Regency Scandals and Scoundrels Collection

by Scott, Scarlett

  “You think he would deny you the request?”

  “Oh, I know he would. He views this place as his protection.” Her eyes narrowed in thought. “Still, my birthday is only two months away. Do you know, I shall be seeing sixty years? I could obtain permission to have a small gathering. Even from William. He would not deny me such a request. He may prevaricate. But in the end, he would not deny me that pleasure.”

  The two women exchanged a look. Augusta smiled at Lady Jane’s wicked smirk.

  “And what if the small gathering was not so small as originally thought, my lady?”

  Innocently, Lady Jane said, “Why, Miss Brooke, whatever do you mean?”

  “Nothing at all, Lady Jane,” she said, pleased that they saw the same potential in the thought of a birthday celebration.

  As the clock struck nine, Lady Jane rose and said, “You should get your rest. You are still healing and no doubt are badly shaken.”

  Though Augusta wanted to protest, as she could have listened to Lady Jane tell stories all night, she admitted to herself that she was exhausted. “Good night, Lady Jane.”

  “Oh, how thoughtless of me,” she said abruptly. “Will you need assistance to get back to the other parlor?”

  “Rather than risk knocking things over… yes,” said Augusta ruefully. She could hobble, but that didn’t mean she wanted any of the fine furnishings to be ruined should she crash into them.

  “I shall send Lucy down to help you. My knees are a disaster.”

  Left to the solitude of her own thoughts, Augusta reflected on everything that had just been disclosed to her. She could not help but feel some softness toward Lord Ainsworth. She wished that she could become his friend, and that she could, in time, tell him that he did not need to hide himself away. If half of what Lady Jane had said was true, he was truehearted and kind. It was a shame to see that wrested away from him by cold circumstance.

  And as for his face—well, as she had already thought, she had seen uglier men with beautiful countenances. Besides that, even beautiful men become old and shriveled. Lord Ainsworth simply has a leg-up on them, there.

  But it was still another shame: she could imagine that before his misfortune in war that the duke was once very handsome. He cut a trim but pleasing figure, and his jaw, chin, and mouth, being unscathed, were well-defined, suggesting what he used to be. On a woman, she might call them feminine, but they seemed to suit his lithe body. Which decidedly belonged to a man.

  She almost wanted to run upstairs and tell him that she now knew he hid a good soul beneath a well-cultivated veneer of gruffness.

  If she could run and he would listen, she would tell him that he could not always live his life being hampered by fear, and that he had to resist caging himself in his manor forever. That was no way to live a life, especially when his had begun in such a promising way.

  He knew what he wanted to do with himself and he succeeded in being able to do it, which was more than many could claim. He had a zeal and aptitude for healing. So he became a physician and, evidently, he was a good one. Denying the world his talents was wrong.

  But she was only the daughter of a drunk, nasty gambler who, by her mother’s sheer willpower, had a decent vocabulary, good elocution, and a wider understanding of the world than other women of her station. That was a very small achievement in comparison to all of Lord Ainsworth’s. To her mind, he had done the most heroic thing one could do on the battlefield in tending to the wounded.

  What could you possibly offer the Duke of Ravenwood?

  Chapter Five

  In the days that followed, Augusta continued to mend and she felt capable of taking a turn in the room for the first time since her arrival. Her fever had completely disappeared and her body no longer ached.

  Her ankle only hurt when she walked through the parlor and out to the hall beyond and, even then, it did not pain her much. By the end of the ninth day in the manor, she had ventured all the way into the foyer, marveling at the finery that surrounded her. It was clear that Lord Ainsworth’s abode had been a family home despite its grandeur, for it seemed that every family member within its walls had contributed some aesthetic choice. She felt that Lord Ainsworth’s mother must have decorated the parlor she was residing in, for example, because it was an overtly feminine space populated with lace and gleaming, delicate, silver candlesticks. The halls and the foyer, however, were such a mishmash of influences that one almost had the impression of being within another country altogether. Not that Augusta had ever been anywhere but England. She just imagined that the eccentric collection of decor and furnishings would not have been out of place at a bazaar.

