Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
On Augusta’s third day at Oakhart House, Mrs. Beale approached her in the corridor, her hands folded like a clamshell and her eyes narrowed in appraising suspicion.
“I see Lady Cassandra has not yet sent you packing,” she observed, her voice carefully neutral.
“I rather hope to avoid it,” Augusta replied, not sure if this was a compliment or a warning.
“She’s been impossible for years,” Mrs. Beale continued, her tone becoming almost confessional.
“Her Grace, God rest her soul, passed after she gave birth to Lady Cassandra. And His Grace… well, he’s a good man, but he’s no mother.
” She paused, giving Augusta a long, measuring look. “It’s good to see her happy.”
Augusta felt a prick of pleasure at the words. “Thank you,” she said. “I like her, very much.”
The housekeeper nodded, satisfied. “That makes all the difference.”
On that very same evening, Augusta was summoned to Hudson’s study for the first of what Mrs. Beale had ominously termed “progress meetings.” The message arrived with the evening tea delivered by Cassie herself, who knocked once and entered without waiting for permission.
“He wants to see you,” she announced, holding the note as though it were evidence of a crime. “And he said not to be late.”
“Thank you, Cassie,” Augusta said, accepting the folded card.
Her pulse skittered unreasonably at the prospect of seeing Hudson in private. She chided herself. He was her employer. Nothing less, and certainly nothing more.
“Are you anxious, Miss Norton?” Cassie asked, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “You look anxious.”
“I am not,” Augusta lied. “But I would appreciate your company as far as the study.”
Cassie shrugged and fell into step beside her as they made their way down the corridor.
They reached the study at precisely the appointed hour. Cassie gave Augusta a theatrical wink, then flitted away, leaving her alone before the heavy oak door.
Augusta straightened the skirt of her new dress, gathered her courage, knocked, and entered.
The study was dimly lit, the lamps low and the fire burning with a steady, contained heat.
Hudson stood at the window, his back to the room, hands clasped behind him in a posture that looked both military and restless.
The moment she entered, he turned, and she felt heat rising to her cheeks as he looked at her.
“Miss Norton,” he said after a loaded silence. “Thank you for coming.”
“You sent for me,” she replied, her tone measured. “I would not have refused.”
He gestured to the chair across from his desk. “Sit, please.”
She did, folding her hands in her lap and keeping her posture straight.
Hudson moved to the other side of the desk but did not sit, choosing instead to lean against the edge, arms loosely crossed. The distance between them was only a few feet, but it felt charged, as if every particle of air had been shocked into alertness.
“You have been with us for a few days now,” he began. “I would like to hear your opinion on Cassie’s progress.”
Augusta resisted the urge to blurt out all her prepared answers at once. She forced herself to meet his eyes, which were impossibly blue and, at this distance, revealed the tiny lines at the corners, a sign of someone who had learned to keep his smiles private.
“Cassie is bright,” she said. “And willful. She is used to being underestimated, which has made her both fiercely independent and, at times, contrary. But she is also lonely and wishes very much to please you, even when she pretends otherwise.”
For a moment, Hudson looked away.
“She was not always so,” he said. “There was a time when she had… Well, she has never had a mother, and my attempts at parenting are… haphazard.”
There was nothing Augusta could say to that.
She shifted uncomfortably, uncertain if it were her prerogative to comfort the man.
The silence stretched between them, until Hudson broke it by moving to a decanter on the sideboard. He poured two small glasses—one for her, one for himself—and handed her the first.
“Thank you,” she said, accepting the drink. She tasted it, letting the warmth of the liquor embolden her. “You are kind for saving me and giving me… all of this.”
“You are quite welcome.”
She released a deep breath. “I…”
“You have something you need?” he asked with a shadow of a smile.
She nodded. “It’s… I wouldn’t ask for myself, Your Grace. It is my sister.”
He merely looked at her, and she took a deep breath before continuing.
“Olivia… My half-sister, really. I just… With everything that happened to my family, I am rather worried about her.”
“Naturally.” He said it without much emotion, yet it filled her with the courage to continue, so she lifted her chin and spoke faster.
“She’s living in Scotland, with her mother’s aunt, but… If… If my experience is anything to go by…”
“You are not quite certain that she is safe?”
Augusta nodded quickly. “I just… She is my sister. She’s all I have.”
Hudson was quiet for a long time, but when he spoke, it was with a deep sadness in his voice. “If there is one thing I understand, it is the concern one can have for a sibling. Wanting to protect them but fearing the inability to do so.”
She nodded mutely.
“I am looking for her, as I promised you. I do know a few people across Europe, and certainly some in Scotland. I’m making enquiries and once we find her, we’ll have her sent to London.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
“I understand better than you think,” he said softly.
Their eyes met, and a strange warmth shot to her stomach, pooling there. Hudson’s hand, still resting on the glass, flexed as if he wished to reach for her and was barely resisting the urge.
Augusta’s pulse skittered. She wondered what would happen if she stood, crossed the space between them, pressed her lips to his. It would be ruinous, foolish, an end to everything she had worked hard to build.
But in that moment, she wanted it more than she had wanted anything.
“Miss Norton—” he began, his voice low.
“Your Grace—” she said at the same time.
They both stopped, and the moment stretched, taut as a wire.
The door banged open with the force of a cannon blast.
“Miss Norton!” Cassie shouted, breathless and wild-eyed. “Pippin is loose in the corridor, and Mrs. Beale is threatening to put him in the larder with the cold pies unless someone comes at once!”
The spell shattered.
Hudson stood, all efficiency now. “Go,” he said to Augusta, his eyes softening at the corners. “Rescue the dog, and the staff. And yourself.”
