Lady August

by Becky Michaels

  The man nodded. “I wish you nothing but the best.” He glanced at his two daughters, then back at August. “Do not worry about us. We will be fine.”

  They would be fine without her, wouldn’t they? August sadly smiled, took a deep breath, then turned away, letting Brooks help her into the carriage. He climbed in after her, taking the seat opposite of her. The carriage lurched forward very suddenly, and she nearly fell forward into his lap. “Sorry,” she murmured, embarrassed as she straightened herself and smoothed out her wrinkled skirts.

  Brooks didn’t say anything, silently removing his hat and placing it on the seat beside him. He ran his fingers through his already disheveled hair, and that was when she noticed the dark circles under his eyes. He must have been traveling for a long time, and she might have felt bad for him if she didn’t find him so annoying.

  They rode on in silence for what felt like a good half hour before Brooks finally cleared his throat. “Would you mind it terribly if I sat next to you?” he asked, pointing toward the empty seat beside her. She had slid against the wall of the carriage, content to look out the window and say nothing until they arrived in Linfield. Now, she glanced at the empty seat beside her, then back at Brooks, narrowing her gaze at him.

  “Why?” she asked.

  Brooks sighed. “Let me reassure you there’s nothing untoward about my request. It’s just that I get dreadfully ill when I ride in a carriage facing backward. I know it’s not polite to talk about bodily functions in front of ladies, but I’m afraid I will throw up on your skirts if I do not change directions.”

  August’s eyes widened. “Oh, dear! By all means, then!” She gestured to the empty seat beside her. “I wish you would have said something earlier.”

  She supposed he did look a bit paler than usual, and a thin layer of sweat had developed across his forehead. As he moved to sit beside her, he let out a deep breath, and she instinctively reached for a handkerchief inside her reticule. August leaned over and started dabbing his brow, causing him to recoil. She did the same. They stared at each other like two barn cats, unsure if they had just come across a friend or a foe.

  “I apologize,” August said quickly, turning away and stuffing her handkerchief back inside her reticule. She slid back toward the wall of the carriage, as far away from Brooks as possible. “Working as a governess, taking care of others becomes second nature very quickly.”

  “Funny,” he murmured. “I do not remember my governess caring so much about me.”

  August rolled her eyes. Before she left Hardbury, Mrs. Thorpe warned her that some charges never took to their governesses. Some would play mean pranks, and she wondered then if Brooks was that sort of child. As for Charlotte and Sophie, they loved August immediately. She had always been thankful for that.

  “Perhaps you can help nurse your father,” Brooks suggested. The mention of the earl’s illness piqued August’s curiosity. She turned toward Brooks.

  “What is wrong with him?” August asked.

  “Some sort of wasting disease,” Brooks replied with a frown. “He’s been sick these past three months.”

  “Oh,” she said. It took the earl three months to decide he wanted to see his illegitimate daughter? “I wonder why he did not send for me earlier. His change of heart seems so sudden.”

  Brooks snorted and rolled his eyes. “That’s an understatement,” he muttered. August stared at him, demanding further explanation with her eyes alone. Brooks sighed.

  “Your father told me his sudden illness gave him much time to think. My guess is a man like that, once so powerful and strong, starts to feel his health rapidly decline and begins wondering what he did to deserve such a fate. Perhaps he believes it to be some sort of cosmic reckoning for how he did nothing more but send you to school, and now he wishes to make amends, believing it may save his soul.”

  “A cosmic reckoning?” August asked, arching her brow.

  He shrugged as if he wasn’t sure what he meant either. “The man feels guilty now that he’s dying. That’s the only explanation I have for his absurd behavior.”

  Something suddenly dawned on her. “You do not like the earl,” August said simply.

  “He is my client,” Brooks replied, his tone sharp.

  “Yes, but you disagree with what he’s doing,” she said, shaking her head. “Giving his bastard daughter an invitation to his country house and twelve thousand pounds.” She laughed slightly. “What could he be thinking?”

