His mother laughed—she laughed! Brooks couldn’t believe her audacity. “I doubt that very much,” she said when she was through. Her son glared at her, then opened his drawer, reaching into it and pulling out his sister’s diary. He dropped on the desk between them. His mother looked at it, confused. “What is that?”
“Lucy’s diary. August found it at Hart House. She took it and has been reading it in secret for the past week, all because I would not tell her where I got the scars on my back.” He shook his head, his temper rising. “This is one of the reasons I never wanted to get married! There are certain things I do not wish to share with anyone. Anyone!”
His mother grew pale. They had never spoken directly about his father’s abuse, but Brooks could not stop himself this time. It was a conversation they never dared to have before, even though they desperately needed to, and he was tired of skirting around the subject. “I have always regretted being unable to shield you from your father’s abuse,” his mother said, her lips trembling. “I wanted to leave him, but I had nowhere to go. The best I could do was send you to Linfield Hall or Hart House whenever the Finches or Swintons would agree to it.”
Brooks sighed. He knew it was never his mother’s fault, but that did not make him any less angry. “You did the best that you could do,” he said. Their eyes suddenly met.
“Did I?” She paused a moment, looking down and shaking her head. “You always told me you do not believe in marriage, and I suppose I have never blamed you. You have not had many good examples to follow—that I understand. But I like to think your life was not devoid of love altogether.” His mother looked up again, her discerning gaze landing squarely on him. “I surely did not fail so horribly as a mother that I left you incapable of loving a sweet girl like August.”
He gestured toward the diary in protest. “But she—”
“But she dared to try and know you better than you are presently allowing her, even though she’s your wife.”
Brooks pursed his lips. “You do not understand.”
“What don’t I understand? That girl loves you, regardless of your scars or your uncanny ability to push people away. Do not let my dead husband’s abuse stop you from being happy, Samuel. Have you even told her how Lucy passed?”
“We agreed not to tell anyone how Lucy passed.”
And aside from Swinton and them, no one knew the truth. There was nothing but the long mysterious illness, actually an instance of acute melancholia that may have ended in suicide by laudanum. But they could never know what Lucy was thinking that evening before she went to bed. Perhaps she wanted to die—or maybe it was only a terrible accident.
“She is your wife,” his mother said, interrupting his thoughts. “You cannot keep such secrets from her and expect a happy marriage.” Brooks sighed. He knew his mother was right, but that didn’t make him fear intimacy any less. “You must try, Samuel. For August’s sake, you must try.”
“I will go check on her then,” he said, nodding. His mother’s triumphant smile did not escape his notice as he left the room to head upstairs, but Brooks did not feel entirely out of the woods yet. When he reached August’s door, he lightly knocked.
“August? May I come in?” He waited, but there was no answer. He knocked again. “August?” Still, there was nothing. Brooks tried to open the door, but his wife had locked it. He struck the door with his knuckles for a third time, much more loudly than before. “August! Let me in this instant.”
“She’s not there, sir.”
Brooks almost jumped. He turned to find August’s lady maid, Agatha, standing in the hallway. He narrowed his eyes at her. “What do you mean she’s not there?”
“She left for her aunt’s house on Park Street early this morning,” Agatha explained. Brooks bristled. So she had tried to leave him already. Had she indeed given up that easily? “She asked me to take her through the back door and not say anything.”
Brooks attempted to hide his embarrassment by nodding. He placed his hands behind his back and forced a smile. “Very well. Did she say when she would return?”
The maid shook her head. “No, sir.”
Brooks nodded once, then went back downstairs, where he gathered his jacket and hat and immediately left for Park Street.
* * *
August decided to stay at Park Street until someone inevitably came looking for Rosamund. She didn’t know if it would be Charles, Lady Bolton, or the duke, but she expected someone would come eventually, especially after her aunt sent servants to Finch Place to gather Rosamund’s things.
