Regency Scandals and Scoundrels Collection

by Scott, Scarlett

  The quiet did little for her nerves and she sought to quell them with banal conversation. Really, this is a taste of your own medicine, Gussie, she thought.

  She decided that she disliked being on the receiving end of silence. Well, his silence, anyway.

  “Lady Jane has expressed her wish to throw a ball on her birthday,” she said at length.

  “Yes,” said Lord Ainsworth. “Though I have endeavored to persuade her not to, she seemed most determined to go on with the mad idea.” He frowned to himself.

  “I would not call the celebration of one’s life mad,” said Augusta. She smiled at the idea of Lady Jane enjoying a gathering of friends. “Many are dead…” She sighed and added, “While many wish they were.” She thought about those she knew who were so deeply dissatisfied with their lives that the thought of carrying on drove them to drink or recklessness. Due to relocating from place to place, her father was only first in a queue of men, and sometimes women, she had observed abusing liquor and their common sense. “When one is gifted with good health, a good disposition such as Lady Jane’s, and not a worry about sustenance, I should think they would celebrate.”

  He peered at her as though she were babbling her words in reverse.

  She laughed a little at his amazement. “Why, if I were half as rich and content with my lot in life as your aunt, I would celebrate my birthday every year!”

  “I never quite thought about life in that way,” he said.

  “Well, it is nothing but the truth,” she told him. “We tend to be bound by our statuses, do we not? So if one has never thought about matters of wealth or comfort… one has never had to worry about them.”

  “Have you?”

  Augusta humored him. “It would seem so, my lord.”

  He blinked at what was, for her, an open admission of a fact. “I do not mean to seem glib.”

  “You do not seem so,” she said gently. “You seem more cynical than either your age or your circumstances might allow.”

  Changing the subject and glancing at his cards, he said, “I would rather Aunt Jane held her soiree anywhere but here.”

  “Why is that? Are you scared of the crowd, Lord Ainsworth?”

  Her question seemed to rattle him a little. “No. I simply detest the noise and music and all the dancing and talking. Miss Brooke, I should like all merriment infinitely better if it was not commonly found within those things.”

  His proclamation earned Augusta’s giggling. “In their absence, I daresay that anything left would not merit being called merriment.”

  A small smile crossed his lips. It was genuine and bright, and Augusta noted that it was the easiest one he had given her yet. Not that there had been an abundance of them until this evening. “Then I want no part in traditional merriment.”

  “No?”

  “No.” But he was still smiling. He snorted. “If my aunt persists—”

  “Which she will, you know,” Augusta cut in, before he could finish.

  “I see you have the measure of her, then. I believe I shall find some business to engage in outside the manor.”

  “You’d deprive her of your presence on her birthday?”

  “Indeed, I shall.”

  “Then I maintain that it is either you have something to hide, or you are afraid of something.”

  “Nonsense,” said Lord Ainsworth primly, but with a tighter smile, now.

  “Then you should not shy away from her ball, or else everyone might wonder why you have not come. Especially if it is under your own roof.”

  Gathering his cards in his right hand, he rubbed his forehead with his left out of evident consternation. “Fine, Miss Brooke. When the time draws nearer, I will consider attending. But at the moment,” he said, then cleared his throat meaningfully, “let us concentrate on the game.”

  Triumphant, Augusta smiled. She had not been trying to distract him on purpose by drawing him into conversation, but she was trumping him.

  All conversation stilled, and time seemed to slip from her notice. The ornate grandfather clock had struck twice. She was yawning too much for it to be unnoticeable, so Lord Ainsworth told Augusta that she needed to rest. She tried not to gloat when she realized that she had bested him, but she could not resist a light jab.

  “Your Grace, are you not telling me to go to bed because I have shown you up?”

  “No. I know when to accept defeat,” he said, and she believed him. His eyes were playful, if calculating. “It is growing late, though, for anyone who is still in recovery.”

  He might be right, she conceded. I’m exhausted and I’ve done nothing at all, today.

  “Very well. I am not a physician.” She gathered the deck and placed it in an impeccable pile just near his hands.

  “Thank you.”

  “It is the least I can do, Lord Ainsworth,” she chuckled. She glanced about the parlor, which was not as tidy as the first night she had arrived. It did look as though someone was using it as a sickroom. “I have annexed this beautiful room without paying any rent. Or looking after my surroundings.”

  Standing to replace his chair and shift the table over slightly so that there was more room between it and the chaise, he replied, “Don’t be absurd. You cannot be expected to move about like you are well. Though Marcus has mentioned that you’re attempting longer hobbles.”

  Augusta felt her cheeks warm. If he knew that she could walk and she was past her fever, he would endeavor to send her home. “They are not so very long.”

  “I wouldn’t expect so,” he said. Glancing at her from his standing position, he clarified, “You would not be able to walk much with the state of your ankle. I’m happy that you are making progress, but if you could hobble any further than the end of the corridor, I would be completely stunned.” He gave her another one of his previously rare smiles. “Now, I shall take my leave of you, Miss Brooke. Sleep well.”

