“Dover Street?”
“Where my mother and I live.”
August’s heartbeat quickened. “You will not take me straight to Lady Ramsbury’s?” she asked, confused. She shook her head. They could not do that. “I should not like to impose on you for any longer than I must.”
“You are not imposing,” he said. His tone was firm, and August’s stomach did a flip. “I should like to speak to Lady Ramsbury myself before bringing you to her. She must be up for the task first.”
“And if she’s not?” August asked, raising her brow at his protectiveness.
Brooks sighed, rubbing the back of his head. “I will have to think of something, then,” he said. “It might be up to me to find you a husband.”
The thought of that nearly made her laugh when she was already foolishly dreaming of becoming Mrs. Brooks herself. She reminded herself that she hardly knew the man, and what she did know of him tended to be grumpy and disagreeable.
“Why do I need a husband, anyway?” she asked. “Am I not wealthier than most men now? If my aunt rejects me, I would be more than happy to return to Wilton and live out the rest of my days in obscurity.”
“You mention this place called Wilton frequently,” Brooks suddenly observed. “You seem very eager to return there. Why?”
She bristled, not liking the suspicious look he was giving her. “I only thought I could save Charles and Lady Bolton the embarrassment of the ton discovering my existence.”
“Well, that’s not what your father wanted.”
She groaned. “Why are we so preoccupied with what my father wanted? What about what I want?”
“I thought you wanted a husband and children,” he argued, seeming exasperated.
“Yes, but if Lady Ramsbury rejects me—”
“I do not think she will reject you,” Brooks said sharply, interrupting her. “I could deliver you to her house straight away, and she would probably accept you, believing your triumphant entrance into society might make for a fun project. It’s my apprehension over her chaperoning you that forces me to demand an audience with her first.”
They stared at each other for a moment, her eyes searching his. August did not know what to say, not understanding why Brooks should care so much about her.
“You should know my sister told me why you think Lady Ramsbury might not be the right chaperone for me,” she finally said.
“Did she?” Brooks asked with a roll of his eyes.
August nodded. “She insinuated that my aunt takes lovers now that she’s a widow. That perhaps her home might not be the best environment for a young girl of marrying age.”
Now it was his turn to blush. “You and your sister should not be speaking of such things,” he grumbled. “And what would the two of you know about lovers, anyway?”
August’s temper flared, hating that he thought she was someone who needed his protection and shielding from the world after she had been taking care of herself for so long. “What do I know about lovers?” she asked, echoing his question back to him.
He nodded, taking a step closer to her. Their faces were close now, only mere inches apart. “Yes,” he replied. His voice was soft, and her eyes drifted toward his lips. Her palms became sweaty. “What does Miss August Summer know of lovers?”
“Well, I have had one,” she said without thinking. She immediately regretted it, seeing how Brooks looked at her with wide eyes and a slightly open mouth. She had rendered him speechless, and now she could think of nothing else to say either. She felt like dashing out of the room. Breathing became uncomfortable.
“Do not look so shocked,” she said, stepping away from him, unable to stand so close to him any longer. Her voice became shrill. “I’m sure you’re not a virgin either.”
Stupid, stupid girl. Her mind told her to be quiet, yet she pressed forward anyway, seeing how she couldn’t possibly take her words back now.
“So perhaps you ought to worry about me being up for the task before you start criticizing my aunt,” she finally said, pushing past him, deciding she would prefer to die of mortification in the privacy of her room.
Chapter Eleven
The carriage ride to London was awkward, or at least it was for Brooks. August sat in silence across from him, looking out the window, frowning for the entire journey. Brooks stole glances at her every so often, all the while wondering if she noticed. If she did, she didn’t say anything, leaving Brooks to his own tormented thoughts. He could not understand why he cared so much, but he did, especially regarding August’s earlier confession.
