by Fanny Finch
Agnes nodded. "Then I agree. I shall consider staying, for a week, and when I am done considering if neither my own thoughts nor your efforts have changed my mind, I shall leave as planned."
The duke smiled half-heartedly. He already seemed to know her mind was made up. She suspected he simply wanted to keep her by his side another week.
Chapter 24
Agnes did not need to think about it. She knew precisely what she needed to do, and that was leaving. But she would humor him. She would give him a chance. She would give him time to try and persuade her. After all, she had asked the same of him.
She hated herself for it, though. She knew it was yet another situation where she was acting in a way that was completely opposite to how she had been raised. She did not know what to do with herself, what to do about the fact that whenever she attempted to do better, she always seemed to end up acting like someone of even lower class.
She could not sleep that night, nor the next night when he avoided her the following day. He was only buying time, steering clear of her for the week so that she felt guilty and considered staying, but it almost forced her to consider her situation and reconsider her stance. She knew she was hurting him by leaving. And she began to wonder if the harm she did by staying truly was worse.
This might have all been part of his plan, of course. But she suspected that someone so socially clueless would be incapable of such a sophisticated level of deception. No, he was simply trying to avoid upsetting or distracting her, as he continued to look for things which could convince her to stay.
The week passed, and on the final day, she did not see him at all. She had not changed her mind. If anything, she had made great effort to ensure she thought about the matter as little as possible. She could not afford to change her mind. So it frustrated her when she realized he would not face her, either out of cowardice, or the misguided belief that she would not leave if she could not speak to him.
He could not run from her forever. And she would, once again, announce her plans to leave. That, or she would simply make arrangements and leave. If he planned on ignoring her, then she could do the same. It might ruin her reputation even further, but she had no intention of playing this ridiculous game with him.
Georgia was not involved in any of this, of course. It would be simply cruel to involve a young child. But that did not mean she was not affected by the tension, and her lessons slowed again. Agnes felt tempted to ask after her brother or to start a conversation in the middle of a meal.
But with how high emotions had run when he asked her to spend a week considering his offers, Agnes was wary of starting a similar conversation with a child in the room.
So, until such a time as she could catch him alone, she carried on teaching the child as normal, trying to stay relaxed and cheery.
After all this time working with Georgia, Agnes could not help but wonder how much better the girl would do with a proper teacher. She could recall some of the highly important men and women who had been her tutors, governesses, and nannies. How well they understood children and how, with different instruction methods, each managed to show her a new and different side to the subject they taught.
Agnes had been raised to learn so many valuable skills. But she could not help but remember how lacking her education was socially. Of course, she did not want that upbringing for Georgia. An exact replica of her own childhood was simply unnecessary.
But it did not even need to be thought about. Georgia would not lead such a life, where all that mattered was her ability to recite history books and the Bible by memory, and her proficiency in household management and music. Nor would she lead a life like her brother, where all that mattered was her ability to dance and socialize and where her knowledge of essential life skills was permanently stunted by her parents' fear of overwhelming her.
There had to be a middle ground, where some social learning and some academic learning could be combined to fully satisfy Georgia's life needs. A way of ensuring she was educated enough to manage her own home and hold a conversation, but also personable enough to make true friends and find an excellent husband. That was what the girl deserved.
It was, in fact, one of the few things that were drawing Agnes to want to stay. She wanted to guarantee that Georgia had a better life than she herself had experienced. She wanted Georgia to be more like Talia, or even Leah, than herself. And now that she understood the error of her father's ways, she wanted to carry that knowledge over to Georgia and to ensure that she had it all.
As the lesson began that day, Agnes set out some new books and two sheets with words on them. However much she wanted to teach Georgia better, this was what she knew.
The girl picked up the sheet and furrowed her brow, looking at the letters.
"B," she said finally, pointing out a single letter on the entire page.
Agnes nodded. "Yes, Georgia, well done." Everything had to be praised.
But what good would this do if the girl wound up learning Agnes's own flaws?
Her goals had changed when it came to educating the girl, but she had no idea how to go about them. Sweetness was a mystery to her.
If anything, Agnes knew she stood to learn more about how to be pleasant and sweet from Georgia. She watched as the child passed her one of the pages, insisting on sharing every single thing she had.
It was Agnes's greatest fear for the girl that she would lose that.
Agnes did not want Georgia to lose her sweetness, her kindness, her sensitivity to others.
But, if educated by Agnes, Georgia just might lose all of that and more. She might learn how to be a bad woman.
