by Fanny Finch
All would have to continue as normal, at least until it was time for her to face her relatives, or to tell the duke about her family.
Sadly, it seemed that however cheery Agnes pretended to be, her dark cloud had once again engulfed the house and was threatening to ruin the duke and Georgia's moods as well. The girl was not showing progress again. If anything, she had regressed, becoming angry, throwing a tantrum, and ripping up the worksheets which Agnes had carefully crafted for her to use. Agnes was not sure why, but she blamed herself.
She knew that children regressed from time to time and that this was perfectly natural. She knew that any minor disturbance, such as waking late, or not getting the right breakfast selection, could confuse and anger some children. She knew that Georgia was especially sensitive to these matters.
But that was not all that was happening.
Agnes's own pain was transferring onto the whole household. She was infecting it with heartache. She knew full well that if she were not there, Georgia might perhaps throw the odd tantrum and act out a little, she might resist studying or demand to spend more time with her brother, but at least she would not be so angry all the time.
The anger was not natural to Georgia. From when they had first met, the child had been boisterous and loud, violent and aggressive, excitable and distractible. But she had never been angry. It was only after repeated exposure to Agnes that Georgia developed a passionate, rageful side to herself that could not be controlled or directed, only contained until it burned out.
The duke had picked up on this also, it seemed. Agnes saw him peer in through the doorway, unable to stay away from his little sister, unable to let Agnes suffer on her own. Their eyes met and he withdrew. It was not right to see him like that. Once again, he had always been a gentle, caring, slightly nervous man who never knew what behavior was appropriate in any given scenario. But he had never been so sad, so distressed, as before he met Agnes.
Much like his little sister, he too was changing the longer he spent around her, the more she got to know him, the more of her own sorrow and anger leaked out, contaminating the house with her negativity. She had ruined him. She had broken him.
He was such a happy, relaxed man. So strong and at ease with himself. Even if it was a veil for his own suffering, it was a good one. And she was ruining it with her own worry. This man had been doing so well until she arrived.
How could she harm them both so very much in such a short space of time? How could she live with her own mistakes and cruelty? She was ripping their coping mechanisms away. She was destroying their ability to function on a daily basis. She was slowly picking away at the very core of their personalities, leaving them exposed and vulnerable, emotionally and spiritually.
And for what? All so she could dream of being with a man far beyond her prospects and a gifted girl who deserved a much better, much more dedicated tutor?
Chapter 21
Now the dilemma hit her harder than ever before. If she told him, she would be done for. He was all she had left any more. Of course, she could move back to the Duchess of Dorset's school and either remain there as a servant or else find a new family who was prepared to take her on as a governess. That was not the problem.
The problem was her love for him, that she had grown to depend on his presence and affection. Without his positivity to revive her, she knew that she would succumb to her own negativity and bleakness, and end up sinking so low that she might not recover.
And if she did not tell him, they would both be forced to suffer in silence, to endure each other's pain. Which, in and of itself, was already breaking her heart in two. There was no winning. There was no good result. Such was the dark cloud Agnes carried.
She simply wanted to be happy. That was all she wanted any more.
Her life had once been as carefree as Georgia's was right now, and she wished for it to be so carefree again. Studying and not having many friends was far better than what she was going through right now.
She could barely focus on teaching the child anymore. She knew what was the right thing to do and she hated herself for not doing it. She felt pretty certain that Georgia also hated her for the very same reason.
As though reading her governess's mind, Georgia spilled an inkwell right over Agnes's skirts, almost intentionally. No, definitely. She did it for attention, but Agnes felt like it was a confirmation that Georgia was above her. Agnes was Georgia's possession now.
In another life, Agnes might have shouted at the child or explained to her that you did not do such things to your governess, or to anyone, really. She said nothing. What could she say? The girl was her superior in almost every sense, was she not? It was not Agnes's place to chastise her. And discipline was definitely not an option, as the duke would not condone it. So Agnes all but ignored the incident.
Instead, she gently blotted the stain, but she knew she would have to change before lunch.
"Georgia, I shall leave you with the maid a short while, I need a fresh change of clothes," she said.
Georgia pouted. "No, stay."
Agnes felt like turning about and doing as she pleased anyway. But she could not. Because, like it or not, this child was her superior. So much in life changed when you were dropped down a class or more. Things Agnes had not even considered before. She wondered if she had tormented her servants so when she was a child, and not even known it.
She used to feel at home among nobles, but now she felt she was not a part of their society anymore. She might know the rules and the correct mannerisms, the dress codes, but that simply made her a highly trained pony in comparison to a true nobleblood.
