“Finish your exam, girls,” August said, rising from her desk in front of the chalkboard. She smoothed the front of her dress. “When I return, I expect you both to be done.” She walked toward the doorway, pausing in front of Mrs. Howe. August turned back to the girls, narrowing her eyes. “And do not even try to cheat. You know I will find out.”
The girls giggled as August followed Mrs. Howe out into the hall. August quickly closed the classroom door behind them.
“A man?” she asked, eyes wide. Who could it be? August knew only one man—Henry Fitzgerald, the parish curate from Wilton—but she hadn’t heard from him since she left Hardbury School for Girls. In one of her more recent letters, Jane mentioned that Henry was now the vicar in Wilton, making him even further above her station than before. What would he want with her now?
“He said his name was Mr. Brooks,” Mrs. Howe explained.
August’s eyes widened. Her mysterious benefactor was here? In Portsmouth? “Mr. Brooks? Truly?”
Mrs. Howe nodded. August followed the housekeeper down the hall in somewhat of a daze. Out of all the people to visit her, she did not expect Mr. Brooks. August and her benefactor had not corresponded since he wrote to ensure her happiness with her placement with the Dunns almost three years ago. She had assured him that the position was suitable enough and hadn’t heard from him since.
Upon entering the drawing room, she expected to find someone with graying hair and wrinkles, just like the man who took her from the orphanage to Hardbury all those years ago. She saw a young man standing by the window instead, his side profile coming into view as she turned the corner into the room. August nearly froze at the entrance, surprised.
“Mr. Brooks,” Mrs. Howe said. The man called Brooks turned and faced them. He was tall with fair, curly hair that was slightly mussed as if he had just been sleeping. An expensive-looking but slightly wrinkled tan overcoat with a brown collar covered his broad shoulders. Dried mud stuck to the bottom of his black boots.
August was sure the confusion was visible on her face. He could not be the Brooks who took her from the orphanage to Hardbury all those years ago. This Brooks was much too young! He could not be older than thirty, with blue eyes, a broad nose, full lips, and a cleft in his chin.
“This is Miss Summer,” Mrs. Howe said, gesturing toward August, who smiled despite her nervousness. Brooks remained stone-faced.
“Thank you, Mrs. Howe,” he said, nodding slightly at the older woman. “May Miss Summer and I have a moment alone?”
Mrs. Howe nodded and turned to leave. She stopped beside August, leaning over and whispering in her ear. “I will give you fifteen minutes.”
August bit back a grin watching the older woman leave. If only Mrs. Howe knew how much could happen in fifteen minutes! When she glanced at Brooks again, she decided she did not think her mysterious benefactor, who somehow discovered the fountain of youth, was there to defile her. He looked far too severe for that.
After Mrs. Howe left, August and Brooks stood staring at each other for a long moment before she finally shook herself out of her reverie and gestured toward the pair of settees in front of the hearth. “Shall we sit down, Mr. Brooks?”
Brooks nodded, and the two sat across from each other, the warm fire crackling beside them. “You must be wondering why I’m here,” Brooks said.
“Yes, I am,” August admitted. She studied his face carefully, looking for signs of wrinkles, but there were hardly any. “Not to mention the Brooks I remember must be twice your age by now. You can’t be the one who took me from the orphanage in London to Hardbury in Hampshire all those years ago.”
The Brooks in front of her seemed to pale. “You must be thinking of my father,” he muttered, fidgeting slightly as he spoke. “Before I was Lord Bolton’s solicitor, my father was. He died two years ago, and I inherited his law practice.”
August frowned at him. “I am so sorry for your loss, sir. He seemed like a wonderful man when I met him—but who is Lord Bolton?”
“The Earl of Bolton is your father,” Brooks replied. August’s heart dropped into her stomach. “Unfortunately, he is dying, which is why I am here.”
Brooks paused, waiting for August to say something. She blinked, not quite believing what she was hearing. Was she dreaming? Was her father truly an earl? “Miss Summer?” Brooks asked.
