by Eva Devon
No. If Augusta had to guess, this woman spent a great deal of time out of doors doing a vast amount of walking and dancing. Augusta felt certain that very little impeded Lady Montcrief. The cane, Augusta felt sure, was but for decoration.
“Forgive me, but how can I assist you?" Augusta asked. “It is a pleasure to meet you, of course, given that we are to be family. But—”
"No, my dear,” Lady Montcrief cut in, and emphasized with a raise of her elegantly gloved hand. “No, there is no need to assist me. I don’t think you could if you wished to.”
Augusta swallowed. That was rather frank. "Then, may I ask what it is you are doing here?"
"You may ask, and I'm more than happy to inform you,” Lady Montcrief replied. “My nephew has sent me to you to assist you in your entrance into society."
"I have already entered society,” Augusta pointed out. Surely, Lady Montcrief had been given the facts about her marriage to Blacktower?
"Yes, you have and you made quite a muck of it,” Lady Montcrief said without a hint of disdain. “Or, if you did not, you are now in quite the mire now, and I am here to help lift you from said mud."
Augusta shifted uncomfortably on the chair. "Are you?"
“Yes.” She thunked her cane onto the floor for emphasis. “And I think that we shall get on quite well together, for my nephew did say that you are intelligent. And I cannot bear unintelligent young ladies. You do like to read?” Her eyes narrowed as if she were asking if Augusta was loyal to King, country, and God.
“Reading is one of my great pleasures. As are numbers and walks,” Augusta informed with open honesty. She rather liked Lady Montcrief’s blunt manner and was finding herself tempted to mirror it.
Lady Montcrief cocked her head to the side as she eyed Augusta. Her feather turban quivered, as if it had its own personality. "Now, my dear, we must do something about your clothes.”
For the first time, Augusta fidgeted, pulling at her cuffs. ”My clothes are just fine, thank you very much."
The older lady pursed her lips. "That is a lie and I think that you know it, for you did not say it with a great deal of conviction. If you are going to tell a lie—”
“Oh!” Augusta exclaimed, not willing to bluster her way through this. “You are correct, Lady Montcrief. I am a poor liar. It is not in my nature."
“Good.” Lady Montcrief gave a firm nod. “I am glad to hear it. Liars do not usually become happy people or happy wives, for that matter. I've never told a blatant lie. There's no point in it.”
Lady Montcrief’s lips curved in a wicked grin. “It does make my life rather interesting. People don't always like my company because I cannot tell a falsehood. Which can lead to some most interesting commentary on my part.”
Augusta didn't doubt it. The woman was remarkably honest, and yet there was something truly endearing about her.
"So, now that we understand each other, we shall acquire you new clothes, the proper jewelry, and we shall ensure that your sisters are also properly attired for the event. How does that sound to you?"
"I'm not entirely sure," Augusta said frankly.
"Not entirely sure?” The countess echoed, her brow furrowing with skepticism. “Half the girls in London would give their eye teeth for such an opportunity. I'm going to take you to Bond Street to all the shops. And, with the credit that you're allowed, you'll be able to buy the most magnificent gowns. Anything from Paris right now is absolutely in the fashion despite the idiocy going on over there at the moment."
"I don't particularly like shopping," Augusta confessed suddenly, her heart beginning to race at the idea of being faced with bolts of lace.
"You don't like shopping?” Lady Montcrief repeated before she smiled. "Marvelous."
"Why is that marvelous?" Augusta asked, feeling at sixes and sevens.
In her experience, it was not generally considered to be a good thing when a young lady did not enjoy buying bits and baubles. It was, it seemed to her, what they were supposed to do, and yet she did not care for it.
It might've been perhaps because she'd never had the funds to buy what she truly desired but, in general, she did not enjoy spending hours upon hours looking at ribbons.
“Never mind why I said it was marvelous,” Lady Montcrief said before she leaned forward, bracing both her hands on the golden handle of her cane. “Well, what is it that you enjoy doing?"
