by Fanny Finch
Men did not know everything, however much some would insist they did. They could not understand what it was to be a woman. Perhaps in some primitive old societies, men and women lived their lives side by side, performing similar tasks to one another, and always within view of each other. Perhaps then men would be able to raise girls, and women to raise boys who followed their society's conventions.
This was not one such society. This was a world where men and women were deeply different, and where a girl raised by a father alone could suffer greatly if she did not receive female instruction. Agnes felt sorry for Georgia, having to endure such a painful upbringing.
But Agnes was also happy for the girl. She knew just how much love a father would put into his child, and it warmed her. Georgia would receive all the best the duke could afford, all the support he could pay for, all the treats her heart desired. Whether fathers were strict or coddling, they always wanted what was best for their daughters, and always provided whatever it took to turn their girls into strong, healthy, intelligent, civilized women.
And that was why Agnes was there. The duke knew he was too relaxed, too loving, too gentle, and he knew he needed someone stern and strict to help his child grow. And the Duchess of Dorset had known this also and therefore chose Agnes, a woman with a similar experience of growing up motherless, but with a more regimented upbringing.
As the duke and Georgia made their way back into the house, both pairs of eyes landed on Agnes.
The duke smiled softly, his eyes half-lidded, as seemed to be usual for him. "Good morning, Miss Hubbard. I trust you rested well?"
"Very well, thank you, Your Grace," she said, curtsying deeply.
"She mean," Georgia said, flashing a beaming smile and rushing to empty the bookshelves again. "Book. She mean."
The duke seized the girl's hand and stopped her. "No, Georgie, we must go for breakfast. I am sure you are very hungry."
Georgia pouted a little but did not protest too much as she was picked up and carried towards the drawing room by a passing maid.
"She used to say that about mother too," the duke said with a sigh. "She used to say 'mama mean', and grin like a lunatic."
"She knew her mother?" Agnes asked, without thinking. "Wait, I am sorry, I should not pry into such matters, sir."
"I do not mind discussing it a little," he said, his face falling somewhat. "Our parents did not die recently, but it was only about a year ago, and so suddenly, that I expected her to not recall them. She knew them both well, but she does not seem to particularly remember them. The only sign that she remembered them was when she saw an etching of our mother, and that was when she stopped talking."
Agnes froze. "I thought you were... I thought she was... I am so sorry, I simply assumed you were her father," she said, trying to find the right words.
The duke stared at her a moment. "At my age?" he asked.
Agnes blushed. "I am so sorry, Your Grace. I did not mean to presume. I simply- I thought-" She no longer knew what to do or say. This had taken her quite by surprise.
"You could have asked," he said, his face still quite calm. "I would have told you."
"If you forgive me for saying so, sir, I felt it was inappropriate to pry into such a peculiar affair," she said. "I hope Your Grace understands that I mean no harm in this, and is not offended, but I supposed the girl was the product of adultery of some kind."
"I am not at all offended, Miss Hubbard," he said. "It is a complicated situation. But I am her older brother, not her father." He smiled his usual warm smile.
It was as though that simple smile was all it took to defuse Agnes's anxiety. She realized that whatever happened, whatever events took place, this man would not judge her, or be angry at her. For whatever reason, he had taken a liking to her, and she could do no wrong in his mind.
She was not going to let it get to her head. After all, he was in a bad situation, much like Georgia, and was probably looking for someone to support him and protect him.
A lot made sense to Agnes suddenly. The youth of the duke. Georgia being so withdrawn. The disarray of their home. They were basically children, both of them, and the duke had been left in charge of not only a mansion but an entire duchy and his baby sister as well. It was too much for someone as soft and gentle as him. It was more than he could possibly be expected to do. It was not fair.
But life was not fair. It was not fair that Agnes had lost her parents either. It was not fair that her family had turned against her. It was not fair that she was stuck in such a lowly position for the rest of her life. People had to overcome unfairness and fight. After all, God only helped those who helped themselves
"How did they pass, if you do not mind me asking, sir?" she asked in a hushed whisper. "Was it very recent? Does she remember them much, or only when she looks at pictures?"
"It was a bit extreme. Let us simply say that a horse lost control, and both died fairly shortly thereafter," he replied, a dull, glazed look passing over his face. "At least their pain was brief, and their Heavenly reward shall be eternal."
She watched as he took a key out of his pocket and began to fiddle with it nervously. "It is hard to lose family before one is ready, before their time," she said.
He shrugged slightly and gently turned his key over in the palm of his hand. "One is never ready to lose a parent."
"And yet, I imagine that losing someone to natural causes, or old age, is probably easier to handle," she said.
"You cannot know what it is like to lose a parent until you have," the duke replied, still not making eye contact.
