by Fanny Finch
He followed close behind her. It felt unusual to have him doing so, and she felt a little nervous. Ordinarily, he would walk ahead, leading the way, and she would follow close behind. But now he was the one following, a little tipsy and uninvited, and a thousand warnings flashed in Agnes's mind.
Although she felt pretty certain that the duke was not that sort of man, she could not help but remember every time she had been warned about being alone with a young man, about single men, about men who had been drinking. In fact, had she not been warned against assuming anyone was "not that sort of man"? Should she be wary of him also?
Heading into the child's room, Agnes felt more comfortable again. Even if he was that sort of man, he was certainly not the sort to upset his baby sister. Looking down at the child, Agnes felt bad for even thinking that of him. The dark, late night made one panic, but the duke had been nothing but kind to her, even when she had been alone in his company before.
The girl was fine, breathing with long, deep breaths that stretched her little belly against the blankets like a slowly rising bread roll. Agnes suppressed a giggle. The girl looked so sweet.
Walking back out of the room, Agnes saw that the duke was still waiting for her. She smiled. "Georgie is perfectly fine. Sleeping safe and sound, as I had hoped. I should like to think that she was not disturbed at all by the ball."
"You didn't answer me," he said. "How did you enjoy your first experience of a ball?"
"I suppose it was alright, although it has made me reconsider if I like balls also," she replied.
"How come?" he asked.
Agnes shrugged slightly. "I do not think that I am the sort of person who enjoys socializing and dancing and drinking all night. I much prefer to be left alone. Social functions are simply too stressful for me."
"But you missed out on the dancing?" he replied.
Agnes shrugged again. "I suppose I did."
"Come here, you will dance tonight," he replied.
Before she could turn him down, he took her hand and began humming a waltz, leading her smoothly into the dance, his slightly glazed eyes staring deep into her own. She felt her heart thumping hard in her chest, a hot flush spreading across her cheeks, a tension in her stomach. She could not reject him now. She wanted to carry on.
Just like that, they danced in the hallway, a slightly tipsy duke and a tired, love-drunk governess. She wanted to dance closer to him. That would be nice. Perhaps he would change the tune he was humming and bring her body right up against his. It had been a while since he had hugged her, and she wanted to listen to his heartbeat once again.
For reasons beyond her understanding, Agnes could not help but laugh, although the situation was completely inappropriate. Why did that seem so amusing? But it did. She liked it. Their eyes met and she felt herself blush again. She was laughing because she felt genuinely, deeply happy at that moment. She was laughing in sheer, pure joy. She never remembered feeling so high, so excited, so full of energy and happiness.
He pulled her in a little bit closer, and although she could smell the sweet punch on him, she could also distinctly smell the scent of his skin. She wanted to bury her face in his chest and inhale. She wanted to fall asleep to that smell. Looking up into his eyes, she saw him gazing down at her still, full of love for her.
It was such a cruel torment, to be falling in love with a man who could never be hers. Did he love her? Earlier he had tried to kiss her, but he was inebriated. Perhaps he had been confused? And now he was dancing with her, but was it because he saw her as a friend and was simply having fun, or did it mean something else?
She slipped her hand out of his and stepped aside. "It is late, sir," she said, averting her gaze. "I must get to bed, and you should also."
He paused and then smiled. "Very well, I shall see you in the morning."
He did not move from where he stood as she moved two doors down and opened the door to her room. She looked up at him and their gazes met again. He was still smiling at her. She stood, frozen, for a few seconds, before opening the door and starting to move inside.
"I love you, Agnes," he said with a wide grin as she began to close her bedroom door. She just smiled and closed the door. She had no other reply to him.
After undressing she collapsed onto her bed, wondering again if he had meant it when he said he loved her, or if he was simply saying it for saying's sake. She stared at the ceiling.
The answer did not come to her, as she had fallen asleep.
Chapter 32
Agnes knew she had overslept as soon as she awoke to the sound of her bedroom door opening. Only one person came in uninvited, and he had only come in once before, in an emergency. She sat bolt upright before realizing she was still undressed and pulling the covers up over her bedclothes.
Sure enough, the duke was standing in the doorway, looking at her with a slight flush on his cheeks that indicated he had probably seen more than she wanted him to. It was times like these when she was glad she slept in a nightdress, rather than in a sheer gown or, heavens forbid, in the nude. Unwelcome intrusions to one's room and house fires were not events anyone planned for, but it was better to be prepared for them than not.
"Good morning, Your Grace," she said, glaring at him to let him know that his intrusion had bothered her.
"You overslept," he said with an understanding smile. He knew she was feeling a little rocky. He was probably feeling much worse himself.
