point in Augusta learning to read well as a girl child.
It was not until Mama explained that if she could read, she could write—or learn to write, which Augusta had, of course—and therefore, she could help with practical household matters like the budget. That seemed to sway Father enough to quell his grumbling about wasted time.
Rich, coming from a gambler.
Back in those days, he had not beaten anybody that she knew of, though if Augusta looked hard enough, she could see the seeds of his later, more aggressive behavior.
“As well she should have,” said Lady Jane. “We are past the days when women should be considered inferior in intellect.”
If Lady Jane wanted to learn more about Augusta in that moment, she did not speak of it. But Augusta could tell that her host was curious to know more about her, the slight, young woman with the callused hands and broad-voweled accent, which Augusta knew contrasted somewhat with her literacy and way of speaking. All these traits were not necessarily incompatible, but Brookfield was not the sort of place where everyone learned how to read and write. It simply didn’t have the resources or the right social attitudes.
And I stumble over some of the words. I wonder if she notices or surmises that it is because I have only ever read them to myself, not aloud, thought Augusta.
She was not ashamed, but if Lady Jane was clever enough, which she was, she could make the connection.
“Sometimes it does not feel like it,” said Augusta, and it was her turn to be wistful.
Lady Jane peered at her. “You know, as much as I have enjoyed you being here, I cannot wait for you to be healed properly. The gardens are simply lovely and you have yet to take a turn in them.”
Torn, Augusta worried her lower lip with her teeth, hardly aware she was doing so. “I would like to see them. I’m going mad being so confined,” she admitted. “If it were not for you, I don’t know what I would have done.”
“Remained silent and driven William into a frenzy, most likely,” said Lady Jane slyly.
“Lord Ainsworth would have cast me out well before then.”
“You say so, but I think you have roused a side of him that has been dormant for months.”
Unsure of what to say to that, Augusta blinked and glanced down at the books that sat between them.
“Either way… I am thankful for your kindness in keeping me company.”
“I shudder to imagine being confined from properly moving for a week.” Lady Jane shook her head. “Entertaining you was the least I could do. You deserve a special commendation for bearing it all so mildly. I have no children and have also been fortunate in my health, so in my later years I have not had to bear any sort of confinement.” She smiled widely. “But when I was twelve, I became very ill with some kind of fever and the physicians advised my parents to keep me isolated, as well as in bed.
“By the third day I was so restless and wriggly that both my mother and father came to chide me about it, and by the fifth, I was shouting abuses at my governess. She did not resign, but she took it in turns with a maid and my tutor to watch over me because once a full week had passed, I was tossing my bowls of porridge at their heads.”
Augusta laughed at the very idea. Somehow, it was not difficult to relate the impetuous child with the lively lady. Lady Jane was a wonderful blend of virtue and eccentricity, and Augusta wished she herself had had such a relative. Now, it was just her and her father. Before her mother had passed, family on either side was sparse, and they were the only Copperwelds left that she knew of.
Indeed, Lady Jane’s only apparent weakness was her love for Lord Ainsworth. And it is not a weakness, Augusta reminded herself. Only a blind spot. She still did not despise him, but his elusive manner since he had last tended to her ankle wounded her.
It was silly, but she was hurt by his seeming reluctance to spend any time with her.
You didn’t exactly encourage it, though. And he was a duke, for pity’s sake.
She was probably not that interesting to him, and he’d made it clear that she was a burden in his estimation.
“I’d never,” said Augusta. “It would be most ungrateful of me to behave badly toward your servants when they have been most kind and helpful, and I certainly would not throw a thing at Lord Ainsworth.” I might imagine doing so, now, just to pass the time. “I’d be out of the manor quicker than a spider caught by Marcus.”
Lady Jane chuckled. She mirrored Augusta’s playful thoughts. “I daresay that I shall imagine you throwing a bowl at him. What a sight it would be to see William dodging a flying bowl of porridge.”
She delivered the words in such a droll fashion that Augusta laughed, then smiled sheepishly and nodded.
The duke was so serious, but she felt that even that would jar him from his stoicism.
When she had calmed herself, Lady Jane said, “I am glad we found you at the brook.”
