August’s chest swelled. “You have been searching for me for the past five years?”
Sarah sadly nodded. “Much longer than that, I’m afraid—ever since my father died. You see, he was the one who made me give you up. After he died, I became desperate to find you—if you were even still alive. Arthur—Mr. Talbot, I mean—was the one who found the orphanage where we suspected my father left you. They had a record of a babe who was found there the morning after you were born.” She smiled slightly. “They named her August Summer.”
August frowned. “But that was five years ago! I was still at Hardbury School for Girls five years ago. Did they not tell you where Lord Bolton eventually sent me?”
“No,” Sarah said, shaking her head. “The orphanage could only tell us that August Summer had been released from their care in 1801.” She sighed sadly. “They wouldn’t even tell me who took you, no matter how much money we offered them. I assumed your father might have grown a conscience and found you himself at that time, sending you to school somewhere. I am glad I was right about that, though I wish he would have told me. Mr. Talbot wrote to him many times on my behalf, but the earl never responded.”
“Why not?” August asked, growing angry with her father. She regretted being so kind to him when she met him, even if he was ill. “What happened between you and the earl?”
Sarah hesitated, glancing at Lady Ramsbury, but the dowager duchess offered no assistance. She looked to Brooks next, who only shrugged. “You might as well tell her the whole sordid affair,” he said. “She will not rest until she hears it all.”
Sarah sighed, nodding. August carefully watched her mother while she spoke. “I was eighteen when I met Lord Bolton. He was as old as I am now, not to mention married, but I was quite taken with him, and he with me. I was young and foolish, and we began an affair.”
August recalled her foolish desires when it came to Henry. She wondered what would have happened if she stayed in Wilton. Would she have fallen victim to a fate similar to her mother’s?
“I’m not sure what I was expecting,” Sarah continued. “Bolton would never divorce his wife and risk a scandal for me, and my father would not accept his well-bred daughter becoming an older man’s mistress—even if that man was an earl. Eventually, none of that mattered. I fell pregnant, and the earl abandoned me. I was angry, of course, when my father took you away from me—but at least he did not abandon me after I was ruined.”
“And Mr. Talbot?” August asked. Her mother smiled, appearing so serene that August imagined the past didn’t matter to either of them. Only people in love must have been able to smile that way.
“My angel,” she said dreamily. “He was the one who encouraged me to get to know you even when I was frightened. I had so many doubts, which is why I did not reveal myself right away.”
August frowned. “Doubts?”
“What if you did not like me?” She glanced at Lady Ramsbury. “What use am I when you have a powerful dowager duchess at your side?”
Lady Ramsbury scoffed. “A powerful dowager duchess is nothing compared to a banker who holds half of Mayfair’s money!”
“Ah,” Sarah said, turning away and nodding. “But that is my husband, not me.”
August frowned. “Mother—”
“August will be better off with the support of your husband and you, Lady Sarah,” her aunt said, interrupting her. “There is no doubt that aristocratic blood flows through her veins now. I trust you and Mr. Talbot are attending your younger brother’s ball next week?”
But Sarah wasn’t listening. She was too busy staring at August. “You called me Mother,” she said.
August nodded. “Is that all right? I could call you Lady Sarah—or even Mrs. Talbot—if that’s what you prefer.”
Sarah smiled, shaking her head. “Mother is perfect.”
Chapter Nineteen
Brooks carefully watched as August interacted with Lady Sarah, now knowing that the banker’s wife and member of Lady Ramsbury’s book club was her mother. Although Mr. Talbot wouldn’t be causing August any problems, there was still the question of who told the scandal sheet writer about August’s past and her relation to Lady Sarah. Someone meant to cause trouble for August, and Brooks wanted to know who.
He said as much to the women gathered in Lady Sarah’s drawing room. August had moved to sit beside her mother, and Jasper now sat in August’s lap, happily accepting her pets on top of his head.
“Who else would have known that August was your daughter?” Brooks asked. He glanced at Lady Sarah, thinking of Lord Ridlington. “Your brother, perhaps?”
