He was fortunate that Lady Ramsbury appeared when she did, leaving him the perfect opportunity to escape without any sort of explanation. At the time, he had none. He still didn’t. He could have blamed the alcohol, but what a sorry excuse that was. Quite frankly, he had let what would prove to be a fleeting attraction get the better of him, and in the end, that didn’t change his views on love and marriage.
Yet as Brooks lay on the settee with his forearms crossed over his eyes to block out the rising sun, he knew he must apologize. He had done something he shouldn’t have and had perhaps gotten her hopes up in the process. If she even hoped for someone like him, cold and aloof. Either way, he could not do such things and not expect any consequences.
The first of which was his mother, loudly rapping on the door of his study a mere five minutes after he woke. “Samuel!” she called from the reception room. “Are you in there?”
Brooks winced but did not answer at first.
“Samuel!”
This time her voice was much more shrill. Brooks sighed. “Just a moment, Mother,” he reluctantly called out to her.
Brooks slowly stood up, his entire body aching from a night of excess. He walked to his door and opened it, revealing his mother in her morning gown, a bandeau fashioned around her head. She made a face as if she smelled something foul, her eyes raking over him, but she didn’t say a word. “What is it?” he asked.
“What is it?” his mother repeated, shooting him an incredulous look. She put her hands on her hips, a sign that Brooks was in for a proper scolding. “Well, I convinced Lady Ramsbury to let you be August’s partner in charades, but when she went to find you, you decided to leave instead! Because you were tired! How could you? Do you know who ended up being her partner? Lord Ridlington, as in the Marquess of Ridlington! A man whose name is worth at least three times as much as yours.”
Brooks sat there listening, his head aching even more with each word. If he had known August would play charades with her aunt’s rumored lover, perhaps he would have stayed. He rubbed his neck, annoyed. “Thank you, Mother, but I am already aware of where Lord Ridlington ranks in society, especially compared to me.”
Mrs. Brooks threw up her arms in exasperation, spinning and walking toward one of the settees in the reception room. Brooks followed her without speaking, knowing that sometimes it was best to keep his head down and let his mother talk when she was angry with him. Maybe the last comment had been out of line. She sat down, putting her hands on her knees and shaking her head at the floor.
“Don’t you want to be happy?” she asked, looking up at him, her hazel eyes rimmed with tears. He tried not to sigh at seeing how predictable his mother had become. She did this whenever he went out with her, which was part of the reason he stopped going out unless it was by himself to his club. “Or would you prefer to be miserable and alone?”
She bit out the last two words: miserable and alone. Brooks told himself he wasn’t either of those two things. And who said he wasn’t happy? It wasn’t like the ghosts of his dead sister and father haunted him every day, and he certainly did not fear intimacy with others because of that. Brooks sighed, bringing his fist to his temple and closing his eyes. He supposed his mother had a point.
“If I have to leave this world before you make a family of your own, I will haunt you for the rest of your life,” his mother practically growled when he did not respond to her questions.
“If it makes you feel better, I have already decided to go to Park Street this afternoon and apologize to August for my abrupt departure,” he mumbled, lowering his hand from his head.
His mother seemed to perk up at this news. “Is that so?” she asked. Brooks nodded. “Well, that is a start. Perhaps you can invite her and her aunt to dinner one evening. I doubt it will compare to what they serve on Park Street, but our cook can certainly try.”
“I did not say I planned to initiate a courtship by inviting her to dinner,” Brooks said sharply, rolling his eyes. He took a deep breath, attempting to diffuse his annoyance. “I only wish to apologize and offer her my friendship—even my services as a solicitor—should she need anything as a woman of newfound fortune.”
His mother appeared unimpressed, narrowing her eyes at him. “Your friendship? Your services? What good does that do either of you? She needs a husband, not a friend. And who better than you, who rescued her from that dump in Portsmouth!”
