by Fanny Finch
No, Agnes felt afraid of his presence, of his positivity, of his happiness. It was as though he were forcing a sort of gleeful energy from himself into his environment, and it was attempting to overwhelm her own pessimism and melancholy.
This was a sensation she was not used to as well. He was stunning but more intimidating than any man she had ever met. She knew how to reject unsolicited advances, and how to defuse a man who did not have control over his temper. These were essential lessons her father had instilled in her. But how to handle a man who was overwhelmingly, oppressively emotional? Whose feelings entered her heart and mind before she could stop them, and overpowered her own? Who slowly fused his own relaxed nature with hers? She did not know how to stop this.
The one thing she did know was that it was not necessarily a good thing. She needed him to trust her, to listen to her, to follow her advice. It didn't matter if he was relaxed and happy about his sister's lack of progress. It was her job not to be. It was her job to show him a better way.
"Is anything the matter, Miss Hubbard?" he asked, resting a hand on her shoulder. His hand was so soothing, she almost lost focus again. He made her want to take it easy.
But that was not the right thing to do.
Agnes had made up her mind. The duke may be above her now, but less than a year ago they would have been peers. And he needed her help.
"I am sorry, sir, but you are being too easy on Georgia. She needs a stricter routine," Agnes said.
The duke seemed a little confused, like she had asked him to iron the windows or bake a tree. "I beg your pardon?" he asked, brows knitted.
Agnes felt a weight in her chest. Had she done something wrong?
Chapter 7
"I believe you are being too soft on her," Agnes said flatly, feeling her heart thumping hard in her chest, almost angrily. "She may be a child, but she needs to follow proper development, she needs to keep pace with other children her age, fit in with them, compete with them."
"She has plenty of time to catch up," the duke insisted. "She will be fine if she's speaking at four or five."
"No, sir," Agnes contested. "Because by then, they will be at the next stage of development. She needs to be speaking now."
"She has been through so much!" he replied, still nonchalant, still a bit detached from reality. "Surely it will take her some time to recover?"
Agnes shook her head. "Your Grace, with all due respect, she will go through even more if we do not ensure she fits in with other children, other girls, and when she is older, other young ladies. She cannot be the one they all pick on and mock for being slow, for not knowing things."
"Would they?" he asked, seeming a little alarmed.
"They would, sir," Agnes replied. "Children can be most cruel. No child ought to be in a position to be mocked by their peers, or they no doubt shall be mocked."
"Then I shall pay them to not mock her," he said flatly, smiling a little.
"Again, with all due respect, Your Grace is missing the point. She needs to get a proper start in life," Agnes said, trying to retain her composure despite his piercing gaze burning through her own eyes. "She needs you to do what is right for her, not what she wants."
How could he seem so intimidating when he was so decidedly nonviolent, so decidedly peaceful and kind? How could she feel so intimidated by a man's kindness and gentleness, so overwhelmed by his presence?
"I do not want her to suffer either way," he replied. "I am of the opinion that discipline is just as harmful to a child as the taunts of other children. She should experience neither. Especially being a girl of her upbringing. There is no need for her to face any hardship whatsoever."
"But parenthood is not about that, it is about making sure they do well," Agnes replied. "If they must be challenged in order to do well, then that is your duty, as her brother and the person acting as her parent."
The duke pursed his lips. "But you are neither her sister nor her parent. What would you know about what my duties are when it comes to caring for my own sister? You have not even known her for two weeks and already believe yourself to be educated enough to instruct me?"
She drew a deep breath. Reminding herself they were all but peers, she stood up. "I know as much of parenthood as Your Grace does. In fact, possibly more, seeing as I have been educated on how to raise and teach children."
"No amount of education of any kind could teach anyone how to treat an individual," he replied. "Only knowing the individual, however young they are, could tell you what it is that they need in order to thrive. And even if you knew her better than I do, you must still answer to me as your employer."
Agnes wanted to reply that there were some basics to the rearing of any creature that were constant across individuals. She also wanted to tell him that it was only their recent fortunes that had forced such a wedge between them. But she could not.
"Simply because one is a person's employer does not mean they are better than the employee," Agnes simply said.
"But I am your superior now. You are not a high-class lady among working-class girls anymore, you're simply a governess," he said.
The words cut Agnes to the core. She knew they were true, and yet it hurt to hear them spoken so plainly, by such a normally pleasant man. Did he not realize how much he had hurt her? Or was he seeking revenge, in his own way, for the pain her suggestions had caused him?
There was a slight fire in his usually placid eyes that suggested that he was not happy to hear what she was saying. She feared the worst. She had managed to offend him. Here was a man who was kind and patient to a fault, who despite his youth and his status remained humble and gentle, who exuded love wherever he went, and she had managed to light a fire in his heart and mind.