Whilst Agnes had enjoyed a mere sip or two of a lightly alcoholic punch, the duke himself had been a little less reserved about his drinking, and seemed to now be paying the price. The tension of his jaw and neck suggested a headache, and his cracked, red lips suggested a dry mouth and throat. Agnes had never seen a hangover, but she had read about what ailed a man who had had a little too much to drink. One thing was a mystery to her though...
"Why are you even awake yet, sir?" she asked with a faint smile as she watched Georgia clinging to her older brother, still a little dopey from waking up, resting her head on his shoulder.
She herself was exhausted after a short sleep.
The duke seemed pretty alert.
"Headaches have a habit of waking me up," he replied. "I could not get back to sleep, so I decided to get on with my morning already. Though I still need to eat."
Georgia, focusing on Agnes, muttered something about being put down. Her brother placed her on the floor gently, where she wobbled a little before tottering over to Agnes. Agnes could not pick the child up without exposing herself.
Georgia instead climbed onto Agnes's bed, where Agnes embraced her and held her close for a second. The girl snuggled up closely, all but falling asleep again on top of Agnes.
"Not you too, Georgie," the duke said with a slight laugh. "Come back here."
The child grumbled.
"Georgie," the duke repeated, this time in a more warning tone.
Knowing that the duke would not be able to actually threaten or discipline the girl, Agnes nudged her from under the covers, making her slide onto the floor with a slow, soft thump. Georgia looked up at Agnes, stuck her tongue out and, standing up, rushed back over to her brother.
"I shall see you at breakfast," the duke said, scooping up the girl. "I can get her dressed and ready myself." Agnes noticed he was holding her slightly awkwardly, but she dismissed it as the child being difficult and fidgety again. She just nodded as he left the room.
Waiting a second so she could be absolutely positive that he was not coming back in, she got out of bed and began to get changed, the whole time slightly nervous, in case he came back in again.
He really needed to learn that just because it was his house didn't mean he could just barge into guest rooms uninvited. She would ask him for a lock soon.
Agnes watched the door the whole time she was getting dressed, feeling a little on edge especially after last night and... whatever it was that had happened, happened.
Once dressed, though, her eyes landed on her desk. The drawer
was slightly open. She knew she had not left it open this time. The duke must have opened it as Georgia was climbing onto the bed. Looking in, she saw a single letter, a copy of her apology to her relatives, on top of her mother's letter. That was not how she had left it either.
Counting the letters, she realized there was now twenty-one. The nineteen she had seen last time, the twentieth she had written when she thought she had not written enough, and this new one, the original twentieth one, which had gone missing in the first place. And now it had been returned by the duke, weeks after she had first noticed its absence.
Unless she had gone completely and utterly insane, there was only one explanation: he had taken her letter, read it, and returned it. But he had not brought it up with her. He had simply sneaked the letter back into the drawer and left it there. Why had he not brought it up with her? Why was it not worth discussing with her now, even though it was worth reading and holding onto for all these weeks?
She could never know, it seemed. If he had possessed the letter for so long without mentioning anything, then it was quite obvious that, for whatever reasons he might have, he had no intention of talking about it with her. He had not even wanted her to find out that he had taken it in the first place.
Agnes knew that if he would not confront her, it was up to her to confront him. And she had to now. There were too many important questions. Why did he feel it was within his rights to snoop about a lady's letters? Why had he taken that one? Had he read any others? Why had he wanted to read them? And why did he feel it was important enough to read and snoop around, but not important enough to discuss directly with Agnes? Such matters could not be left unaddressed. But, at the breakfast table, she did not wish to upset Georgia. She drew her chair out, sat down, and watched the duke.
He seemed a little on edge. He knew what he had done and, as he looked up at her, she realized he knew that she knew as well. He was probably already anticipating an argument of some description.
"Is anything the matter, Agnes?" he asked cautiously.
"I must speak with Your Grace a moment," she said, making close eye contact. "It is a most urgent matter. It should only take a moment, if you do not mind exiting into the hall with me."
He paused and looked down at his breakfast. "Very well. Vivian, please stay and make sure that Georgia eats well and, if we are not back first, is washed after her meal."
The maid curtsied and stood beside Georgia, who followed Agnes and her brother with her eyes until they closed the door behind them.
Agnes looked up at the duke. He smiled as though he had done nothing at all wrong, as though this were expected to be a simple, friendly conversation.
She could tell that he already knew but was playing along as if he had no clue what she wanted to talk about. This angered her a little but somehow endeared him to her even more. She could not explain it, but she felt her heartbeat grow faster, and for a moment she wanted to drop the matter entirely, to forgive the duke and to go back to breakfast.