She was not sure she wanted to lunch with them, but she knew he would insist on it. She was too lowly to dine with them, too much of a broken waste of a woman to deserve their company. She felt ashamed at the mere prospect of sitting at their table again.
Agnes was planning on sneaking away to change her dress and eat in her room, but she already knew the duke would be there long before she could leave.
As the lesson ended, sure enough, he waited outside the door, arms outstretched for his little sister, who leaped up into them and buried her face in his neck, giggling a little, more in nerves than happiness. She knew that her brother still thought highly of Agnes, and she was beginning to learn that one did not treat a duke's friends with disrespect. Even if the duke was her brother.
"It is time for luncheon," the duke said as Agnes attempted to slip past him and escape.
"My dress is stained, sir," she said. "I need to change it."
"Very well," he replied. "I shall see you at the table, then. Your place is already set."
Did he truly know how to read minds? How had he guessed that she was attempting to evade him?
"I shall change my dress immediately, Your Grace, and see you for luncheon," she said, curtsying. "But do not wait for me, I may be a short while."
"So long as you are present, I do not mind if you are half an hour late," he said, holding his sister close. "I shall see you shortly."
As they went their separate ways, Agnes pondered taking long enough that the duke could not ask her to eat with them. But then he would complain, and she would feel bad about manipulating such an important man like that. No, she would eat with him.
Walking into her room, she looked into the open drawer at her desk, seeing the offending letters. They had fallen so that the worst one, the latest she had received, rested atop the others. She picked them up, leafing through to make sure they were a little neater, hiding the hurtful three underneath the ones she had written herself. Strange, she thought she had written twenty of the replies, but she was one short. She must have accidentally counted incorrectly. She would have to solve that later.
For a moment she contemplated sitting down and writing the twentieth letter quickly, before lunch was due to begin. But she knew better than that. She knew the duke would come seeking her, and become disappointed in her again. Worse yet, he might ask to see what it
was that was so important about those letters. And, as her better, she would have to show him them.
She placed a plain envelope on top of the pile and closed the drawer. It could all wait.
As soon as the letters were out of sight, she felt, not relief, but dread, in the way one feels when they notice another person's presence in the room or realize an animal is watching them. The letters were hidden from sight, sure, but they were still there, lying in wait, ready to do some harm to her. She could not simply drop an envelope on top of them and forget about them forever.
It was her duty to finish the twentieth letter and to post them all, or, better yet, hand them to the postman or a servant so they could be posted before Sunday when she left the mansion grounds.
But she did not want to finish that last one. She did not want to post them. She could not bear the thought of sending any of those letters to her family. Least of all the one she was considering writing for her mother. She sighed heavily and reached for a clean dress.
Once again, the right thing to do was the difficult one. And, once again, she knew that she would not do the right thing.
But why should she do the right thing? She was not the child of an earl any more. She was a simple governess, the descendant of a broken woman, only half noble-blooded. Only nobility was expected to maintain such high standards. Among the lower classes, would she not be a saint for simply avoiding becoming like her mother?
As she stripped off, she kept repeating to herself in her mind that it did not matter, that nobody could expect a person of her heritage to be a noble lady, that her upbringing had made her objectively better than most women of her sort of bloodline. So what if she was the lowest quality of noble lady? That made her the finest quality of working-class lady. At least there was an upside to this loss of status.
Dressed again, she looked at her stained garment. The ink had thankfully missed the petticoats, with the dress being such a heavy wool one. But the dress itself was far more stained than she had seen whilst wearing it. A large blotch adorned it from one hip diagonally down to the other knee, in a splattered streaking mess.
Hopefully, the ink would clean out of those skirts. Otherwise, she might need to go to buy a new one. She could afford it, of course. But shopping for a new dress meant going into town, which meant being in public. She was not sure she was ready for that just yet. What if someone recognized her? It was a small town, but it could happen. It would be much better if the laundry maid simply managed to remove the ink.
Coming to the table, the tension was palpable. From the duke to Georgia, to herself, it choked them all, leaving them completely and utterly wordless. After the initial pleasantries, they said nothing at all. Agnes sat down and was served some cold cuts of meat, bread, and a few vegetables cooked in duck fat. Normally she would relish this meal, but it all tasted so bland to her, as though she were eating paper or sawdust.
The duke asked if she was enjoying it and she nodded. She could not lie outright, but she did not want to offend him either. He said no more after that. It was as though whatever had taken over her mind was taking over theirs as well. There was no cheer around the table today.
She was overwhelmed by the silence. She had done this. She had done this to this poor, innocent family. All they wanted was someone to support them and she brought her own darkness. They had been so good and happy. They had been so noble, so kind, such wonderful people.
