by Fanny Finch
She wanted to comfort and reassure him. But she could not. They could not have a relationship beyond the formal. And yet she had already broken that barrier a thousand times. What was one more? Reaching out, Agnes rested her hand gently on his arm. As she did, his tears began to flow, fast, and almost silently. Were she not looking at his face, she would not know the tears were there at all.
It was strange, to see a man of his power weeping. She knew he was sensitive, but he had always struck her as carefree and callous. Nothing seemed to faze him, except when it ignited his passions, and even then, his passion was hardly immense, more of a gentle flickering flame than a true raging fire.
In all the time she had known him, she had never seen him lose his temper, or fall into a fit of laughter. She had never seen him cry. And yet the whole time, rather than own his composition and act like a gentleman, he seemed to not care about social norms. All this had led her to believe he was a relaxed, cheerful man by nature.
Now she saw that his relaxed nature was in part his upbringing and in part his own way of coping with the death of his parents. He held it all in, smiled through it all because that was all he knew how to do. He did not know how a man was supposed to act when grieving his parents’ deaths any more than he knew how to run a mansion.
They had died and left him wholly unprepared for life without them, so the only thing he knew to do was pretend that everything was perfectly fine until he could pretend no longer. And now he could pretend no longer.
Unsure what to do, Agnes gently released his arm, slid her fingers down his sleeve, reached and rested her hand on top of his, avoiding eye contact, staring out a window as he wept. Even through the tears, she felt his fingers entwine with hers, his large hand squeezing her tiny one tightly.
She kept telling herself to pretend it was another lady. The hand might feel distinctly manly, but at least the soft, barely audible sobs added to the illusion. She kept trying not to think of him, not to let herself enjoy this experience.
She was only there to comfort a man in his time of need. Nothing else, nothing for herself. Only the duty she felt for her employer.
And an increasingly passionate love for a man beyond her status.
Chapter 15
That night at dinner, Agnes felt closer to the duke than ever before. That one little touch was the spark that had ignited a fire. Whereas before she had been able to control herself more or less, since her accidental confession she felt as though her emotions had snowballed. And now, after growing even closer to him through their shared experiences of love and loss, she was not sure she could ever regain control of herself.
She loved him. She loved him more than she had ever intended to. And she could not help but wonder about what might have been, knowing that their fathers had been so close before they passed away.
It was not fair. Perhaps, had his parents encouraged him to handle their affairs, or her father been more open to her socializing, it would have been different. Perhaps he would have become a visitor to her home, to discuss matters of state and trade. Or perhaps she would have been brought round to see him, to get to know a young man so close to her age, to perhaps have a friend who would not have any connection to the people who despised her mother.
There was even a chance that, had her father been more relaxed about his daughter's socialization, and the young duke been more responsible, he would have been considered an appropriate suitor for her. She could have been married to him long before her father died, long before even his parents died.
They were approximately the same age and, before her father's death, would have made an excellent pair. And yet... if they had been so different, would they have bonded? Would she have liked him?
Could they have even been different people? It was not as though their fundamental traits would change radically depending on circumstances. Or would they? The duke himself believed that people were made by their experiences, not by their blood. Maybe they could have been raised to be different people, and then could have married, settled down together, been happy.
She had a feeling that she would have loved him whatever reality they shared. There was something simply beautiful about this precious soul.
But that was never to be. That was not the reality they lived in. She was a governess, he was a duke, and they could never wed. They were not even supposed to be as close as they presently were. She loved him, but it would have to be an asexual, unreciprocated love.
Even if she spent the rest of her life unwed, she could not consider attaching herself to him. There was no way of making it moral, no way of making it right. And she most certainly was not going to give in to the wickedness of premarital love. She was much better than that. Even as a governess, she was the child of an earl, she had been raised better than to be a common harlot to anyone, no matter how powerful he was.
She was not even sure how he saw her. The constant comparisons to his mother made her wary of seeing love in his eyes. And yet he was so eager to be in contact with her, so happy to taunt her for her love, so happy to spill his heart out to her. And he most certainly knew how deeply she was beginning to feel for him, yet he never breathed a word about it. Was it out of respect for her or out of his usual inability to know what to do with himself?
It did not matter. If he loved her he would have let her know by now.
The most likely thing was that he saw her as precisely that: a mother figure. Although she was younger than him, she was a surrogate mother. Not to him, of course. He did not need a mother, however desperately he wanted one, however much he missed his own one.