If he fired her, it would be more than justified. If he struck her, she would be unhappy, afraid, and leave, but would probably forgive him, at least in the Christian sense of not harboring a grudge. She had, after all, insinuated that his beloved little sister, who had been through so much already, was in need of the sort of treatment he believed to be abusive.
"I am sorry, Your Grace, I did not mean to insult you," she said, curtsying deeply.
"No, no, I shall give some thought to what you are saying. I want nothing but the best for my little sister, even if it's difficult for her," he explained. "I shall consider the options, and perhaps, if I set aside my own feelings for a while, I may see sense in what you are saying. I know my emotions can cloud my judgment."
Agnes still felt afraid, though she could not tell why. He was a nice man, and he was being very reasonable too. But something about him still intimidated her, still made her uncomfortable. She smiled, but it was as forced as could be. Silence loomed over them.
Georgia began to cry, sniffling and shaking a bit with each sob. She was not sure how to cope with the situation. There was too much tension in the air, and it seemed she was as emotionally sensitive and volatile as her older brother. She threw herself at him, and he lifted her, holding her little body close to his as she wept into his shoulder.
No words were spoken. No words were needed. His gestures, the hand he placed on the back of her head, the gentle swaying, the way he shushed gently into her ear, like echoes of waves lapping the sandy beach... it all communicated his love for her, that he was there for her, that she was safe.
Agnes was baffled, watching him consoling his little sister. Almost as quickly as he had turned from calm to fire, he had turned right back again. Gone was the anger and frustration and confusion that Agnes had etched onto his face. Gone was the hesitation as she challenged him. And now he had reverted to his usual placid, sweet, caring self as he held her close and swayed gently back and forth. It was as though his anger had never even existed.
"She is tired," he finally said softly, nodding lightly towards the clock.
Agnes realized, with some dismay, that it was time for the girl to rest, and extended her arms. Taking the child gently against herself, she realized Georgia was already f
ast asleep. They quietly made their way upstairs to lay her down in her cot bed.
As the girl lay down for her nap, Agnes realized how close she was to the duke, how his shoulder pressed against hers, looking into the cot bed. She wasn't sure if she should mention it. It was highly inappropriate, of course. But he was not doing it intentionally, he was simply looking at his little sister. And perhaps, after how much she had already defied him, he would not be too happy if she were to begin to complain once again.
She gently moved a little, slipping her shoulder away from his reluctantly. He did not even notice, he was so absorbed in watching his sister sleep. He would make an excellent father someday, with his sweetness and genuine care.
"I am so sorry for what I have done," Agnes whispered. "I did not mean to defy you, Your Grace, not at all."
He remained silent a moment, and Agnes wondered if perhaps he had not heard. But before she could repeat herself, he began to speak. "You did not defy me. You rightly pointed out a potential flaw in my behavior," he said.
Agnes hesitated also. "And yet I offended you, sir. That you cannot deny."
"You did. But, as you said, sometimes we must go through unpleasant things in order to learn. And perhaps I needed to be offended. No. Regardless of whether I agree with you or not, I did need to be offended, if only to show me that I got offended too easily and that I was allowing my emotions to make decisions, not just for myself, but for Georgia too," he mused.
Agnes nodded. "I do hope that Your Grace agrees with me once your conclusion is found. But I shall respect if you disagree with me, sir."
"You truly care about her," he said, as though suddenly realizing it. "I have not met many people who truly care about a child that is not their own."
"Do I?" Agnes asked before thinking, a little surprised.
"You do. You care not only about what happens to her today or tomorrow, but about what may happen to her when she is your age and making friends, or seeking a suitor," he replied.
"She is my responsibility," Agnes replied. "You may be a duke, but I am a trained governess. I ought to know better than to only consider what makes me look good right now."
He turned to face her, looking calm but content. "Indeed. I suppose in that sense you are most definitely right. Although I still maintain that every person is an individual, and must be treated as an individual. Not as a child, or as an orphan, or as a duke, or as a governess, but as an individual human being with their own needs, their own skills, their own flaws, and their own life."
Agnes smiled a little. "I suppose you are correct. And, once again, it is my duty to ensure that a child's individual nature can blossom without interfering with their ability to lead a full, productive, happy life that benefits both them and society."
"No, it's not all just duty, is it?" he asked, half amused, half accusing her, a faint smile spreading across his lips. "I am glad you care."
Agnes felt her face grow warm. Of course he was right. She did care about Georgia. And he had seen right through her and fully understood that. She could not deny it. But she could not add to it either. She was not sure what to say at this point.