Brooks gritted his teeth. “First of all, I did not rescue her. She was doing quite fine without me interrupting her life on behalf of her father. Second of all, the Dunns were respectable people who treated her well, and their house in Portsmouth was as nice as this one.” His mother scoffed, but Brooks continued anyway. “And third of all, you and I both know I do not plan to marry, so friendship is the best I can offer.”
Mrs. Brooks groaned. “Oh, must you maintain this foolish fancy of yours? You will drive me to an early grave!”
“What foolish fancy?”
“Of being single forever! It’s not natural.”
Brooks glared at his mother. What wasn’t natural, he wanted to say, was the way marriages seemed to collapse all around him. His father and mother’s, Lord and Lady Bolton’s—even the love match between Lucy and Edward, Charles and Rosamund’s cousin, ended in tragedy.
Even if he did wish to marry August, why would he risk her future for his fanciful desires? The husbands he knew ended up beating or cheating on their wives, failing them completely. Hell, it was in his blood, perhaps even all men’s blood. If it were up to him, August would never marry.
“I will maintain my foolish fancy for as long as I like,” Brooks finally grumbled. He decided he had given his mother his attention long enough. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must get ready for my morning appointments.”
Chapter Sixteen
The day after the dinner party, Lady Ramsbury took August shopping, as promised. After all, there couldn’t be any visits from dancing masters or etiquette tutors until her niece procured an entirely new wardrobe. Their first stop was the linendraper, where they bought different fabrics with no sense of economy, despite August’s protests.
“You are a wealthy heiress, August,” Lady Ramsbury told her, the feather in her hat bobbing to and fro as she turned her chin and nose upward, as she so often did when speaking. “You need to start dressing like one. Do not worry—I have been managing my finances and looking fashionable while doing it for many years. I will not lead you astray in cost or appearance.” The dowager duchess offered a reassuring smile. “You only need to trust me.”
August watched as her aunt selected plenty of colorful silks for evening gowns, as well as yards and yards of the best muslin that she had ever seen. “Do I need so much muslin?” she asked, uncertain.
Lady Ramsbury looked at August as if she had never heard such a ridiculous question. “You will spend most of your day in muslin. Your morning dress. Your walking dress. Your visiting dress. All muslin.”
August still did not see the point. “Is it necessary for me to have so many dresses? I feel as though I’ll spend my whole day changing.”
“We all have crosses to bear,” her aunt muttered, ignoring her as she pointed the shopkeeper in the direction of another floral-patterned muslin. Once she finished selecting fabrics in that material, Lady Ramsbury moved on to wools. August inhaled sharply.
“It is nearly summer!” she exclaimed, causing the shopkeeper to pause. He glanced at her aunt, who gave a curt nod for him to continue. August continued to protest anyway. “Why should I need any wools right now?”
Lady Ramsbury looked over her shoulder, raising a judgmental brow at her tattered red cloak. “It is still the middle of spring, and you desperately need new outerwear,” her aunt said flatly before turning away. “And a carriage dress.”
“A carriage dress?” August echoed, confused. There were too many types of dresses! “What if I am visiting someone but must first get in a carriage? Do I wear a visiting dress or a carriage dress
in that scenario?”
Her aunt turned again, shaking her head, exasperated. “No, no, no! A carriage dress is for long journeys.”
“What constitutes a long journey?” August asked. She supposed her trip with Brooks was a long journey, but she was trying not to think of him that day. He had already taken up too many of her dreams the night before. She focused on her aunt instead, who contemplated her question.
“Anything over an hour,” she finally answered. “For example, if you are going to a house party in the country, you ought to wear your carriage dress, but when you arrive, you should immediately change into your visiting dress. Do you understand?”
August nodded. “Will I be attending any house parties?” she asked, thinking of Rosamund’s wedding in June.
“One can only hope,” her aunt said in between picking out wools. Finally, they moved on to silks. “House parties truly are key to any young woman’s success on the marriage mart.”
“What do you mean?” August asked, stepping closer to her aunt as if the woman was about to tell her a huge secret.
“Think about it,” her aunt said seriously, turning around. “A week or two in a remote countryside palace with twenty or so other people, some of them young and single. I have yet to see a house party that ends without an engagement.”