As he'd said, he'd never replace his mother with anyone in the world. And he did not need a mother to care for him. He needed a mother to care for Georgia.
Georgia also did not need to replace her deceased mother. Not as a human being, at least. What she needed was someone to act as a mother, to care for her closely, to show her how to be a good and noble lady.
That was not to say that the duke did not need some sort of support from her, of course. But that support was not the same as the support she offered Georgia. It was more like the support she offered her friends: explaining the rules of society to him, and showing him how to do all the things he had seen other nobles do, but never practiced himself.
That was the way it needed to be. Agnes had to be a mother to Georgia and to show the duke how to be a respectable adult. It was a confusing dynamic, but it was what was needed of the situation.
Sitting around the table at dinner, Agnes wondered exactly how long this could go on for. How long would it be before she had overstayed her welcome? Before her emotions became too much for the duke to bear? Before Georgia tired of her?
Georgia passed Agnes the salt. Agnes had not asked for it but thanked the child all the same. It was another little sign of development Agnes had come to appreciate. Georgia seemed determined to imitate Agnes and was starting to do everything she had seen Agnes do, at every opportunity.
Especially when she could show off to her older brother. That seemed to be the key. Georgia grinned at the duke, who also thanked her for passing the salt so nicely. She needed her brother to impress and please, and then she would move heaven and earth at Agnes's request.
Georgia had made so much progress since Agnes had been teaching her. And yet there was much more left to do. More than Agnes believed was in her power. On the one hand, the faster the girl developed the better. She needed to begin speaking, acting, and studying in a more age-appropriate way for a four-year-old. So every little step was a step closer to that long-term goal, and it pleased Agnes.
But, on the other hand, Agnes realized that Georgia was outgrowing her support. Before long the child would need a more experienced governess, and then a series of tutors. She could not be taught by one young governess forever, there was simply not enough that Agnes could teach the child.
Even after spending time at the School for Noble Women and being taught how to raise children, Agnes was not s
ure she had been adequately prepared to handle such a challenge, and she was beginning to worry that the Duchess of Dorset had not known the extent of the trouble when she sent Agnes out.
As she watched the duke playfully teasing his sister with a forkful of potato, she understood what he had said to her about getting to know a person as an individual. And no amount of academic education was a replacement for the experience needed to teach a child like Georgia.
The girl was not simple. She was not even stunted. She was incredibly bright and made insanely fast progress when she was motivated enough. Agnes could not harness this, she could not help the girl. And it scared Agnes to think of how much raw talent might be wasted.
Georgia needed someone to help her progress faster and faster again, someone who was experienced enough to realize what the child needed in order to succeed. That person was not Agnes. She knew that much. But she knew nothing else. She would have to talk with the duchess and find an answer.
That answer might take weeks to arrive, but a few weeks was not too much time to wait. Especially now Agnes was truly enjoying her time with the duke and the girl. She would enjoy it and keep herself distracted until it was time to decide if she ought to stay or leave.
"She is doing so well," the duke mused, bringing Agnes back to reality as he watched his little sister carefully feed herself.
She had taken the fork, loaded with potato, away from her brother and was feeding herself with movements as soft and neat as many older children could not manage. He was right. She was making immense progress.
"She is, sir," Agnes replied. "I only hope that I can keep up with her pace of progress, for she is far too precocious for usual teaching methods."
"Is she?" he asked.
Agnes nodded sharply. "She is, sir. I had not realized it due to how-" She stopped herself. She could not carry on without directly insulting them both.
"I know we were spoilt, and we were coddled, and we do not always know what we are doing," he said with a grin. "I suppose she never had a chance to truly blossom, did she?"
"That is precisely it, sir," Agnes said, glad for a way out of the faux pas she had almost committed. "Children need to exercise their minds for them to grow. And in protecting her from how harsh the world was, your parents left her... unexercised. Now she is working harder, she is beginning to make good progress, to discover her potential. And most people enjoy studying when they realize they are good at it."
"I bet she is making better progress than I am," he said with a slight chuckle.
"Everyone begins somewhere," Agnes reassured him. "We all must learn how to navigate life and deal with the lot we were given."
"I know, but... seeing Georgie make so much progress has made me realize how long I took to learn the same lessons," he replied. "I do not know if perhaps I am not quite as bright as her, but I cannot help but wonder how much more capable I would be had I been educated a little better, had my parents put some pressure on me."
Agnes sighed. "No, sir. You only study as much as you wish to. And you cannot change what has already happened. You did not know then what you know now and would have probably rejected lessons. It is only now, with hindsight, that you lament the things you enjoyed as a child."