Sitting in the drawing room, the three women heard a commotion in the entry hall. They expected Charles or the duke to come barging into the room after that, but an angry-looking Brooks appeared instead, Lady Ramsbury’s butler trailing closely behind him.
“Brooks!” August exclaimed, standing immediately. She saw her aunt and sister exchanged panicked looks out of the corner of her eye. “What are you doing here?”
His eyes widened. “What am I doing here?” he asked, wildly gesturing toward himself. “I could ask you the same thing! You left Dover Street without saying a word.”
August refused to play the role of the villain this time. She would not feel guilty for leaving after what Brooks said to her. “Must I tell you all my comings and goings? I believe you were the one who said our marriage would be one in name only. Why should you care if I leave without a word?”
Her husband’s nostrils flared, and he glanced at Lady Ramsbury and Rosamund. He was probably embarrassed that she would say such a thing in front of them, but she remained calm, sitting back down in her chair. Her aunt and sister sat very quietly across from her. “If you think I will let you run away from me, you are sorely mistaken. You must come with me back to Dover Street at once.”
August raised her brow. “Who said anything about running away? Can you not see that we are in the middle of a crisis?”
It finally seemed to dawn at him that Rosamund shouldn’t have been there either. His annoyance seemed to subside, and he looked at her, bowing slightly. “Lady Rosamund. What brings you to Park Street? Is something the matter?”
August answered before her sister said anything. “She is leaving the duke. My aunt has sent for her things. We are waiting for someone to arrive and cause a scene.” She raked her eyes over Brooks. “Imagine my surprise to see you and not Rutley or Charles.”
Her husband glared at her, then turned the dowager duchess. “I apologize for the trouble my wife has caused you. I will be taking her back to Dover Street now.”
“No!” August exclaimed. Brooks turned to her, his brow arched. “I will stay until I know my sister is safe here.”
Brooks pursed his lips, then tossed his hat on one of the empty chairs. “Very well,” he said. “I will wait with you.”
They said nothing, sitting in silence. Every so often, August and Brooks’s eyes would meet, but she would quickly turn away. She did not want to think of him or why he chose to follow her to Park Street. She was too concerned about her sister, especially when they heard a carriage stop in front of Lady Ramsbury’s Park Street mansion a few moments later. August stood up, walking toward one of the front windows. She saw the duke step out first, followed by Lady Bolton and Charles.
“They are here,” August told her aunt and sister. She turned back toward the window, discreetly watching their visitors until her eyes briefly met Lady Bolton’s. She quickly backed away, returning to the room’s center to sit with her aunt, sister, and Brooks.
Lady Bolton entered the room first, with Rutley and Charles following close behind her. The butler barely had time to announce the group before the countess addressed Rosamund directly. “Rosamund,” she said, “you will abandon this silly game of yours and come with us this instant.” She looked from her daughter to the duke, then back again. “The two of you will get married at the end of this month, just as you agreed to and wanted three years ago.”
“No,” Rosamund replied, her gaze and
tone dripping with defiance. August and Brooks exchanged nervous looks. “It’s too late.”
“You little—”
Lady Bolton lifted her hand, turning her chin over her shoulder at her son, effectively silencing him. Charles looked like a little boy, sullen after being chastised. She turned back to the group sitting in the drawing room, her eyes eventually falling on Brooks and August.
“I should have known you two had something to do with this,” she said, shooting them a vicious glare. Brooks scoffed.
“I had nothing to do with this,” he muttered. He glanced at August. “I am only here because my wife wanted to support her sister.”
Lady Bolton and August’s eyes met. The younger girl stared back defiantly, refusing to be afraid of her father’s widow. Eventually, Lady Bolton turned toward her daughter once more. “If you do this, you will lose your dowry. Your brother and I will disown you. You will not find a better husband than Lord Rutley.”