"I would like to think you care about me also, and this home," he added, looking at his sister again before turning and walking out of the door. "In some way, at least. You do not need to confirm or deny it. I believe you care about us all very much already, and I shall continue to believe that so long as you continue to do so."
Agnes was not sure what else to say or do about this. She curtsied, repressed a satisfied smile, and watched as the duke wandered off down the hallway. Then, she sat down in a soft armchair by the cot and picked up a book she had left on the side table specifically to read as the girl napped.
She was not sure exactly what he meant by any of what he said, but it felt nice. It was good to know he knew. About Georgia, of course. After all, how could he claim she cared for him? She did not. At least, no more than any good woman cares for a friend.
Chapter 8
Waiting to hear what he wanted her to do was some sort of torment for Agnes. She needed to know what was expected of her in order to improve how she approached Georgia's education. Until she knew, she could neither continue along the present path nor develop a new approach. She was trapped in limbo, repeating the same sort of activities with the girl over and over, focusing on keeping her entertained more than on teaching her anything at all. Agnes desperately wanted to continue teaching Georgia to speak properly and to read. But she had to wait a while longer yet.
Days passed, and she began to wonder if, considering how relaxed and forgetful he seemed, he even recalled the conversation in the first place. Perhaps he had entirely forgotten that he was supposed to be thinking of appropriate discipline for Georgia when the girl acted out? It was so tempting to at least test the water.
Then again, he could be intentionally not discussing it. Perhaps he had said he would think about it in the same way that a parent says those words to a child, as a plea for peace and quiet, rather than an actual promise. Perhaps he was hoping that she would forget about the conversation instead?
But she did not dare confront him about it or demand an answer. She had stepped out of her place more than enough and needed to respect him some more. She needed to remind herself of who she was, of who he was, and of what her place was in his and Georgia's lives.
It was a difficult thing to do, step back and acknowledge her reduced status once again. It had been so liberating to speak to him as a peer, to challenge him, and to persuade him of at least some of her argument, if not the entire argument. And now she had to go back to being a powerless servant in his household.
She did not even have enough of an answer to do that job very well.
Despite her worries, she was finding a strange sort of comfort in the new routine. It was reliable and welcoming. It was quite nice to focus on an enjoyable time with the girl, rather than on attempting to force knowledge into her head. Every morning Agnes awoke and calmly allowed the child to mostly dress herself, after which either Agnes or a maid ensured that Georgia was neat and ready for breakfast.
Then there would be relaxed lessons all morning and all afternoon, largely involving Georgia choosing a book she liked the look of and Agnes reading to her from it, encouraging the child to read letters or words aloud, even if she was simply repeating whatever Agnes said.
And, of course, there was the nap. Laying Georgia down in her cot bed, Agnes looked up at the duke, who sat across the room, nodding approvingly. It was always nice to have those little moments of quiet, to see the girl resting happily, and to see the duke approve of her current lessons and routine.
There was a sense of security in how predictable the day was. Agnes knew that now Georgia was in her cot, the duke would wander up to her, make sure her pillow was within reach, and tuck her blankets in. He would watch her for a few seconds with a contented expression on his face before he went for his mid-morning tea and cake. And, after that, he would return just in time to see Georgia awaken and follow her to her next lesson.
Agnes was not sure what to make of his close bond to his sister. In some ways, it was endearing to see him care so deeply for her. After all, the girl had lost her father at such a young age, and not many young men, especially not older brothers, would be willing or able to step into that role and look after such a young child for her entire life.
He had a life of his own, but he was casting it aside to take care of his little sister. Agnes knew that Georgia would experience the same level of close care that she had as a child and that the girl would grow up feeling nothing but appreciation for her brother's sacrifices.
But it was also worrying. Agnes recalled the smothering love of her father, and how isolated she had been for so long. She recalled not having friends visit her, not having anyone to provide that warm, maternal affection, not being able to express her emotions or to explore herself as a girl or a woman. She had been raised almost robotically, taught all of the t
heories of how to be a part of proper society, and yet never in any position to actually explore the reality of that world. It was like being allowed to study birds from a book but never see one in person, nor hear it sing. It was an incomplete education, despite her father's best efforts.
It was not easy, being raised to be proper and stern and not having the balance of another girl's company to help her navigate the world. It had been painful when she first spent an afternoon with other girls her own age and realized they believed her to be vain and haughty because she was so unwelcoming to them, so unprepared to deviate even slightly from social norms, that she was unable to connect with them on a simple, human level.
It was only after meeting her four only friends, Leah, Julie, and Talia, that she had finally learned how to break the rules, just ever so slightly, so as to fit in and get along with other young women. Until then, she had simply been an outcast, deemed too mechanical and too masculine to be friends with other women.
