Lady August

by Becky Michaels

“I had a schoolmate who once passed away after a long illness. Even though she died young, I always took comfort in the fact that her soul must be in a much better place. I’m sure it’s the same for your daughter.”

  Mrs. Brooks carefully watched her while she spoke. “She would have liked you,” she said after a long moment.

  August laughed slightly, unable to stop herself. “That’s a very kind thing to say to someone you have just met. I’m sure I would have liked her as well.”

  “My son likes you, so I know she would have liked you.” August’s cheeks warmed. She looked down at her food, unable to think of any sort of response to such a statement. “Perhaps you and your aunt could come for dinner once you become settled.”

  August’s heart fluttered. She thought she would not see Brooks again after she went to her aunt’s. “If you and Mr. Brooks set a date, I most certainly will come.”

  Mrs. Brooks smiled. “I will happily see to that.”

  * * *

  When Brooks returned to Dover Street, Jenkins told him his mother and August were taking tea in the drawing room. As he handed his coat and hat to the butler, Brooks could hear their laughter from where he stood in the entry hall. When he entered the drawing room, they were so enamored with each other’s company that neither of them noticed him until he cleared his throat.

  “I see you have both made a new friend in one another,” he sullenly observed, already worried what secrets his mother might have revealed to August.

  “Brooks!” August exclaimed, appearing much more at ease than she had when he left her last night. “Indeed, your mother has been a wonderful hostess. I hope you have good news about my aunt, though I must confess I find myself much at ease here at Dover Street and wouldn’t mind if I had to stay here another night or two.”

  Brooks sat down in one of the armchairs, trying not to glare at his mother, who seemed unperturbed by his lack of enthusiasm, probably as eager to make August her daughter-in-law as he was to remove her from his life. Things had gotten out of hand, but no more. August would go to Lady Ramsbury’s, whether the wretched woman was hosting an untimely dinner party that night or not.

  As for his mother, she would have to accept the fact that he was determined to remain single, regardless of what heiresses happened to walk into his life. Brooks never made exceptions to the various rules he had set for himself over the years.

  “Your aunt would like you to come to Park Street straight away,” he said.

  August smiled broadly, her cheeks rounding as she did. “That’s wonderful news!”

  Brooks watched his mother try to hide her disappointment, and she frowned at him before forcing herself to grin back at August. He continued. “But there is to be a dinner party at Park Street tonight.”

  “A dinner party?” August echoed incredulously, interrupting him. Her excitement quickly faded, and her forehead wrinkled. Somehow he knew this news would make her nervous. Like him, August seemed to understand the realities of what her father wanted her to do. Going from the governess to member of the ton was no easy feat.

  “Yes,” Brooks replied. “She extended invitations to all three of us. I think she would like to prove to me that she can successfully guide August through a social gathering, though—”

  “But I have nothing to wear!” August exclaimed, interrupting again.

  He sighed. He knew August was unprepared for such an event, which was what he would have said had she not spoken over him. August’s wardrobe was nothing more than a small collection of faded muslin gowns, barely nice enough for daytime. There was nothing appropriate for a dinner party in Mayfair. Perhaps August would refuse to go, and she would have to stay another night at Dover Street, as much as it would displease him.

  “I am sure I can find something amongst Lucy’s old things,” his mother said, causing Brooks to stiffen. That was when he noticed the lavender day dress August was wearing couldn’t possibly belong to her. His heartbeat quickened.

  “That’s very kind of you, Mrs. Brooks,” August said before looking at him, frowning slightly. Brooks realized then that his mother must have told her who Lucy was, and now it was only a matter of time before she started asking him questions about his sister, ones he had no desire to answer. He should have known this would happen from the moment she took her first step into his home.

  Brooks abruptly stood, unable to face August and his mother any longer. “Put her in whatever you want,” he told his mother. “Just be ready to leave at half past six.”

  He left before they could say anything. He went to his room, where he shrugged off his jacket, discarding it on the ground. He tore off his cravat next, crumpling the fabric in his hand before throwing it on the floor as well.

  Sitting on the bed, he reached to pick up his sister’s miniature on his bedside table. He wondered what she would think of his present situation. Lucy would probably laugh at him and tell him he was acting ridiculous. If he liked the girl, he should just tell her. But how could he?

  He put the miniature back down on the table, turning to face the wall. He did not believe in marriage for plenty of reasons. One girl could not change those reasons, no matter how he felt about her. He ran a hand through his hair, then shook his head. He needed to get a hold of himself.

  Reaching for the bellpull, Brooks convinced himself whatever feelings he presently had would be fleeting. She would leave for her aunt’s, he would forget about her, and his life would go back to normal. All he had to do was get through this dinner party, and then he would be done with her—temptation gone for good.

  When Jenkins arrived, Brooks stood up. “Pour me a drink,” he said. “Then help me dress for a dinner party at Lady Ramsbury’s.”

  Jenkins raised his brows, seemingly out of surprise, but Brooks ignored him, anxious for his glass of brandy. Brooks snatched it from Jenkins as soon as he carried it within a foot of him. He quickly tossed the beverage back and handed it back to an openmouthed Jenkins.

