by Fanny Finch
She shook her head and he understood. They were not to speak of that ever again. It had been a moment of weakness, of heightened emotion. They had forgotten their places. But they could not do so again. They were not brother and sister. They were not cousins, nor husband and wife, or even peers anymore. That sort of physical contact was completely and utterly unacceptable.
For a second, the silence reigned, as though by being quiet enough they could cleanse themselves of that forbidden embrace.
"If you like, I could see what I can discover about your family," he finally said with a smile. "About your mother, her relatives, what it is she did that offended your father's relatives so very much."
"No," she replied immediately. "You were right when you said that we cannot change what has already happened. If I were to find out about my mother, what could possibly change? I am still myself, and I always shall be."
"Are you certain?" he asked in the tone of voice of someone who felt mildly insulted his offer had not been accepted.
"I am certain," she replied.
"But you could get to know who your mother truly was," he insisted. "I would want to know that if I were you. Perhaps it could help."
"How could it possibly help? She is gone, as is my father," Agnes replied.
"Perhaps... Perhaps if you knew what your mother did, you would be able to better understand your father's family," the duke explained. "Perhaps you could ask them for forgiveness, or at least to not consider you the same as your mother."
"I doubt they would forgive me, no matter what I uncover, sir," Agnes insisted.
"Is there anything lost in trying?" he asked. "At the very least it is worth finding out what she did so that then you can decide if you wish to do anything else about it."
Agnes nodded, conceding. "You are right. It can be no worse than it already is, and perhaps by knowing I shall be able to rejoin my family. At least I may understand them better."
He seemed somewhere between relieved and excited at the prospect. She was not sure what exactly he planned on doing, and she was not sure if she should ask. He probably had his ways of finding out things he wanted to know, his ways of learning about her family. And what did it matter what the process was, so long as it yielded results?
"Besides, if your family continues to reject you no matter what you do, then perhaps you should join my family instead," he said with a slight laugh. "I would welcome you with open arms, and I am sure that Georgia would too."
Agnes froze on the spot, feeling her face grow warm.
She hoped he was joking. He laughed, at least. But something about his tone of voice suggested he was being more honest than either of them would admit.
She dismissed every thought from her mind. Every fantastical, inappropriate, ridiculous thought she had that had sprung up from those simple words. It was not to be taken seriously, it was not to be interpreted a thousand different ways. It was a joke, pure and simple. It had to be a joke. It could not be anything else.
He could not love her.
She could not love him.
They were not allowed to.
Chapter 12
Agnes enjoyed that further closeness. It was nice to feel a part of the household. Whether he had intended to invite her into the family or not, it seemed to be happening naturally.
She was invited for breakfast with them every single day now, and Georgia was always eager to spend time with both of them, rather than one or the other. The duke had even been roped into the girl's lessons and, although she still resisted education aggressively, she seemed a little more receptive when they both worked together to teach her.
Agnes was grateful to have someone who was so willing to spend time with her, so happy to talk with her and support her, who she had so much in common with.
At the same time, it worried her. It was not a proper relationship for a duke and his governess to have, even if she was once an earl's daughter. Even if it was a simple, unofficial "family" sort of arrangement. Even if it was merely friendship. It was just not the done thing.
Agnes was a governess, a woman expected to devote her life to supporting children who were not her own, at least until she married and had children of her own.
Agnes was a young, unmarried woman, who should not be spending so much time around a man unless he was courting her for marriage.
And Agnes was a servant, a woman who could not even dream of marrying a duke. She knew she needed to place some distance between them.
But she could not bring herself to.
He still watched as she taught and played with Georgia, still helped put the child down for her nap, still invited Agnes to his drawing room for breakfast with the girl. And she still accepted all of this. No, she encouraged it. She relished it. She could not deny her complicity. There was something about his presence that she relished, something about the ease with which he attended to the child that she was in awe of. He was a wonderful man.
They put the girl down for her nap, and, once again, Agnes was beckoned out of the room, to speak to the duke in the relative privacy of the hallway.
"I think you did very well today," he said as they closed the door. "She will be reading soon, I know it."
Agnes was not so sure. Although the girl loved to imitate what Agnes did, she seemed to only have a tenuous grasp of what she was actually reading, or even what the purpose of it all was. She was nowhere near actually reading, even though she was a bit closer to understanding her alphabet and phonics.
"I would not say that for sure, sir," Agnes said tentatively. "I believe there is some time yet that must pass before she is ready to learn to read in earnest."