August shook her head, swallowing. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m afraid I’m confused. Has he given you a message or something for me? Is that why you’re here?”
“Not quite. The earl would like you to come to Linfield Hall, his country estate in Kent. His last wish was that he meets you before he dies, and I’m afraid we must leave at once if we are to make it in time.”
August started to laugh, but when she saw Brooks’s narrowed eyes and pursed lips, she faltered. “Oh. You’re serious.”
She swallowed again. But she was a nobody, not an earl’s daughter! August always thought her parents were dead. Why else would she have ended up in an orphanage as a babe? Was the earl the one who asked the elder Mr. Brooks to take her to Hardbury?
“I’m afraid so, Miss Summer. My post chaise is waiting outside. Please pack your things at once. We must make haste.”
August grew pale. She thought of the girls and Mr. Dunn, who only employed a governess because his wife died almost three years ago. He could not care for them by himself, not when he was always working. “I must speak to my employer first,” August said, shaking her head.
“Why?” Brooks asked, furrowing his brow.
August stared back at him, puzzled. “Because he is my employer, and I do not wish to leave him shorthanded with the girls.”
“The girls?”
August was beginning to think Brooks was quite thickheaded. “Yes, Mr. Brooks. The girls. My two charges, Charlotte and Sophie. You realize I’m a governess, don’t you? I cannot just desert them, especially not to see a father that hasn’t shown any interest in me until he began knocking on death’s door. But do not worry, Mr. Brooks. Mr. Dunn is a kind employee and will surely grant me some leave to visit him.”
Perhaps August ought to have been more polite, but what could she do? She could not drop everything to see a father who once deserted her just because he was an earl. Where had he been all her life before now? He could have visited her while she was at school, which she assumed he paid for, but he did not. So why should she drop everything and show up at his side now when he suddenly needed her? Besides, August had responsibilities now. Charlotte and Sophie needed her as much as he did, if not more.
Meanwhile, Brooks began to laugh. “What is so funny?” August asked, glaring at him.
“I do not think you understand, Miss Summer,” Brooks replied, still chuckling. “But I suppose that’s my fault for leaving out the best part. Your father means to leave you twelve thousand pounds when he dies.”
August felt faint. Twelve thousand pounds?
“You will never work another day in your life.”
* * *
Brooks was weary from traveling when the housekeeper opened the door of Mr. Dunn’s home on High Street in Portsmouth. He would have liked to speak to Miss Summer’s employer before requesting an audience, but the housekeeper said the merchant wasn’t home, and Brooks had no time to waste. He was sure Lord Bolton would haunt him if he did not return to Linfield Hall before his death, his daughter in tow, and the journey back to Kent would be long.
The girl was as Brooks expected—at first. She froze when she saw him, appearing slight and timid behind the older housekeeper’s wiry frame. But when she smiled, he realized right away that this girl was a beauty. Her long-sleeved dress, though modest and unadorned, still somehow highlighted her ample bosom. Rosebud-like lips and fair-colored tendrils of hair softened and framed her angular face. When Brooks recalled his governess from childhood, he pictured a severe looking woman with spectacles. August was anything but that, and it made him gravely uncomfortable.
“W-what?” the young governess sp
uttered now, the color draining from her face. “T-twelve thousand pounds?”
Brooks nodded. The room fell quiet except for the fire crackling beside them. He waited for August to say something else, but she only stared down at her lap, mouth slightly open in shock.
“But why?” August asked, looking back up at him, a confused expression on her face. He couldn’t blame her for being confused, but they didn’t have much time for him to explain her father’s state of mind when Brooks left Linfield.
He sighed. “Does it matter? If twelve thousand pounds cannot motivate you to pack your bags, I’m not sure what will.”
The girl crossed her arms defiantly, perhaps rightfully so. He was acting rude, but she was trying his patience. “I do not believe you. You are some sort of miscreant, attempting to lure young governesses away with you while their employers are out of the house. Well, I will not fall for it.”