  Taking the deck with him, he walked out of the room on nearly soundless footsteps. Augusta only smiled back when he had gone, as she reflected that Lord Ainsworth was, by and large, an unobtrusive man. He was almost silent when he walked, and his voice was soft, if decided and grave. She wanted to ask him if he had disliked receiving too much attention before he returned from Salamanca, because it seemed as though he would prefer to keep to his own devices by nature, and not just because of the dramatic changes he had endured.

  It is a shame that the one thing that became so marred was his face, not because he is now ugly… but because faces are simply so visible.

  If he hid it, he would draw even more stares because every solitary person would wonder what he had to hide. It was a strange conundrum, she decided.

  Long after he left, she was musing on the shift that had overtaken the lord of the manor this evening. Without Lady Jane’s explanations of his history and character, she would not have necessarily believed Lord Ainsworth was capable of polite conversation, gentle manners and a smile or two… or several. All of which he had displayed quite easily, though unconsciously, tonight.

  Augusta snorted to herself.

  It seemed that if he put his mind to it, he could still be as engaging as the best of them. She could imagine him at a ball charming just about any lady in attendance. Not that she had much to go by in regards to that topic. It wasn’t even really in spite of his face. When he relaxed and seemed to think he had more control within a situation, or comfort, she thought, he was exceedingly pleasant.

  She had definitely been charmed by him tonight. In fact, she believed that if he simply let his guard down enough, nearly anybody would be so engaged with him as a companion that they would forget or see past the evident violence he had suffered.

  Surely, it wouldn’t be so difficult for him to capture a woman’s attentions.

  The thought made the slight smile drop from her face.

  Why are you uncomfortable? You’ve no right to be, Gussie.

  Augusta shoved aside the visions of Lord Ainsworth with a strange, beautiful woma
n who was kind to him and thought instead about what she was going to do once he made her leave his home.

  *

  Lady Jane arrived the following morning full of raptures about the splendor of the ball at Riverdale.

  Insisting that Augusta be helped out of the parlor to attend to her in the drawing room, she regaled her nephew and guest with all the latest gossip.

  “You should have seen Lord Pickerton. He was well into the punch, I tell you,” she said to Lord Ainsworth, who smiled tolerantly at her chuckling. “He simply swanned about and told everyone that he was party to the military’s deepest secrets. A spymaster, I believe he kept saying.”

  With delight, she also recounted all of the ladies’ latest fashions until Augusta admitted, with a blush, that she had no idea what Lady Jane was really describing. She could appreciate the descriptions of the dresses, but only in the abstract.

  It was just as well, for Lady Jane seemed to want to broach another topic of conversation.

  Her excitement increased considerably when she expressed the ton’s interest in Lord Ainsworth.

  “You must remember the Duke of Templeton and his delightful wife, Lady Eliza. They were good friends of your mother’s. They were most concerned about your welfare and mentioned several times that their daughter, Lady Evelyn, still remembers you fondly.”

  “Lady Evelyn,” said Lord Ainsworth, “was so talkative that sometimes I lost the thread of her words and imagined myself elsewhere to pass the time. It was not polite of me, but she could have kept talking to a snail and never noticed the difference between it and me as a partner in conversation.”

  Lady Jane struck him very gently on the shoulder. “Awful man. You know… Lady Eliza said that Evie was quite jealous of Lady Diana when the news broke of your engagement.”

  Augusta tried not to scowl at the mention of either Lady Diana, or of this Lady Evelyn being jealous of her engagement to Lord Ainsworth.

  He made no reply to this and glanced at Augusta with the slightest of eye-rolls. Unable to help it, she hid a smile with a cough. Lady Jane appeared not to notice the quick, wordless exchange, for she kept nattering on without much of a pause.

  “Oh, how I wish you had been there, William. Lord Acton has come into his inheritance and is now the Earl of Rosingdale. He is to be married in December and sent a card for you. I believe it ought to be in my reticule.”

  “Vincent… Lord Acton… has scarcely been in contact with me since my return. He cannot be so interested in how I have fared.”

  “You have not generally encouraged interest, have you? Not even that of your friends.” Lady Jane was rummaging in her reticule and missed Lord Ainsworth’s scowl.

  “Still, of everyone I knew as a boy, he has been the only one who has not attempted to come here.”

  “Most likely because he recalls how stubborn you can be. He expressly mentioned, I feel in the hopes that I would repeat it to you, that he has been silent long enough. He only meant to respect your situation by keeping quiet,” said Lady Jane. She sipped a small glass of sherry and looked over at Lord Ainsworth from her position in an old, red wingback chair that made her narrow frame look tiny. “He declared that he would consider it an insult upon your years of friendship should you fail to grace his wedding with your presence. You shall have to go.”

  “Perhaps Lord Acton will let me sit in an alcove.”

  Augusta could find nothing to contribute to the conversation, so she held her tongue, contenting herself with observing the duke’s reactions to Lady Jane’s chatter. He appeared to be interested whenever she mentioned someone he knew, or had known. But like a child who was afraid to be denied a favorite sweet if he asked for it, he kept his silence.