"That's just what my mother used to say," he said with a smile. "I miss hearing things like that. She was always so encouraging to us both."
Agnes was not sure what she had said was encouraging, exactly, but she understood what he meant. He needed someone there to remind him that, in his twenties, he was not the same boy he had been at sixteen, or ten, or, indeed, at four. He could not go back in time and tell himself to study harder or learn to manage the household.
It made her glad to know that he was seeing her in a positive light and that he was saying things which reminded him of his own upbringing, however weakly. But his words also weighed in her heart. She was no more than a mother figure to him. She could, at best, be his friend.
She had not wanted to know that. She had wanted to forever cling to that tiny shred of hope that he could someday grow to love her as she loved him. And yet, with a few choice words, he had set fire to that shred of hope and burned it into fine, dry ash from which her hope could never be rebuilt.
He had compared her to his mother.
And that was all she was to him.
Chapter 16
Receiving post was definitely the highlight of that morning. Agnes had not received more than a couple of letters from her friends since arriving.
Upon first arriving, she would be lying if she did not admit to having a slight hope that they would soon write to her, and do so frequently. But upon beginning her work for the duke, she had come to realize that it was not that simple. They would all be incredibly busy working for the families that had taken them in. Not only that, but there would be the trials of adjusting to a new environment.
Even Leah, who had stayed behind to marry, had other things to think about, such as the wedding, and could not focus on writing all the time. She understood it perfectly. They all had their own lives now, and she did not blame them for not writing to her, but she missed their company all the same.
So when the letter arrived, she felt her heart leap a little. It would be so wonderful to hear from her dear, beloved friends, to be able to spend some time thinking about them and writing back to them. She was curious as to what they were doing and was eager to tell them all about her present situation.
Well, not exactly all about it.
But at least the letter would help her to take her mind off her worries, to focus on something positive for a change, to just detach herself from it all for a moment.
She wanted to relish this letter. Rather than reading it first thing in the morning, she had taken it upstairs and left it on her desk. She thought about it all morning through Georgia's lessons, through the morning nap, and through lunch. Finally, she asked to be excused for an hour after a reading lesson with Georgia and, permission granted, all but ran upstairs. She locked herself in her room that afternoon and sat on the bed to open it.
Now she realized she did not recognize the handwriting, but perhaps it had been dictated? Or perhaps something bad had happened to one of her dear friends? Agnes felt her heart sink a little. She hoped it was nothing bad.
It was not from any of her friends. It was not even from anyone who knew them. It was unknown handwriting, with no signature. But the contents were far worse. It was an angry letter, no doubt from someone within her family.
Her father's side of the family.
And, furthermore, it was from someone who knew all about her present situation and was none too happy about it. Agnes could barely stand to read through this carefully penned attack.
"Agnes Hubbard,
You are an insult to your surname (or should I say our surname?) and I can scarcely believe you have managed to maintain a place within high society for so long.
I thought, without a doubt, that everyone knew what a wretched bloodline you had come from and nobody would think it right to keep you about. Alas, it seems that there are people out there who are more charitable than sensible.
But do not fear: they too will come to see the error of supporting a leech like you and your mother.
What is more, it seems to me that you are overstepping your boundaries. You are the child of a feeble woman, and a mere governess. Act like one. It is not your place to be spending so long with a duke. Much less to have him pry into family affairs! How dare you get a respectable man to do your dirty work? It seems you have as little shame as your mother.
Well, he said you wanted to know what happened to your mother.
She is not dead.
SHE IS NOT DEAD.
She left you. I am not sure if it was her own lack of maternal instincts or if she realized what a waste of space you would grow to be and left pre-emptively. But, either way, your mother abandoned her child and her husband and fled the country.
But she is alive and well, and livin
g, most unbelievably, under the premise of being one of your father's sisters. Giving our family a bad name wherever she is, no doubt. I hope you realize that her sins and crimes extend beyond being a poor mother. She has no redeeming qualities whatsoever.
The apple does not fall far from the tree, does it?
And that, Agnes, is the truth. Your mother is a failure as a woman, as a noble, and as a member of our family.
Do not worry about me revealing any of this to your beloved duke. If he is foolish enough to ignore the copious warnings others have given him, that is his cross to bear. I have no intention of harming you or your reputation. You and your mother have done enough of that on your own.
At least you are both finally getting precisely what you deserve.
Yours sincerely,
The only member of our family who dares tell the truth."