  “Another, sir?” he asked in a tremulous voice.

  Brooks nodded, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. “Yes, Jenkins.”

  * * *

  “You mustn’t let him discourage you,” Mrs. Brooks told August.

  August stood in Lucy’s old room. The wardrobe was open, and a collection of evening gowns had been laid in every direction across the bed. August looked at them all, each one prettier than the next.

  “Lucy would want you to wear them,” Mrs. Brooks added, forcing August back to the present. She turned to Mrs. Brooks and the maid behind her and tried to smile. Mrs. Brooks gave an encouraging nod.

  August looked back at the dresses on the bed, biting her lip. Although she certainly cared for Brooks’s feelings on the matter, the dresses were beautiful, and why shouldn’t she look nice meeting her aunt, the Dowager Duchess of Ramsbury, for the first time?

  “Very well,” she said, pulling a salmon-colored dinner dress from the pile of frocks. “I will wear this one.”

  Mrs. Brooks smiled at her. “Wonderful choice,” she said before turning to her maid. “I will let you handle the rest.”

  Once August had been dressed and her hair done up, she took one last look at herself in the tall mirror in the corner of Lucy’s room. She turned back to the maid, grinning slightly. “I hardly recognize myself.”

  Unlike Rosamund’s dress from two nights ago, Lucy’s gown fit her, showing off her shape. The salmon-colored fabric complimented her skin tone, and the maid had decorated her hair with gemstones, making her blonde hair sparkle. She wondered what Brooks would think.

  When the maid left, August took a moment to breathe deeply. She was nervous, but she could not let the prospect of meeting her aunt scare her. August wasn’t sure if she could handle any more rejection from her family after her brother shirked all responsibility.

  August left her room and went downstairs, finding Brooks waiting by the front door in the round entry hall. He was facing away from her as she started to descend, but when he hea
rd her, he turned and looked. She smiled nervously, and she thought she saw him clench his jaw.

  “Lady August,” he said, meeting her at the bottom of the stairs. She furrowed her brow. Did he sound different? “You look lovely.”

  “Have you been drinking?” she asked suspiciously, smelling brandy on him.

  He laughed once, appearing much more relaxed than he usually did. “You only spent two days with Charles, yet now you know what a man smells like when he’s been drinking. Your father would be proud.”

  She ignored his sarcastic comments, growing concerned. “Why have you been drinking? I hope I didn’t upset you by wearing one of Lucy’s dresses this afternoon. I tried to talk my way out of going to dinner so I didn’t have to wear any more of her things, but your mother insisted.”

  Brooks stared at her for a long moment, not answering her question. She frowned, searching his face. “Brooks?”

  “I do not like dinner parties,” he finally explained. Still confused, August continued looking up at him. He sighed. “The brandy helps calm my nerves.”

  August started to nod. “I see,” she said. Then, she grinned at him. “Perhaps I could have some as well, then. Out of the two of us, I have much more reason to be nervous.”

  “Is that so?” he asked, smiling despite himself. August nodded in response. “Well, I am happy to report you do not have anything to fret over. Your aunt is eager to meet you, and you look beautiful.” August felt her cheeks grow hot as Brooks continued. “I’m sure the evening will be quite the success.”

  “Thank you,” was all August could say. She was glad when Mrs. Brooks came downstairs because Brooks finally turned away, heading toward the front door. She always felt like she forgot how to breathe whenever he was near her.

  “Come along now,” he told the two women. “I have a hack waiting outside.”

  August followed, taking a deep breath just in case she might need it later.

  Chapter Fourteen

  August was such a natural that Brooks hardly recognized her that night, even when he first saw her on the stairwell at his home on Dover Street. The girl was a real beauty, but he had known that from the morning he first saw her. Now he watched her talk to the two young men beside her at dinner with ease. She seemed to know exactly when to laugh at a joke or bat her eyelashes, capturing their attention as if that was what she was born to do.

  Glancing at August’s aunt at the head of the table, Brooks knew even the dowager duchess was impressed by her niece’s easy way with the opposite sex, especially when the men at the table had been far above her station only a few days ago. Lady Ramsbury proudly watched her niece as she carried on like a seasoned member of the ton, triumphantly lifting her chin as she did.

  On his part, the scene made Brooks want to drink even more than he already had at home. He reached for his port glass, finishing the remaining red liquid in one gulp. A footman moved over his shoulder, quickly refilling it, and Brooks did not bother trying to stop him, though he probably should have, being thoroughly foxed already. But if that was the case, what was the harm in another glass?

  He looked around the dining room as he continued to drink. There were twenty of them there that evening—ten men and ten women. Brooks could tell from the various whispers and conversations he overheard that every man was interested in August, regardless of their marital status. The niece of an independently wealthy dowager duchess? The heiress to a recently deceased earl? Well, she must be rich—and maybe even richer once Lady Ramsbury died.

  If they did not want her for themselves, they wanted her for their second or third sons. First sons were out of the question, seeing as they all assumed she must be illegitimate. The members of the ton had to draw the line somewhere, after all, so an heir for August was out of the question.

