August nodded, taking her embroidery and moving to sit in front of the unlit fireplace, where she pretended she wasn’t expecting any guests along with her aunt. Eventually, the butler appeared. “A Mr. Samuel Brooks and a Mr. Edward Swinton here to see you, Your Grace,” he said.
“Send them in,” Lady Ramsbury said with a curt nod. August watched as the butler disappeared through the doorway, then waited for Brooks and Mr. Swinton to appear. When they did, August knew Mr. Swinton was the man she saw in the miniature right away. He had the same red hair, strong nose, and narrow blue eyes, which seemed to study her as carefully as hers did him. August demurely turned away, knowing she could not stare at him for too long. Brooks probably already noticed and would scold her later for the impropriety of it.
“Brooks!” Lady Ramsbury exclaimed. “I see you are still making good use of that open invitation of yours, even after this morning.” August watched as Brooks grimaced. Mr. Swinton shot his companion a sly look. He probably had no idea that Brooks was at Park Street and later the Talbots’ house with them that morning. “You even brought a friend with you!” Lady Ramsbury looked at Mr. Swinton with a smile. “How are you, darling? I have not seen you in town for at least two years now.”
“I hope you do not mind me coming, Your Grace,” Mr. Swinton said. “I am staying with my aunt and cousins. Rosamund has told me so much about Lady August, and Brooks was kind enough to offer to introduce me when I called on him earlier today.”
August glanced at Brooks, who appeared pained. Looking between the two of them, she wondered what happened to make him look that way. August knew right away that Brooks did not want to bring Mr. Swinton there—so why did he?
“Mr. Swinton is Lady Bolton’s nephew,” Brooks explained. August nodded as if Lady Ramsbury hadn’t already told her. “He’s also my brother-in-law.” He practically muttered the words. August turned to Mr. Swinton, frowning.
“Mrs. Brooks was kind enough to tell me about Lucy when I stayed at Dover Street. I am so sorry for your loss, sir. I did not realize she was married at the time.”
Mr. Swinton laughed slightly. “Brooks likes to pretend I do not exist. He always bestowed plenty of brotherly affection upon his little sister when she was alive, but none upon his brother now that she’s gone.”
August’s lips twitched as she watched the two men sit down. “Brooks can be very stingy with his affection. I would not take it personally.”
Swinton glanced at Brooks, who wore the same sullen look he frequently did. “Did I hear Lady August say she stayed at Dover Street?” Swinton asked, sounding surprised. He turned back to August, a quizzical expression on his face.
“It was only for one night,” Brooks finally said. August nodded in agreement.
“Yes,” Lady Ramsbury interjected, her laugh like a birdlike trill. “Brooks wasn’t quite sure if I could manage my niece’s debut.” The dowager duchess made a sweeping motion with her hand. “But look at her. Isn’t she lovely?”
August’s eyes met Mr. Swinton’s, and she found herself blushing underneath his intense gaze. She quickly looked away, but there was Mr. Brooks, staring at her as well. She narrowed her eyes at him. Was he jealous? She turned back to Mr. Swinton, forcing herself to smile at him. Let Brooks see her smile at other men, she thought. He ought to get used to it with Lord Ridlington’s ball quickly approaching.
“She is lovely,” Mr. Swinton finally said. “Very lovely.”
“Did you say you are staying with your cousins in London?” August asked, still forcing herself to smile. “I did not realize they were in town.”
“We only just arrived a few days ago,” Mr. Swinton explained. He began to frown as he continued. “Rosamund told me she wishes to see you, but my aunt and cousin have forbidden it. I was hoping by getting to know you, I might change their opinions. I have always had a way with my aunt and cousin Charles.”
August raised her brow. “Is that so?” she asked. Mr. Swinton nodded. “Well, I’m afraid you are wasting your time. I could care less if I have the approval of Charles or Lady Bolton. I have done very well for myself in town, thanks to my aunt and my mother and her husband.”
The pleasant look on Mr. Swinton’s face faltered. August glanced at Brooks out of the corner of her eye to find him covering his mouth with his hand. August bit her lip, imagining his smile underneath it.