“As am I,” Augusta said qu
ietly, after some reflection. She was unable to prevent a measure of gratitude from entering her tone. For when she considered it rationally and without fear for the near future, she was grateful. There had been moments when she had preferred the thought of death to another beating, but now she was not sure that she would rather have died that night. Whatever stroke of luck had brought the duke and his aunt to her rescue, perhaps it would continue. If ever she became too anxious, she would think on that pleasant idea.
And despite his grumpiness, I really do owe Lord Ainsworth my thanks, she thought.
As though she could divine what Augusta was thinking, Lady Jane said, “My nephew really is a good sort, you know. He is not as bad as he would have you think.”
Disconcerted by the uncanny assertions, Augusta glanced around the lovely second parlor. It was, perhaps, the finest room she had ever been in, including the room with her chaise, which she had discovered was the first parlor. Imagine having a house this big. No… a manor this big. I can barely get my head around the size of this place.
Or the money that it had taken to build it. Maintain it. Decorate it.
Augusta wondered if she looked shabby within its walls. Probably.
She slowly realized that Lady Jane was waiting for her to respond. “I do not think badly of him, my lady.”
Lady Jane’s green eyes fixed upon Augusta with enough intensity to make her squirm minutely. Then the woman said, “I do not think that you think ill of him, but are you afraid of him?”
“No,” said Augusta. That, at least, was not a half-truth.
“You are too sweet, or too cautious, to speak of this. But I am well aware of my nephew’s failings,” said Lady Jane gently. “He is struggling with ideas of right and wrong. But he is not a monster.”
“I assure you, Lady Jane, that I do not believe he is.” Augusta had to look away from her again and she studied the very intricately carved mantel. It was some kind of marble, and she had read about how such pieces had to be imported.
“And I make no such assumption. But he has behaved rather coolly toward you… leaving aside the fact that he has tended to your health. I wouldn’t blame you for judging him harshly, but do not do it because of what you might have heard, if you are local, or because of his face, which as you can see, has been ravaged.”
“Was it your idea to bring me to the manor?”
“No. It was his.” Lady Jane was smiling; Augusta could hear it in her voice. “I did not want to leave you, but I was rather concerned for your reputation should it be discovered that Lord Ainsworth, Duke of Ravenwood, had absconded with you in the dead of night. That is the narrative I feared gossip would favor.” She took a breath. “I was overcautious. I do not think you will face any problems because of your residence here.”
Lord Ainsworth wanted her to be brought here? Augusta’s mind struggled with the concept.
Lady Jane could see the fight on her face, despite it being in profile to her. She was patient as Augusta found the words to express herself.
“Then… why does he want me to be gone? Why… is he ignoring me?”
“He is endeavoring to simplify what is undoubtedly a complex matter. He… has not been himself since he came home from Salamanca.”
That explained his marred visage. It was a war wound.
“What do you mean? That I am a complex matter?”
“Perhaps not exactly,” said Lady Jane. “But you pose a challenge to his carefully ordered world. He has tried to control everything that comes into his manor. His life. You were not within his control, yet seeing you inspired him to act as he has not in months. He was an excellent physician because he genuinely cared about his patients, and his summons to arms was not the same as it was for a man who might be a soldier or a commander. He went to heal others and came back in need of healing, himself.” Augusta was unsure of what her own expression was doing as she tried to take all of this in without marked amazement, because Lady Jane halted herself and said, “I am sorry. This must not make much sense to you, and it might be that I shouldn’t divulge too many of what he believes to be his private concerns.”
“No, you are being… very cogent, my lady. I think I am following. And I should be more openly grateful toward both you and Lord Ainsworth.”
“He can be an off-putting man, but it was not always so,” said Lady Jane. She waved her hand dismissively as though to say, Don’t concern yourself. “I understand why you have not been more open.”
“It was not for fear of him, I assure you.”
“You do not seem the sort who frightens easily, although I am sure that’s because your life has not been easy.”
Nervously, Augusta traced her fingers idly along her collarbone, where she knew some of the welts were still fading from her skin. “It hasn’t, but whose has? Not Lord Ainsworth’s.”
They seemed to be veering dangerously close to the discussion she dreaded: what had actually happened to bring her to the side of the brook.
What Lady Jane said next did convince Augusta that the time had come to tell the truth.
“Will you answer a question as candidly as you can? It is sensitive.” Lady Jane pursed her lips. “Or insensitive, depending on one’s perspective. You may very well be offended.”