But Rosamund shook her head. Her voice cracked as she spoke. “To think I no longer recognize my mother. You of all people should know why I can’t marry him!” She shook her head again, narrowing her eyes at her mother. “At least you pretended to know before you discovered Linfield was at risk due to your own son’s idiocy. I cannot marry someone who I know is incapable of honoring his vows!”
Rosamund looked at Rutley now, who stared back at her, jaw set. He appeared more disheveled than usual, and August suspected the man regretted whatever decisions had led to this moment of Rosamund finally leaving him. Her sister turned back to Lady Bolton. “Tell me, Mama, would you have agreed to marry Papa if you knew he would have taken mistresses?”
Lady Bolton paused. “Yes,” she finally said. “Because it was my duty to bring honor to my family—to become a countess. Now you must bring honor to yours by becoming a duchess. Do your duty, Rosamund.”
Rosamund made a sweeping gesture toward August, startling her aunt beside her. “What about your duty to honor my dead father’s wishes? He told us to love August, to treat her as one of our own. It may have been a foolish wish from a dying man who felt guilty for his sins, but I have done as he asked. Can you honestly say you have done the same?”
“Do not bring her into this,” Lady Bolton warned, though she did not look at August. Her eyes remained fixated on her daughter instead. “She is part of the reason we are in this mess. If my husband hadn’t left her—”
Rosamund groaned, interrupting her. “This is not mine or August’s fault. This is Rutley’s fault for betraying me, and Charles’s fault for gambling away twenty thousand pounds! Perhaps you ought to arrange his marriage for him instead of me or August.” Her mother bristled, and Rosamund laughed slightly. “You did not think I was unaware of what you wanted Edward to do, did you? Our cousin told me everything.” She shook her head. “I hardly even recognize you anymore.”
Lady Bolton remained stone-faced as she addressed her daughter. “I would have been doing her a favor, allowing my nephew to marry her given her past.”
August nearly said something to defend herself, but Rosamund loudly groaned before she could. “What happened to you? You used to be kind, but now you are a hypocrite, all over a son who is just like the man who betrayed you. I do not understand!”
“And what will I do when Rutley turns us out of the house?”
“What will any of us do when Charles falls into debt again?”
Lady Bolton moved to speak once more, but Rutley’s booming voice pierced the room like the cannon, interrupting her. “Enough! No one will be turning anyone out of their houses.” Lady Bolton turned to face him. Rosamund looked at him as well, her mouth hanging open slightly. Meanwhile, Charles still cowered behind the duke. “Rosamund no longer wants to marry me, and nothing any of us can say will convince her otherwise.”
August watched Rosamund’s face, a mixture of confusion and surprise coloring her features as the duke spoke. “Lady Bolton, I will ensure your protection regardless of your son’s financial situation. You do not need to bully your daughter into marrying someone she no longer wants.” He turned to Charles next. “As for you, we will discuss your debt and how you might pay for it tomorrow morning. I release your sister from our engagement—no scandal necessary.”
Everyone stared at the duke, completely speechless. Out of everyone, Rosamund appeared the most shocked. Her former fiancé turned to her last, approaching her at the center of the room. “I am sorry for the pain I have caused you, Rosamund. Consider this my first step in atoning for my sins. I hope one day, you might forgive me.”
He took her hand and closed his eyes, bringing her knuckles to his lips and pressing a kiss there. When the duke let go, he nodded at Lady Ramsbury, then swept out of the room without another word. Lady Bolton and Charles remained in the drawing room, silent.
With a sigh, Lady Ramsbury rose from the settee. “I think it best if Rosamund stays with me for a while, Lady Bolton.” The dowager duchess placed a protective hand on her niece’s shoulder. “She will return to you when she’s ready.”
“Rosamund—”
“My aunt is right, Mother,” she said, not allowing Lady Bolton to finish. “I wish to stay in London with my aunt and my sister nearby. I will write to you when I am ready to return to Linfield.”
Lady Bolton turned toward her son, who remained surprisingly quiet throughout the entire exchange. “Come, Charles,” she said. They swept out of the drawing room.
