Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

His world had just been upended. The mistletoe had caught him entirely off guard and August had not known how to proceed. He was tempted to yank his arm back from Miss Westbury and run from the room, but that seemed a bit dramatic for his taste.

Reflecting upon how the events had unfolded, he realized that he should have gone for the dramatic exit. The alternative, which was to kiss Miss Westbury in order to avoid embarrassing her, was much worse. He cursed his persistent need to act with the best intentions. Because that kiss had been anything but well intended.

The urge to claim her mouth had been nearly impossible to resist. Her soft sigh when his lips made contact with her cheek had nearly been his undoing. She'd parted her lips, ever so slightly, as if anticipating his mouth on hers. The carnal desire that arose at that thought was most improper to entertain. Most especially when it was regarding his neighbor, whom Mrs. Bridges pointed out was like a sister to him.

His feelings towards Miss Westbury were far from brotherly. Now he was doomed to sit at this table, making idiotic small talk, while all he could think of was Miss Westbury's lips.

He glanced across the table to where she was leaning forward in conversation with Miss White. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes bright and she looked like everything he wanted but could not allow himself to request.

Sitting at the head of the table—the seat that would be his if he were her husband—tricked his brain into considering the possibility of marriage to Miss Westbury. If they were husband and wife, would she look up at him and reward him with a sweet smile as she just did? Would they sit side by side after the guests left and replay the evening events before bed?

August considered their usual activities of walks, croquet games, casual meals with her father, and the occasional dinner party, such as tonight. They went about their days together much as spouses might, with the exception of sharing the marital bed.

"What do you say, Mr. Ambrose?" Mrs. Bridges asked, once again caught not paying attention.

"I'm sorry, I missed part of that. Might you repeat it?"

"I was just saying that while it's a shame Mr. Westbury is under the weather, it was most pleasant to have your company tonight as host. I was suggesting we picnic tomorrow as the weather has been so lovely."

"What a wonderful idea. I hope your outing is most enjoyable."

August returned his attention to his food to discourage further conversation. Mrs. Bridges was known to spread information as quickly as an autumn wind spread leaves along his property line.

Mrs. Bridges giggled, a sound most unbefitting of a lady of her maturity. "I mean for you and Miss Westbury to host."

Once again, August was caught in an impossible situation. To decline the suggestion would be most impolite and he dared not risk hurting Miss Westbury's feelings. Yet a picnic with this guest list sounded most dreadful.

"I'm sure Mr. Ambrose has business he must attend to. I am happy to play hostess for the outing."

She offered him a knowing smile, communicating that she was saving him from the fate she knew he'd dislike. Her kindness and sacrifice tugged at his heartstrings. His mouth formed words before his thoughts had given it permission.

"I would love nothing more than share hosting duties with Miss Westbury. We shall set off at eleven sharp from my home. I know just the spot to dine."

Miss Westbury's eyebrows rose at his impulsive suggestion. Not only had he agreed to this fool venture, he had offered up his property for the adventure. This was most unlike him and Eleanor knew it. Yet he found himself looking forward to fresh air and Miss Westbury. He had been longing to take her to the secluded spot on his property that was his favorite. Without a chaperone, it had not been possible. Now that he was promised a group outing, he could give himself permission to enjoy her company in his favorite place.

Lord save him from dinner parties. August had smiled through a series of conversations where one was more vexing to his nerves than the previous. It didn't help matters that he was still captivated by every movement that Eleanor made. He replayed the kiss over and over until he thought he'd lose his mind from it.

He had never been as close to her as he had in the moments before he placed a delicate kiss to her cheek. He had buried his feelings for her for years and resigned himself to a friendship with the one woman he would consider breaking every rule for. It wasn't fair to her to tie her fate to his own when he knew he couldn't give all she deserved.

He was a third son for heaven's sake. He had no wealth to offer, just his family's third favorite home and just enough to provide food and comfort through the remainder of their lifetime. If she were to marry, and he wished she would, she should gain from the union, not suffer a loss in fortune. And he would suffer by lying to her about his writing profession and the secrecy that the work required.