He would have liked to ask her more, but he wasn’t sure if it was his right to ask at all. Did August give a man her innocence because she had thought he loved her? Because she thought he would marry her? Perhaps that was why she kept mentioning returning to Wilton, but why August wanted to return to a blackguard was beyond him.
For his part, Brooks would have liked to throttle the man. As a young female of marrying age, innocence was a precious commodity in the market that August was about to enter. Her lack of virginity would be another thing the ton could use against her if such information came to light. He wanted to tell her as much, but he wasn’t sure how he could without sounding like an ass. He had done that enough around her already, so he decided to say nothing at all.
By the time they arrived at his home on Dover Street in Mayfair, the hour was late, and Brooks was exhausted. Gas lamps illuminated the street, and August stood upon the sidewalk looking up at the five-story brick townhouse in wonder. If she was impressed by his modest home, Brooks thought she might faint upon seeing her aunt’s mansion on Park Street.
“This is your home?” she asked. She touched one of the white stone columns that held up the decorative balcony above the house’s front stoop.
Brooks nodded as Jenkins, the butler, opened the door for them. “My office is on the first floor as well,” he said, stepping inside and handing his hat and coat to Jenkins. “How are you, Jenkins?”
“Very well, sir,” Jenkins replied, shooting a tentative look at August. “You have been away much longer than expected. You have clients looking for you.”
Brooks did not want to think about clients right now. The hour was late, and he must get August settled, as well as tell his mother why she was here. “We will discuss it in the morning,” he said.
Meanwhile, Brooks watched as August slid off her cloak and removed her bonnet, handing both to Jenkins, who still appeared confused. August stared up at the crystal chandelier hanging from the center of the foyer in awe.
“You do quite well for yourself,” she said, her eyes meeting his. He half smiled at her despite himself, appreciating how impressed she was. Girls of the ton tended not to look twice at men who must work for their incomes.
Brooks turned back to his butler. “Jenkins, where is my mother?” he asked. “Has she already retired for the evening?”
Jenkins nodded. “Yes, sir, but only recently. Her maid just returned belowstairs from her bedroom, so she may still be awake.”
“Show Lady August to the drawing room and prepare one of the bedrooms for her,” Brooks told Jenkins. He glanced at August, who stood in the doorway of the reception room that led to his office, peering into the darkness. She turned back to him upon hearing her name, clasping her hands behind her back and smiling.
Despite the long journey, she looked as beautiful as ever, especially under the glow of the candlelight. Her cheeks always seemed to have a healthy color to them, and her hair almost looked better in a slightly mussed state. Dover Street felt so small compared to Linfield, and suddenly Brooks felt very aware that they would be sleeping under the same roof with much fewer walls separating them.
“It will have to be Miss Lucy’s room,” Jenkins said, interrupting his thoughts, causing his head to snap in his direction. Brooks hadn’t mentioned his sister, Lucy, to August, as he didn’t like speaking about her. Judging by how August stepped closer to the two men—obviously so she could hear bette
r—he would have to tell her about his younger sister soon.
“Aren’t there any other options?” he asked softly, though he knew August would still undoubtedly hear him.
“Not unless you use your father’s bedroom tonight, and Lady August uses your bedroom, and—”
“Never mind, Jenkins,” Brooks said sharply, shaking his head. He had no desire to take his father’s room then or ever, even if it was the largest in the house. “Preparing Lucy’s room for Lady August would be the simplest solution. Lady August, if you’ll excuse me.”
He bowed slightly, then quickly headed up the stairs two steps at a time. He wasn’t sure why he was bothering with formalities in front of Jenkins. The man had been in the family’s service since Brooks was a boy, so nothing ever surprised him. Perhaps Brooks was the one who needed the formalities, especially when he knew the only thing that separated his room from Lucy’s was a single wall.
His mother’s bedroom was on the third floor, and Brooks knocked softly on its door. He heard his mother stir in bed on the other side. “Who is it?” she asked.
“Your son.”
