Lady August

by Becky Michaels

  Brooks shot her a warning look. “Must you always ask why? All I know is that I cannot sleep there.”

  August frowned at him. “Does that mean you are sleeping here this evening? And the evening after that?”

  “You look as if you think that’s a bad thing,” he said, chuckling. “I knew you would grow tired of me eventually, but I thought you might last longer than one week.”

  She laughed. “That’s not what I meant at all!” She paused a moment, her expression becoming sheepish. “I just don’t understand why you feel as though you can’t sleep there. It’s just a room, after all.” August gasped suddenly, a playful smile forming on her lips. “Are you afraid it might be haunted? Is that it? I did not take you to be a believer of such things, but—”

  Brooks silenced with her a kiss. “You talk too much,” he grumbled against her lips before pulling away and sighing. She carefully watched him as his eyes drifted back toward the door that connected her room to his.

  “You have never told me why you dislike your father,” August said. Brooks turned back to her, his expression unreadable. “You do dislike him, don’t you?”

  They stared at each other for a long moment until Brooks finally shrugged. “I do not think of my father enough to like or dislike him.” He leaned forward, pressing another kiss to August’s lips. When he pulled away, their faces remained very close. He played with a strand of hair that framed her face. “Won’t you like it if I stay here with you every night, sweet August?”

  Slowly, August nodded, knowing she wanted him close; she couldn’t help it. They fell asleep soon after that.

  The following morning, Brooks was gone, probably already downstairs in his study working. Not ready to ring the bell for one of the maids quite yet, August reached over to the bedside table. She took out the stolen leather bound book from Hart House that she hidden in the drawer. August had been reading Lucy’s diary in secret, feeling as though she finally had some measure of insight into Brooks’s life from Lucy’s words.

  The diary was how she discovered the late Mr. Brooks was not the kind man she once thought he was. He was also a wretched abuser who drank too much, inclined to violence against his wife and son. Although Brooks would not tell her himself, August now knew where he had gotten those marks across his back.

  As for Lucy’s mysterious illness and death, that was less clear. She was approaching the last of the entries, and by that time, Lucy had fallen pregnant three times but had yet to have the baby she so desired. The later entries had become much shorter and slightly melancholic in tone, and August worried what she might discover at the end of the diary.

  Suddenly, the door to August’s bedroom opened, and Brooks appeared in the doorway. He smiled at first, but his face seemed to fall when he noticed the leather bound book in August’s hands. She shut it tightly, trying to slow her racing heartbeat.

  “What are you reading?” he asked, leaving the door open as he stepped toward the bed, all the while narrowing his eyes at her.

  “N-nothing.” August winced at the way she stuttered her response. She knew it had been wrong to take Lucy’s diary from Hart House or even read it all, but there she was, feeling like a child who got caught stealing sweetmeats.

  “I recognize that book,” Brooks said, walking around to stand at his wife’s bedside. He snatched Lucy’s diary from her. “I gave it to my sister as a wedding gift.”

  Brooks flipped through the pages, then looked down at August. She could tell right away there was a growing fury inside of him. “Have you been reading my sister’s diary?” August turned away, unable to look at him any longer. The tightness in her chest was becoming so unbearable that she thought she might cry, but her husband was relentless. “Answer me.”

  She looked back at her husband, frightened by his demanded tone. “I-I’m sorry. I only thought I might learn something about you by reading it.”

  Brooks appeared flabbergasted by her confession, and perhaps rightfully so. August swallowed, crossing her arms across her chest. “And did you?” he asked.

  She crinkled her brow. “Did I what?”

  “Learn something,” he practically spat, his impatience growing.

  August’s face became warm, and she looked away. When she finally turned back, there were tears in her eyes. “I learned that your father used to beat you and your mother,” she said. “I suppose that’s where you got those scars, the ones you won’t tell me about even though I’m your wife and see you naked every night.”