As Agnes headed upstairs to put Georgia down for her nap, she was surprised to see the duke waiting for her outside the child's bedroom door. After a whole day of avoiding her, she had thought he would have kept it up. He did not appear to be waiting only to put Georgia down for her nap, as he was distractedly looking at the wall. He seemed oddly contemplative.
He jumped a little as he saw Agnes walking up to the door and he held it open as Agnes walked through, putting Georgia down in her cot bed. Not hearing the door click behind her, Agnes turned and saw that the duke was still waiting in the doorway. She looked back at Georgia, who had already curled up and almost immediately fallen asleep. Agnes tiptoed over to the duke.
"Have you reconsidered?" he asked quietly as they left the room and closed the door gently behind themselves. "Are you willing to stay?"
"I am not willing," she said flatly.
He glared at her a little. "Have you spent any of this week considering other possibilities?"
Agnes shook her head. "I have not, sir. This is all that I want."
She noticed him clench his jaw a little, then draw a deep breath. "I thought you agreed to reconsider?"
"I had already done much considering before I came to your office that day, sir," Agnes explained. "I had already considered everything, but I thought it was the right thing to offer Your Grace some time to think about it also."
"Well, I have been thinking even if you have not," he said somewhat indignantly. "And I have spent every day this week thinking of another way of convincing you to stay. Especially considering you said there was nothing at all I could offer you."
Agnes smiled. "I understand, sir. It must have been difficult to think of something that was not simply money."
"It was," he admitted. "To be fair, the very first thing I thought of was doubling your salary."
"That would be excessive," Agnes replied.
"Anything is worthwhile to persuade you to stay," he said. "Would it?"
Agnes sighed. "It would not, sir."
"I can offer you further benefits. Perhaps I could grant you an honorary title? Or unique privileges about my household? There are many benefits to staying here," he insisted.
Agnes shook her head. "There is nothing that I want which you can offer me."
He stared into her eyes for a second. "I could marry you," he finally s
aid.
Agnes felt the heat rising to her face so fast she was not sure whether to faint, slap him, or run. She drew a deep breath to steady herself and laughed nervously. "Not even that, sir."
He laughed back. "It was jest, it was jest, there is no need to look so alarmed."
She felt suddenly relieved that he had taken her shock for alarm and fear. Much better that way. "Why is Your Grace so desperate for me to stay?" she asked, eager to move away from the subject of marriage. It was embarrassing enough that she had believed a joke, even for a second. "I am only a governess. Why does it matter so terribly if I wish to leave?"
"It matters because you are needed here," he replied. "You are so much more than you seem to realize, so unique and important to this household."
Agnes found herself shaking her head again. "I am not. Georgia would fare much better with a selection of expert tutors than with one simple governess, Your Grace. In fact, I would highly recommend replacing my work with some tutors."
"You do not understand. She does not need you. I do," he replied, his expression cold as ice, his eyes hot as fire. "I have not been able to manage this house or the estate until you showed me how."
"And now you know how," Agnes replied. "I have done all I can, sir. You no longer need me, you simply want me here."
"Nonsense!" he exclaimed. "Every single day you assist in supporting this home. You help me to manage my affairs, you direct the housekeeper or the servants where needed. If you were to go, who would do that? Who would I turn to when I felt lost or stuck? What is more, who could I consider a friend? We have so very much in common, I feel our friendship is irreplaceable. So yes, I need you."
Agnes felt her heart pounding hard and fast as he spoke, and even then, she was not prepared for when he wrapped both arms around her, drew her in closer against his body, and buried his face in her shoulder with a panicked sob.
Without thinking, she lifted her hands and placed them on his back. They stood there like that for a second, relishing the contact. It was much needed. It did not even feel wrong or inappropriate any more.
"I shall stay," she said, holding him close, feeling his tears leaking through her dress to her skin, burning her.
He drew a deep breath through the sobs. "Thank you, Agnes," he replied. "You do not know what it means to me."
"I think I do. I do now," she replied, caressing his back.
Just like that she was back at square one again, unable to leave because of how much she loved this man. She could not hurt him like that. She would remain, at least until he could manage life on his own again.
"Please... tell me why you are so determined you do not belong here," he asked without even lifting his head. "I do not understand why such a strong, proud, well-bred woman would try and run away from the life she is used to."
Agnes sighed. "I am sorry, sir. But that is simply too personal to discuss as of yet."
It felt so ridiculous to say that as she hugged him, but what else could she tell him? The truth?
Chapter 25
"I am holding a ball," he said that evening at dinner. The announcement came entirely out of the blue, between bites of steak, casually as though nothing else had been on his mind for weeks.