Augusta nodded, telling herself, Do not panic. Lady Jane will not see you come to harm. “Yes, my lady. If I can answer it.” She hoped her trust in her new acquaintance was not misplaced. Lady Jane had been the very picture of kindness. If she could help it, Augusta would not lie directly to her.
“If you had met under happier circumstances, what would you think of William’s face? His demeanor?” This was not what she had been expecting. At all. Augusta breathed a shallow sigh of relief. “He calls himself things like ‘monster’ and ‘hideous’, but I am trying to convince him that he is merely engaging in needless self-flagellation,” finished Lady Jane.
Uncertain of the woman’s motivations in asking, Augusta searched Lady Jane’s eyes for some clue as to why the duke’s aunt even cared about her opinion. As though they were equals. Peers. In spite of not knowing Lady Jane long, Augusta knew she would not ask unless she had a reason.
That reason was just unclear.
Slowly, Augusta said, “I must admit that I remain curious. About his face. I believe his assessments of his own appearance and worth are far too harsh, because even though he makes such fierce expressions at me… and sometimes speaks fiercely to me… I know men who are monsters, my lady. He is not one. Perhaps, it is easier for him to pretend he is, so he does not have to deal with anyone at all.” She thought about it, and weighed her next pronouncement carefully. “It must be lonely.”
His hands are too gentle for him to be a monster and, besides, I can see that he’s probably just more embarrassed than anything else.
“What an excellent study of character you are. I suspected that you might be, but it is very satisfying to know for sure.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Augusta, blushing under the praise.
“You’re right, though. He is hiding under his exterior which, in my opinion, is not so terrible. It is jarring, to be sure, but one learns to accept it. There is no seeing past or through it, and I believe trying to do so would be an insult to his service to others. We should not want to make it invisible, when all his disfigurement signifies—is bravery.” Lady Jane’s hands clasped together as she made a pronouncement. “I believe you are perceptive and discreet enough to be trusted with more information.”
Somewhat suspiciously, Augusta thought, Is this a ruse to get me to speak more about myself?
But she kept a mildly interested expression and waited for Lady Jane to tell her whatever it was she wanted to say.
“William is my elder brother’s third son, and his youngest. I was always close to my brother, Archibald, who was much more calm and biddable than me. We made quite the pair.” She smiled fondly. “As such, I was often here, around his family. His lady wife and my nephews. William’s bro
thers, Samuel and Abraham, were…” Lady Jane’s eyebrows rose and she tried not to smirk. “In a word, wild. It was not that I disliked them, but William has always been my pet.”
“Was not that you disliked them?” Augusta did not know much about titles or how they passed, but she did know that they traditionally went to eldest sons. If Lord Ainsworth, the youngest son, was now Duke of Ravenwood, that meant his father and two brothers must have predeceased him. “They’re…”
“Yes. They have both been dead for some years now. One of them died in a duel, while the other was… well, there’s no other way to put it… murdered in a gambling den. By someone he thought a friend. It was over a woman. Obviously, he was mistaken about that friendship. There was an inquest in London, but nothing came of it because the friend was also, like us, from a family of high standing. It is the way of things in such matters, unfortunately. The men who should be are often not held to account.”
Lady Jane was shockingly calm while relating this. It meant that Lord Ainsworth’s brothers must have, indeed, been wild. Augusta was calm, too, because this tale squared with her unfavorable perception of the gentry’s menfolk being either completely reckless or completely repressed.
She was sorry for the double loss suffered by the Ainsworths, but unsurprised that two men of privilege had been so careless.
“I’m sorry for their deaths,” she said, a little too formally.
“In the end, Miss Brooke, I am not taken aback that they occurred,” said Lady Jane. Her face was wan but composed. “It may be wicked of me to say, but I am surprised that something of the kind did not happen sooner. Regardless, William was different. It was not just because he was younger, either. Although, because he was, he had a certain freedom in choosing what to do with his life. He said he wanted to study to become a physician, and so he did.” She gathered her thoughts and seemed to be imagining the younger William. “He was a free spirit, running here and there to help, eager to tend the ill and injured.”
Augusta listened with more interest to what she said about the current Lord Ainsworth. She still had no way of knowing what Lady Jane might intend by telling her all of this family history, but it was helping to demystify much about her reluctant host.
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