Brooks raised his brow, wondering if his appearance after traveling for so long was awful enough to make her think he was some sort of reprobate. She remained still, with her arms still crossed across her chest.
“You are a stubborn one, aren’t you?” he muttered, reaching into his coat to procure the addendum to Lord Bolton’s will. He had the earl sign it for him before he had left. Brooks held out the piece of paper, and August reached over to snatch it from him. She quickly unfolded it, scanning its contents a few times before looking back up at Brooks.
“Well, I suppose it looks real.”
“It is real, Miss Summer,” Brooks replied, reaching to take the piece of paper back from her. He neatly folded it and placed it back inside his coat pocket.
“But the girls,” August suddenly said, her eyes frantically searching his. “Who will be their governess? I cannot leave them.”
Brooks furrowed his brow. Was the woman mad? She could not possibly be that attached to her charges. “Surely Mr. Dunn can find a replacement.”
August shook her head, chewing her bottom lip as she did. It was full and plump, her bottom lip. Brooks forced himself not to look at it.
Willfully celibate, he reminded himself, though perhaps he ought to go to Covent Garden more often if a mere governess could have such an effect on him. His instant attraction to her couldn’t have been healthy. Reminding himself that she was Charles’s half sister did little to temper it. Her stubbornness, though, was beginning to annoy him.
“Yes,” she said, “but the girls are very special to me, and their father works far too much and won’t be able to care for them if I leave. I would hate for them to feel abandoned. I must find my replacement before I go. Perhaps you could help me by purchasing an advertisement in the local paper, or—”
“We do not have time for this,” Brooks said through gritted teeth, becoming annoyed. “Your father—”
“Is on the verge of dying, yes, I understand,” August snapped. Brooks blinked, taken aback. No, this governess was not the mousy girl he had expected. “But I have been Charlotte and Sophie’s teacher, mother, and playmate for the past two and a half years. I will not abandon them for a man that abandoned me. Not even if that man is the Earl of Bolton.”
Brooks’s face softened. He never expected the governess to reject her father’s wishes since they were about to make her very, very rich, but perhaps he should have. He never went to see his father on his deathbed, either, even when the man asked for him. He didn’t even shed a tear at the funeral. Why wouldn’t a woman feel the same way about a father who was never there for her either?
“Is Mr. Dunn truly so incapable without you?” he asked, sighing. “What about the housekeeper?”
August hesitated. “He is not incapable, only absent,” she finally answered. “And Mrs. Howe is too busy for the girls.” She shook her head. “I’m afraid I cannot go quite yet.”
“But—”
“Mr. Dunn will not return home until after dinner tonight. I will speak to him about putting an advertisement for my replacement in the local paper at once.”
Brooks opened his mouth to protest again, worried he would find himself trapped in Portsmouth for the next week. “Miss Summer—”
Suddenly, the drawing room door swung open, and two little girls barged in, running toward August, shouting her name. “Miss Summer! Miss Summer!”
The youngest one climbed on her lap while the older one sat down beside her. They did not bother looking at Brooks.
“Girls!” August exclaimed. “I told you to finish your French exam! What are you doing downstairs? The gentleman and I—”
“Is it true you are an earl’s daughter, Miss Summer?” the older girl asked, bouncing up and down on the cushion next to hers.
“Does that mean you are a lady?” the younger girl asked as well, her legs dangling off August’s lap. Brooks grew uncomfortable watching the scene. He fiddled with his cravat, the room’s fire suddenly feeling much warmer than before. The two girls reminded him of Lucy.
“I am an earl’s daughter, yes, but I’m not sure that makes me a lady, Sophie,” August replied. Brooks noticed she had an easy way with children right away, one that he lacked. “Now, are you going to be polite and allow me to introduce the two of you to our guest?”
The two girls glanced at Brooks, then scrambled to stand. They stood with their shoulders thrown back and their chins pointed toward the ceiling as if they were fine ladies.
