True to her word, Lady Jane had hastened Augusta to the gardens as soon as her guest could walk sedately without a wince of pain. Lord Ainsworth had given his leave that this was acceptable, but he also said that under no circumstances was his patient to overexert herself. Augusta smirked as she thought of his words, which had been addressed more to the capricious Lady Jane than to her. She was enjoying the lack of pain too much to tempt fate and court a repeated injury, so she was far more sedate than the sprightly lady.
“Miss Brooke, why do you smile so?”
Lady Jane studied her under the dappled sunlight.
“Oh, I was just…” Do not say you were thinking of the duke. “I have never been somewhere so beautiful.”
“My, it is good, isn’t it?” said Lady Jane. She looked as though she were unconvinced by Augusta’s words but, by now, Augusta knew she was too polite to question her further. “You have not seen my favorite part of the gardens, yet. My brother was an avid aficionado of botany. We have him to thank for the grounds as they are now. William is less interested, but out of respect for his father’s passions, he does an admirable job keeping everything as it was.”
Augusta had not yet decided how she felt about Lady Jane’s more casual use of William to refer to Lord Ainsworth. She knew they were relations, just as she knew they were immensely fond of each other. But for his Christian name to be used so often in front of her, still a stranger, and a commoner to boot… it was somewhat unsettling to her sense of decorum.
“He does not enjoy gardening?”
“He does not not like it,” said Lady Jane. “But he never took to it, either.”
Augusta nodded. She wanted to tell Lady Jane that when she was a child, her parents had never had a patch of land on which to grow anything so useless as roses or hedges, and all of this was nearly overwhelming, but she abstained. It had probably been just as true that her father was not responsible enough to maintain anything of the sort. He barely could, now, and she expected the small farm he now said was “his”, despite taking neither pride nor pleasure in its upkeep, would wither before winter. “It’s fortunate that he has kept the grounds so well, then.”
“He would never undo what another Ainsworth has done, if it was done out of love.” Curious, Augusta opened her mouth to ask what she meant, but then Lady Jane exclaimed, “Oh, here, we are almost to my favorite part!”
As though they were bosom friends, Lady Jane took the crook of her arm. They walked on through the gardens, which was a myriad of lush colors this time of year. Lady Jane steered their course, mindful of the limitations of Augusta’s ankle, but obviously very pleased to show her this next sight.
They started up a small hill, which brought only a minute twinge of pain to Augusta. At its crest, there was a small structure covered in climbing ivy and some kind of small, dusky purple flowers. It looked different from anything Augusta had ever seen.
Like a shrine, perhaps? There were a number of steps up to it, and the view from the top must have been incredible. It’s just a gazebo, she concluded. Though it did, in fact, look more majestic than any ordinary one. “It doesn’t seem like anything bad could reach you up there.”
They paused to survey the gazebo in the afternoon sun.
“I often come here to read or just sit and take in the views.”
“It’s beautiful,” said Augusta, shading her eyes and gazing at the structure.
“Mm. I am glad you think so.” Nodding, Lady Jane said, “You may go up, if you wish.” She released Augusta’s arm. “I won’t tell William if you don’t. I’m sure he’d go mad at the number of steps.”
Augusta noted that there were a great many steps that punctuated the hillside until they entered the gazebo. “Was the hill made for the gardens, or was it already here?”
“Do you know…” Lady Jane gave it a moment of consideration. “I believe it was constructed for this very purpose. It doesn’t look fully natural, at any rate. Perhaps it was augmented. Do you think you can make it up, yourself? There is barely room for two on the steps, and I fear I shall cause you to trip and fall if you haven’t enough space.”
“I’ll try,” said Augusta after a breath. It is too lovely not to. Feeling like a child given her first plaything, she eagerly advanced toward the structure and mounted the stairs carefully.
“Lady Jane, are you sure you do not wish to join me?” Augusta said over her shoulder to Lady Jane, who lingered below, watching her.
“No, I shall err on the side of caution. It would not do for us to have any misadventures. Then I would have to confess to William what happened to you, and he would give me quite the dressing down for allowing you up these steps.”
Since she was halfway up the hill, Augusta didn’t think Lady Jane could quite see her expression of mild, amused disbelief. She didn’t believe that Lord Ainsworth would truly chastise her for anything short of committing a murder. Even then, he might not. He was not afraid of her by any means, but he was too affectionate toward her to undertake the task.
The views offered from the top of the gazebo on the hill were breathtaking. Augusta had never seen scenery that had affected her so viscerally. She hadn’t possessed the opportunities to travel at her leisure, and nowhere that she had lived offered such a vantage point. Beyond the manor, there were more green, overgrown hills, plants and grass glowing emerald under the sun. Above the tops of the valley, gentle clouds floated about as though they were ships on calm waters.
Sheep rambled freely, feeding on hardy grass without a care in the world. Birds flew from tree to tree cheerfully, while some of their compatriots drifted to the grass and pecked at insects or seeds. Though Augusta was certain that the livestock still bleated and the birds all chirped happily, very few of their sounds carried to the gazebo. Whether that was a trick of the mind or the truth, the muffled noise gave the location a peaceful, pleasing ambiance.