  Brooks’s nostrils flared. “You had no right to read this—no right at all!” He brought his hands to his hips, still holding Lucy’s diary. She expected him to yell at her more, but he only sighed, his shoulders drooping as he did. “Now I remember now why I never wanted to marry.” He shook his head, and August waited, thinking he might have heard her heart pounding in the quiet bedroom. “You never truly know the person until it’s too late.”

  He began to walk away, and August scrambled out of bed, following him. “Brooks!” He stopped in front of the door but did not turn to face her. “You seem to be forgetting that I do not know you at all either. I am sorry for what I did, but can you be sorry for always shutting me out and hiding things from me? I only wanted to understand you better.” When Brooks did not answer, August’s face fell. “But I suppose that’s impossible now. You will shut me out for good after what I have done.”

  He suddenly turned around then, and she took one step back, frightened by the anger on his face. “You’re right,” he said. August flinched, but Brooks continued anyway. “I will shut you out for good, just as I should have a long time ago. Perhaps I wouldn’t have ended up with this sham of a marriage as a result!”

  August glared at him. “Do not blame me for our marriage! You did not have to marry me. No one forced you, least of all me. I would have gladly been ruined and kept my money to myself instead of having some stupid husband. But now it all belongs to you—and you won’t even let me do what I want with it!”

  “It does belong to me, and rightfully so! I’m going to need that money if things continue as they do. Did you know I have lost ten clients because of your brother Charles?”

  She frowned at him, shaking her head. “How could I have known that? You never tell me anything that’s bothering you. You prefer to keep your pain to yourself, not caring at all how it might affect me or your mother or your friends.”

  He did not reply, and they fell silent, staring at each other. His eyes eventually fell on the unmade bed. He turned toward August. “Perhaps it’s better if this marriage remains one in name only.”

  August furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”

  “I will not bother you tonight or any other night in the future.” He glanced at the door that led to his father’s bedroom, then back at August. “Do you understand?”

  She did not answer at first, too surprised that their argument would end this way. When they disagreed about her inheritance a week ago, he had not merely cast her aside. Not like he was trying to do now. August stepped forward, one hand outstretched. “But Brooks—”

  Brooks quickly maneuvered himself so he was out of her reach. She dropped her hand, letting it fall to her side. “I have work to do,” he said eventually. “You should get dressed. My mother will expect you down for breakfast soon.”

  With that, he spun on his heel and left the room, closing the door behind him. August turned and walked toward the bed. She stood at its edge of a moment, considering falling on top of it and loudly weeping. Instead, August walked toward the bellpull, pursing her lips. If Brooks did not want her, she would return to her aunt’s house.

  “I’ll show you a sham of a marriage,” she muttered to herself.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  August asked Agatha, who came with August from her aunt’s to Dover Street, to tell Mrs. Brooks that she would take her breakfast in bed that morning. Then she had her show her the service entrance so she could slip out of the house undetected.

 
The day was fine, so August walked to Park Street, eager to see her aunt. Lady Ramsbury’s butler seemed surprised to find August standing on the other end of the door when he opened it.

  “I know it’s early, but I must see my aunt,” she said, stepping around him and into the entry hall. The butler nodded and had her wait there while he alerted her aunt to her unexpected arrival. August paced the entry hall, impatient.

  When the butler appeared again, he motioned for her to follow him. He guided her toward the morning room, where August assumed her aunt was eating breakfast. She hoped the dowager duchess wasn’t too cross with her for calling so early.

  But August forgot all that when she discovered her aunt was not alone. Lord Ridlington sat at the morning room table with her. The marquess looked over his paper at her, grinning as she turned an awful shade of red. “Lady August! Or should I call you Mrs. Brooks now? What a pleasant surprise either way.”

  August glanced at her aunt, who did not quite meet her gaze. August turned back to Ridlington, feeling embarrassed. “I apologize, my lord. I have called much too early. I will return in the afternoon.”