His mother granted him entrance straight away when she heard his voice. On the other side of the door, she was sitting in bed, wearing her nightcap. A book rested on her lap.
“Oh, thank goodness you are home!” she exclaimed, reaching out to him. He went to his mother, kissing her on the cheek.
“Hello, Mother,” he said.
Mrs. Brooks searched her son’s face with her eyes. The wrinkles on her visage always became more prominent when she was concerned about something. “I was worried sick after receiving Lady Bolton’s letter,” she said. “Has the girl been safely delivered to Linfield Hall?”
“I am afraid not,” Brooks replied with a sigh, taking a seat at the end of his mother’s bed, staring at the rose-colored walls instead of looking at his mother. The fire in the hearth cast a warm glow over the room.
She furrowed her brow. “What do you mean? What happened?”
“The girl,” he said, turning to look at her, “is presently in our drawing room.”
His mother’s eyes widened. “What?”
Brooks nodded. “It’s true. Lord Bolton passed away this morning.”
“Oh, how awful!”
“Indeed,” Brooks agreed bitterly. “His wish was for his daughter to not only have twelve thousand pounds but to be out in society, with Lady Bolton chaperoning her. Naturally, Lady Bolton took offense to this.”
His mother sighed. “Yes, she said as much in the letter she sent me earlier this week, and I cannot say I blame her. But why is the girl here at Dover Street now?”
“With his father dead and no one to stop him, Charles has written to his aunt—”
“Lady Ramsbury?” his mother asked, gasping.
Brooks nodded again. “Charles has written to his aunt with the hopes that she will be the girl’s guardian until she marries.”
“And what does Lady Bolton say?”
“She came up with the idea herself,” Brooks grumbled with a wave of the hand. “Neither of them has any interest in poor August, so she agreed to live with her aunt right away. Of course, she has no idea what sort of woman Lady Ramsbury is.”
“Oh!” his mother nervously exclaimed. “Surely she cannot be a good influence for a young lady! I will write to Lady Bolton at once—”
“Do not waste your time,” Brooks said with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Neither Lady Bolton nor Charles will budge. Rosamund is the only one who has accepted her, and now we are left to hope that Lady Ramsbury will as well.”
His mother looked down at her book, nodding slightly. “So why didn’t you take her to Park Street this evening?”
“I did not want to leave her on Lady Ramsbury’s doorstep late at night without speaking to the woman first. Besides, who knows what the dowager duchess is doing at this hour or if she’s even at home. You must understand that August is a twenty-year-old girl with twelve thousand pounds. She didn’t attend finishing school like other marriageable girls she may meet at parties, and I will not see her fall victim to their cruelty if Lady Ramsbury cannot teach her their ways. She needs someone willing to protect her. Lady Ramsbury must understand…”
His voice trailed off as he suddenly noticed the strange way in which his mother was watching him while he spoke. Her expression was one of bewildered amusement, and he thought she might laugh at him at any moment. “Why are you looking at me that way?” he asked, annoyed.
His mother’s half smile turned into a full grin. “I should like to meet this girl. I have never heard you so concerned for a female someone in your life—not since Lucy, and she was your sister.”
Brooks huffed, rolled his eyes, and then stood up, heading toward the door. His mother was incorrigible. “Must you always be playing matchmaker?” he asked.
“I see it as my motherly duty to help you find someone you might love.”
“If such an emotion even exists.”
His mother angrily sighed and looked at her book, refusing to dignify such a comment with any other response.
“She will stay here tonight, and I will take her to Park Street tomorrow after I have had my audience with the dowager duchess,” Brooks said. When his mother did not respond, he pursed his lips together, feeling guilty. “Why don’t you have breakfast with her tomorrow?”
Mrs. Brooks finally looked at him, smiling. “Of course,” she said, delighted. “I will entertain her for as long as you would like.”