“Your mother and her husband?” Swinton asked. “Rosamund said they had no idea who your mother was.”
“I gather you do not read the scandal sheets then, Mr. Swinton,” August said. “My mother’s identity was announced to the whole world this morning in a broadsheet. She is Lady Sarah Talbot, wife of the banker, Arthur Talbot. Do you know Mr. Talbot?”
“I know the Talbots,” Swinton said, nodding. Truthfully, his performance was superb. He acted as if he was learning this information from August for the first time, but August knew the truth. She was sure Lady Bolton was the one who informed the scandal sheet writer about her background. Them arriving in town only a few days ago confirmed it. The timing of it was too much of a coincidence.
“They are quite fond of me,” August said. Well, Lady Sarah was. She only met her husband once, but August was sure they would adore each other once they got to know each other.
Brooks rose from the settee, turning toward Mr. Swinton. “Come, Swinton. We have taken too much of Lady Ramsbury and her niece’s time.”
Swinton reluctantly stood. “I hope you will save me a dance at Lord Ridlington’s ball next week, Lady August.”
“Will you be there?” August asked.
“I will.”
August sighed. “I suppose I could, but only if you bring my sister with you. I should like to see her, and it’s not fair for Lady Bolton to keep her all to herself.”
Swinton nodded again, moving to leave while Brooks lingered for a moment. He looked down at August, smiling slightly. “Good evening,” Brooks said, dipping his head before exiting the room with Mr. Swinton.
After the men left, Lady Ramsbury turned to her niece. “When did you become so vicious, my dear? Not that I didn’t enjoy that spectacular show.”
August cast a sidelong glance at her aunt. “I know a pawn when I see one, and Mr. Swinton is nothing more than a pawn. If Lady Bolton and I are two queens in a game of chess, I will not let her capture me, no matter how hard she tries.”
“And who is Brooks? Your valiant knight?”
August flushed. “I don’t know. I hadn’t considered it.” She abruptly rose. “I’m going upstairs to change. I will see you at dinner.”
* * *
“She certainly saw straight through you.”
Brooks joined Swinton on the front steps of Lady Ramsbury’s mansion, unable to keep himself from smiling. August never ceased to surprise him, this time most delightfully so. He rather enjoyed watching her put Swinton in his place.
“I don’t know what you mean,” his brother-in-law muttered, glaring at him. “I had no idea Lady Sarah Talbot was her mother. I do not read the scandal sheets.”
Brooks carefully watched Swinton. “We all suspect Lady Bolton was the one who started the rumor.”
“If she did, she did not tell me.” Swinton sighed. “Surely you believe me, Brooks. I only wanted to help Rosamund.”
Brooks was unable to tell if Swinton was telling the truth or not. “Then convince your aunt to allow Rosamund to attend Ridlington’s party. I know August would like to see her.”
Swinton nodded. “Do not worry, Brooks,” he said, clapping the solicitor on his upper arm with his hand. “If that’s what the lady wants, I will see to it.” Swinton looked over his shoulder at Lady Ramsbury’s front door, then turned back to Brooks. “She is beautiful, isn’t she? I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that. Those lips!”
Brooks’s eyes widened, and he promptly spun on his heel, walking down the steps. His brother-in-law quickly followed him, calling his name and laughing, but Brooks would not stop.
“Good night, Swinton,” he said, hoping the man wouldn’t follow him any further. But Swinton was walking beside him soon enough, their long strides matching one another’s.
“You must forgive me,” Swinton said. He bit back a smile, his facial expressions not matching his words. “I only wanted to see how you would react. I have never seen you in love.”
Brooks stopped abruptly, and Swinton nearly tripped over his own two feet. “I am not in love,” Brooks said, his irritation growing by the minute. He wished Swinton would have stayed in Surrey. “What a silly notion.”
“Come now, Brooks,” Swinton said, tilting his head to the side as he thoughtfully regarded the solicitor. “Surely it’s not so bad. I gather she’s rather fond of you as well. Perhaps you should ask her to marry her before one of Lord Ridlington’s far wealthier, much more aristocratic friends do.”