  “Nonsense!” Ridlington exclaimed. He gestured to the seat across from him. “Sit down. How was your honeymoon?”

  Her aunt still wouldn’t acknowledge her, so August reluctantly sat down. “It was lovely, thank you.”

  “Would you like any breakfast?”

  August shook her head. “I’m afraid I do not have much of an appetite this morning.”

  This seemed to capture her aunt’s attention. The dowager duchess finally turned and looked at her, then turned back to the marquess. The two of them exchanged a look that August couldn’t quite read. Ridlington turned back to August. “Ah,” he said with a nod, folding his paper and placing it beside him. “What has our friend Brooks done now?”

  August bristled. “What makes you think my husband has done anything?” she asked, turning toward her aunt, who wore a skeptical gaze. They stared at each other for a long moment before August finally burst into tears. The dowager duchess sighed, looking at Ridlington.

  “Perhaps you ought to leave,” she said. “Auntly duty calls, I’m afraid.”

  Ridlington reluctantly nodded. August watched through tears as he stood and bent over her aunt, pressing a single kiss to her cheek. August muttered apologies to the marquess as he turned to her next, handing her a handkerchief. When she tried to give it back to him, he shook his head, placing a hand on her shoulder and squeezing it.

  “You keep it for now,” he said. “I will have it back the next time I see you.”

  August nodded, watching him leave the room. She turned back to Lady Ramsbury, who carefully watched her niece with a concerned gaze. “What is the matter, dear?” she asked. “What has happened?”

  August told her everything then—the scars across her husband’s back and her discovery of Lucy’s diary. She saw the disappointment in her aunt’s eyes when August told her about taking and reading the latter. “You should have let him confess the issues with his father and sister himself,” she firmly said. “You have forced his hand once more, and now he is upset.”

  “Once more?” August asked incredulously. Her aunt did not have to answer for August to realize the woman was referring to her marriage. August shook her head. “But that isn’t fair! I didn’t force him to marry me.”

  The dowager duchess shrugged. “Nevertheless, that’s most likely how he’s feeling at the moment. But you shouldn’t fret, my dear. He will come around. He always does, doesn’t he?”

  August thought back to all the times she thought they would part, but Brooks remained anyway. It started from the moment he brought her to Linfield Hall to see her father, and he decided to stay to ensure she was comfortable with her new family. She never did understand it.

  “Why, though?” August asked. “Why does he always insist on having me near, yet still at least an arm’s length away?”

  Lady Ramsbury tilted her head thoughtfully, considering the question. “It must be frightening to love someone when you grew up surrounded by such a tenuous relationship.”

  Love someone? August furrowed her brow. “That’s where you’re mistaken, Aunt,” she replied, shaking her head. “Brooks does not love me.”

  “Give him time, August,” the dowager duchess said with a nod. “Let him come to you. He always does.”

  Before August could respond, the butler appeared in the doorway once more. He cleared his throat. Her aunt toward him, furrowing her brow. “What is it?” she asked.

  “Your other niece—Lady Rosamund—is here to see you, Your Grace,” he said before glancing at August, whose face was blotchy from crying. “I’m afraid she seems upset as well.”

  Lady Ramsbury looked at her butler, confused. “Another distraught niece? There must be a full moon tonight.” August looked at her aunt sheepishly, all the while wondering why Rosamund was there. “Show her to the drawing room. We will meet her there.”

  The butler nodded, then left the room. August and her aunt swiftly rose from their seats after he left. “Do you think it’s Rutley?” August asked.

  “I do not know, but I expect we are about to find out.”

  When they reached the drawing room, Rosamund was sitting on one of the settees. She wrung her gloved hands over her lap, looking surprised when she saw August with their aunt that morning. “Rosamund!” August exclaimed, moving toward her sister, who rose to greet her. They embraced. “Are you all right? What happened?”