“Girls,” August said. She gestured toward him, smiling. He felt awkward sitting there, all three sets of eyes on him. “This is Mr. Brooks. He is my father’s solicitor.” August then waved her hand at her two charges, though her playful blue eyes remained fixated on him. “Mr. Brooks, may I present Miss Charlotte Dunn—” the eldest girl curtsied “—and Miss Sophia Dunn.”
The youngest girl followed her sister’s example, albeit more awkwardly, then smiled broadly at Brooks. Some of her teeth were missing, a somehow endearing feature on young children, though quite horrifying on anyone else. “You can call me Sophie,” she said, giggling.
Brooks glanced at August, who stared at him hopefully. He was aware they were wasting time, but he stood up anyway. The girls gasped as he offered a swift bow. “Good day, Miss Dunn, Miss Sophie.”
“He is very tall,” Charlotte said, turning toward her governess.
August’s eyes met his, and he noticed her cheeks turning pink. She quickly looked away, refocusing her attention on the girls, voice growing stern. “Now, girls, I have important business to discuss with Mr. Brooks. Please return to the classroom and wait for me there.”
“You should go, you know,” Charlotte said matter-of-factly, unmoved despite her governess’s request.
August furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”
“I reckon twelve thousand pounds almost makes you almost as wealthy as Papa.”
August gasped. “Miss Charlotte Dunn! Were you eavesdropping outside the drawing room door?”
Charlotte grew silent, looking toward the ground sheepishly, then back up at her governess. “Maybe,” was all she said at first. August sighed.
“Are you going to leave us, Miss Summer?” Sophie asked.
Brooks noticed the little girl’s dark eyes were beginning to brim with tears. He shifted uncomfortably, watching as August moved from the settee onto her knees in front of Charlotte and Sophie. Her eyes were level with Sophie’s, and she looked from one girl to the other. “I will not go until I find you a new governess—I promise.”
Brooks cleared his throat in protest, and August turned back and glared at him. Did this woman not understand what he meant when he said her father was dying? The earl would not be alive by the time they found a new governess. Charlotte glanced at Brooks, then back at August.
“But you should go with Mr. Brooks and see your father before he dies,” she admitted sadly. “You are a lady now, not a governess.”
The two girls turned away, and although August reached for them, they slipped out of her reach, heading toward the door of the drawing room with their heads hanging low
and their arms swaying at their sides. They both threw a few long glances over their shoulders, frowning at their governess as well as him.
It was quite the production. Brooks nearly laughed. When they were finally gone, August rose, turning toward Brooks. Her hands formed little fists at her side. “You upset them,” she said with a glare.
Brooks shrugged. “They are children. Everything upsets children. Surely they will recover.”
August scoffed, looking him up and down. He narrowed his eyes at her, waiting for some sort of harsh judgment. “I suppose a man like you did not experience any hardship as a child,” she said. “The loss of a mother is hard for any young girl. They are fragile!”
His face fell while she spoke, becoming a contemptuous glare. “You should be careful with such assumptions about my childhood, Miss Summer,” he warned, his voice low, though she remained unmoved. “If you will not leave with me now, I will wait until Mr. Dunn returns. Perhaps he will be able to talk some sense into you. I would hate to see your father disinherit you again when he discovers you would rather remain a governess for a few more weeks than meet him before he dies.”
“Let him,” August said defiantly, lifting her chin toward the ceiling. “I have done quite well without his money for the past few years.”
“Have you?” Brooks asked, looking her up and down, studying her unassuming clothes and the rest of her appearance. Chalk dust covered her hands.
“I have,” she replied, glaring at him. “If you insist upon waiting, you can stay here in the drawing room.”
“Fine,” Brooks said, sitting back down with a loud thump. August remained standing, staring down at him. She glanced at the empty table between the two settees in front of the fire.
“I will have Mrs. Howe bring you a tray of tea and sandwiches,” August said without looking at him. He regarded her carefully as she stared at the table. She turned toward him. “I hope you do not mind waiting a while. Mr. Dunn usually doesn’t return home until after dinner.”
Lady August Page 4