  The maids, whom she did not recognize by sight, seemed flustered that she was taking a little wander. She almost literally ran into Marcus, the great mountain of a man, who merely winked at her and said that she should not try the stairs until she was ready.

  “Why would I go upstairs, Marcus?” Augusta asked. “My eyes are hardly used to what’s down here… I’d think above stairs would be even more overwhelming.”

  In general, she saw the duke once each evening. It became a strange, if welcome, custom. He would look at her ankle and examine the welts that had been most severe. He would ask after her. Was she getting sufficient rest? Was Lady Jane providing her with enough diversions?

  His ire at her refusal to disclose her identity continued, and he remained quite formal in her presence because she refused to expand on her origins. His treatment of her was a strong contrast to Lady Jane’s engaging behavior.

  Augusta soon wearied of this and reasoned that she could try her hand at drawing him out of his taciturn ways and stiffness.

  The truth was, he was definitely beginning to grow on her and she wanted to hear him speak of more than pleasantries and banalities.

  He could at least humor her a tiny bit, couldn’t he?

  When he came to attend to her one night, she asked him, “Would you be so kind as to fetch me the book by the table, Your Grace?”

  His surprise at Augusta addressing him directly and asking him a routine question was evident. But he made no comment on it. Quietly, he did as she bid. She accepted the novel with a smile that he did not return.

  “Oh, not this book. It is the other one that was near to it. Lady Jane recommended it to me and I only began reading it this morning. It has been delightful.”

  She was rewarded with the same blunt silence she’d given him over a week ago. Drat.

  Trying again, she said, “Perhaps you have read it, for she said it was fetched directly from your library. She said it was quite an impressive collection. When I am fully mended, would it be possible to explore it further? I am such a lover of books.” Archly, she added, “I find they do not disappoint as often as our fellow men.”

  Lord Ainsworth patiently waited out her speech. Then he took the first book and fetched the second that she had indicated.

  I suppose this serves me right. I cannot expect that after my own recalcitrance, we could be fast acquaintances. “Do you take pleasure in reading, my lord? You must, if your library is half as good as Lady Jane has said.”

  “I have no desire for conversation with you, Miss Brooke.”

  Shocked at his abruptness, Augusta shut her mouth. He had some nerve being so forthright. Well, she had nerve, too. He seemed to be rude deliberately, so she did not relent in her attempts to draw something more out from him than medical observations and cutting remarks.

  “Well, it is such a shame that Lady Jane is a more cordial person than you are,” she declared.

  That earned her a scowl.

  She carried on after a small breath. “But for her, I would have been beside myself. Being left to my own devices in a strange place doesn’t suit me. I do hope she enjoys the ball tonight, but I will miss her company.”

  She eyed Lord Ainsworth. He said nothing at all.

  “Perhaps she shall tell me all about it.” Don’t mention that you’ve never been to a ball… though, maybe t
hat’s patently obvious to someone of the ton who used to go to every society event, she thought.

  “I understand you are an important man, but surely you could spare a moment on me without it being so formal.” She wiggled her ankle just barely.

  He finally turned to her. She had observed that when he wanted to watch her properly, he partially turned to his left side. He was doing so, now. It was more of a ritual than anything else, because his sight seemed fine without him changing angles. Good, I have his attention.

  “You would be in the company of your own kin if only you would provide their information,” he announced.

  Augusta mused on the fact that for someone who had seen so little of her since he’d taken her in, he was certainly interested in seeing her gone. That was not unfair, but it also spoke to his character that he had not even attempted anything untoward with her. She, of course, did not view herself as anything to be used simply because of her station, but many men of his own would, especially when there was such an evident balance of power. She was injured and unable to defend herself in a duke’s home. She knew, thanks to Lady Jane, that he was not the sort to take advantage of her, but his behavior also affirmed it.