Of course, their trials had hurt them and left them reeling. But they would have recovered just as well without her, possibly even better, and not be burdened by her presence and her problems. She had done enough already, and she now knew the answer to the question which had been nagging her for so long.
She had to leave. She could not continue to curse them with her own demons, to hurt them.
"Your Grace," Agnes began slowly, looking up and attempting to stay calm as she held eye contact with him.
He finished swallowing a mouthful of wine and smiled at her. When she did not smile back, the corners of his mouth fell. "What is the matter, Agnes?" he asked.
"I have something I need to ask of you, sir. And it is a huge request, but I must make it," she said.
He smiled once again. "Anything at all that you want, Agnes. You know that if it is within my abilities to do it, I shall do it for you."
"I suppose I would like you to begin looking for a new governess," she said as plainly as she could, averting her gaze before she realized it. She forced herself to look back at him, to hold eye contact. "I need you to put out advertisements for one."
"Out of the question," he replied flatly.
"Why, sir?" she asked.
"It is not within my abilities to do so," he said, returning to his meal.
Agnes felt a little deflated. She had not expected him to react like that. Perhaps to accept her request, perhaps to fight back with a little passion and demand an explanation, but not to simply refuse her what she had asked for, as though she were simply a child asking for sweets.
"Your Grace, I must insist," she said. "I need you to find a new governess, the sooner the better."
"You mean to say that if I found a governess for tomorrow, you should leave tomorrow?" he asked, not looking up from his plate as he cut his meat.
"I would," she replied.
He sighed heavily. "Then I shall not do it. I cannot have you leaving."
"I thought you said you would do anything I want, sir," she insisted. Had he not said so? Was he not devoted to her happiness? "You must allow me to leave."
"I shall not," he replied. "I have no need to. You are doing an excellent job and I will not allow you to leave so soon, and without explanation."
Georgia, paying no attention to the adults' conversation, passed Agnes the mustard pot. "Here mama, have mustard."
Chapter 22
As the afternoon progressed, Agnes started to see what the duke had said. Georgia was making so much progress. More than Agnes had thought. The words flowed freely now. It was hard to notice because, when one lived with a child, their gradual progress was almost imperceptible.
But hearing the greater variety of words erupting from the girl's mouth, and seeing how well she strung her sentences together, Agnes realized she was almost up to where she needed to be at her age. It was nearly a miracle, how much this withdrawn, shocked child had developed in a mere few weeks.
She was not reading yet, and she was still shy and awkward, but those were more typical problems. Agnes had been warned about these issues at this stage in Georgia's development, and she felt more prepared to tackle them.
The most important development Agnes had noticed was how proactive the girl was. She no longer simply followed instructions and suggestions. Rather, she would actively seize papers from Agnes, point things out and say what they were, and ask questions about the things she saw, heard, and felt. She was even beginning to ask questions about stories and faith, about the nature of existence and dreams. Simple questions, such as "Does God see everything?" or "Why do I not know when I'm dreaming?", but questions nonetheless. Her mind was forming faster and faster each day.
Agnes followed the child around the playroom as she pointed out her toys and explained what each one was to her obliging audience. Agnes made all the right sounds to show approval and awe. She gasped a little when Georgia explained that bears and tigers ate people, waving some hard wooden toys, crudely painted bright colors. She nodded and smiled as Georgia explained all the different jobs that horses did, from "pull things", to "go places", to "eat hay". It was so magical, as though all of a sudden the girl's imagination had been ignited.
Agnes was so pleased with the progress Georgia was making. She knew that before long the girl would be playing make-believe and reading. She was now no different from any other girl her age. It was a remarkable recovery.
Georgia was so proud and happy now. Such a wonderful child. A perfect sister to the duke. As Agnes picked Georgia up, she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. Bu
t when she looked, it was gone. The door to the playroom was slightly ajar. Agnes could guess at what had happened, but she waited to see.
Sure enough, a few moments later she watched, out of the corner of her eye, as the duke nudged the door a little more open, peered in, then retreated and made his way back down the hallway. Despite her request to be left alone with Georgia, Agnes realized that the duke was watching again, just a brief glance through the doors as he passed by the rooms the two were in. Even though he was honoring their agreement by not intruding on the lessons, he had found a loophole and he was exploiting it. He could not stay away. It struck Agnes that he was scared of losing his family again.
She had said she would leave. The woman who had performed such miracles with his sister, who had become a regular guest at their dinner table, who he cared about deeply and was always looking after... had said she would leave. He was afraid of that. He was afraid of not having her support in caring for his sister and managing his home and estate, of course. But he was also afraid of losing someone who had taken the place of his family.