"And I have, sir," she said. "Both of them."
The duke's face was a strange combination of pity and excitement, as though he were overwhelmed by the prospect of meeting someone who shared his experiences. "You lost your parents as well? When?"
"My mother died when I was an infant, my father died recently also," she said as plainly as she could manage. "And now I am here."
"And that is all?" he asked.
Agnes averted her gaze. "I am not sure I am prepared to talk about it yet, sir. I am sure you understand."
He nodded. "I do. I suppose it must have been quite a shock to you, to lose a father so suddenly, and at your age."
"I am not much younger than Your Grace," she replied.
"But you are a lady, and unmarried. It must be a difficult position to be in," he said.
"It is difficult to be here, I am not sure what I am going to do with myself," she replied.
He paused. "But at least you are here, there are worse places to be. Are you not glad to be here?"
"Of course I am glad to be here. But I would have been gladder to still have a family." She watched as Georgia was placed at the dining table.
"We cannot decide such matters," he replied in a cold tone she had not heard from him before then. "We must simply accept the lot we've been dealt."
"I do not wish to accept it, sir," she protested. "I wish for it all to change."
"And your wishes cannot undo what is done. We cannot get our parents back, but we can create a new family for ourselves. That is the beauty of being human," he argued, also watching the girl.
"But what if..." Agnes paused, feeling her heart overwhelmed. "What if it had not happened? What if I had a mother, or my father had lived? I wish it were so."
"I have learned to be careful what you wish for," the duke replied. "And yet I also wish to undo the past. The best I can do is make my own family."
"No family will ever take the place of my father," Agnes replied.
The duke fell silent a moment. The sound of his key turning in his palm felt as loud as a cannon. "You cannot choose the family you are born into, or what becomes of them. You cannot choose when people die. But you can choose who you allow becoming your family," he finally said. "Nobody will replace your father, but you can always add new family."
"I am not sure I want to, sir," she replied.
Chapter 6
Agnes was only
just getting familiar with her new routine when it was time to begin the lessons in earnest. A week flew by in no time, and suddenly they had to start working on arithmetic, reading, and music. None of which the child had taken to, despite Agnes's greatest efforts to make the lessons exciting and interesting.
On the one hand, the child had a natural curiosity and she was drawn to all sorts of shapes, colors, and concepts. She seemed like she would be an easy student. And then the trouble began as soon as Agnes attempted to introduce exercises and memorization.
Georgia was not so keen on the structure and spent much of her time defying Agnes's orders directly. It seemed that whatever Agnes asked Georgia to do, the girl was determined to do the exact opposite. It had become a sort of game for her, and no doubt a more fun game than any game Agnes could make up with letters and numbers.
Agnes tried every method she'd been taught at the school. She tried everything her father and tutors did with her, she even turned to books on parenting to find gentle ways of persuading a disobedient child to study. And only one solution kept coming back: discipline. Not necessarily physical. However much Agnes's educators insisted on the merits of a switch, she shivered with the bad memories it brought back of her own governess's preferred form of discipline. Especially with a child so young, so new to the world, so full of wonder. Even at her angriest, Agnes could not fathom how any loving, nurturing woman could do such a thing. Toddlers were frustrating, enraging at times, but they were still so very, very precious. No, the girl could not be hit, not even if the duke were to permit it. And yet some form of deterrent was needed to counter Georgia's poor behavior.
But when she asked as to how Georgia could be disciplined, she received only blank stares and head shakes from the duke. He would not allow it. Not only were physical discipline and shouting quite reasonably forbidden, but so were locking the girl in her quarters, denying her access to the nursery, withdrawing desserts, or anything else that might displease her. And how can you discipline without causing displeasure?
She attempted to explain her predicament to the duke, but he would hear none of it. It was her responsibility, as a governess, to come up with a way of persuading Georgia to work... without actually forcing the girl, as that would be incredibly unfair, apparently.
Agnes was at a loss. She had to respect the rules of his home. Even if those rules made no sense at all to her, and were nothing like how she grew up. But if his rules were that she had to teach Georgia, but not ever discipline her, then how could that possibly work? The girl did not respond to rewards, or positive words, or fun games. All she wanted was to rebel and do damage to the house.
Even the duke himself, sitting in on the lessons, was no deterrent to Georgia. If anything, his presence seemed to inspire her to act more outrageously, apparently in an effort to show off to her older brother and prove how in charge she was. And he said and did nothing.
Agnes watched as the girl took an inkwell and emptied it on her dress. In any other home, that would be unacceptable. But here? Here it was accepted because the duke did not want to discipline the girl for "exploring", as he put it. Time and time again Agnes had attempted to correct Georgia's behavior, and time and time again the duke had told Agnes to stop being so strict, so rude, so cruel.