But Brooks shook his head. He knew he could not, even when the idea of August eventually marrying someone else stung. “I have no interest in matrimony. You know that.”
Swinton sighed, bringing his forefinger and thumb to the bridge of his nose and pinching it. “How could I forget,” he muttered, closing his eyes and shaking his head. When he opened them again, he dropped his hand from his face. “Fine—do whatever you want. But will you join me for dinner at my club? Long before I married your sister, we used to be friends. You can confide in me if you would like.”
Brooks narrowed his eyes. “If I confided in anyone, it wouldn’t be you.”
“One drink,” Swinton said, lifting his forefinger in the air. “Have one drink with me. I have not been in London in two years, and I would like my time here to be at least somewhat enjoyable. You know how dreadful Charles and Rutley can be. Unlike them, you become much better company the more you drink. Much more fun, if you will.”
Swinton started to snicker, and Brooks rolled his eyes. “You are not doing a very good job convincing me, Swinton.”
“Please.” Swinton brought his hands together in mock prayer. “Think of how happy it would make Lucy. She loved both of us so dearly. She would not have wanted—”
“Enough,” Brooks said, cutting him off. As much as he hated to admit it, Swinton was right. Lucy would have wanted them to be friends. She wouldn’t have wanted him to blame her husband for her death. But he did not want to talk about it—not then or ever. “I will join you for one drink.”
* * *
One drink turned into two, and then two drinks turned into three, and then Brooks was thoroughly drunk. He had not been so drunk since Lady Ramsbury’s dinner party, but he didn’t want to think about that night. He would remember the way August felt in the library, his hands and lips on her skin, and Brooks was desperately trying to forget all that.
But it was there in Swinton’s club that he overheard him, a stranger with her name on his lips as if he knew her. Brooks squinted, turning toward a nearby table, trying to make out the men sitting there. There were three of them, and the one in the middle was the man in question. He seemed young, with chestnut-colored hair and a splattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose.
Brooks pointed toward him, looking back at Swinton. He was sure his brother-in-law was equally foxed. They had been laughing like nothing terrible ever happened to Lucy only a few moments ago, but now this mysterious freckled man had broken his reverie.
“Do you know who that is?” Brooks asked, still pointing. Swinton took a swig of his brandy, then narrowed his eyes, staring at the man in question.
“No idea.”
“Listen,” Brooks said, using his head to gesture toward the three men sitting at the table nearby. Swinton leaned forward.
“I never dreamed of proposing,” the freckled one said. “My father would never allow it, but I told her I loved her. Before she took a position as a governess in Portsmouth, she told me she returned those feelings—with her body, at least.”
“You mean…?” one of his companions asked. The freckled one nodded, and they all snickered. Brooks resisted the urge to go over there by taking up his glass. The alcohol burned the back of his throat.
The freckled one shrugged. “Sorry, lads, but Lady August and her twelve thousand pounds are engaged to me. We plan on announcing it at Lord Ridlington’s ball. At least we will if she knows what’s good for her. Not even the daughter of the late Lord Bolton and Lady Sarah Talbot can survive such a mark on her reputation.”
Brooks could no longer stop himself. He rose immediately, closing the distance between him and the other table in only a few strides. Yanking the bastard up by the cravat, Brooks violently shook him. The unnamed gentleman yelped. Although Brooks did not know his name, he knew who he was right away. He was the one who took August’s innocence and somehow managed to let her walk away from him.
“What is your name?” Brooks growled.
“H-Henry,” the man sputtered. “H-Henry F-Fitzgerald.”
“Mr. Fitzgerald, I do not want to hear Lady August Finch’s name on your lips again. If I do, I will do more than threaten you. And if you try to blackmail that poor girl into marrying you at Ridlington’s ball, I will see to it that you’re arrested. Do you understand?”
Henry somehow managed to nod despite the vicelike grip that Brooks had around his cravat. “Y-yes, s-sir.”
