Page 55 of To Know Miss May

She looked around them. The gardens were empty, aside from a few young men weeding the patch of bluebells at the far edge of the garden. Fortunately, her father had left for the lower garden after August’s lie, otherwise he’d still be there, listening to them.

That was just what both of them needed, to have Mr. May linger nearby to make them both even more uncomfortable than they already were.

Miss May leaned closer, and he did as well, ignoring the scent of lavender that blossomed from her person and tickled his nose. “When I spoke to ye in your ’ouse,” she explained. “Told ye that I ’aven’t any friends.”

“Oh,” he said, realization dawning.

“I ne’er should’ve said such a thing,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I be sure ye be feelin’ the need to befriend me, and to ’ave Miss Pengelly do the same. But I don’t want ye to feel any sort of obligation where I be concerned.” She looked away. “I can’t bear forced friendship.”

August was still battling the conflicting feelings within him—relief that she didn’t know what her father had forced August to do, and sorrow that she felt the need to worry about why he was befriending her in the first place.

Well, he would make one thing clear. He had befriended Miss May because he’d wished to befriend Miss May. Not out of duty or obligation. And certainly not because her blasted father told him to do so.

Still, he feared no matter how he tried to convince her otherwise, she would not believe him. So he’d try a different approach. “Be it truly so hard to believe that I’d wish to be your friend simply ’cause I enjoy your company?”

She humphed under her breath. “Ask me father.”

August’s jaw tightened, and he fisted his hands to alleviate the instant stress that came upon him. Now, more than ever, he was determined to help this woman. But not in the way her father demanded, no. August would help her gain the confidence she needed to escape the man forever.

“What would ’e say if I did ask ’im?” he asked softly.

She delivered a dubious expression. “The same as everyone else on the Mount. Ye be the charmer, and I be the recluse. The hermit. The…odd one.”

His heart twisted to hear such words escape her lips, to feel the obvious pain she felt at being attached to those labels.

He’d never been fond of being called Charmer of the Mount either. It sounded far too pretentious. But then if Miss May thought that of him…

He shook his head. “Your father be wrong, Miss May.” Her eyes whipped to his. Had his words been too heavy-handed? Did he even care at this point? “I be your friend simply ’cause I wish to be. Simple as that.”

A smile settled on her lips, but it was short-lived as she shifted her gaze away. “And ’ow does Miss Pengelly feel about that?”

Emma? Why would she care if August was friends with—

Blast. Of course Miss May would be concerned about how Emma would feel with her supposed intended befriending another single woman. Because Miss May was the most honorable woman on the Mount.

He supposed it was just as well that she believed such a thing. After all, this was one of Mr. May’s demands.

August stifled a sigh of regret that carried with it all his frustration for choosing to help his friends in the first place. It was all worth it, seeing the delight on Nicholas and Emma’s faces when he delivered yet another secret note written by the both of them.

Still, how he longed to be honest with Miss May—tell her everything her father said, everything August had agreed to do, and everything about his friends’ relationship.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t risk Emma and Nicholas not being together, he couldn’t risk Nicholas’s job, he couldn’t risk his own family no longer having him work on the Mount, and he couldn’t risk injuring Miss May by telling her how truly despicable her father was.

If she would even believe August, of course.

Honestly, Mr. May’s desires were not all terrible. His wish to see Miss May socialize and be happy was admirable. But he’d taken it too far with his threats and his attempts to force her into doing what he thought was best.

Why could he not trust his daughter to choose her own life?

Setting his frustrations aside, August responded carefully. “Miss Pengelly doesn’t mind me bein’ friends with anyone. And I ’ave it on good authority that she wouldn’t mind bein’ friends with ye either.”

Miss May seemed to think this over for a moment. When she finally nodded, her eyes that matched the bluebells on the patch beyond them shone with light. “Very well. If ye be certain, I s’pose we can be friends.”

He smiled at her feigned reluctance. The woman was adorable.

“Excellent,” he said. His first step to helping her—truly helping her—was complete. But he would need to do more to show her how life could be for her outside of her house and her books.

And most importantly, outside of the guidance of her father.