  Her sister looked from August to Lady Ramsbury, her gaze full of suspicion. “I could be asking you the same thing,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

  August dismissively waved her hand, not wanting to bring up her issues with her husband if Rosamund was there. What if Charles or Rutley had done something to her? “Never mind me. I was only having breakfast with our dear aunt. Is everything all right?”

  Rosamund glanced back and forth between her aunt and her sister, shaking her head as she did so. Her lips trembled as she spoke. “I cannot do it. I cannot marry him.”

  “Are you certain?” Lady Ramsbury asked, guiding her older niece back to the settee and helping her sit. August took one of the chairs across from them. Meanwhile, her sister nodded.

  “I will not throw my life away for Charles,” she said, shaking her head. “Not after all he did. The incessant gambling is terrible enough, but after I heard his intentions for you and Swinton? As well as Mama outing Lady Sarah as your mother? I cannot do it.”

  “Have you told Charles this?” the dowager duchess asked.

  “Yes,” Rosamund replied with a nod. “He is furious. I suspect he will be following me here with my mother and the duke at any moment.” She looked back and forth from her aunt and sister with pleading eyes. “You mustn’t let them convince me to change my mind. I will be miserable if I marry Rutley.”

  August furrowed her brow. “But why, Rosamund? You once told the duke yes. You never explained to me why you changed your mind.”

  Her sister sighed. “I have loved Robert since I was a little girl, and I was thrilled when he proposed. But he kept pushing back the wedding date. It didn’t take me long to discover why. He never did want to give up his wild ways until only recently when I threatened to cry off.” August frowned. So the duke had been unfaithful. “He says he has changed, but I do not trust him. I cannot trust him.”

  “I understand,” August replied softly. She looked toward her aunt, who had stood up again. She was pacing the room, carefully watching them.

  “Are you certain about this, Rosamund?” Lady Ramsbury asked. “You will lose your dowry, your mother, your brother.”

  Rosamund nodded. “I understand, but I will have you—won’t I?” Her gaze then traveled to August. “And you as well.”

  “Of course!” August exclaimed, moving to sit by her sister. August reached for her hand, squeezing it, and the two younger girls then looked toward their aunt, who momentarily stopped pacing. The woman sighe
d.

  “You can stay at Park Street however long you need,” she told Rosamund. “Ridlington will be upset again, but my niece is more important than him.” Rosamund looked at August, confused, but her half sister only shrugged in response. Rosamund would discover their aunt’s secrets soon enough. Meanwhile, Lady Ramsbury reached for the handbell on one of the tables in the drawing room, ringing it. “I will have the servants go and gather your things.”

  * * *

  Sitting at his desk, Brooks angrily stared at Lucy’s diary. It was all he could do after his argument with August, though he would have liked to throw himself into his work instead.

  Unfortunately, there was hardly anything to be done. After losing so many of his clients, Brooks did not have any appointments that day, even though he would have loved the distraction of someone else’s problems.

  It wasn’t until the afternoon when he heard a light rapping at his door. Just as his mother entered his study, he quickly moved Lucy’s diary from the top of his desk to one of its drawers.

  “What is it?” Brooks asked, recognizing the concerned look on his mother’s face right away. The older woman sat down in one of the armchairs across from his desk, sighing as she did.

  “Your wife did not come down to breakfast,” she said. “She took it in her room. Do you have any idea why?”

  Brooks dipped his head and began rubbing his temples with his thumb and middle finger. He had told August that his mother was expecting her. She probably stayed in her room on purpose. His mother would now ask him questions until he finally had to admit he was wrong. He looked back up at her.

  “No, I do not,” he said, dropping his hand on his lap. His mother only narrowed her eyes at him.

  “She has not been downstairs all day. Have you done something already, Samuel? You both appeared so happy when you returned yesterday.”

  Brooks rolled his eyes. “Why must you assume it’s me who has done something wrong?” He thought of his wife stealing his poor sister’s diary. “Perhaps she is the one who has done something wrong.”