Brooks let go of him, unceremoniously dropping him back on his chair. He landed with a loud thump. Brooks looked around, realizing then that the entire club was watching them. When he caught Swinton’s eye, though, his friend looked like he wanted to laugh. His hand covered his mouth, only somewhat hiding his glee.
“W-who are you?”
Brooks turned back to Henry. “I am Lady August’s solicitor.”
Chapter Twenty-One
August awoke that night to what she thought was the sound of light tapping on her balcony door. She tried to ignore it, rolling over in bed. It must have been an animal, or perhaps she only imagined it, but then the knocking became more insistent. Groggily, August rose from her bed, blinking until the door to the balcony came into focus. Her eyes widened when she saw the shadow of an unknown man.
She looked around the room, desperately searching for something that she could use to protect herself. Her eyes landed on the metal candelabra on her bedside table. She quickly removed the half-melted candles, then hoisted the branched candlestick above her head as if it was a weapon.
August quietly pulled back her bedclothes, swinging her legs over the edge of the mattress and stepping onto the soft carpet of her bedroom. She tiptoed across the floor, closer to the balcony door, where the shadow continued tapping.
But as she drew closer, the figure grew clearer. Her arm holding the candelabra dropped to her side, and she stared outside in disbelief. “Brooks?” she asked.
August closed the remaining distance between her bed and the balcony door, unlatching the lock and opening it. “Brooks,” she said again, her voice a shrill whisper. He stumbled inside, and she knew right away he was drunk. August placed the candelabra on a nearby table. “What are you doing here?”
“I needed to speak to you,” he said, not bothering to lower his voice. August hushed him, stepping forward to cover his mouth. She felt his lips curl against her palm before she quickly pulled her hand back. He was looking down at her, smiling.
“It could not wait until tomorrow?” she asked. She walked back toward the balcony, shutting and latching the door outside once more. When she turned around again, Brooks was still smiling. When it became clear he would not answer her first question, she tried another. “How did you know this was my room?”
“You once told me your bedroom had a balcony overlooking your aunt’s garden,” Brooks explained, stepping toward her. She stood motionless in front of him, feeling the heat of his body next to hers. He smelled of brandy, the same way he did that night in the library. She narrowed her eyes at him.
“Have you been drinking?” she asked. Brooks nodded. “Where?”
“Swinton’s club.”
; August narrowed her eyes further. “You have been consorting with the enemy.”
Brooks scoffed, waving his hand. “Swinton is harmless. He will make sure Rosamund comes to Ridlington’s ball.” Suddenly, his eyes became serious, and he grabbed August by her elbows. She gasped out of surprise.
“Brooks!”
“But I’m not here to talk about Swinton,” he anxiously told her. “I have met the real enemy, August.” She arched his brow at his furtive tone, all the while letting him lead her toward the bed, walking backward until they were sitting down together, their legs touching. August looked toward her bedroom door, then turned back to Brooks, chewing her lip.
“You should go, Brooks,” she said. “If Lady Ramsbury finds us, you will be in terrible trouble.”
“Henry Fitzgerald,” Brooks said suddenly. August’s eyes widened.
“What?” she asked. “What did you say?”
He nodded vigorously. “It’s true, August. I have met your former lover, Henry Fitzgerald.”
She nearly shuddered. “Please do not call him that. It makes me feel ill.” But then August stared at him, her mouth opening and closing like some sort of fish. “But where did you meet Henry?”
Brooks sighed impatiently. “At Swinton’s club. I overheard him telling some other patrons about you. About…”
He shot her a sheepish glance, and August resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Yes, I understand.” Men, she angrily thought to herself. “But what did you do? Did you do something to Henry?”
He nodded again. “I threatened him. I told him he couldn’t blackmail you into marrying him, and if he tried, I would have him arrested.”
August’s eyes widened. “He’s going to blackmail me into marrying him? Oh, Brooks, that’s terrible news! What am I going to tell Lady Ramsbury?”
But Brooks pressed a single finger to her lips. She stared at him. “Do not worry, my love,” he told her. She furrowed her brow, confused. What had he just called her? “I will not let him do anything to you.”
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