The gazebo provided a space for fantasy, for daydreaming. It was not something that Augusta had often been given space for and, here, she found it quite easy to believe all things were possible.
“How ethereal it is!” she called to Lady Jane. “I can understand why you love it.”
However, Lady Jane had drifted from her position at the foot of the stairs. She was, in fact, nowhere within Augusta’s line of sight. I have not been up here so long, but perhaps she grew tired. The sun is rather bright, today.
Certain that she could find her own way back to the manor, or find wherever Lady Jane lingered, Augusta turned her attention back to the scenery. It was soothing and engaging all at once. Augusta could imagine spending hours in the little structure, thinking of nothing and, in some manner, everything. She truly could understand why Lady Jane preferred this spot above any of the others.
Her thoughts drifted as she continued to gaze at the animals that seemed content to wander in the lovely weather. Her mind did keep returning to thoughts of Lord Ainsworth, which were as inconvenient as they were insensible.
Something about the man spoke to her, she was reticent to admit, but what about him had specifically caught her interest was difficult to determine. She leaned against one of the posts of the gazebo, taking care not to disturb the flowers, and frowned.
You have not even known him long.
With a sigh, she regarded a group of the sheep, who appeared content to be heckled by a corvid who, in turn, seemed to think they had some secret food source it could not access. The large black bird, which was probably some kind of raven or crow, not that she could tell at this distance, would flutter closer to them inquisitively. The sheep, however, were not at all bothered by the intrusion. They would move, and the bird would follow.
I cannot believe I am envious of livestock, thought Augusta. She huffed and tried to think things through to their natural conclusion. Livestock, after all, was meant to be used, whether that was for some product or a task. She did not wish to be used; she wished to be free.
But unlike her, these animals had no qualms a
bout their livelihoods or their places in life. They even seemed to have a sense of kinship among their own kind, something that she sorely lacked.
As Augusta’s eyes unfocused, taking in less and less of what lay before her, her own plight came sharply back into focus.
Dwelling here was akin to a wonderful fantasy, a dream from which she needed to wake. She was well mended now and felt far less pain. The excuses of her frail health and injuries were gone.
I shall have to go, and soon.
At the forefront of her mind was where she would go.
You cannot return to the village. Father is there and he may actually kill you out of rage. The force of her revulsion for her own sire bolstered her for a moment. “You are more resourceful than many, Augusta… you can find a life away from Brookfield,” she murmured to herself.
It was true that she was accomplished for her circumstances. Along with reading and writing, her mother had taught her to clean, sew, and knit. Under her own steam, Augusta had discovered she was quite talented at drawing, not that she envisioned any future for herself founded on that particular aptitude.
Surely, she was capable of obtaining a decent position as a maid or a housekeeper in some estate far away from Brookfield. She wished that she had possessed the presence of mind to filch her father’s stash of gambling money before running. It would have helped tremendously if she had a little money of her own to sustain her before she obtained a proper job. Wanly, Augusta ran her fingers through her hair, disturbing her cap.
No, it isn’t your cap—it’s Lady Jane’s, she reminded herself.
It would be shameless of her to ask for yet more help, although, to be fair, she had not even asked for what they’d tendered to her. And it was not as though she could simply wander, penniless, out of the manor and hope that she’d find a position within the day.
What was more, despite any shame that she herself might feel over asking for it or taking it, she knew that neither Lord Ainsworth nor Lady Jane would see it as shameful to help her. She thought it over carefully. Normally, she was suspect of those who might view her or her ilk as charity cases, but her hosts had demonstrated that they did not see her as such. She felt reasonably confident that she would not be disdained if she actively asked for help. The thought of following through with the act itself didn’t appeal to her at all. Yet, needs must. She could hardly expect to get anywhere new without funds.
But the very idea of leaving the manor devastated her. In all of three weeks, she had become accustomed to being a companion to Lady Jane. Though she did not have any aunts, she imagined that she could grow to love the woman as she might her own flesh and blood. The pending separation loomed like a deep shadow across the otherwise lovely gardens.
It’s more than that, though, isn’t it?
The chief cause of her misery was, inexplicably, Lord Ainsworth.
Since the night when they had played cards together, he had been warm toward her. More relaxed and genuine. He was attentive, polite, and far more hospitable. This was, she felt, more along the lines of how he had been before war touched his life so cruelly.
Augusta could not explain away the fact that she was attracted to him, and she had tried to tell herself that it was due to her comparative lack of exposure to men—well, good men—and the false sense of intimacy that being an invalid here had cultivated.
Neither Lady Jane nor Lord Ainsworth even knew her true name, for pity’s sake!
What real friendship could be built upon that deceit?
But she was fascinated by his love for his aunt, concerned by his hesitation to venture out of his own home for fear of what people might think of him, and thoroughly amazed that he had suffered so many losses and still retained his composure and presence of mind.
At this juncture in their acquaintance, she fancied that she comprehended him a little better, and surmised that if he was exposed to more of his friends and possibly, she shuddered to think, more women, his character would shift back to what it had been. Lady Jane’s plans might yet work on him, but it was too sad to think that in two months’ time—nearer the time of Lady Jane’s birthday—Augusta would presumably be absent from their lives.