  “Has it occurred to you, Lord Ainsworth, that perhaps I have nowhere to go… no family of my own?” she asked.

  The annoyance in her voice seemed to startle him more than the idea, which she knew that he knew was not the case.

  He crossed his arms and leveled her with a dry glance that, for some odd reason, made her heart flutter.

  “Well, you certainly did not fall from the skies,” said he. “You are no angel, are you?”

  Augusta did not so much as bristle. She countered, mildly, “Well, there are certain circumstances that dictate one’s position, are there not, my lord? Life is scarcely a bed of roses and fate can snatch those we love from us. Unlike yourself, with a title, servants, and an aunt who clearly adores you, there may be some who are completely alone in the world while putting on a brave face.”

  Her softly delivered words seemed to hit him like a stray bullet. He almost staggered. Then, composing himself and standing perfectly still, Lord Ainsworth regarded her with solemn eyes.

  “Indeed. Life is never fair, Miss Brooke, and if you have learned that, you have learned something fully worth knowing.”

  “I am not in a position to forget,” she replied very quietly. Boldly, but without speaking more loudly, she added, “And I am sorry if I caused you pain, my lord, for I don’t know if you are, either.”

  It was all she would say that might allude to Lady Jane’s revelations. She dared not broach the subject with him.

  He nodded a little in admission of her apology. “You have not caused me any pain, Miss Brooke. Simply accumulated consternation.”

  “I am glad to hear it, for otherwise I would be an even worse guest than I already am,” Augusta said. She offered him a gentle smile. He did not return it, but his face softened as far as she could tell. She was growing used to looking upon him. Not that his face is so terrible, she thought—and though she did not have the practice that Lady Jane had, she was starting to become accustomed to his expressions. Lord Ainsworth’s countenance was no longer mysterious to her.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” He took a few steps toward the fireplace, evidently suffering from an excess of restless energy.

  “How am I looking at you?” she asked, unable to deny that she had been without sounding a fool.

  “As though we are… not strangers,” he said, studying the small, colorful figurines of dogs on the mantelpiece.

  “I suppose I feel less of a stranger with you than I did when I first woke up here,” she said slowly.

  He sighed and said, more thoughtfully than put upon, “I see.”

  He came away from the fireplace and hesitated at the foot of the chaise. She gazed at him, surprised that he was coming closer and appeared to be questioning whether or not he should go. What happened to him not wanting any conversation? she thought.

  “Would you rather I read the book to you, then, Miss Brooke? After all, it is not the novel that you originally requested.”

  “Well… you don’t need to do that, Your Grace. Or you could bring me the other book.” She was uncharacteristically indecisive. “Or you can go about your day as you wished to.”

  Lord Ainsworth shrugged. “If you have lost your appetite for reading, then may I engage you in a game of piquet? I know that my aunt has a deck of cards somewhere in the manor.”

  Simply because it was what she had been endeavoring to get him to do, yet she did not expect he would do it, Augusta faltered in making a sensible reply. You collect yourself right now, Gussie. “I… have no desire to take up your time,” she uttered at last.

  “It would be my pleasure. You were right. I am not as cordial as Lady Jane, although I believe I used to be. Perhaps I could cultivate the skill again.”

  Was he toying with her? Teasing her? Cautiously, Augusta said, “Perhaps. A great many skills can be learned in one’s lifetime, Your Grace.”

  She was rewarded with an easy, somewhat self-deprecating smile. “Yes. I believe so.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “Well, shall we play?”

  Deciding that he was in earnest, Augusta said, “Yes. I would quite enjoy that.”

  He nodded, and she watched him quit the room to obtain the deck of cards. Ruefully, she thought that, perhaps, she had been too harsh on him. With what he had endured, she could imagine that he was not only given to fears over how people might treat him, but he had also reverted to a sort of boyish shyness.