The dowager duchess spoke with such authority that all August could do was politely nod in agreement. After they finished there, they moved to the haberdasher down the road—“For trimmings,” Lady Ramsbury explained—and then finally the dressmaker. It was late afternoon by the time they finished their errands.
August managed to avoid thinking of Brooks for most of the outing, but when they returned to Park Street, Lady Ramsbury’s butler greeted them right away. August’s heart started to pound as he spoke.
Brooks was waiting for them in the drawing room.
* * *
Although he spent all morning dreading it, Brooks did call on August at Park Street that afternoon. Giving his card to the butler, he was informed that Lady Ramsbury and her charge were out shopping and would not return until later. Brooks pulled his pocket watch out and checked the time, which read half past three, then asked if he could wait.
The butler showed him to the drawing room, the same cavernous room where Lady Ramsbury played Schubert for her adoring fans only yesterday. Brooks furrowed his brow. Was that yesterday? It had felt like a lifetime ago.
He glanced at the furniture by the fire where the group must have played charades last night. Brooks wondered what August thought of Lord Ridlington and if she knew he was one of her aunt’s lovers.
“Shall I bring you something to drink, sir?” the butler asked, interrupting his thoughts.
His stomach still felt queasy from the night before. “Perhaps some tea,” Brooks suggested, taking a seat in one of the armchairs by the fire. He peered up at the clock on the mantel, wondering how much longer they would be.
Sitting there was worse than all his meetings that day. Brooks had thought those dragged on, but at least his clients had their various business dealings and life problems with which to distract him. Now he only had a cup of tea and finger sandwiches, which made him recall being trapped in Mr. Dunn’s study when he first met August. Brooks scowled. Must he always be waiting on this girl?
It was an hour before he heard any signs of life in the entry hall. He nearly dropped his cup of tea on the floor, rising quickly before August and her aunt could enter the room. The younger girl did not look at him, and Lady Ramsbury appeared neither impressed nor irritated upon finding him in her drawing room once more.
“Mr. Brooks,” she said in a clipped tone. “I did not expect you back at Park Street so soon.”
“I hope you don’t mind,” he said while they all sat. Brooks glanced at August, who still looked anywhere in the room but at him. “I only wanted to ask how your game of charades went.”
When their eyes finally met, August forced a smile. “It was terrific fun. Wasn’t it, Aunt?” She turned to Lady Ramsbury, who nodded, then looked back at Brooks. “Lord Ridlington was my partner, and I must say, he does have a real knack for it. Charades, I mean.” She looked at Lady Ramsbury again. “Wouldn’t you agree, Aunt?”
“I suppose,” she said tentatively before slowly rising, turning to Brooks as she did. “I do not mean to be rude, but I have just remembered I must give urgent instructions to the cook regarding dinner this evening. I’ll only be a moment. Excuse me.”
Brooks watched Lady Ramsbury’s back as she practically floated out of the room, chin pointed upward. As predicted, the dowager duchess was a terrible chaperone, allowing Brooks and August time alone together. Yet there he was, grateful for that moment of privacy with her. He was the worst sort of hypocrite.
“Did you tell her what happened?” he asked in a hushed tone. August was still looking at the empty doorway where her aunt left. Her head snapped back in his direction, her curls bouncing as she did. She glared at him.
“No,” she said. “I am not one to cry wolf after I encourage a man. I only wonder why you ran away so frightened when I welcomed your advances with open arms. Were my kisses that unappealing to you?”
Brooks fought back a blush. She would not understand if he told her it was her encouragement that scared him. August probably thought he was like any other hot-blooded man she had met—like the one who took her innocence—but he wasn’t. He wasn’t like that at all.
“I should not have welcomed them,” he said, growing increasingly disgusted with himself as he watched August’s shoulders droop. He shook his head, trying to find the right words. “I did not mean to confuse or upset you. You are an attractive girl, and I had a moment of weakness.”
“Am I? Did you?”
