Lady August

by Becky Michaels

  Brooks did not answer, and Rutley groaned at the solicitor’s lack of response. “Let me approach this a different way, then. Do you want August marrying him?” He jerked his thumb in Swinton’s direction. When Brooks still did not answer, the duke gritted his teeth and turned toward Swinton. “Tell him about Lady Bolton and Charles.”

  That got Brooks’s attention. He looked at Swinton, his brow furrowed. Swinton sheepishly looked back at him. “Tell me what about Lady Bolton and Charles?”

  His brother-in-law sighed. “There’s a reason the countess invited me to town with them—the same reason I called on you at Dover Street to ask you questions about August. Lady Bolton asked me to court the girl so that I may marry her and give her twelve thousand pounds back to Charles.”

  Brooks stared at him, outraged. “And you agreed?” he asked in disbelief. Such treachery was fouler than he expected from any of them, especially Lady Bolton. Lord Bolton’s decision to leave his illegitimate daughter twelve thousand pounds had undoubtedly changed the countess.

  Slowly, Swinton nodded. “Try not to be mad, Brooks,” he pleaded. “I was trying to help my cousin pay off his debts. Men have agreed to worse things than arranged marriages.”

  “But did August ever agree? What right do you have to marry her for her money just to hand it back to her lousy excuse of a brother? Even if you tricked her into marrying you, she would not have forgiven you once she found out the truth. She would have been miserable for the rest of her life.”

  Rutley interjected before Swinton could respond. “And does that change your mind as to who should be marrying August after tonight?”

  Brooks stiffened, then slowly turned his head in Rutley’s direction. So that was why the duke called them out there. He knew he could change Brooks’s mind with this information. But there was something that confused him. Brooks squinted at Rutley and Swinton.

  “But why are either of you telling me all this?” he asked. He looked at Swinton. “Won’t Lady Bolton and Charles be displeased with you if I end up marrying August?” He then turned to the duke. “And wouldn’t it be better for you if Swinton married August rather than me so Charles can pay off his debts?”

  Swinton and Rutley exchanged guilty looks. Swinton turned to Brooks, sighing.

  “Once I saw how besotted you were with August, I could not stand the idea of coming between the two of you,” Swinton explained, the beginnings of a smile playing at his lips. “Lucy would not stand for it. I pretended to go along with Lady Bolton’s plan, all the while thinking of ways to force your hand. Unfortunately, Henry Fitzgerald got to it first.”

  Brooks stood there in silence. It was beginning to look more and more like he would be the one to marry August. He breathed deeply, then glanced at Rutley. “And you? What is your motivation?”

  The duke smiled ruefully. “I am only trying to prevent you from making the same mistakes I did.” He paused a moment, thoughtfully tilting his head to the side. “And if it appears I’m the one who convinced you to marry August, Rosamund might start thinking of me in a kindlier manner than she does at the moment.”

  A sudden realization dawned on Brooks as Rutley spoke. “You love her, don’t you?” he asked. Rutley nodded, but Brooks still shook his head in disbelief. “You have changed.”

  “Sometimes one must change to find lasting happiness.” The duke cleared his throat.” Now, are you ready to go back in there and make the right decision?”

  As he considered Rutley’s words, Brooks hesitated. He did not like change. As for this idea of lasting happiness? It sounded impossible. He glanced at Swinton, who regarded him with a hopeful gaze. How could this man endorse marriage after what happened?

  Perhaps Brooks would never understand, yet he still nodded his head as he started to think of August, who looked at him so hopefully and told him she wanted all of him regardless of what she already knew about him. He looked at Rutley and Swinton.

  “I will do it.”

  * * *

  August sat in Lord Ridlington’s study, feeling frightened and small. What began as a promising evening spun out of control quickly, and she regretted not telling anyone other than Brooks about Henry. Although her solicitor came to her aid many times in the past, August feared this would be where he drew the line. He would not marry her.