At least it seemed the duke did not mind his sister's lack of progress academically, so she was not under too much pressure. But this made it all the more confusing, as apparently, the very job Agnes was there to do was not important. So why was she there in the first place?
She couldn't understand it. The duke needed to raise his sister well, but he was too soft with her, too careful. And Agnes, who had been brought in to be a stricter influence on the girl, was not allowed to be strict. In fact, she was expected to fit in with the duke's more relaxed approach, which completely defeated the purpose of having Agnes there. She could not educate, she could not parent. She was not even the only person watching the child, as there was always someone else, either the duke himself or a number of servants, with her. It was less a serious job and more being asked to be a child once again, so as to keep another child company.
Georgia was lovely, though. Despite her stubborn streak and inability to talk, she awoke something in Agnes that the young woman had never known existed. She knew about maternal instinct, of course. But this was more than she could have ever imagined feeling. It was as if she were beginning to psychologically and physically merge with the child.
Her own stricter nature and impatience began to mellow a little, though she was not sure if it was from maternal affections she was developing for the girl, or if it was because of how relaxed the environment was that she was softening also. It was perfectly logical that she might start to act more like the duke the longer she spent in his company.
All she knew was that with each day she loved the child more.
She swept Georgia up and placed her back down on the settee, opening a large book full of depictions of Bible scenes. The girl seemed happy to see the pages with the animals on them, so Agnes began turning through the book for the scenes with animals, narrating the verses that the pictures referred to. There were only a few simple lines on each page, just enough to cover the substance of the verse.
It was not often that the girl listened and, glancing over at the duke, Agnes saw him nod approvingly. Perhaps this was what he meant by encouraging her without discipline? Georgia seemed interested for now. Agnes pointed out a few letters and words, but the girl didn't imitate them. Instead, she replied with her own, made-up version.
It was something, of course. And sometimes the girl would copy individual letter sounds or imitate the tone of the words immediately after Agnes. The duke seemed elated when his sister did this, and it was, indeed, progress from when they had first begun working on books. Technically speaking, anything was progress when the baseline was pouring ink on a dress and emptying a bookshelf.
This was encouraging in a sense. It showed that Georgia was capable of focusing, of reading to some extent, and of interacting with others. However stunted her abilities were, they were still there and still developing.
Agnes was genuinely worried, though. Was this normal? Even at Georgia's age? The duke had said that his sister had not spoken in a long time. Perhaps she was making up for lost time, catching up on things she had stopped doing. After all, if she had stopped speaking when she had barely broken through into a few words, then she would still be there. How could she develop her skills of speech if she did not use them?
And yet she was not communicating like a child of two and a half either. She was vocalizing like a child of one or one and a half years. It was clear that she had been behind from the very start. And this trauma had left her even worse off.
Agnes knew that trauma could leave a child underdeveloped for life, and she didn't want that for poor little Georgia. The child deserved better. A child that was this far behind right now could end up much, much further behind as time passed. She could end up barely able to speak and illiterate as an adult. Which would be fine for a peasant girl, but not for the sister of a duke, who would want to find his sister a good husband and keep her in good company for the rest of her life.
And yet the duke seemed oblivious to the challenges ahead. He was simply happy for any tiny bit of progress. How could he be so relaxed, so unaware? He was watching them from across the room, and as his eyes met Agnes's, he seemed so at peace with all that was happening.
"You two are doing so well," he said with a smile. "She likes that book, I'm glad you're reading it to her."
Agnes nodded. "I was wondering why she was so transfixed by this one. Does it mean much to her?"
"She has always loved it. Mother used to read it to her. But I don't believe she actually recalls it. I believe she is simply enjoying something she has always enjoyed," he replied, standing and walking over to where Agnes and Georgia were sitting. "I... I was not able to read it to her after our parents passed." His eyes lingered on the pages.
/> As he fell silent, Agnes also found her voice had gone. It was painful. But it was something she was more than familiar with. That feeling of helplessness, that feeling of being overwhelmed by the smallest of things in life. Anything that reminded her of her father right now was still like a dagger to her heart.
"What plans have you for her next lesson? I trust you have determined the best course of action for my favorite little sister?" he asked, his voice a little shaky like he was trying to stop himself from crying. "I suppose she would enjoy this book every day, but that is not exactly practical."
"A good education in religious matters is essential as much as music or literature are, sir," Agnes replied.
The duke seemed satisfied with this answer. Georgia was still looking at the pages, pretending to read the words. Agnes briefly considered voicing her concerns. But something about him put her off. He towered over her, and she felt so very small and fragile and meaningless. It was not fear of being physically overwhelmed or harmed. It was not fear of being shouted at or fired. The duke had left it clear enough that he did not approve of that.