Augusta forced herself to take a deep breath. No one had truly ever asked her such a thing before. "As mentioned, I enjoy reading."
"Do you indeed?” Lady Montcrief pursed her lips. “Blacktower suggested that you were a rather rigid sort of person and that you might only enjoy something like Fordyce's Sermons. Is that the sort of reading you prefer?”
Augusta let out a guffaw. "Fordyce's Sermons? Well, I've read them, of course. One must when you are a girl in England. And I've also read Pilgrim's Progress. Who has not? But I'm a vast friend of Shakespeare, and I like a great many of the poets. Not Byron, he's a terrible fellow, so I can't support his work. But I do rather like Mrs. Wollstonecraft and the philosopher, Mr. Burke.”
"Do you? Would you like to meet him?"
Augusta's jaw dropped. "I beg your pardon?"
"Meet him," repeated Lady Montcrief. “I say, you haven’t trouble with your hearing? Never mind. Of course, I would absolutely be delighted to introduce you to Mr. Burke. He's a dear friend of mine, as are most of the writers and philosophers of the day. When one is in my position, one is the patroness of quite a few artists, you know.”
As if she had just discussed the prices at market, Lady Montcrief continued factually, “Now, my nephew has sent a host of letters.”
Though Lady Montcrief had moved onto a more pressing topic, Augusta was still amazed by the possibility of meeting Mr. Burke. It was as if a door had suddenly opened for her. In all her life, such a thing had never been possible, for she had not had the connections to make such acquaintances.
Her sphere had been severely limited, and her father had not taken pains to make sure that she could be introduced to anyone who was interesting.
Lady Montcrief was most certainly interesting and clearly knew interesting people.
Augusta was not sure if she should be floored that the duke had sent his aunt to her, or if she should be absolutely thrilled, but it was very clear that the duke felt that she needed a bit of management. While she liked the countess, that in itself did not bode well.
But she was young and he was a duke, and so she supposed that she was to expect such things.
"Now, my dear," Lady Montcrief said, rooting for the reticule tied to her wrist. "I have a list."
She pulled the drawstring easily and snapped out a rather thick, folded bundle of paper. “Blacktower informed me he has sent you a generous stipend to spend, but now I have a great many instructions from him on the next steps that we are to take."
The lady eyed her carefully as if to gauge her reception.
Instructions?
Augusta cleared her throat. "I beg your pardon?"
“Yes.” Lady Montcrief’s eyes danced. “You see, he has given you a great many instructions to ensure that the wedding is a success. Given the fact that you were so severely besmirched by so many in those first hours after you two were discovered outside of the ballroom, he wishes to plant you firmly into society, so to speak, and he believes that giving you a lavish wedding and ball, and a morning breakfast after, will do so. Therefore, there's a great deal to be decided and he already has many suggestions.”
"He does, does he?" Augusta asked, her spine straightening.
She knew that she should be thrilled, honored that he did not wish to sweep her under the rug, so to speak, and that he wished to set her up as some sort of grand figure, rather than ensuring she be pushed into obscurity. But the very fact was that she didn't like the idea that he had arranged everything.
Surely, she was to have some say in her life? It seemed not.
Augusta folded her hands in h
er lap, bracing herself but determined. “Do forgive me, Lady Montcrief, but is this how Blacktower means to go? Am I to be merely a pawn on a chessboard, moved about?"
Lady Montcrief's lips suddenly curled in a knowing smile and her eyes crackled with a marvelous sort of energy. "My dear, I should think that largely depends on you."
"I beg your pardon?”
Lady Montcrief tsked. “I believe you heard me perfectly well. If you let someone treat you a certain way from the beginning, they will think that is how they're supposed to treat you. If Blacktower does not realize that you are a woman of interests who enjoys making choices for herself and is capable of doing so, he will make those choices for you. Now, I know that he wishes to ensure that you have a peaceful transition into society after the scandal, but if you wish to have any say at all, I would speak to him."