August suddenly remembered something, rising to follow them into the entry hall. She found Charles and Rutley at the center muttering obscenities at each other. Lady Bolton stood off to the side, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.
“Charles,” August called out, walking toward them. All three of them looked at her, each of them appearing equally confused to find her standing there. “How much of my inheritance must I give you so you will stop telling my husband’s clients to take their business elsewhere? I do not think he will let me write a check for twelve thousand pounds, but perhaps we can strike a bargain.”
Charles sputtered, seeming surprised by the offer. “W-what?”
August frowned at him. “You know, if you at least tried to be a good brother, I might have given you all of it before Brooks married me, but now, what’s mine is his. You and I both know there’s only so much I can do. He’s quite stubborn.”
Another voice joined the conversation. “I am quite stubborn—as are you.”
August raised her brow, and she turned and saw Brooks standing behind her, not realizing he had followed her out in the entry hall. Surprisingly, he appeared to be smiling. He looked directly at Charles. “Unfortunately, I cannot allow my wife to give you anything, even if you do agree to her terms. My business will be fine with or without the Earl of Bolton.”
Charles glared at him. Meanwhile, Rutley cleared his throat, looking at August as he did. “Nevertheless, I will make sure Charles keeps Mr. Brooks’s name out of his mouth for as long as he owes me money.”
August smiled up at him, suddenly feeling as sorry for him as she did for Rosamund. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
The duke nodded at her, then both men replaced their hats and left through the front door, Lady Bolton following not far behind them.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Brooks and August walked home in silence until they reached the front door of their home on Dover Street. It was then that Brooks reached for her hand, pulling her close before they walked up the front steps.
“Why did you leave without telling me?” he asked. He brought one hand to the side of August’s face, tracing her jawline with his thumb. Her heartbeat quickened, especially when she realized he looked as if he might kiss her. She pulled away and looked down, not wanting to give in to her lust until they finally spoke.
“I thought you wouldn’t care, but I was always planning on coming back.” She looked back up, capturing his steady gaze with her curious one. “You knew that, didn’t you?” He stiffened, and August frowned. Now she w
as the one reaching for his face, cupping his cheek with her palm. “I will always come back for you, Brooks, just like you will always come back for me.” She shook her head. “I am sorry for reading Lucy’s diary. It was wrong of me. I only hope you trust me one day to tell me the story yourself.”
She forced a smile, then dropped her hand and turned, walking back up the stairs. August tried to believe her aunt when she said Brooks would come around. Perhaps he might share his true self with her one day. But before she could get to the top of the stairs, he reached for her once more. She stopped, his fingers firmly wrapped around her wrist. “Wait,” he said.
August turned to face him, surprised. She stepped down, standing on the step above him so that they were at equal heights. Releasing her wrist, his hands skimmed over the fabric of her dress until he found her waist. He held onto her and briefly turned his face away.
August knew he was trying to tell her something, so she gently put her hands on his shoulders, then slid them up to his neck, using her fingertips to force him to look at her. She frowned when she saw his blue eyes rimmed with tears.
“My father used to beat me with a birch rod, especially when he was drunk,” he finally said. August’s heart dropped into her stomach, and her mouth went dry. She had no idea what to say. “My mother used to love him, you know. What if I become like him?”
“Oh, Brooks,” August said, pulling him close by wrapping her arms around his neck. “You will not become like him. It’s not in your nature.”
He began to sob into her chest, his fingers clutching at the fabric at the back of her dress. She ran her hand through his hair, and when he finally pulled away from her, he reached for her face and pulled it toward his, hungrily kissing her.
“I should have told you the moment you asked,” he said when he eventually broke away. “You are my wife.”
August smiled weakly. “A wife you did not want.”
“You’re right,” he said. August’s chest tightened, and she worried what he might say next. “I never desired a wife, but I always wanted you. Even if the incident at the ball never happened, it was only a matter of time. Don’t you see, August?”
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