It took Agnes a moment to put the words together in her mind and realize what on Earth he was talking about. When she did, she was still confused. "I beg your pardon, sir, but when shall this ball be held?"
He shrugged. "I am not sure. When is the best time to hold a ball?"
"It really depends on who you plan on inviting," she said. "What shall the guest list look like? Do you have some names yet?"
"I have not yet decided. In fact, I am not sure precisely how one holds a ball. But I am holding one," he insisted. "I simply need a little guidance. Preferably from yourself."
Agnes was not sure whether to be thrilled, confused, or angry that he had simply decided for her. But then it dawned on her. After all they had been through, after all the trouble they had put one another through, he was probably simply attempting to distract himself.
He was the sort of young man who most likely would go to balls for fun, to get a little tipsy and dance. And so, to him, it must sound like the perfect way of relaxing after a stressful week.
And Agnes could not exactly say she disagreed. Not least of all because she had never attended a ball.
Georgia had leaped to her feet and was dancing about, chanting about the ball. Agnes considered telling her to sit back down and continue eating, but decided there were more pressing matters at hand. Such as the duke asking her to perform a duty she had never performed before.
"Your Grace is fully aware that I have never attended any such event, are you not?" she asked, raising an eyebrow a little at him.
He nodded. "But you have no doubt read books about them, and will know the rules for one inside and out, do you not?"
"I have never held a ball, or even attended one, and yet you ask me to arrange one based on books?" Agnes replied with a slight shrug, more as a statement than a genuine question. "But I shall do my best to assist Your Grace in all pursuits, even those that make no sense to me."
He grinned. "Then it is decided. I shall hold a ball, and you shall arrange it."
"I will probably need a few books on the matter," Agnes replied. "It has been some time since I read anything about food and drinks, music, seating, and other such matters in the context of holding a ball."
"There should be plenty of books on that subject in the library," the duke replied, watching his sister as she spun around, pretending to dance to ballroom music. "I am sure you shall find what you need."
"It will be rather labor-intensive for us both, sir," Agnes reminded him.
"I actually thought it might take your mind off other matters," he said, his usual warmth manifesting. "I would like to see you happy, for a change. Especially after all the bad news and arguments."
Agnes nodded. "I understand you completely, sir. I simply want to remind you that a ball is not all pure fun from the perspective of the host. We have duties to attend to, we must make sure that everyone else has fun. It will likely be very tiring, and you may not enjoy it as much as you would have enjoyed attending balls."
The duke hesitated. "Then it shall be an invaluable learning experience for me, seeing as-"
He was interrupted as Georgia, who had made herself dizzy from spinning, fell against a shelf, causing a small book to fall from it, narrowly missing her head.
"Georgia, do sit down," Agnes insisted, pulling the girl's chair out and adjusting the cushion gently. "We are trying to talk about the ball, and if you injure yourself then there shall be no ball."
Georgia seemed dismayed and, with wobbly steps, tottered over to her chair and pulled herself up onto it, insisting on climbing up the side awkwardly rather than be helped onto her cushion.
Agnes watched, feeling the corners of her lips turn up in a satisfied smile, as the girl wiggled into place and accepted a napkin.
"Thanks, mama," Georgia said, taking the napkin and tucking it in slowly and determinedly. She muttered under her breath about the ball and dancing, but all Agnes heard were those first two words.
Her sentences got better every single day, and Agnes knew that before long the child would be arguing back rather than snapping a word or two here and there. But somehow all of that was overshadowed by a simple two words.
There was something so unique, so wonderful about being called "mama" by a child. It did not matter that she was not the girl's real mother. Agnes knew what it meant, she knew how important it was when a child felt that way about someone.
And hearing it made her feel warm from head to toe. All the duke's efforts to please her and make her feel as though staying was the right decision, but it took only two words to convince her. She had done the right thing, for Georgia, for the duke, for herself, for the household.
Agnes was not sure how she would overcome her blood and her prophecy, but whenever Georgia called her "mam
a" or the duke called her "Agnes" she felt a slight strengthening in her conviction that it was possible. Somehow, she would do better than her class, than her mother. She would go so much further than her family, or even life itself, expected her to.
She was duty-bound to succeed, to be a better person each day, and to do right by others.
She enjoyed that meal. It was the first meal in months that she was truly able to taste and enjoy. The tension between them all had dissipated. And her own worries had almost entirely faded into the background, where they only reared their heads briefly. And the color and beauty of life had returned, strengthening not only her will to live and to work hard but also her senses.
