Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

August Ambrose didn't lose his composure. Not when he was a lad of eighteen and certainly not when he was a fully grown man of thirty-five years. Yet he had found himself on the verge of making a very grave mistake. Yesterday, during the unexpected autumn storm, when they were cocooned in the intimacy of the gazebo, August had nearly kissed Miss Westbury.

The curtain of rain provided an improper amount of privacy for two unmarried people, yet the alternative was getting soaked to the bone and risking pneumonia. Though, Miss Ambrose may have chosen the risk of illness over the risk of being compromised.

Her sweet earnestness had nearly been his undoing. She stood at the railing, staring at him as if she'd never seen him before. Watching him with longing eyes and a pouty mouth. And when he'd advanced towards her, she rested on the railing and licked her lips in anticipation of the kiss he so desperately wanted to claim.

August knew she was unaware of the invitation she'd offered. She'd seemed confused at his response and his avoidance of her for the remainder of the storm. He hoped he hadn't hurt her feelings, as her happiness was as important to him as his own. No, more important .

Yet he knew that if he stayed close, he'd be tempted to give Miss Westbury her first kiss and set off on a path which would only lead to pain. As the third son, he had no responsibilities to the family legacy, which is how he found himself living on one of the Ambrose's lesser properties, which suited August just fine.

He enjoyed his daily walks, his brief interactions with the villagers, and his plentiful time to read and write his stories. His contributions to the penny serial papers was his secret. His family would be horrified to know that August was the author of the most popular sensationalized story in England. A wife would naturally be curious of her husband's pursuits and would render it impossible to keep his secret easily.

August took a moment to breathe deeply, savoring the crisp autumn air and warmth on his skin. All the thoughts of Miss Westbury's lips had him on edge and he only had mere minutes before he was expected at tea. An engagement that usually brought joy, yet today he was dreading.

Resigned, he made his way up the walk to the Westbury residence. As he reached the porch, before he could even lift his hand to knock, the door flew open. Miss Westbury stood in the doorway, slightly breathless and August's pulse raced.

"Mr. Ambrose! We're so glad you could join us!"

Her enthusiasm, while endearing, was surprising. Afternoon tea was a weekly affair between the neighbors. As soon as he entered the drawing room, he realized that this was no ordinary tea. Miss Westbury's close friend sat perched on the edge of her chair, hands clasped in her lap and eyes down.

A glance at Miss Westbury confirmed his suspicions. Miss Westbury had an ulterior motive. The room was set as it always was and Mr. Westbury was sitting near the fire, feet up as was his custom. Aside from the addition of a guest, nothing seemed amiss.

"Mr. Ambrose, you remember my friend, Miss Sarah White."

He bowed. "Yes, Miss White, it is good to see you again. How are you on this fine day? "

Miss White giggled and nodded, which seemed to be the entirety of her response.

"Tea?" Miss Westbury gestured for him to sit and then proceeded to pour a cup of tea for her father first, then for him.

Miss Westbury took a few minutes fussing over her father's blanket and the placement of the tea and cakes at his side. She was the most attentive daughter to her father's numerous needs. He'd often wondered why she chose to care for him at the expense of finding herself a husband. While a catch, she certainly is well into spinsterhood at the age of twenty and six.

She expertly made his tea next, exactly as he liked it as she had done for years. Their relationship was a bit odd, August had to admit. They had intimate knowledge of each other's habits in tea, dining, and leisure pursuits. Yet they were merely neighbors. Perhaps friends, though it was most uncommon for an eligible man to be seeking friendship in his female companions.

August never did like to do what was expected of him. The fact that Miss Westbury didn't care one bit recommended her as a friend. She didn't know it, but his stories were partially based on her. His popular serial was about two neighbors who went on adventures and solved murders. Of course, in his story, they eventually married. Romance sells, after all.

He accepted the tea cup from Miss Westbury as she kept up a cheerful conversation about the weather and local happenings. Her father occasionally interjected with a grumble. August was constantly amazed at how long she could keep up nonsensical chatter for the sake of filling empty air.

"Don't you think, Mr. Ambrose?"

And now she had caught him woolgathering.

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that."

Miss Westbury's brow furrowed into a slight frown before relaxing again. He knew she would not like that his attention had strayed. If it had been just them, without her additional guest, she'd have likely bopped him on the shoulder with a rolled newspaper to get his attention .

"I was saying that Christmastime is almost upon us and I'd quite like it to snow."

"Ah, a white Christmas would be fortunate indeed," he agreed.

The smile returned to her face and he felt a sense of achievement. How he loved to bring a smile to her beautiful face.

"And you, Miss White," Miss Westbury prompted. "What are your thoughts on snow?"

Miss White twisted her hands in her lap. "I am quite clumsy, I'm afraid. I often slip on the ice so I'm not sure I'm looking forward to snow quite as much as you."

Miss Westbury frowned at the response as it was clearly not what she was looking for. "Well you need a stable man to escort you, then. Perhaps Mr. Ambrose might offer his services?"

All eyes turned to him. Mr. Westbury had the poor manners enough to huff a laugh at August's expense. Miss White glanced at him, then back down again, a flush spreading across her cheeks. She was fine looking, but nowhere near as attractive as Miss Westbury. Not that he should be noticing the attractiveness of either woman.

"Perhaps, if it does snow and I find myself in your company," August hedged.

"Oh undoubtedly you will," Miss Westbury gushed. "As you will both be at our annual Christmas Eve dinner."

Of course. The very popular and anticipated annual Westbury celebration. August felt his chest tighten at the thought of dodging Miss White all evening. She was a shy girl who currently seemed to wish the floor to open and take her from the embarrassment of this conversation.

He took pity on the young woman. "Miss White, I dare say we will have the most wonderful of times if we do take that walk," he said.

Miss White's face brightened into a smile that rewarded his kindness.

"Yes, I do look forward to it."

August hoped that this Christmas would be the warmest on record.