Augusta gaped for a moment as the ramification of her words landed. “You mean see him?"
Lady Montcrief gave a satisfied arch of a brow. "Well, he is to be your husband, is he not?"
Suddenly, her heart was racing again at the idea of being in his presence. “But. . . he doesn't seem to have any desire to see me."
"He doesn't desire a great many things, my dear,” drawled Lady Montcrief. “And if you take that at face value, then you are going to have a miserable life. I promise you that. Men are most annoying creatures. If you don’t explain it to them explicitly, they shall remain unwitting for eternity.”
Lady Montcrief leaned forward and said, almost conspiratorially, “No, you mustn't back down with Blacktower. He's a big bear of a fellow. He seems awfully jovial, but he's quite wounded inside, which is something he doesn't let people see."
Wounded? A man like Blacktower? It sounded absurd. But then she hesitated and heard herself ask, “Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you're marrying him and I quite like him.” Lady Montcrief straightened her spine under her silk gown. “I don't wish him to be miserable and I will tell you this, I like the fact that you are not easily persuaded into amenability. I like the fact that you're an interesting young woman who likes to read, and I like the fact that you're resisting him telling you exactly what to do.”
With each like, Lady Montcrief gave an emphatic thump of her cane.
Lady Montcrief’s gaze narrowed with irritation. “Everyone lets him tell them what to do because he's a duke and they smile at him and they bow to him and they allow it. You, my dear, perhaps you shall be different. He wouldn't like me saying this, of course, but he shouldn't be surprised. He knows that I don't like”—she thumped her cane—“to be told what to do either."
Augusta shifted uncomfortably on her chair. The very idea of going to see the Duke of Blacktower on purpose did not sound particularly appealing.
"But how should I see him?” she protested. “I should think that I would need an invitation to go and see him."
"Do you? Are you not more enterprising than that?" Lady Montcrief queried.
Augusta nibbled the inside of her cheek, then declared, smiling, “Well, I suppose I am rather enterprising. I've had to run this household with next to nothing for almost my entire life."
Lady Montcrief’s shoulders rose with delight. “There you go. A young lady of intelligence and consideration. No doubt you know how to solve a problem."
"Indeed I do, but not one like this," Augusta admitted. While she’d overcome a good deal, she really knew very little about the machinations of others and how to maneuver her way around them.
"Well, I have solved many problems like this," enthused Lady Montcrief. "Perhaps I can give you a few suggestions."
And with that, Lady Montcrief began to speak and Augusta had a significant feeling that she was about to get one of the most important lessons she'd had in her entire life. For once, she realized how much she had missed by not having an older lady who was willing to bestow a bit of wisdom upon her in her life. So, she listened most carefully.
Chapter 10
Adam savored the oaky notes of his brandy, swirling the liquid about so that it coated the beautifully cut crystal snifter.
He angled the glass this way and that, enjoying the perfect amber tint before he raised it to his lips and swallowed. Cherry, oak, spice. The liquor slipped into his mouth, tracing over his tongue, then slid seductively down his throat until at last he felt warmth in his belly.
It had been a deuced hellish day.
Parliament was the devil.
He didn't know how he was going to survive it for years and years and years, but his father had ensured he had the fortitude to survive almost anything. He'd read enough history to know that things were never going to be easy, and so he'd rather tried to embrace that fact since ascending to his dukedom.
Still, at the end of a long day of talking to old curmudgeons and doddering old fools, trying to convince them to change their ways before a revolution the size of France occurred in London, the work did wear one down. So he sat before his fire, gazing into the beautiful dancing red and yellow flames, drinking in the scent of wood smoke.
He could not abide coal. Coal was too dark, too dank, too full of the misery of the people who had to collect it out of the earth.
No, he preferred good wood.
Wood that had come down from the country and left a gorgeous scent to fill his room. Not black sludge.