He nodded once. “Good. I will use the morning to catch up on my work and call on Lady Ramsbury sometime tomorrow afternoon. Once I settle everything with the dowager duchess, I will bring August to her before dinnertime.”
“Why doesn’t she stay here for dinner?” Mrs. Brooks asked. “Or perhaps she ought to stay two nights instead of one. That will give Lady Ramsbury plenty of time to—”
Brooks shot his mother a warning look, effectively silencing her. They both knew she was grasping at straws now. “Good night, Mother.”
He opened the door and left the room, unable to entertain any of her matchmaking ideas where August was concerned. Considering Brooks might actually like August, his mother’s actions could be much more dangerous than forcing him into conversation with Miss Jennings after church. How quickly his mother had forgotten the poor girl when another female with twelve thousand pounds was staying under their roof.
The female in question was standing by one of the front bay windows when he went to the drawing room looking for her. She turned when she heard him enter, smiling at him. “How is your mother?” she asked.
“Fine,” Brooks replied, still feeling annoyed by the dratted woman. There was nothing untoward or dishonorable about being concerned for August’s well-being. Nevertheless, he kept a safe distance between himself and where she stood at the front window. She watched him curiously, probably noticing his discomfort.
If Brooks did not control his emotions, he would soon become no better than the assumed blackguard who took her innocence. He cleared his throat, urging himself to think no longer on such subjects. “You will have breakfast with her tomorrow morning. I will have work to catch up on after being away from town for so long, but I plan on calling on your aunt in the afternoon. If all goes according to plan, this will be the only night you stay with us.”
August’s smile seemed to fade, but she still nodded at him. “I understand. Will you take me to my room now? I am rather tired.”
Brooks nodded, and he showed her to the fourth floor in silence. Reluctantly, he opened the door to Lucy’s room and ushered August inside. The servants had lit the fireplace, the light of the fire bouncing against the walls.
August walked around the room while Brooks forced himself to accept that soon a stranger would be alone with Lucy’s old possessions. He stood there and silently watched in fear, waiting for her to discover something much too personal and ask him a question about it. Eventually, he pointed to the bell
pull by the bed. “Ring that if you should need anything.”
“Yes, I know how a bellpull works,” she replied with a smile, coming to stand in front of him, her hands clasped in front of her.
“Right,” he said with a curt nod, feeling foolish. “I will leave you, then. Good night.”
He was halfway out the door when August called his name. He immediately turned around, facing her. His eagerness made him feel all the more foolish. “What is it?” he asked much more sharply than he intended.
“I only wanted to apologize for what I said earlier.” She did not look at him, but that didn’t stop him from realizing her cheeks were flushed. He swallowed. Hard. “I shared something private that I shouldn’t have, and I don’t wish you to worry yourself over me any more than you already have, or—”
“It’s already forgotten,” he blurted, not because he had forgotten it, but because he did not wish to discuss it any longer, especially in the warmth of her bedroom.
“Very well,” she said, seeming a bit taken aback by his sudden response but nodding anyway. She squared her shoulders as they both stared at each other. His discomfort grew until it was nearly unbearable. “Good night, then, Brooks.”
“Good night, August.”
Chapter Twelve
Brooks slept poorly that night. After waking from a dream about August coming to his room in the middle of the night, he decided it would be impossible to close his eyes without thinking of her, so he rose at the crack of dawn and rang for Jenkins instead. The butler helped him bathe and dress, then provided him a list of appointments that he had missed while he was away.
In that way, Jenkins was much more than a butler. He helped Brooks with whatever he needed throughout the day, taking on the functions a valet or personal secretary would for a wealthier man. One must find economies where one could as a solicitor, despite how impressed August was by his perceived wealth. Truthfully, Brooks wouldn’t have minded abandoning his Mayfair address to save money, but that would have been bad for business, and Brooks wasn’t a complete fool. The ton depended on him as much as he relied on the high fees they were willing to pay.
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