Even if they wanted to employ you, you might not be given lodgings here… and then where would you be? You cannot go home.
Yes, she would miss both the duke and his aunt when it came time to leave them.
She worried her lower lip between her teeth, thinking. She would particularly miss the duke.
Then, the decidedly human sound of a foot in the grass below carried to her ears.
*
Will had been standing at the foot of the stairs for a long moment, engrossed with the sight of Miss Brooke in the gazebo. She was so preoccupied that she had not noticed him advancing at all. She was obviously deep within reflection. Occasionally her lips would move as though she spoke to herself, but he could not catch anything she might have said.
He took the opportunity to take in her beautiful, oval face and the lines of her fine figure. She was not a terribly tall woman, he knew, but she was not as fragile as he or Jane had first surmised. This was most likely due to the fact that she’d had to work, though they still did not know in what fashion.
She was not in need of fineries to catch his eye.
He knew because all she had worn since her arrival were Jane’s older things, and she still looked better and more lively than most of the women within his acquaintance.
While it might have been a little untoward, he had been watching her for the last five minutes and he’d decided even more firmly that she was transfixing in an unaffected manner.
She must have had some kind of good upbringing, he mused. She treats the servants too well to think herself above them, yet she can converse so well with us that she must have been educated.
From what he had seen, she had high morals, a strong spirit, and he knew that his aunt delighted in her company.
The matter of her origin remained very much unsettled. But it almost did not matter to him.
He had given her his word several days ago after deciding it was too much work to try to get her to speak on the matter, and her stubbornness was winning against his patience. Besides, he had reasoned, she was still recuperating. She’d gone outside to enjoy the sunshine, and he casually asked whether she had a garden at home. Immediately, he regretted it, for her face went closed, the honey-brown eyes went flinty.
“No,” she’d said. “We don’t.”
Through a great sigh, he replied, “I apologize if I offended you. I will say no more on the subject of your home while you remain with us.” But he could not resist asking more about her mysterious life, which he suspected was as mundane as could be, yet filled with some kind of domestic horror. “Do you come from Brookfield?”
She scowled. “I thought you said you weren’t going to talk about home.”
Carefully, he said, “I’m not. Not specifically. I just wonder where you are from.”
Miss Brooke turned away from him slightly, pretending to study the play of light on the pond before them. He waited for her to answer, and was not sure if she would. “I don’t hail from Brookfield. I have lived all over.”
“Why?”
She chewed on her bottom lip nervously. “I ask myself the same thing.”
Will thought, Her childhood must not have been easy. Instead of tugging that particular thread, he changed the subject. “What do you do when you are not bedridden?”
“For work, you mean?” Turning back to him, she eyed him warily. “I suppose it’s no secret that I’m not a lady.”
“Again, I do not mean to offend you.” He glanced at her hands, which were beautiful and rather delicate despite their calluses. At least their dry, chapped skin had improved immeasurably since she had been residing with him.
“I’m not,” she said. “No sense in being offended over it. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, though some wealthy folks might say so. Begging your pardon.” A large, ora
nge fish glimmered near the water’s edge and she smiled at it before it drifted away from the shallows. “I should like to have a real occupation, but I do whatever work I can find as long as it’s not dangerous and won’t put my reputation amongst the gossips. I’ve done mending for neighbors, I’ve sold what I manage to knit, I cook and clean as I can.”
“But you can read and write. You are educated,” Will observed.
“Before she worked as a scullery maid, my mother was a nanny to three young ladies in the north. She was common, but she was able to learn, herself. Alongside the little ones. She was clever. They had a tutor in addition to her, and she and the tutor got on well enough, so she always remained when the girls had their lessons.”
Why did she not remain in that position? He knew that women who served as nannies did not remain so when they married, so it was possible that the reason was just that obvious. He recalled that his own nanny had left after her marriage. In the pit of his gut, though, he knew it was not true in Augusta’s mother’s case. “Then she… left the family’s employ?”
“She told me that she met my father because he worked for the household as a hostler.” Miss Brooke’s face grew pinched and tight. “I think he might have pressured her into a…” she paused in the search for the right words. “An association. They did marry after she… excuse me, Your Grace, but you did ask… discovered she was with child. But the lady of the house still believed Mama would set a bad example for her daughters and, so, she was dismissed.”
Miss Brooke watched another fish, a slim, yellow one with glowing scales.
“I am not so easy to shock, Miss Brooke,” said Will, after he was sure she was done speaking. “Especially not after keeping a practice in London, where the strangest, the cruelest, and the most unexpected things could come out of my patients’ mouths.” He’d listened, rapt, to the first deeply held bit of personal information she was willing to give him, and he did not want to stem the tide if she chose to divulge any more. To his mind, what Miss Brooke had described was not terribly outlandish. He did not mind, either, that she had referenced pregnancy out of wedlock. “I presume she was dismissed without a reference.” It was not a question.
Regency Scandals and Scoundrels Collection Page 130