  August impatiently waited as the man in question spoke to the Duke of Rutley and Mr. Swinton in the hall. Her sister paced the room, frequently looking toward the shut door that separated them. “What could they be talking about?” she wondered aloud, not once or twice but three times.

  “He will marry you, August,” Mrs. Brooks told her with a firm nod of the head, though they both knew her son was unpredictable. “He will come to his senses and marry you.”

  But August had her doubts. There was something that Brooks feared, and it was more than just matrimony. Perhaps it was intimacy altogether. Either way, for some reason, he did not think he was good enough for her, and August didn’t like that. How could she make him see he was plenty good enough for her and then some?

  Eventually, the door opened, and Brooks and the others filed into the room. August turned forward, unable to meet his gaze. She was terrified of what he had to say. She said she could not marry Swinton and meant it, but what was there to do if she became ruined in the eyes of society? Would her aunt still want her?

  She would have to take her twelve thousand pounds and leave town. She would rent a cottage in the country where no one knew her name or anything about her so-called wanton ways. She would live in peace and forget all about Brooks. Perhaps Jane could come live with her and keep her company.

  “Well?” Lady Ramsbury asked, her eyes flickering between each of the three gentlemen who had just been out in the hall. Eventually, they landed squarely on Brooks. “Will you marry her?”

  August still couldn’t bear to look at him. She closed her eyes, waiting for his response.

  “Yes,” he said. August’s eyes shot open, and she exhaled for the first time in what felt like forever. Slowly, she turned to look at him, and his unsmiling eyes met her hopeful ones.

  “Yes,” he repeated. “I will marry her.”

  August abruptly faced the other way, blinking. Her eyes found her aunt, who wore a triumphant smile. But a creeping sense of doubt snuck up on August, settling in her stomach. This was not what she intended or even what she wanted—not like this, anyway.

  When she told Brooks she wanted to marry him only a few days ago, she hoped he would come of his own free will. Now she felt like she was forcing him into something, all because of something stupid she had done with Henry Fitzgerald a few years ago. She felt tears welling in her eyes once more as she thought of his disgusting mouth upon her neck.

  “Are you all right, dear?”

  Her mother was beside her again, her eyes full of concern. August supposed she should have appeared overjoyed at the news. Brooks just agreed to save her reputation, and she didn’t have to marry Mr. Swinton—or Henry—as a result.

  “I suppose I’m only a little overtired,” she said, forcing a smile. “There’s been so much commotion this evening.”

  Her mother smiled back, looking as if she understood. She turned to the dowager duchess, who was in the middle of a conversation with Mrs. Brooks.

  “You must call on me at Park Street tomorrow afternoon,” Lady Ramsbury said. Both women seemed to be buzzing with excitement over this sudden turn of events. “We can discuss all the details then.”

  “Your Grace,” Lady Sarah interrupted. “August is tired. Although the night is young, I believe she’s experienced enough excitement for one evening. Mr. Talbot and I would be happy to escort her home if you would like to stay here at the party.”

  The dowager duchess and Mrs. Brooks turned, their faces falling when they saw August’s wretched state. Lady Ramsbury gave a single nod. “I will take her home. Come, August.”

  August did not dare look at Brooks as they left Ridlington’s study, unable to look at
him after what happened, and they made a swift exit through the front of the house. August was very aware of the other guests watching them as they walked through the entry hall. Her aunt must have noticed it as well. “Do not worry, dear,” she said. “I’ll arrange for an engagement announcement to be put in all the papers.”

  August didn’t respond, and when they finally reached their carriage on the street outside, they rode home in silence. Upon arriving at Park Street, August tried not to collapse at the bottom of the staircase. To her surprise, her aunt told her to go to the drawing room rather than sending her to bed. She then asked one of the footmen to bring them two glasses of milk and a plate of biscuits.

  “Do be generous with the number of biscuits,” she added as he walked away. August tentatively followed her into the dimly lit drawing room. They sat in silence until the footman returned with a tray. When he left, the dowager duchess took a glass and one of the biscuits, dipping it into the thick white liquid and taking a bite.