"You cannot be such a pessimist, Agnes!" he insisted. "More miraculous things have happened. Can I not expect the best?"
"Just... do not pressure her too much, Your Grace," Agnes said softly. "It may take a long time to build her confidence so she may be a lady."
He paused as realization spread across his face. "I think I understand. She does not need to be put under too much pressure, or else she may feel she is not achieving enough."
Agnes nodded. "Precisely, sir. And if she feels she is not achieving enough, she may give up entirely. We need her to think that progress is good, but to understand that she is loved and respected even if she takes a while to reach the goals we are setting for her."
"I suppose that makes sense," he replied.
"It does, sir," Agnes said, making sure he fully understood her point. "She cannot see us be too emotionally invested in her success, or else she may feel forced to perform like some sort of a show dog."
"I do not mean to pressure her. I am simply glad we are making any progress at all. She needed this... she needed you. I can never thank you enough," he said. "You have turned her world upside down, in a good sense. She was so lost when Mother died, so alone. And now she is not anymore."
"But I cannot be a mother to her, sir," Agnes replied. "That would not be my place."
"You are not a mother, no. More like a friendly aunt or an older cousin. But that is all that you need to be, and you perform your duties beautifully," he said.
As their eyes met, Agnes felt her heart leap a little. He seemed so gentle and kind, so full of love. His praise would have sounded excessive from anyone else, but from his lips, it seemed genuine. She trusted him. She loved him.
But she could not.
She had to stop herself thinking of him in that way. He was her employer, and a thousand times greater than her in terms of status. He was an important man. And she was nobody. There was no correct way for her to love him.
And there the dilemma lay. She did love him. She could not help but love him.
"Georgia went to sleep quite easily today," Agnes remarked, attempting to drown out her own thoughts with small talk.
"We ought to have a cup of tea before she awakes," he said. "Come with me, I shall ask Martha to make a pot."
Agnes felt her mind draw to a halt. "We?" she asked.
He was watching her so intently, his eyes so affectionate. "Of course. You do not need to watch over her. And we have plenty of time until she awakens. I do not like having tea and cake on my own, and I do not have many letters to reply to, so I would be bored."
Agnes knew she ought to refuse. But sometimes it was nice to break the rules. "Of course, sir."
Sitting in his office was even stranger than sitting at his breakfast table. It was not right for her to be there. An office was no place for a woman of any standing, and she had only been in there on a couple of occasions, when he had not wanted the other staff to overhear their conversations. That had been bad enough, but for her to be there, relaxed, holding a cup of tea, was surreal.
And yet he seemed so at ease. So content. He did not care that women were not supposed to be in an office, or that men and women should not be left alone, or that servants should not dine with their employers for any meal of the day. He simply wanted some company.
"I feel too lowly to be here," she mused.
"Not at all. You are a lady, Miss Hubbard, and you ought to be treated as one, even if your status has somewhat declined," he explained.
Agnes laughed a little. "And yet Your Grace invites me, alone, into his office to spend time with him. No lady would spend time alone with a man who was not her husband."
"What about brothers and sisters? A tutor and his ward? A governess and a boy? Father and daughter?" the duke replied. "There are many situations where the sexes mingle innocently on their own."
"And I am sure Your Grace can appreciate the difference between such cases and ours," Agnes replied.
"No, I am starting to consider you part of my family, to be honest," he said with a nervous laugh that made Agnes blush. "And, for what it is worth, it takes two to do this. I did not force you to come here. You followed me of your own free will and sat down. You may leave if you want to."
Agnes hesitated. "I would rather not, sir."
He chuckled, this time less nervously. "See? You see us as family also."
"And yet that is a terribly inappropriate thing, sir," Agnes insisted. "I am but a simple governess now, however elevated I once was. I should not think of myself as your family, nor should you or Georgia see me as such."
"It is not inappropriate," he insisted. "It is precisely what Georgia needs. A little girl like her needs a mother, to love and guide her. She has lost her own mother and was without direction, without that warmth and a womanly presence to guide her. And then you arrived and replaced that. Of course she sees you like family."
"But I must not see yourself or her as my family, Your Grace," Agnes said, feeling her heart sink. "It is at the very least presumptuous to take such things to heart, however much you may say them."
"I do not say them for no reason, Agnes," he said, his expression turning suddenly stern as he put down his teacup. "I mean it. In earnest. I see you as family. And you need to be family to Georgia in order to help her. Like an older sister."
"I understand completely, Your Grace," Agnes said with a sharp nod. "I shall do my best to act less as a governess, and more as a loving sister to the child."