  And as she kept reminding herself, she was withholding the information he kept requesting from her. I won’t feel guilty, she thought fiercely. I have no reason to be… if I tell the truth, Father might kill me.

  “As it happens, Lady Jane told me I should attend to you before she left for the evening.” Lord Ainsworth strode back into the parlor with a deck.

  Augusta glanced at him warily. “You don’t have to entertain me out of a sense of charity. Or duty.”

  “I’m not,” he said with a low chuckle.

  “Why are you, then?”

  “Perhaps, you may tell me what I want to know. But apart from that, as you were speaking and underscoring it just now, I rethought my uncouth behavior.”

  He moved a small side table closer to the chaise and drew a chair for himself. A vivid aubergine tone, it was pleasantly mismatched from the chaise’s upholstery, a bright salmon.

  As he did so, she eyed the shape of his legs in his trousers before he could turn back around to face her.

  “I won’t tell you,” she said pleasantly. “Your Grace.”

  “Oh, I only said perhaps. I didn’t say you would.”

  She straightened up on the chaise and watched him as he broke and shuffled the cards. “I am glad we seem to sense where we each stand.”

  He smiled almost shyly at her, and they began their game.

  Augusta had learned how to play piquet with Mama, but had not played since before her death. She recalled the times when her father was not present and they snuck out the cards, hoping he would be in the pub for much longer than they assumed.

  Lord Ainsworth turned out to be quite adept, not that it surprised her. But he seemed to sense her enjoyment of the game for reasons other than their present situation, which did. She did not imagine that her pleasurable associations had surfaced in her expression, but they must have.

  “You seem to particularly enjoy playing this, Miss Brooke,” he said.

  “I do,” she replied. “It was a favorite of my mama’s.”

  As he dealt another hand, he said, “Did she teach you to play?”

  Nodding, Augusta murmured, “Yes, she did.”

  “You must miss her. I can hear it in your voice.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Augusta, her gaze fastened on the card in her hand as her mother’s likeness replaced its normal state. She saw her wonderful eyes, their warmth filling her even
though her mother only existed in memory. Mama had been a remarkably perceptive and kind woman, an absolute foil to Father. “I never want to forget her smiles, or her impossible love for the world in general. Her heart was as pure as her smile. She simply lit up wherever she was.” Fondly, she smiled to herself.

  “We never had enough, either, but my mother never complained. She would still always find a piece of bread for a stranger—much to the consternation of my father.” Wrinkling her nose in disdain, she confided, forgetting for a moment who she was speaking to, “It is my hope that I take after her and not him.”

  She thought back to the first time she could remember being beaten by her father. It was over some small infraction that she did not recall. But she had been young enough to be startled. Fifteen? He had never been an especially kind man, so she was used to his brusqueness and his curt ways. But she had not yet grown to expect his fists or the end of a crop when he was filled with fury.

  It isn’t worth recalling, she told herself. Unbidden, flashes of the incident came into her mind, painful like hot sparks against bare skin.

  But what was she to do but stay? She had no other kin that she knew of, and at that time she had been too young, even by very broad standards, to marry. It was either remain with her father or end up on the street.

  Unfortunately, his temper did not improve, and as he turned more and more readily to intoxicating diversions, it actually worsened.

  Lord Ainsworth was, perhaps not unexpectedly in the face of such personal talk, silent. Slowly, Augusta raised her gaze to his. His eyes were on her face, studying it peculiarly.

  She had not meant to reveal so much about herself, but had found herself carried away by the moment. Suddenly, she realized that she had never given voice to the thought that she did not want to be like her father in any manner, but it was a very keen desire she held all the same.

  “I believe your hope is not in vain,” he remarked simply. He did not elaborate.

  In the silence that ensued, Augusta found herself craving to know his further thoughts or, indeed, if he had any, but she knew that he would most likely keep his peace. They continued to play their game, saying nothing more, but Augusta would have sworn the duke’s eyes lingered on her more often than his own cards.