But no. She had to ask him. She could not continue to treat him as though he were a child that needed protecting or a husband whose side she had to stick by whatever he did or did not do. He was simply a man. A wonderful, wonderful man.
She knew it was wrong, but even through his inappropriate behavior, his relaxed naivety made her love him more and more. It was all she could do to remain strict with him as she confronted him.
"You have been reading my correspondence," she said, glaring at him.
For a moment he held eye contact and she wondered if he was going to deny it. He sighed. "I have."
"Why?" she asked.
He shrugged.
"Sir, I need to know why you took my letters from my drawer, and if you merely read that one, and whatever else you may be hiding from me which shall invariably come to light," she said plainly.
He drew a deep breath. "I took that letter because I wanted to know why you were so continually hurt. And I have read them all."
Agnes froze on the spot. It was as though her entire world ground to a halt. "Even the one from my mother?" she asked under her breath.
He nodded. "Yes, even the one from your mother."
"So you know that she-"
"Yes," he interrupted her. "I know what she did. But I knew long before I read the letter. I found out when I investigated the rumors."
"And you did not tell me?" Agnes asked, feeling her heart aching.
"How could I repeat such terrible things to you? They may not have even been true," he said.
Agnes gritted her teeth and drew a deep breath. "No, sir. You knew and you hid it from me."
"I am sorry, I was simply worried about you," he said, averting his gaze. "I could not bear the thought of telling you such awful things, true or not. I knew how much it would hurt, how much it could ruin your life. How could I bring such things upon you?"
"And if you already knew where my mother was, why did you have to read my letters? Why did you have to take that one with you?" Agnes asked, feeling angrier by the second. "Do you know nothing of how a gentleman should act?"
"I needed to know why you were hurt!" he exclaimed, a slight panic taking over his face. "I care. I wanted to see if there was anything at all that I could do to take your pain away." The hint of a tear shone in his eye. "It was tearing me apart to see you in pain, to see how broken those letters had left you. I believed that if I took one with me and studied it, perhaps I could devise a way of taking the pain away, of making you happy again."
Silence swept over them, covering the hall like a blanket. Agnes looked at the duke's earnestly pained expression, and realized that he did, indeed, love her.
"Were you really so sad to see me upset?" Agnes asked under her breath.
The duke nodded. "I was. I still am. You are one of the best things to ever happen to me, to ever happen to this entire house. I know you were strict, and a little stuck up, but I liked that. I liked seeing you working so hard to make my life easier, to make me happier. I liked seeing the little sparks of joy and anxiety in your eyes whenever I gave you some aspect of the life you have left behind. It was so beautiful."
Agnes sighed and looked down at her feet. "I suppose, Your Grace, that you are one of the best things to happen to me also. And I am glad of your company, even if I am angry with you at present."
"I love you, Agnes," he said, eyes shining warmly. "Please, call me Victor. Say you love me too."
"I cannot," Agnes replied, facing away but still looking at him out of the corner of her eyes.
He stepped in closer. "Because you do not?" he asked nervously, as though he were genuinely afraid of the answer.
"No, sir," she replied, still trying to avoid eye contact. "Because I do."
The duke wrapped his arms around her and rested his head on her shoulder. No, this was too close. Too much. He could not be like this with her. He could not love her.
Chapter 33
"Your Grace cannot love me!" Agnes exclaimed, pushing him away. "It is wrong. It would be the ruin of Your Grace. And so soon in your life! Why cast it all away over someone like me?"
"I am not casting anything away, not anything that matters," he replied with a slightly nervous laugh, stepping in to try and hug her again.
She stepped back once again and shook her head. "No, sir. You are a duke. You have power and status and wealth. You are making an excellent impression on all of high society. They love and respect you."
"That means nothing," he said flatly. "You said so yourself: my father was a nobody in high society, despite being Duke of Portsmouth. He did not fare so badly, so how can it matter?"
"Why will you not even give yourself a chance?" she asked. "You could have it all."
"Because I do not care," he said, glaring at her. "I love you. You have made me happy for the first time since I lost my parents. You have made my sister speak and laugh again. You are one of the most beautiful people, inside and out, that I have ever met."
"I am not," A
gnes replied. "You know full well that I am not. You know where I come from. You know what is wrong with me, do you not?"
"Nothing is wrong with you at all. Who your mother is, who she is not, what she has or has not done with her life... why does that matter to you? You are your own person," he insisted.
"So you shall not protect your own good?" she asked.
"Not if it means rejecting you," he replied.
"Then I must be the one," Agnes said, too angry to cry or shout. "You would be wasting a whole life. I cannot allow it. I know how terrible it is. You do not."