Only saying the words made her realize the significance of them. She would act as a sister. And the only way she could actually become the girl's sister is if she were to...
Agnes felt the heat rising to her face, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw that the duke, unperturbed, was pouring himself a second cup of tea and eyeing one of the scones. Had she imagined it?
As she poured another cup of tea for herself, she watched carefully for any sign of anything else, another inappropriate feeling perhaps. She knew what she hoped for. She hoped for a glance of passion and affection, a declaration of love, a passionate embrace. She hoped for him to feel the same way about her as she did about him.
In fact, she had been assuming that he did. Only now did the thought cross her mind that perhaps he simply was being friendly, perhaps he really did see her as a sister, or a cousin, and nothing more. After all, he had given her no indication otherwise. He had not flirted with her, nor kissed her.
He might have acted inappropriately on several occasions, but he acted inappropriately on all matters, not just those concerning her. He was too sheltered and coddled and spoilt to realize exactly what it meant to act as he did.
In any other man, his behavior could easily be seen as flirtatious. But in him? He was so straightforward, so honest, so earnest. If he said that he thought of her as a cousin or a sister, then that was almost certainly how he saw her. Family, and nothing else.
She knew she should be grateful for that, but at the same time, her heart sank. He did not love her.
She was projecting. That had to be the case. It was not he who was in love with her, but she who had fallen in love with him.
She was not sure if this made it better or worse. On the one hand, she knew that she would not have to endure any advances from him, to put up with his acting inappropriately in any other way than his usual cluelessness.
But on the other hand, that meant all the problems she was having were her own. However much he was the more socially unaware and committed the most frequent inappropriate mistakes, her own mistake was several magnitudes more serious. She ought to know better than to fall in love with a duke. But how could she help herself? And how could she reverse it?
It was times like these when she truly wished she had a mother to turn to, to tell her what it was that ladies did in situations like this. Because she had no idea. It had never happened before.
Sipping her tea, Agnes wondered how long she could hold her composure, how long she could act like a lady if all these emotions were bubbling inside her heart. It would not be long. The duke and his sister were perfect examples of what happened when emotions ran freely and unchecked. And sooner or later, Agnes would slip up, just like they frequently did.
She had to do something about this, to rip these emotions apart and dispose of them before it was too late.
Chapter 13
The revelation that she was falling in love with her employer was not an answer, but a thousand new questions. And all of them focused on how to stop it.
She knew emotions could be stopped, could be controlled. She had done it before. When she had been overwhelmed with joy or sorrow, she had kept a straight face. When she had been enraged, she prayed for peace until her heart stilled. So surely there would be a way of suppressing this burning fire and fighting it back, pushing it down, until it was entirely extinguished.
But she did not know how, and she did not even know who she could trust or ask. The matter was too sensitive, too personal to tell anyone about. When social consequence was not an issue, there was her own personal shame. She could not tell her friends, no matter how dear to her they were, for that would mean to confess to a terrible sin.
Agnes hoped that it would pass. She knew that girls, and even adult women, grew to fancy men who were beyond their reach. She had not experienced it herself, but she had read about it, heard about it, even seen it.
On rare occasions, such as in Leah's situation, the man reciprocated. But, even then, it was a difficult matter. And he had loved her and was merely the son of a duke, not a duke himself. Agnes's love, on the other hand, was wholly one-sided and aimed at one of the most powerful men in the country. She dared not hope for anything. It was foolish to think she would ever be so fortunate.
So she simply had to wait, remain calm, and she would cease to love him, or come to love someone else. That was what always happened when she read about it in books. If a woman kept her wandering heart under control and forced herself to remain pure of heart, mind, and body, then her suffering would be rewarded with a new love.
Until then, she had to continue as normal. Although there was no such thing as a truly normal day, she realized, turning a corner and seeing the duke stood in the hallway, staring at a blank space.
"Your Grace," she said, curtsying deeply, more than anything to hide the pink t
hat flushed her cheeks.
He jumped a little, as he had not seen her arrive. "I am sorry, Agnes, I was miles away."
"What troubles you, sir?" she asked, hoping he would send her on her way.
"I am getting nowhere with the house," he said and sighed. "Every time I ask for a chore to be done, I see a thousand more that need doing. I do not know how to manage it."
"I believe Your Grace may want some help with that matter," she said, watching him stood, stuck as to what tasks to assign anyone. "I was taught how to do so myself, perhaps I could assist."
He looked at her, eyes shimmering with gratitude. "You could? I would love that. But how do you know that, as a lady years younger than myself?"