She was halfway to the door before she realized she had left her glass on the desk. She did not return for it.
In the corridor, Cassie took her hand, chattering about Pippin’s crimes and their impending doom.
Augusta did not look back, but she felt Hudson’s gaze following her, hot and unyielding, all the way to the stairs.
Hyde Park in summer was a whirlwind of activity. The sunny weather seemed to rub off on the promenaders, their laughter drifting in the air. The smell of flowers filled the air with sweetness.
Cassie strode several paces ahead, while Pippin ranged wide in a series of darting, joyful loops, oblivious to decorum or the constraints of leash and command.
The dog’s one ear flapped in the wind as he chased first a sparrow, then a wayward hat, then a small child who screamed and laughed and then demanded a turn to pet him.
It took a moment to notice the three women standing off to the side, watching with the flat, assessing gazes of seasoned Society campaigners.
Augusta’s stomach clenched; she recognized the type immediately.
They stood together, plumage immaculate, each one determined to outdo the others by some tiny, vicious increment.
One wore a violet pelisse, the next an ice-pale blue, and the last was all in black, a signal of both refinement and, if Augusta read her expression correctly, a certain delight in funerary symbolism.
They know me.
The thought was instantaneous and terrifying.
She’d never seen them before, at least not as far as she could remember. However, Augusta didn’t know if there had been sketched of her published in the papers, if the group could have recognized her from the time her name was plastered in nearly every gossip rag along with that of her father.
The women closed ranks and drifted over, their approach coordinated as a cavalry charge. Her heart pounded faster in her chest as they moved closer. Her mouth was dry, her shoulders stiff.
“My, my,” said the black-clad one, offering a smile sharp enough to draw blood. “Lady Cassandra, what a pleasure to find you in such excellent company.”
Cassie responded with a minimum of politeness. “Thank you, my lady. We’re just walking Pippin. He needs more exercise than the garden allows.”
Lady Falstone’s gaze flicked to Augusta. “You must be Miss Norton. The new governess.” She extended a gloved hand, palm-down and expectant.
Augusta curtsied. “Yes, My Lady.”
Lady Falstone’s eyes raked over her, taking in the cut of her coat, the quality of her gloves, the width of her hat-brim.
“How fortunate young Lady Cassandra is to have such an attentive governess.” She turned to her companions, her smile unwavering. “One hears so many stories about what happens to young ladies without proper guidance.”
“I’m hardly a young lady,” Cassie countered. “And Miss Norton is more a friend than a jailer.”
“Oh, but friends can be so dangerous, can they not?” drawled the woman in violet, her words lilting and false.
“Yes, sometimes friends are much more dangerous than enemies,” Cassie replied, perfectly deadpan.
Lady Falstone gave a laugh, all pearls and calculation. “You are your brother’s sister, aren’t you?”
Cassie’s jaw set. “What do you want, Lady Falstone?”
“Only to inquire about the health of your dear brother. The Duke of Oakhart is much in demand this Season, I hear. Quite the eligible bachelor.”
The implication hung in the air, heavy as the London fog.
Augusta felt invisible yet acutely exposed.
Cassie seemed to sense her discomfort. “I’ll tell him you asked after him,” she said. “Maybe next time, I could send you a schedule of his next walks in the park. You could lie in wait behind a shrub.”
The lady in ice-blue coughed, masking a laugh.
Lady Falstone’s smile stretched but did not break. “What a clever girl.”
Cassie curtsied, the gesture so exaggerated it might have been mocking. “We should go, Miss Norton. Pippin gets nervous in crowds.”
Augusta followed her without a word.
The two of them retraced their steps along the path, Pippin trotting between them. Only when they were far away did Cassie slow down, and then she grinned.
“Did you see her face?” she asked, breathless with glee. “She wanted to ask you a thousand things but couldn’t say any of them out loud.”
“You don’t like Lady Falstone,” Augusta said, though it was not a question.
“She’s a toad,” Cassie scoffed, kicking a stone off the path. “She’s always nice to me in public, but only so I’ll say something good about her to Hudson. Every time, it’s the same. They ask about him, not about me. Or you. Or even Pippin, and he’s the best of us.”
Augusta bent down and gave the dog a scratch behind his ear. “That’s the way of the world, I’m afraid.”
Cassie shrugged. “If that’s the world, I’d rather have Pippin and you.”
Augusta smiled at her, her heart filling with warmth.
Cassie smiled back, brighter than the sun through a cloud. “Let’s walk by the lake. There are always fewer people there.”
They cut across the grass, their skirts snagging on the brown and yellow weeds. Pippin raced ahead, barking at the ducks with heroic intent.
“You know,” Cassie admitted, “I think you’re a better governess than anyone here realizes.”
“Thank you,” Augusta said, surprised by how much it meant.
“You don’t make me feel wrong for being different.”
Augusta knelt, smoothing a strand of hair from Cassie’s face. “You aren’t wrong, Cassie. Not in any way that matters.”
Cassie squinted, skeptical but hopeful. “Even if I’d rather be a pirate than a duchess?”
“Especially if you’d rather be a pirate.”
Cassie’s grin threatened to split her face. “Maybe someday you’ll come with me. We could sail a ship, just the two of us. And Pippin.”
Augusta laughed.
As they turned toward home, she felt the fear that had knotted her stomach slowly unwind. Society could stare, gossip, and sneer all it liked. Here, at least, she had found something true: loyalty, humor, and—if she let herself believe it—maybe even a little love.
As they rounded the final bend, Cassie broke into a run, chasing Pippin toward the house, arms outstretched and hair streaming behind her.
Augusta followed, her steps lighter than they had been in months.