Surprisingly—or perhaps not—Lady Ramsbury was the first to come to his defense. “He would never do such a thing!” the dowager duchess exclaimed.
Brooks arched a single brow at her. “You have used August as an excuse to keep him away from Park Street while openly entertaining me for the past month. Perhaps he wants her gone so he can go back to monopolizing your attention.”
Lady Ramsbury glared at the solicitor. “I can rescind my open invitation to you anytime, sir.”
Brooks glared back as Sarah cleared her throat. “I do not think my brother has done it either, but I have wondered who might have, and I think I might know who it could be.” Brooks turned to her, listening intently. “It has to be Lady Bolton. She knew of our affair, and from what August has told me of her, the woman was angry that her husband wanted his daughter to take her place in society. The countess probably thought this article would prevent her from doing that.”
Brooks grew still. He didn’t want to think of Lady Bolton doing such a thing. She had been so kind to him as a child. How could she be so cruel to a poor, defenseless woman now? He did not want to consider it.
Brooks rose abruptly, looking at Sarah and August. “I apologize, ladies, but I should go. I have been away from my office for too long. I’m glad everything’s settled.” He swiftly bowed. “Give Mr. Talbot my regards.”
He turned, quickly leaving the room. He was halfway down the hall when a female voice called out his name. He stopped, wincing before turning to face her
“August,” he said. She looked pretty today, of course, her cheeks and lips a perfect shade of pink. Brooks couldn’t understand why he was still torturing himself by becoming involved in her life, but here he was. He just couldn’t stay away. “What is it?”
She smiled at him, and he softened slightly. She seemed to have that effect on him, made worse when she reached out to touch his hand—very lightly, just enough to make him begin to melt. “I wanted to say thank you,” she said. “It was very kind of you to come to my aunt’s this morning and then here to my mother’s. I do appreciate your friendship.”
Brooks took back his hand. Friendship. He nearly laughed out loud. Instead, some sort of pathetic sputtering sound came from his lips. She watched him, concerned. “Are you all right?” she asked.
Regaining his composure, he nodded. “Yes. But I really must be going now. Good day, August.”
He felt her eyes on his back as she watched him leave the house. They seemed to have burned a mark there, one that he felt his entire journey home. When he finally reached Dover Street, Jenkins had opened the door before Brooks had even reached the front steps. “You are eager, Jenkins,” he observed as he handed him his hat and coat.
“Mr. Edward Swinton is here to see you, sir,” Jenkins replied before quickly dashing away. Brooks froze, watching him go.
“Oh,” he muttered, glaring at the butler’s back as he disappeared down the hall. Coward, Brooks thought to himself. He had not seen his brother-in-law—as well as the cousin of Charles and Rosamund on their mother’s side—since Lucy died last year. Brooks recalled telling the man—quite firmly—that he never wanted to see him again after his sister’s funeral. So why was Swinton here?
He angrily strode into the reception room, ready to throw the pompous ass out onto the street. Swinton sat there waiting for him. He sat facing the opposite direction of the e
ntry hall, but Brooks immediately recognized him due to his hair color, the same shade of red as his aunt’s.
“Swinton,” Brooks said, trying not to grit his teeth as he came into his brother-in-law’s view. “What are you doing here?”
Despite Brooks’s cool greeting, Swinton grinned at him, rising and extending his arms at his sides as if inviting an embrace. “Brooks!” he exclaimed.
But the solicitor only stared at him, unmoved. Swinton’s friendliness would not fool him. He trusted the man with his sister’s happiness, and Brooks could not forget how that turned out. “What are you doing here?” he asked again.
Swinton dropped his arms, bringing his hands behind his back, though his grin did not fade. “Does family need an excuse to visit family? I was in town and wanted to see how you are doing.”
“You are not my family,” Brooks snapped, turning on his heel and heading toward his study. Hearing Swinton following him, he almost slammed the door in his face, but he supposed it was better to work this out now before Swinton involved Mrs. Brooks, who would surely take Swinton’s side, sentimental as she was.