  His eyes would light up at the mention of a familiar name, then the light would die a moment later. It was a piteous thing to see, and she felt that he was keeping himself unduly in check out of anxiety.

  However, she herself was surprised when her pity moved her to interject. Like a woman possessed, she blurted, “You should invite all of the duke’s friends for your birthday, my lady. I am certain they would be delighted to come.”

  Absolute silence followed her innocent suggestion.

  Now you’ve done it.

  Her eyes went to the painting of a hunt over the fireplace and she assiduously stared at the slender hounds in its right hand corner. But she could feel two pairs of eyes on her.

  One, she imagined, was pleased, or about to be.

  The other, she was sure, was horrified at the thought of a socially-sanctioned invasion of the manor.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she could barely see that both aunt and nephew were gawking at her as though she had just suggested that they take a stroll in the village square while fully nude.

  When Augusta finally looked at her properly, a slow smile crossed Lady Jane’s face. She nodded while bringing her hands together in anticipatory pleasure, upsetting the reticule and gloves from her lap, which fell to the plush rug under the furniture and their feet.

  “No… you won’t!” protested Lord Ainsworth. He could see that his aunt was ready to plan such a situation, even if he detested it.

  “William, it is an elegant solution. They want to see you, and if they come ostensibly for me, perhaps that will lessen the pressure on you. You feel safe here, as well.”

  “Aunt Jane, I must insist that you do not invite them,” he said, standing.

  “It is my ball, is it not?”

  “If it is held on my grounds, I would prefer having some oversight in regards to the guests. If you feel I should not have that… you may hold it elsewhere.”

  Lady Jane was indignant at the implications of his words. “You would rather I leave? On my birthday?”

  “I have said nothing of the kind,” said Lord Ainsworth after a long, tired pause. “All I am saying is that I want none of the people I know, or used to know, at the party.”

  He did not shout the words, but he may as well have for the weighted impact they had. With a heated glare at both of the women in the drawing room, he took his leave without excusing himself. Augusta stared at his retreating form until she could no longer see it in the corridor.

  Lady Jane watched him sadly. When he was no longer within hearing distance, she murmured, “I am going to do it, anyway. He may do as he sees fit on the day, whether that is taking part in the festivities or hiding away, but I shall risk his displeasure. Miss Brooke, everyone was so kind in asking after him. There was no morbidity that I could detect.”

  “He will not believe that until he experiences it,” said Augusta.

  “I agree. But the problem is getting him to see anyone at all… which you understand, even having been here for less than a month.”

  “I feel that he is ashamed, although for what, I cannot imagine.”

  “It is not vanity on his part,” said Lady Jane. She finished her sherry. “I’ve conjectured that he doesn’t want to cause anyone discomfort at the sight of him. And as we’ve discussed, he is simply, or not-so-simply, afraid of rejection.” She studied the lake-blue and tawny woven patterns of the rug, then picked up her reticule. Augusta, in turn, watched the sadness that played across her lovely face as she considered what to do next about the ball and its potential guests.

  Augusta wished that she could explain to the duke how much it meant that he had someone like his aunt, someone who was—despite his own pointed obstinacy—invested in his betterment. His emotional and mental wellness.

  He clearly felt alone, and that was the end of it. The very root of his issues. Augusta wanted to tell him that he was not, but it was not her place.

  Chapter Six

  Lord Ainsworth’s manor possessed the most beautiful grounds that Augusta had ever seen, much less walked. The gardens were charming, and everything around the house had such an air of tranquility and grandeur that she was enthralled.

  There had only been a few times that she’d experienced anything remotely like this, but nothing that sh
e had beheld matched what she saw spreading before her. It wasn’t just that the estate was enormous, though it was. It was simply that all of it seemed so well considered and executed that she could hardly understand how everything was maintained. There seemed to be a small legion of gardeners and groundskeepers who largely paid her and Lady Jane little mind while they were on their strolls.

  When Augusta’s mother had been a maid who worked largely in the scullery, she had taken Augusta to her employers’ homes a few times out of necessity when she was still very young and could not be left on her own. Depending on the employer, she was either met with scorn or delight. Whether her presence was embraced or not, Augusta was always set small tasks to prove that she, like her mama, was willing to work and be made useful. Thinking, Augusta came to the realization that those houses had belonged to people who gained their substantial incomes from trade or agriculture.

  While they had certainly been rich by her standards, they would not have been considered so by Lord Ainsworth and his ilk.

  None of their homes could hold a candle to any of this, she thought.

  She had never imagined anything quite like it. The gravel walk was smooth and long, winding gently along the front and back of the manor, and the gardens were maintained to give the illusion of wildness with none of the unfortunate weeds.

  Meanwhile, the manor itself sat regally as though it watched over all in its sight. Even her untrained eye could tell that it had been added to and changed over the years, but the front facade was, if a building could be called such, stately and serious.

  While they walked for a fourth time, Lady Jane let her keep her thoughts to herself. Augusta was glad, for she did not want to confess that even though it was the start of her third week here and she knew she should be considering moving on, she did not want to in the slightest.

  The duke kept her here as much as anything else.