August had joined Mr. Westbury in the study for a brief time before the older man went to bed. Now, he sipped whisky while listening to the sounds of Miss Westbury bidding guests farewell. He should take his leave for home as well, but did not seem to be able to move himself from the settee near the fireplace. The sounds outside the study door brought him comfort. His own home was so very quiet and cold. Once the servants took to bed, it was just August rattling round his home. The Westbury home always felt more vibrant and alive than his own.

There was a rap on the partly open door. "Father?"

Miss Westbury poked her head into the study, her expression surprised to see August there.

"Your father retired to bed a time ago."

August should stand to take his leave, but he remained seated. Eleanor stood in the doorway, seeming to debate her next movement.

"Come in," he found himself encouraging as he patted the seat next to him.

Miss Westbury stepped timidly into the room, as if she realized what he had just now considered—they were alone and unchaperoned late at night. It was most improper to be here at all, yet alone in such close proximity. The only seat in the room available was next to him. The dog had claimed the warm seat left by his master and was currently snoozing. Perhaps the hound could be considered a chaperone.

She sat next to him, careful to put distance between them. Thoughts of the earlier intimacy swirled in his brain as he struggled to maintain his focus. The fire crackled and once again August wondered if this is how it would feel to be husband and wife.

In the entirety of the time he knew Miss Westbury, he had never experienced any of the sensations he had this night. Pushed by circumstances into hosting a dinner party together, being close, unchaperoned, and sharing a kiss were all novel for their friendship.

Miss Westbury stood and moved to the table where her father's whisky decanter was stored. She poured herself a finger of the amber liquid, much to August's surprise .

"Miss Westbury…?" He didn't finish the question but it was evident in his tone.

She returned to the seat next to him. "Cheers, Mr. Ambrose."

She held her glass, waiting for him to meet her in a toast. He clinked his glass against hers, then took a generous sip. The burn of the liquid down his throat did little to soothe the discomfort this new development caused.

Miss Westbury looking at ease sipping a glass of whisky was not something August had been expecting. He found it most alluring, however, once his mind got over the shock of it.

"Does your father know you drink his whisky?"

"Oh, Mr. Ambrose, don't be dull. How do you think I spend the long winter nights in my father's company? Sipping tea?"

She laughed and August saw a different side of her than he'd ever experienced. The prim and proper Miss Westbury enjoyed an evening whisky?

"Pardon my surprise, but I did not expect the perpetually poised Miss Westbury had an easygoing manner lurking underneath.

"Shame on you, then," she said and gently whacked him on the arm.

And that was another natural, yet intimate gesture of affection between them. During a walk or lawn game, it would not feel out of place. Here, in the privacy of the study, it felt more significant somehow.

"Yes, shame on me," he agreed.

Silence fell as they sipped and watched the fire crackle. Long minutes passed in comfortable reflection when a loud dog snore echoed through the space.

"Oh!" Miss Westbury startled. "That was most unexpected."

"Yes," August agreed. "For a moment we had quite the romantic tableau."

He immediately wanted to call the words back, as it was foolish to draw attention to their unchaperoned circumstances.

Miss Westbury's mouth dipped into a frown. "I have no use for romantic notions. At least for myself. But you really should be more serious about your future, Mr. Ambrose."

August's head spun. His thoughts had been jerked from desire, to guilt, to confusion in the span of mere seconds.

"I don't intend to marry."

Miss Westbury's head snapped up and she met his eyes directly. "Never? But what will you do for companionship?"

"I gain great satisfaction from my visits with you and your father. Perhaps when you marry I will miss it."

Lies. His heart would be torn out of his chest and the loneliness would eat him alive when Miss Westbury attached herself to a husband. He dreaded the inevitable day destined to arrive.

"I do not plan marriage, either."

It was August's turn to express his shock. "Never? What will become of you when your father passes?"

He had been surprised when the beauty had not married during her prime marriage years, though he supposed she felt a duty to care for her father. Surely Mr. Westbury would ensure her future by pairing her with a suitable husband before his death.

"I am quite capable of minding my own affairs. Who do you think manages the duties of this estate?"

August was struck silent. He realized the insult buried in his assumption that she needed a husband to take care of her. Although, that was how things were done in their world. Women didn't purposely set out to be spinsters.

Women except Miss Westbury, it seemed.