“Come now, Brooks,” Swinton said. The solicitor sat down at his desk, feeling his jaw tense. His brother-in-law continued. “Surely a year is long enough to let tempers cool after what happened.”
Brooks looked up at him, horrified. “My little sister is dead. Do you honestly think I am over it? Are you?”
Swinton furrowed his brow, pulling out one of the chairs in front of Brooks’s desk and sitting down. “Of course not. I loved your sister. But I was hoping that after a year, you might have finally realized I am not at fault for her death—and neither are you.” Brooks stared at him. He knew he was acting stubborn, but he couldn’t help it. He missed his sister too damn much, and he had to blame someone. Swinton sighed. “I suppose that was too much to hope for.”
“Indeed,” Brooks said, reaching for his pen and his pot of ink. His brother-in-law glared at him, but Swinton should have been used to his complete lack of feeling by now. “If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
But Swinton would not leave. He remained seated in the chair across from Brooks’s desk, carefully watching the solicitor. “Where were you this morning, anyway?” Swinton finally asked. “I was waiting for over an hour. It’s not like you to be away from your office for so long—especially not before luncheon.”
Brooks sighed, dropping his pen. He made a steeple with his hands, bringing it toward his chest. “I was helping a friend.”
Swinton raised his brow. “A friend?” he repeated in disbelief.
Brooks glared at him. “Is it so hard to believe I might have one?”
“A little,” his brother-in-law replied, smiling slightly. Brooks’s glare deepened, and Swinton shot him a sheepish look. “You have never been the most social creature, Brooks.”
Brooks huffed but did not bother trying to argue. He would much rather change the subject. If Swinton discovered Brooks had become so preoccupied with some country girl eight years his junior, his brother-in-law would never let him hear the end of it.
“What are you doing in London?” Brooks asked, hoping to distract Swinton with questions about himself. “Where are you staying?”
“I’m staying with my aunt in Berkeley Square,” Swinton replied. Brooks stiffened at the mention of Lady Bolton. “She needed a calming force for Charles, and I thought it was high time I came out of hiding in Surrey. The memories there weren’t doing me any good.”
“So Charles and Rosamund have come to town as well?” Brooks asked. He wondered if Rosamund would call on her sister. He was sure August would have liked to see her.
“If I’m honest, Rosamund is the reason I’m here.”
Brooks raised his brow. “Is she all right? Has something happened with Rutley? You know how I despise that man.”
“Yes, I do,” Swinton replied, snickering. “You hold grudges for far too long, my friend.”
“We are not—”
“We are not friends,” Swinton finished for him, causing Brooks to purse his lips. “Yes, I know. But rest assured, Rosamund is just fine. It’s her sister that I came to inquire about.”
Brooks felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He rubbed it with his hand, attempting to drive away any tenseness that came whenever someone mentioned August. It didn’t work. He dropped his hand, sighing. “So they told you about August,” he said.
Swinton nodded. “Rosamund was hoping I would get to know her. She thought my approval might convince my aunt to give the poor girl a chance. What do you know about her?”
Brooks stared at his brother-in-law for a moment, then shrugged, attempting to be as emotionless as possible. “She is Lord Bolton’s illegitimate daughter. Should I know more?”
He did not like the smug look forming on Swinton’s face. “I have it on good authority that you call on her at her aunt’s house on Park Street quite frequently.”
“Who told you that?” Brooks asked, his face falling.
“Lord Ridlington.”
Brooks grimaced. “That weasel,” he muttered to himself. Meanwhile, his brother-in-law laughed.
“Why have you become so close to the chit?” he asked. “It’s very unlike you, Brooks. You have had women, of course, but I have never seen you so… enamored.”
