Chapter 2
The study had always been Augustus’ hiding place, his one refuge from the world beyond his door. Prior to his inheriting the title, he had ensconced himself in the library, surrounded by books of all kinds. It had offered him a comfort and a familiarity that he often sought out, just as he did now.
The study reflected his character, restrained but with warmth at the core, refined but without any particular ostentation. The shelves were lined with carefully chosen volumes, large windows overlooking the extensive grounds of his estate.
The large mahogany desk to the left of the hearth, where a fire blazed, had belonged to his father; a reminder to him of the diligence and dedication that had gone before him.
The quiet stillness of the room allowed Augustus a peace he leaned into all the more, allowing it to wrap around his heart and mind as he ran his gaze over a report from his steward on the state of the tenant housing.
An unexpected weariness ran over him, and he tensed, suddenly aware of all that was to come.
It had been almost two full years since Judith’s unexpected passing from complications with what would have been their second child, and yet, grief crept upon him without warning, pushing its claws into his heart all over again and making all else fade from his mind.
In an instant, the words on the page began to dance meaninglessly before him, comprehension fading to nothingness. The pain of her loss had persisted, altering him in ways he had not expected.
There was a solemnity to his days that had not been there before, a heaviness in his heart that was ever present. Grief surfaced unexpectedly in quiet moments and then kept itself there, holding fast until it grew weary and then stepped back into the shadows.
Augustus set the report down and put his head into his hands, his elbows on the desk before him.
Some years ago, he had told himself that he would be able to endure any hardship presented to him with both strength and composure, and yet now, with first the loss of his father and then of his wife, he had practically crumbled to dust.
He did not know how to build himself up again to the gentleman he had once been.
A rap at the door forced him to lift his head, to sniff and blink wildly to clear his vision. “Yes?”
The door opened cautiously as Eliza, one of his servants and his son’s nanny, stepped in. “Your Grace.” She bobbed a curtsy. “I apologize for disturbing you but I thought that someone should tell you.”
He straightened. “Tell me what, exactly?”
Eliza pressed her lips together but looked away.
“It is Miss Fletcher,” she said hesitantly.
“She is packing her things, and I heard her say that she has every intention of leaving this house tonight.” She winced as she spoke and wrapped her arms around herself as if preparing for Augustus to berate her for even bringing this news.
Instead, Augustus only dropped his head and let out a groan as a sense of dread began to cling to him.
“I see.” Rubbing one hand over his face, he lifted his head again. “Might I ask what it is that occurred?”
Eliza licked her lips, shifting on her feet. “A glass of milk… unexpectedly… landed on her lap.”
Augustus closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand. “I quite understand,” he muttered, fully aware that this would have been no accident but, instead, done quite purposefully.
“It was the third time this week, Your Grace.”
For several moments, Augustus said nothing at all. Opening his eyes, he saw the nanny’s pinched expression, the worry on her face as she bit her lip and waited for his response.
Still, he could not speak.
This would be the third governess he had brought into his home within the last month, the third governess who had departed within only a few days.
He had become frustrated and angry at his young son’s determination to find a way to push each governess from the house, though he had not yet expressed such emotions to Luke as yet.
Perhaps now was the time.
“I am grateful that you came to tell me, Eliza,” he said, dismissing the woman with a flick of his fingers. “I will deal with the matter now.”
Scurrying out of the room, the nanny closed the door behind her and allowed Augustus to fling his head back and let out a bellow of frustration that he was sure chased Eliza down the hallway.
At first, Augustus had attributed his son’s behavior to grief, for the child had adored his mother and naturally, there would be all manner of conflicting emotions within him.
It had been nearly two years since Judith’s passing, however, and Luke’s behavior did not improve.
Instead, it worsened. He refused instruction, rejected companionship—even from Augustus himself—and would often delve into long periods of withdrawn silence which were only broken by spectacular displays of temper.
“I do not know what to do.”
Augustus spoke the words aloud, allowing the fear in his mind to come into being. Judith, he was sure, would have known what to do in such a situation as this.