The scent of that rich aroma wafted around him and he breathed it in happily. He lifted his snifter of brandy to his lips again. The darkness of his past did creep in every now and again.
He loathed it, but it was true. One could not avoid memories. It was the nature of men to remember in silent spaces, which was why he did not usually allow himself to be quiet. But sometimes he simply needed to sit, to think, to remember the cruelty of his father who, while giving him fortitude, had also insisted that he be a man of duty and nothing else.
The greatest scandal and risk of his life had been in the defiance of that man. He'd paid for it. He'd paid for it dearly. Anna had paid more.
Adam did not know if the wounds that had occurred then would ever truly heal.
They still felt as open in this moment as it had then.
He took another deeper swallow of the brandy, cursing himself. He shoved himself up from his chair before the fire and leaned against the mantel, studying the carved marble. Birds, thorns, oranges, and grapes had been worked into it. They appeared so real that one of the birds looked like it might spring into the air and fly to the window.
Closing his eyes, Adam grimaced. He could still remember the way things were supposed to have been, the life he was to have, the young woman who had stolen his heart, and the child, well, the child that he was supposed to have called his own and raised. But that had all gone, and even now he could feel, bloody hell, he could feel the past stalk him and seize his heart like a fist and squeeze.
He drew in another deep breath.
A ragged, painful one that tore at his throat.
How the devil had this happened?
He'd promised himself never to marry, to never betray his vow, and here he was about to wed a woman he did not entirely hate.
Damnation, would that society had allowed him to simply set her up somewhere and ensure that she'd be fine for the rest of her life, but he could not. He knew that Anna would understand what he was doing. She would have actually admonished from her grave if he did anything differently. Ruining a young woman would have incurred her fury. A kind fury, but fury still.
He shook his head and pushed away from the fire. His shoulders heavy with the weight of Anna, he went to his desk. He had promised himself not to work anymore this night, but there were too many thoughts pressing in upon him, so he scanned the words of his speech for Parliament the next morning.
He was going to speak about the horrors of child labor and coal mines.
He wished that he could ensure that his ideas would be taken up.
The most that he could do would be to protest firmly that they should, and then pray t
hat he could convince some other members of his illustrious peerage to support him. Just as he was about to shuffle the papers back together, there was a knock upon his door.
Adam stilled, his gaze shooting to the carved panel. Generally, he did not receive visitors at his home in the evenings. Sometimes there would be friends, of course, but unless he was hosting a dinner party, he didn't particularly care for visitors. It was his preference to go out to visitors and see people that way. So, this late-night visitation set him on edge.
“Come," he called.
The door opened on perfectly oiled hinges and his butler Hargrave stepped inside.
"Your Grace," the older man said with a slight bow of his silver head.
"What the devil is it, Hargrave?" he asked, knowing the man never would have bothered him unless it was necessary.
A perplexed look furrowed the older man's brow. "There is a young lady to see you, Your Grace. She says..."
Hargrave’s eyes widened with dismay.
"Yes, Hargrave?” Adam prompted.
Both of them knew that young ladies were to be turned away. Young ladies were not welcome in his house at night for reasons he thought obvious.
"She says that she is to be your wife," Hargrave all but whispered.
He fought a groan.
It wasn't possible.
Lady Augusta wouldn't dare come to his house in the dark of night? Surely not!
That was the entire reason why he had sent for his aunt. Surely his aunt had ensured that she understood some of the rules of propriety. To him, Lady Augusta had seemed like a very proper person. Overly proper even.
So, what the devil was she doing coming to his house in the dead of night. What the devil had transpired with his aunt?
"What does she look like?" Adam demanded. "Are you certain that she said that she was to be my wife?"
“Yes.” Hargrave nodded, his head all but bobbing in his amazement. “And she said her name is Lady Augusta, daughter of the Earl of Harrowton. She's a woman of unprepossessing looks.”
Hargrave cleared his throat, lifting his gloved hand to his lips before he finished. “But she has quite a strong demeanor, Your Grace."