  “Have some,” her aunt said, gesturing toward the biscuits. When August didn’t budge, Lady Ramsbury sighed. “It will make you feel better.”

  August looked at her aunt, frowning. “I’m not sure biscuits and milk will make me feel better after what happened this evening, Aunt.”

  The dowager duchess sighed again. “Would you like to talk about it instead?” When August didn’t reply, she added, “I could tell you the things I have been plotting to ruin Henry Fitzgerald’s life instead if you would like.”

  August’s eyes widened. “W-what?”

  Lady Ramsbury looked as if she was disappointed. “You didn’t think I would let him get away with what he did to you this evening, did you? I know his father well. I will make sure Mr. Fitzgerald returns to that little village of Wilton of yours humiliated and dishonored—and that he stays there as well. No lady in London will have him once I’m finished dragging his name through the mud.”

  August blinked, helplessly reaching for a biscuit and taking a bite. “You can do that?” she asked in between chewing.

  Her aunt squared her shoulders. “A wealthy dowager duchess like me can do anything, dear.”

  “Oh, Aunt! But aren’t you disappointed in me? I did something no dignified lady would do. It’s no wonder he attacked me!”

  Lady Ramsbury narrowed her eyes. “I will not have you saying such things—not while you’re still under my roof. Men have been categorizing us since the beginning of time. We are either pure and innocent or sullied and virtueless. Well, I refuse to be either, and I prefer men who do not care—as should you.”

  August immediately thought of Brooks. She wondered if he cared. She frowned, remembering the night he came to her, ready to take her without committing himself to her. How did he categorize her? He must have been in anguish knowing he would have to marry her now, knowing what she had done with Henry.

  “I feel as though I have trapped Brooks,” August said, her blue eyes filled with fear as she looked at her aunt. “He never wanted to marry, and now he is stuck with me. And I feel as though I have wasted your time. All those dresses and lessons for me to be ruined and then engaged in one night!”

  Lady Ramsbury sighed. “I have known Samuel Brooks since he was a little boy. You must be patient with him. He has his reasons for believing matrimony isn’t for him, but he does care about you. Once he sees every relationship doesn’t have to be like his parents, he will open up to you. I’m sure of it. As for the dresses and lessons…” Her aunt shrugged. “The goal of any girl’s season is an engagement and marriage, isn’t it? We have only gone about yours in record time.”

  August bit back a smile at Lady Ramsbury’s joke, but her mind automatically returned to the subject of Brooks. “But don’t you think I have trapped him?”

  Her aunt laughed. “Of course not. He’s lucky I didn’t force him to marry you earlier after I caught you kissing in the library.”

  August nearly gasped, her cheeks turning pink with embarrassment. “You saw that? Oh, Aunt, why didn’t you say anything? I’m so embarrassed!”

  “I thought it would be best if the two of you came to some sort of arrangement on your own time.” The dowager duchess smiled. “After a servant told me he saw him scaling your balcony in the middle of the night, I knew it was only a matter of time.” She took another bite of her biscuit. “I had not, of course, accounted for the incident with Mr. Fitzgerald, but in the words of Shakespeare, all’s well that ends well.”

  August’s blush only deepened upon hearing her aunt’s words, but she ignored them, knowing there was something that wasn’t quite making sense. “What do you mean every relationship doesn’t have to be like his parents?” she asked. “Did something happen between Mr. and Mrs. Brooks?”

  Lady Ramsbury hesitated. “I’m afraid that’s a subject for your future husband to discuss with you,” she finally said. “What I will tell you is the late Mr. Brooks wasn’t a good man. There is plenty of pain in that family’s history—the untimely death of his young sister Lucy included—but I’m a firm believer that your marriage will be a turning point for all involved, so do not fret, August. Even if Brooks feels trapped now, he won’t feel that way for long.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  News of Brooks and August’s engagement traveled quickly. Despite not seeing or hearing from them since he went to Linfield a month ago, Lady Bolton and Charles were the first to call on Brooks at Dover Street to congratulate him—or so they said. Mrs. Brooks had already left to visit Lady Ramsbury at Park Street, so Brooks saw them in his study.