She would have found a way to bring Luke back to the happy, contented child he had been whilst he, now presented with a son he barely recognized, had nothing to tell him what steps he ought to take.
He was failing in every way when it came to being a father, and everything he tried ended in disaster.
Just as it had done with Miss Fletcher.
“Perhaps I can convince her to stay,” he muttered, pushing himself to his feet and striding out of the room. Climbing the staircase two at a time, unease settling within his heart, he hurried into the nursery, only to see his six-year-old son gazing up at him from where he sat by the hearth.
Papers were strewn all about, and from the pencil in Luke’s hand, it appeared that he had been quite contented to sit on the floor and draw.
Augustus knew that could not be the case.
“Luke.” Coming in a little further into the room, he took in the innocence in his son’s gray eyes—eyes that matched his own—and the tousled fair curls that so often reminded him of Judith. “Eliza has informed me that Miss Fletcher intends to leave this house.”
Luke’s expression altered a fraction, though he kept his composure remarkably well. It was only the way his eyes darted to one side and then to the other that betrayed him. “Is she?”
“I believe you know why.” Augustus lifted one eyebrow.
“Would you care to explain to me why you poured your milk onto her lap? And why this is now the third time that you have done such a thing?” He allowed his voice to grow louder, filling the room as Luke dropped his gaze. “I require an explanation.”
With a sniff, Luke lifted his shoulders. “She did not allow me to go out to ride.”
“No doubt because your lessons were not completed,” Augustus responded, sharply. “Miss Fletcher is not unfair nor unkind. I have her references—excellent ones—to prove it.”
Luke returned his attention to the paper on the floor. “I do not like her, Papa.”
Augustus exhaled slowly, keeping a hold of his fraying temper by his fingertips. “That is not a sufficient reason to treat her with any unkindness. You may dislike someone without humiliating them as you have done.”
His son’s jaw tightened. “I hate arithmetic, and she was most insistent.”
“Because she is your governess and it is her responsibility to ensure that you have an excellent education,” Augustus responded quickly. “I can assure you, I did not like arithmetic either when I was your age.”
A quick glance up toward him was Luke’s only response.
“We cannot throw tantrums nor behave in an ungentlemanly or improper manner whenever unpleasant tasks are asked of us, Luke.”
Luke leaned forward and set pencil to paper, seeming to ignore all that Augustus was saying, giving his behavior no consideration. Anger flared and Augustus took a step closer.
“Luke, your behavior has driven away yet another governess!” he exclaimed as his son’s head shot up. “That is the third governess this month and—”
“And I do not care!” Luke threw his pencil down, his face going scarlet in only a few seconds, his eyes beginning to fill with unexpected tears that quickly spilled down his flushed cheeks. “I do not want another governess! I hate that you insist on them.”
“That is because I am your father and I know what is best for you,” Augustus stated, his hands curled tight as he battled to keep his own emotions from his voice. “You must have an education and—”
“They always leave!”
Augustus stopped short, seeing Luke angrily wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, as if he were furious with himself for allowing such a display of emotion.
“They always go away.”
Nonplused, Augustus could only spread out his hands and then let them fall to his sides. He wanted to tell his son that any governess would take their leave and find other employment when faced with the sort of behavior that Luke had displayed, but he chose to stay silent.
He did not understand his son, did not understand why he would seek to test these governesses to see which of them might be willing to endure his poor behavior. Lowering his head, he let out a long, slow breath and shook his head.
I am failing him. Again.
“Well, I have done my utmost to keep Miss Fletcher from taking her leave.”
Luke scrunched up his nose and looked away as Lucy-Anne, his grandmother and Duchess of Camberley, swept into the room. “With any success?” Augustus asked quietly, although his mother only shot him a brief look before returning to her grandson.
“This situation cannot continue, Luke,” she said, her words clipped but her voice rising. “I have—”
“Mother.” Augustus interrupted without hesitation, seeing how his son had curled himself up into a ball, his chin on his knees, arms wrapped around his legs. “We can discuss this in private.”