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To his utter shock, Mr. May raised his head and smiled. Was this some sort of cruel trick? Was the man happy to finally remove August from his job? Had that been his ploy all along?

“Ye can accept me gratitude,” Mr. May said, stopping before August. “That be what ye can do.”

August reeled. Was the man having a laugh? Or had Livvy not told him, after all?

“I’ve ne’er seen me daugh’er so determined to socialize,” Mr. May continued. “Not only was the assembly as success, but she agreed to go to the castle tour without bein’ forced, then she chose to spend the entire day yesterday out o’ doors, too. I s’pect she be out with the Pengelly family.” He shook his head, a proud smile on his lips. “I can’t thank ye enough, August. Ye’ve worked a miracle.”

That answered that question. But then, why had Livvy kept silent on the matter? Was she as upset with her father as she was with August and couldn’t stomach speaking with either of them?

Mr. May reached into his jacket pocket, then, and extended a folded paper toward August. “Payment. For your troubles.”

August balked. His troubles? He shifted his eyes from the paper that no doubt held banknotes to Mr. May, who seemed pleased as anything to be delivering money to a man he’d forced into tricking his daughter to leave the Mount.

“Don’t think I didn’t ’ear ’bout your dancin’ with me Livvy at the assembly, though,” Mr. May said with a playful narrowing of his eyes. “But I’ll forgive ye for that mis’ap since ye followed through in every other regard.” His hand still extended the banknotes forward, and he wiggled them when August still didn’t take them. “What be the matter, Moon? Ain’t your arms workin’ no more?”

August remained still. “’Ave ye spoken to Miss May recently?”

Mr. May eyed him. “As I said ’fore, she’s been quite busy socializin’. I’ve not spoken with ’er much since she returned from the ball. Why do ye ask?”

Spoken with her much—or spoken with her at all?

Before, August would have been dealing with an internal battle within him right this moment, but now, a numbness prevented him from feeling much at all.

After all, what could injure him more than how he’d already injured Livvy?

As such, he faced Mr. May with a stalwart—albeit slightly weary—determination. “I can’t accept that, sir,” he said, motioning to the banknotes. “I won’t accept that.”

Slowly, Mr. May’s hand fell back to his side, and a rigid look stiffened his features. “May I ask why not?”

August squared his shoulders and faced the man directly. “For a number o’ reasons. For the shame I feel in doin’ what ye asked o’ me. For the disgust I feel when I think o’ what I did. And most of all, for the simple fact that I refuse to be paid for doin’ somethin’ I bitterly regret doin’.”

Mr. May stared at him with a deadened look. “Are we goin’ to take issue with each other again, Mr. Moon?”

“I take no issue with ye, sir. Not now that your daugh’er knows the truth.”

Mr. May lowered his eyebrows, his lips parting. “Ye didn’t.”

“I did,” August answered confidently. “She deserved to know what we’ve done to ’er.”

Mr. May’s jaw twitched continuously, his hand balled into a fist as he deftly slid the paper and money back into his coat. “And ye thought ye’d be the one to do it?”

“Yes. ’Cause I knew ye wouldn’t.”

Mr. May shook his head. “’Ow dare ye,” he growled, his tone low and menacing, his teeth clenched.

But August maintained his ground. “I be sorry it ended up this way, sir, but I ne’er should’ve agreed to your terms to begin with.”

“Ye be right about that.” Mr. May took a step closer to him. “’Specially since ye ain’t be man enough to keep your word. Ye swore she’d ne’er know.”

August refused to fight back, forcing himself to maintain his self-control. “I understand your anger, sir. But I did what I saw fit. I did what your daugh’er deserved. She—”

“There ye go again, thinkin’ that ye know what be best for me daugh’er.” He reached forward, grasping August’s lapel in his fist.

Though August could have pulled back with ease, he allowed the man to do as he wished. Part of him longed for a blow to his face, his stomach—anything. At least then he could feel something other than his heartache.

“Allow me to tell ye somethin’, August Moon,” Mr. May seethed, his voice low so as not to be overheard by anyone in the lower gardens. “Ye be finished. Finished with your work ’ere. Finished on the Mount. Finished with your friends. Ye won’t e’er work for the castle again. Ye won’t e’er work at another garden on the Mount again. Nor will Mr. Cuff.”

August gritted his teeth, maintaining his ground as Mr. May continued. “Did ye think I’d not share their secret? Did ye not think I be serious? Ye’ll ne’er see ’em together. Ye’ll ne’er see—”