Brooks found himself tongue-tied as she shot him an accusatory look, clearly unimpressed by his excuses. She must have enjoyed watching him squirm in the seat across from her, the fire in the hearth making him sweat underneath his jacket, which now felt much too thick for the current season.
“You are—and you do not need the likes of me taking advantage of you,” he said.
August stared at him, her mouth slightly open. She looked down, shaking her head, the spite fading from her tone. “It’s not taking advantage if I encouraged it… if I enjoyed it.”
“A real man would ask you to marry him after that,” he said, his voice low. She must understand the rules were different here in Mayfair. She looked up at him, forcing a smile.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said with a wave of the hand. “It was only a kiss. I’m sure I’ll kiss many more men before the season is over.”
Now it was his turn to stare. How could something so momentous to him mean so little to August? He cleared his throat, rising from his chair while she remained seated, looking up at him with sharp blue eyes.
“Nevertheless, I have come to apologize,” he said, the words coming out less confident than he would have liked. August only stared at him. He started to pace the room as a result. “You must remember I have no interest in marrying, and I did not mean to make you think I wanted to be any more than friends.”
“Friends?” She repeated the word as if she didn’t quite understand it. Still, Brooks stopped pacing and nodded his head as affirmation.
“That’s right,” he said, suddenly remembering something his mother said. He cleared his throat. “Mrs. Brooks was wondering if you and your aunt would come round for dinner sometime soon. She has already grown very fond of you.”
I have grown very fond of you. Brooks shook his head, ignoring those intrusive thoughts inside his head. He wet his mouth with his tongue after it had suddenly gone dry. “Now, I doubt our cook could compare to Park Street’s, but—”
“Dinner at Dover Street!”
A shrill voice came from the hall. Lady Ramsbury appeared back in the drawing room soon after. Brooks half wondered if she went belowstairs at all. Perhaps she wasn’t a terrible chaperone after all.
“How char
ming!” she continued, taking her seat beside August again. The younger girl’s eyes remained fixated on him. “I do love that mother of yours, Mr. Brooks. August and I would love to come! Set a date, and we will be there.”
Brooks looked at August, hoping for some sort of reassurance from her. “Yes, Mr. Brooks, do set a date,” she finally said, a coy smile playing on her lips. “A small, intimate dinner amongst friends sounds so lovely right now. Don’t you think, Aunt?”
Lady Ramsbury nodded. Brooks remained where he stood, his lips pursing as he regarded her. He very much felt like running again. Instead, he forced himself to stay where he was and nod as well.
“Wonderful,” he said. He turned to Lady Ramsbury, who looked rather pleased with herself. He couldn’t imagine why. Indeed, there must be other dinner tables at which she would rather see her niece seated that season. “I will have my mother send you the date when she has chosen one.”
Chapter Seventeen
Dinner at Dover Street was set for a Saturday evening one week later. By that time, some new gowns had arrived from the dressmaker’s, and August had begun her lessons. Pianoforte lessons, singing lessons, drawing lessons, anything and everything to help August become more accomplished. Her aunt even insisted on hiring a French tutor, though August protested that she already knew the language.
“There’s always room for improvement,” Lady Ramsbury said. “Your good looks, your fortune, your accomplishments. All will make up for having no idea who your mother is in the eyes of the ton.”
August frowned. She thought back to her first and only conversation with her father, who remained tight-lipped about her mother’s identity. “So my father never said anything to you about her?” she asked her aunt.
The dowager duchess shook her head. “Nothing at all.”
August went to her weekly French lessons without complaint, the same with her pianoforte, singing, and drawing lessons. A dance master came not once but twice a week, seeing how dancing was what challenged August the most. She had never even attended a dance in the country or Portsmouth, but she had to prepare herself for Lord Riddlington’s ball. Although she could hardly remember the difference between a cotillion and a scotch reel at first, August persisted. She sometimes even found herself dancing in the hallways of her aunt’s Park Street mansion, humming a song and counting to herself, practicing long after her dancing master had left.
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