  Brooks did not try to deny it, and the two travelers fell silent. August turned to look out the window. She watched the sun lift over the horizon, painting the trees and fields gold. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been in the country. The dirt road and the yellow fields of wheat they passed reminded her of the walk from Hardbury to Wilton.

  August resolved to remain quiet for the rest of the journey, not wishing to speak to Brooks, who seemed to shift uncomfortably beside her very frequently. Every so often, he would even rub his temple as if in pain. It must have been his illness. The man did not look well. “Do you always fall ill during carriage rides?” she asked, unable to remain silent any longer after another half hour passed.

  “Yes,” he said. The body of the carriage jostled as its wheels went over a large rock, and he groaned. “I do not know how anyone can stand it.”

  August bit her lip. Perhaps a distraction was in order, something to take his mind off how terrible he was feeling. She did not wish to speak to Brooks, but she did have questions for him.

  “Do I have any siblings?” August asked suddenly. Brooks turned to her, his brow knit together in confusion. She grinned at him sheepishly. “I have been wondering for a while now, so I thought I would ask.”

  Slowly, Brooks nodded. “You have an older brother, Charles, who will become the earl once your father passes. He is eight-and-twenty. And you have an older sister, Rosamund, as well. She is three-and-twenty.”

  “Only a few years older than me,” August murmured to herself. She was not the praying sort, but if she were, she might have dropped to her knees and prayed at that very moment, if only for her sister to like her. She had make-believe sisters all her life—girls at the orphanage, Jane, the Dunn girls—but now she would have a real one!

  “What’s that?” Brooks asked suddenly, and August realized he had been staring at her as if concerned for her well-being.

  “What’s what?” she asked, pinching her brows together as he regarded her as if she were mad. He waved his hand in circles at her face. She leaned away from him, offended.

  “That dreamy look in your eyes,” he said impatiently. “What are you thinking? I’m afraid I must squash any hopes and dreams before they take flight. It’s for your own good.”

  Hopes and dreams? August squinted at him. What could he mean? She shook her head. “I was only thinking about how wonderful it would be to have a sister. What is Rosamund like?”

  August thought she heard Brooks stifle a groan. “No,” he said.

  She raised her brow. “No?”

  “No,” he said again, this time with an added shake of the head. She stared at him until he elaborated. “You must assume everyone except your father will hate you.”

  August frowned. He must have been joking. “You can’t be serious.”

  Brooks only shrugged in response, and August fell silent as a result. A few moments passed, and she wrung her hands in her lap, staring at them. “Do my siblings truly hate me?” she finally dared to ask, turning back toward Brooks. “Or are you just saying that to make me nervous?”

  Brooks ground his teeth together. August patiently waited for a response. “Truthfully, I do not know how your siblings feel,” he finally said. “Your father had not yet told them when he ordered me to fetch you for him. He promised he would tell them before we returned.”

  “Oh,” August said, her face falling. Panic set into her chest. “Then they are just becoming used to the idea of me. They will be shocked, especially when they discover how mu
ch money he has left me. I will be nothing but a wicked usurper to them, encroaching on their home while their beloved father dies.”

  “No,” Brooks said, reaching for August’s hand, taking it into his own. She looked at their intertwined fingers, then back at him, confused. Thankfully, her shocked expression did not discourage him, and he still held on to her hand.

  “I have known Rosamund my entire life,” he said, gazing up at August reassuringly. Her breathing hitched. “She is a good sort of girl, kind to everyone. If she is shocked, she won’t be for long. I’m sure you will be fast friends.”

  August smiled at the soothing words. Even if they might not be true, they were undoubtedly comforting. “And what of my brother, Charles?” she asked.

  Brooks suddenly took his hand back, leaning away from her. She clenched and unclenched her hand, trying to rid herself of the phantom feel of him. He shook his head, clearly not noticing the effect he had on her. “That I’m not quite so sure,” he said. “Your brother has a taste for vice.”