He said the last word with such an arrogant grin that Brooks nearly walloped him. “I am not enamored,” he said, his denial sounding flimsy even to him. “And she is not some woman as you so carelessly put it. I am her solicitor, and I am only looking out for her. She’s come into a great deal of money, and plenty of foolish men will want it. Plenty of people would like to see her fail as well—your aunt included.” Brooks thought of the article that Lady Bolton must be behind.
“I agree,” Swinton said innocently. He brought his hand to his chest. “I only wish to improve my aunt’s opinion of her. Can you introduce me to her?”
Brooks did not hesitate. “No.”
Swinton pursed his lips. “Surely you want the girl to have a good relationship with her family. I am practically her cousin as well.”
“Hardly,” Brooks replied, clenching his jaw.
Swinton sighed. “Well, I suppose I could call on her at Park Street without you. I have always been a favorite of Lady Ramsbury. Surely she would entertain me for a few minutes this afternoon.”
“You cannot do that,” Brooks said, grimacing. “Lady Ramsbury isn’t accepting any male guests until after Lord Ridlington’s ball. You can meet her there like all the other Mayfair dandies.”
“Mayfair dandies?” Swinton asked, laughing slightly. But Brooks ignored him, causing Swinton to sigh again. “I’m sure she will make an exception for me like she has for you.” He rose from his chair, and Brooks nervously watched him, rolling his pen between his forefinger and thumb.
“Fine,” Brooks finally said. The force with which he said the word nearly made Swinton jump. “I call on her some days at five. You can join me today if you are free.”
Swinton raised his brow. “Such an intimate time to call on someone. Will you be attending Lord Ridlington’s ball as well?”
“August would like me to go, but I haven’t decided yet,” Brooks said without thinking. He winced when he saw the look of glee on Swinton’s face.
“My.” Swinton placed his hand on his hip as he carefully regarded Brooks. The solicitor shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I wonder what Lucy would say if she could see you. We always wondered if you would ever find yourself besotted with someone.”
“I think you ought to go now,” Brooks replied icily. He did not look at Swinton when he did. Talking about Lucy was difficult with anyone but especially her former husband.
“I will be back at half past four,” Swinton said. “Give your mother my love. Perhaps I will come by again sometime this week to call on her.”
“I like it better when you remain in Surrey,” Brooks grumbled, causing Swinton to laugh as he left the room.
&
nbsp; “Until this afternoon, Brooks.”
Chapter Twenty
The evening after discovering Lady Sarah Talbot was her mother, August sat in one of the bay windows of her aunt’s drawing room, blissfully happy. She hummed to herself, working on a piece of embroidery, remembering how she left Linfield Hall so unsure of herself. But somehow, she had made a family for herself in London, all without the help of Charles or Lady Bolton.
She triumphantly grinned. She did not need them. She never needed them, and if they were the ones who told that scandal sheet writer about her past… Well, they had failed. She would have her debut whether they liked it or not.
But as August worked, the figures of two gentlemen walking down the street caught her eye. She squinted through the window, recognizing Brooks but not his unfamiliar red-haired companion. August turned to her aunt, who sat playing at the pianoforte like she did most afternoons when Lady Sarah and Mrs. Ferguson did not come for their club.
“Mr. Brooks is here, and he’s brought someone with him,” August said.
Lady Ramsbury immediately stopped playing, looking over her shoulder at her niece and appearing confused. “He’s brought someone with him?”
August nodded before turning back to look out the window. Brooks and his mysterious companion drew closer, and August heard her aunt get up from the pianoforte. “He has red hair,” August said before gasping suddenly. “Is that…?”
She recalled the miniature on Lucy’s bedside table. The red-haired gentleman. She wondered if that was him!
“Red hair?” Lady Ramsbury asked, suddenly standing behind August, peering out the window over her shoulder. “That looks like Mr. Edward Swinton, Brooks’s brother-in-law. He’s also Lady Bolton’s nephew.”
August’s head snapped in her aunt’s direction. “Lady Bolton’s nephew? Why would Brooks bring him here?”
“I have no idea. Now come away from the window. We cannot appear as if we were waiting for them to arrive.”
Lady August Page 18