  “I suppose Swinton and Rosamund told you the news,” he said as his two visitors took their seats across from him at his desk. Charles had dark circles under his eyes, but his mother appeared impeccable as always, her red hair piled high on top of her head.

  “They did,” Lady Bolton said, smiling brightly. She looked at him as if he was still the same little boy she found hiding in her husband’s study all those years ago. But things had changed since then, and Brooks no longer trusted her, not after what Swinton told him last night and how she treated August in the past.

  “We had no idea you felt so strongly about the girl, nor she about you,” Charles said. Brooks pursed his lips, not appreciating the smug look on his former friend’s face. “If we had known, we might have taken our proposal to you instead of cousin Edward.”

  Brooks didn’t like where this was heading. If they thought he would happily hand over August’s inheritance to them, they were sadly mistaken.

  “Is that so?” he asked. He chose to pretend he had no idea what proposal they meant—as if Swinton and Rutley hadn’t revealed everything to him last night. It was hard to believe the duke had somehow grown a greater conscience than the countess or her son, but here they were, already angling to take his future wife’s money, their engagement less than twenty-four hours old.

  Lady Bolton nodded. “As you know, the health of our estate is not what it used to be,” she said.

  “I wonder whose fault that is?” Brooks asked, his tone sardonic as he cast a sidelong glance at Charles. The young earl shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

  “Yes, well,” he said awkwardly, “what my mother means to say is that I will still owe Rutley eight thousand pounds after he marries Rosamund. If you agree to return August’s inheritance to me after you marry her, I’ll have plenty to pay back the duke.”

  And then some, you conniving rat, Brooks thought. He resisted the urge to say the words aloud, watching as Charles forced a grin and nervously passed his hat between his hands. “So what do you say? Won’t you help an old friend?”

  A stone-faced Brooks stared at Charles. “I’m not sure your father’s intention was for August’s future husband to hand her inheritance back to you as soon as they married.” His eyes flickered from his former friend to Lady Bolton. Both their faces slowly fell. “I’m sorry, but I cannot give you the money. It belongs to my wife, and I intend it to be hers even after we marry.”

  Lady Bolto
n started to laugh. “You cannot be serious. You and I both know it does not belong to your wife. My husband was not in the right frame of mind when he decided to leave it to her.” She glanced at her son. “Charles was his pride and joy, not some bastard child who I hear is as wanton as her mother. He did not mention or even think of her until that terrible illness slowly stole away his facilities for three months.”

  Now Brooks felt forced to say something. His jaw tensed. “You will not talk about my future wife that way, especially when I know you were the one who spread the rumor about the identity of her mother. I imagine that didn’t go how you planned either, did it?”

  Lady Bolton stared at him in shock. Brooks stared back at her, unmoved. They must know he wouldn’t change his mind. For better or worse, August would be his wife, which meant she was his responsibility now more than ever. He couldn’t stand the idea of betraying her by giving her money to Charles either.

  “You are wasting your time,” Brooks said. “I will not do it.”

  Lady Bolton grew pale. “But Samuel—”

  “Your son said it yourself, Lady Bolton. I feel strongly for the girl. I will not do something that puts her at a financial disadvantage.”

  Charles looked ready to burst, his face turning red. “You seem to forget who helped start your family business.”

  Brooks scoffed. “I didn’t forget. It was your father, who—”

  “No,” Charles said sharply, interrupting Brooks. “It wasn’t my father. It was the Earl of Bolton. It was the title, not the man. And now that the title is mine, I can easily tear down your business as quickly as my father created it. What will you do without your wealthy clients, Brooks? What sort of income will you have?”

  Brooks wavered—at first—but then he addressed Charles with a direct and fearsome gaze. “I will find other ones. I have grown sick of Mayfair, anyway. And if I still cannot find clients, perhaps my wealthy wife will let me depend on her. You ought to try finding one of your own, Charles.”