  “Vice?” August asked, looking confused.

  “Yes—drinking, gambling, whoring. You know the sort.”

  August nodded her head once. “Ah,” she said, thinking of Henry for some reason. “A rakehell.”

  Brooks laughed. “Something like that,” he said with an easy smile that made her stomach flip. “I’m surprised you know such a word.”

  August grinned at him. He must have thought she was some sort of innocent. “I think you would be surprised by many things about me, Mr. Brooks,” she said.

  His smile started to fade, and then he quickly looked away, back toward the window. Meanwhile, August felt proud of her ability to unnerve him. But then Brooks turned to her once more, a severe look on his face. August’s confidence faltered.

  “Your father’s wife, Lady Bolton, will be at Linfield Hall as well,” he said. “I would not expect much of a welcome from her, but I would also ask that you do not judge her too harshly. She is a kind woman who will be coming to terms with your father’s betrayal. I’m sure she will learn to accept your connection both to her husband and her children, though, with some time and perhaps Rosamund’s help.”

  August nodded at him, chewing her lower lip. “I would not blame her if she didn’t,” she said softly.

  “But she will,” he said with a sense of determination. August watched as Brooks turned to look out the window again, a thoughtful look on his face. “I have known Lady Bolton for a very long time. My father was Bolton’s solicitor before me, but their relationship was not just one of business. They were best friends. So I spent every summer at Linfield, pretending to be a much wealthier lad than I was, playing with Charles and his neighbor and cousin. Lady Bolton always looked out for me.”

  “She sounds lovely,” August said, turning to look out the window and arching her brow. How strange for Brooks to be Lady Bolton’s champion, she thought.

  With neither of them interested in having any further conversation, August reached into her reticule, pulling out a novel she had brought with her to pass the time. She had barely started reading when Brooks cleared his throat, causing August to look up at him. “What is it?”

  “Is that The Mysteries of Udolpho?”

  “Yes,” she said, somewhat defensively, knowing how some people felt about Miss Radcliffe. “Why? Do you wish to tell me that novels will turn my mind to mush like Mr. Dunn and Mrs. Thorpe so often did?”

  “I find nothing wrong with enjoying a good novel,” he said, surprising her. A solicitor enjoying a leisurely pursuit such as reading a novel? How odd. “I would read one myself right now, but it would only make my illness worse.”

  “Ah,” she said. She considered Brooks’s plight for a moment, then sighed, staring down at the pages of Udolpho. “I could read aloud to you if you would like.”

  Brooks looked at her as if she said something terrible, and it took her a moment to realize why. Reading Miss Radcliffe aloud to the opposite sex would not be appropriate behavior in polite society.

  “I’m sorry—that’s inappropriate,” she said, shaking her head, sure her cheeks were turning a dreadful shade of red. She looked down at the book in her lap. She nearly muttered that perhaps she ought to have brought the Bible instead. “There are so many new rules I will have to become accustomed to, aren’t there? I do hope someone hires some sort of teacher.”

  Thankfully, Brooks ignored her babbling. “I would love for you to read to me.”

  “You would?” she asked, looking up at him, eyes widening.

  He nodded. “Traveling becomes rather dull when all you can do is look out the carriage window, counting the minutes between now and the next stopping place. I will not tell anyone if you don’t.”

  She grinned at him. “Very well, Mr. Brooks,” she said with a nod. “Shall I start at the beginning?”

  They continued like that for the rest of the afternoon, August reading and Brooks listening. It was heartening to find someone who enjoyed what she did, but she tried to remind herself it would not last. Nothing in her life ever did. Brooks would return to London once he delivered her to Linfield Hall, leaving her care to her family—as he should, of course.

  He had already done more than enough for her father by fetching her, and he must want to return to his regular life sooner rather than later. She wondered if he would forget about her or if she might see him in London if her family ever went there.

  He had mentioned, of course, that he spent summers at Linfield as a boy. She was curious if he did the same now, but with the way he spoke about Charles, she assumed they were no longer close enough for him to visit with any frequency. Except, it seemed, on matters of business, which August had to remind herself she was.