  Meanwhile, the other young women in the room acted as if they hated her, wondering who this mysterious newcomer was. The young lady beside him that evening admitted as much after she caught him looking at August for at least the ninth time that evening. He wasn’t sure the exact number, having lost count during the first course.

  “She is not even that pretty,” the woman beside him muttered under her breath.

  Slowly, Brooks turned and looked at her. “Pardon me?”

  She exhaled loudly and placed her fork on the table, and Brooks thought she might roll her eyes at him. “My dowry is six thousand pounds, but you and these men will not even look twice at me now that there is a larger prize to be won,” she complained.

  Brooks looked down at his plate, carving himself a bite-sized piece of goose. “Perhaps it’s the mystery that enthralls them,” he suggested.

  Or perhaps they all think you are abominably rude.

  The girl cast a sidelong glance at him. “Do you know where the late Lord Bolton found her?” she asked furtively. “Aren’t you the family’s solicitor?”

  He finished chewing, then gently put down his knife and fork, turning to face the irritating chit directly. “Yes, that’s right. I am the family’s solicitor, so I wonder what makes you think I will divulge any of their private information to you?”

  She blushed furiously, turning away from him and saying no more. They both returned to eating their meals in silence while Brooks surreptitiously gazed at August from time to time.

  After dinner was over, the ladies moved to the drawing room while the gentlemen remained at the dinner table, enjoying their brandy and passing around a tin box of snuff. Brooks skipped the snuff but took the brandy, quietly getting up and leaving the room when the subject of conversation turned to the women of the party. He dreaded what he might do if he heard them talk about August.

  He wandered through the halls of Lady Ramsbury’s Park Street mansion until he found the library, which he thought might provide a quiet reprieve from the evening’s activities. He walked toward the fireplace, putting one hand on the marble mantel as he looked down into the fire, his body slightly bent at the waist. He held his glass of brandy at his stomach, occasionally bringing it to his lips, letting the beverage burn his throat until it was gone.

  He stood there in silence for what felt like a long while until a cheerful female voice interrupted his solitude. “My!” the voice exclaimed. “What a wonderful room! I have never seen so many books!”

  He grimaced, standing up straight and placing his empty glass on top of the mantel. He put his hands on his hips, looking around the room in question. Yes, the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves did seem to contain more books than he had ever seen in one place, but they could not keep his attention—not now. His eyes eventually fell on the owner of the female voice. August stood looking at him from across the room, clasping her hands in front of herself and looking up at him as if he were somehow interesting.

  He did not want her to look at him that way. Soon she would start asking all sorts of questions in an attempt to get to the core of him, to find out what made him “him.” He was unsure if he knew the answer himself, and he would rather August not get to it first.

  Knowing he was in danger of just that, he thought he should discourage her in some way. Perhaps make fun of how she looked at everything with such wide-eyed wonder. Instead, that feeling of tenderness he worried about before seemed to overtake his better senses.

  “You ought to read them all,” he said. “Tell me which one you like best. There are so many of them that I doubt you’ll be able to choose where to start.”

  “I am not sure if I will have any time,” she replied wistfully. “Your mother says I should be practicing the pianoforte every day in case someone asks me to perform at a dinner party once I’m officially out. Not to mention it sounds like my aunt has already contacted the best tutors in London to help me become more accomplished. You will be happy to hear that, of course.”

  “Why would you think that?” Brooks asked, furrowing his brow.

  “I know you think my aunt might try to corrupt me, but I don’t think she has that in mind at all. I think she only wants the best for
me.” She shook her head. “But that’s not why I have come to find you. We are about to play charades, and my aunt suggested you be my partner for the evening. Won’t you come to the drawing room with me?”

  For a moment, Brooks stared at her, studying the curve of her neck, wondering what she would do if he placed a kiss there. He turned back toward the fire, alarmed by such feelings. “I am not sure I am quite up for it tonight.”

  August did not respond, nor did she leave. Instead, she came to stand beside him at the hearth. He looked up at the massive portrait of the late Duke of Ramsbury, framed in gold, hanging above them. He very nearly asked the man to give him strength. “I suppose we will not see each other again after this,” he said, turning to August instead, hoping the words would bring him back to reality instead of his present hazy stupor.

  “I suppose not,” she said beside him, her voice quiet. He wondered if she was sad to be parting with him, but she had never given any indication she had grown attached to him. After all, she probably had a whole slew of men waiting to partner with her in a game of charades in the drawing room.

  “Were you serious when you told me you had a lover?” he asked suddenly. The words came out abruptly, surprising him as much as her if her wide eyes were any indication. Her cheeks flushed.

  “Y-yes.”

  They were silent for a moment. Brooks searched her face, wishing he could know what she was thinking. “And did you love the man?” he asked.

  August did not answer right away. She continued to stare at him like an owl instead. “W-what?” she finally stammered.

  “Did you love him?” he repeated, already dreading her answer. Love was not an emotion so easily forgotten, and if someone hurt her…

  But she shook her head. “No,” she said, her voice low. “It was over two years ago, just before I left Hardbury. I suppose I was curious.” She laughed slightly. “Curious to a foolish extent, one might say.”

  “But were there any expectations—”