  No amount of Miss Radcliffe could change that, even if her stories were somewhat scandalous. She must not get carried away, she told herself. After all, people did have a way of disappointing her time and time again.

  Chapter Six

  Despite their inauspicious first meeting, Brooks found himself relaxing around August, but perhaps it was only his aching head muddling his typically more prudent behavior. What else could have driven him to sit beside her or reach for her hand? Worst of all, he agreed to let her read Udolpho to him.

  Of all the terrible things to do in close quarters with a woman, he had asked her to read Udolpho to him! He might as well have asked her to strip naked. Miss Radcliffe’s words did nothing but inflame his physical attraction toward her. As she read to him, he found his eyes drifting from her perfect lips to her full bosom and then back toward her lowered eyelashes.

  Brooks attempted to calm himself by reminding himself his lust must be one-sided, for what could this bright-eyed chit know of sexual desire except for what she read in novels? He had his concerns about August and Mr. Dunn, but after watching her depart his house in Portsmouth, Brooks no longer suspected anything.

  August only cried for her two charges, and she did not seem like the type of woman to have a scandalous affair with her employer. She told him herself that she valued love and family above all else. August probably yearned for nothing but love and marriage like any young girl he could find at Almack’s. But love and marriage were not what Brooks was thinking about as he admired August’s figure, even when he was sure she was not interested in him at all.

  Instead, Brooks seemed to annoy August on more than one occasion since they met, and she would probably be happy when he returned to London as soon as he delivered her to her father. Night had fallen, and the carriage was dark now. August had ceased reading and leaned her head against the side of the carriage, closing her eyes.

  The next posting inn would be soon, and Brooks recalled Mr. Dunn’s warning to look after her. Usually, he would have no qualms traveling through the night, switching postboys and horses at every stop, barely resting or eating himself. But it could be dangerous traveling at night, and August looked tired.

  Would it be any more dangerous, he wondered, sleeping down the hall from
her at an inn, completely unchaperoned? He imagined this was how all ill-advised matches began, especially for men who claimed to want never-ending bachelorhood. A budding attraction would eventually explode when just the right girl was near such a man, his reckless actions forcing him to marry her long before they even knew each other.

  Brooks reminded himself that he would leave her soon, returning to his regular life as a bachelor. He would forget his strange fascination with this girl and remember all the reasons why he had no desire to marry.

  Willfully celibate, Brooks told himself. He would not fall victim to this girl or anyone else. When they reached the next posting inn, the carriage’s sudden stop outside shook her awake, and she regarded Brooks with half-shut eyes.

  “Are we here?” she asked, seemingly still half asleep.

  He sighed, looking outside the window of the carriage, toward the posting inn. The brick building seemed clean enough from the outside. A lantern hung over the red door, illuminating a black sign with white lettering that said The Talbot Inn.

  “Not quite,” he said. “We have another day of traveling ahead of us. I would go on through the night if it were just me, but I wouldn’t want any highwaymen to attack the carriage with you inside.”

  Wide awake now, she glared at him. “Do you think I wouldn’t be able to defend myself like you could?”

  Brooks chuckled slightly. She probably could, given the opportunity. “Or perhaps I only value your life more than mine. We can have supper and rest here tonight.”

  “But what about my father? Didn’t you say we were in a hurry?”

  Brooks raised his brow. “So now you are eager to see him? We will leave at dawn if it so pleases you, but we will sleep here tonight.”

  “Oh, all right,” she said with a huff.

  He helped her out of the carriage and guided her toward the inn. The innkeeper came out from around the bar, where a few patrons sat enjoying their pints. “May I help you, sir?” the man asked Brooks.

  He arranged for two rooms—one for him and his “sister,” which caused August to raise her brow at him when he said it—and had the man bring them supper while they waited for the servants to prepare their lodging. They took their meal in the public dining room, which was empty except for them.