by Fanny Finch
Agnes was hoping that it was the latter and not the former. Not only was she prepared for such intrusions, but she was also wholly unprepared to handle her replacement, such a sweet and gentle girl, being hurt or otherwise suffering at the hands of fate. She would write to the girl's parents the next day if she did not hear any news from their home sooner than that.
As Agnes carried out Georgia's lesson that morning, she could tell the girl was glad it was with her and not with the new, strange woman she had been promised. Georgia was closer than ever to Agnes, excited and happy to talk to her, and always chatting.
Someone else was happy she was still there. Feeling observed, Agnes looked up to see the duke standing in the doorway again, watching the lesson taking place. He seemed a little distracted, a little annoyed, as he continued watching her closely, his eyes almost accusing her of something.
Their eyes locked, but this time he did not walk away, even as Agnes continued to stare at the door. For a few seconds, she wondered if perhaps he would retreat. But no, she knew he would not. Turning back to Georgia's lesson, Agnes decided at least she should confront the man about his snooping.
"I thought I said that Your Grace's sister did not need Your Grace's presence during her lessons?" Agnes said, knowing she was being rude but unsure what else to do or say. "Or are you making it a habit to intrude upon my privacy, in some way or another, at all times?"
"I am simply wondering why you are still looking after Georgie," he said. "I thought you had quit."
"I am not supposed to be a governess any more, but the replacement never arrived. I have asked for another one from the school," Agnes explained, trying to avoid looking at him. "But until someone arrives to take my place, I see no reason why Georgia should not continue her lessons as usual."
"The new governess? You mean that young girl from the next village over? I saw her at the door and asked her to leave," he said flatly. "I did not like her. I was not sure she would do a good job with Georgia."
Agnes gritted her teeth and drew a deep breath. "Sir, I know full well that you are not the type of man to judge based on appearances. I can only assume that you rejected her not because of how she looked, but because you wanted yet another excuse to hold me here even longer."
He shrugged. "I suppose you are correct. But you cannot deny that you will remain until Georgia has the support she needs, and maybe the only support she needs is not from some woman she has never met, but from you, her governess."
"Your Grace knows that I shall not stay regardless of what is asked of me," Agnes said. "I will remain until the next governess arrives, or until my reference arrives, but from then, even if you shall continue to fire governesses or turn them away at the door, I will be leaving."
"And leaving Georgia without a tutor or a governess?" the duke asked.
"If I must," Agnes replied, gritting her teeth again, trying her hardest to not let her temper get the better of her, to not allow herself to utter anything she might regret too deeply in time. "After all, it may be my responsibility to care for her whilst there is nobody else, but it is Your Grace's responsibility to ensure that someone else arrives and begins teaching her in a timely manner, so that I may leave. I will not wait on your- on your... poor decisions."
He fell silent and looked aside a moment. "It is time for her nap," was all he said.
Agnes sighed. "It is."
As they took Georgia upstairs, she nuzzled into Agnes's neck, sighing contentedly. Bit by bit the child slowly fell asleep on top of her governess. Once lowered into the cot, both Agnes and the duke watched as the girl fell asleep, her heavy eyes staring lovingly up at her brother and her governess. She seemed to be in a sort of blissful peace as she drifted off, clutching her blankets.
Agnes stood there a moment longer, looking down into the cot. The poor child had endured so very much already. It would not be fair to force her to go through even more. But Agnes was not the one forcing her to. It was her own brother, in his misguided attempts to keep Agnes present, who was sabotaging his sister's future. And it was not her duty to stay and undo the duke's mistakes.
Looking up to tell him so, she saw he had left. Agnes breathed a sigh of relief. But she did not wish to stay with Georgia. It was too unfair, too painful.
All she wanted was to be permitted to leave quickly and easily, to break free of her present position and begin working somewhere else, away from temptation.
But the more time she spent near the duke and the girl, the more painful that parting would be. Did he not see that by delaying the inevitable he was only hurting them all? Did he not realize how he was ruining Agnes's carefully laid plans?
As she stepped out of the room, he was still waiting for her outside. She froze and smiled nervously. "What is the matter, Your Grace? Can I help with anything?"
He shook his head. "I was simply waiting for you." He stepped in closer.
Just as that one time previously, he had left enough space either side of himself that she could move down the hallway and escape him. Her hand was still on the doorknob, and she knew she could duck back into the child's bedroom.
But she did not want to. As he stepped closer again, gazing down into her eyes, Agnes could feel her heart melting. As he leaned down over her, she knew what was going to happen, but this time, unlike at the ball, she allowed him to.
His lips met hers. They were so soft, so piping hot, like the rest of his body. There was a gentle tickling feeling along her own lips as he kissed her, slowly and gently, placing a hand on her waist and pulling her in, close against his body. She felt stunned, unsure of what to do or say next. But without realizing it, she was kissing him back, gently moving her lips against his, breathing a soft sigh of relief. She needed it. She accepted it. She adored it.
This kiss was the culmination of weeks of waiting patiently, of hours of endless pain and self-denial. She might never have another chance again, and, just this one last time, she wanted to break the rules and seize her moment.
She loved him. With all her heart and soul, she loved him. If only she were not an absolutely ruined woman, perhaps he could love her back and all would be well. If only she were a more dignified person, someone with better parents, a title to her name, and some money, she would not feel as though she were short-changing the man with her kiss. Although she was an unwed, virginal young woman, he was losing so much more by kissing her than she was by kissing him.
But he tasted, felt, and smelled so divine that, although she knew it was not a fair exchange, she relished it. It was not hurting him, after all. It was not her duty to make up for his mistakes, after all.
She ran her fingers through his hair as they kissed, fully losing herself in the moment, knowing that something so magical, so beautiful, so sensual and romantic would probably never happen to her again so long as she lived.
He broke the kiss and smiled as their gazes met. His mouth was wet and his cheeks were flushed bright pink. His hand raised and the back of it slowly caressed her own cheek, his fingers hot as fire against her own skin. Her hands fell from his head to his shoulders.
"Does that mean that you are staying, Agnes?" he asked.
"No, sir, I must still leave," she replied breathlessly.
His eyes fell and he sighed sadly.
"Sir, whatever is wrong with me, I carry. I have my mother's blood in me. It gave me her hair, her eyes, and probably whatever wickedness she carried in her soul," Agnes said. "I cannot leave it behind me, or send it away. It is forever entwined with my heart and soul. If I am truly my mother's child, I cannot ask you to bear the burden with me."
"I would rather bear that burden than the burden of solitude," he replied, gazing into her eyes, leaning in, and kissing her again.
Once more she let him, his mouth gently and warmly brushing hers, driving the butterflies in her stomach into a frenzy. He broke the kiss again slowly, barely separating their lips a fraction of an inch, just enough so he could speak.
"And, for what it i
s worth, I still believe you carry much more of your father in you than your mother," he said, caressing her cheek and leaning in to kiss her once again.
Chapter 38
She hid from him for the next few days. It was wrong. It was all so terribly wrong. She loved him, and he loved her. But he did not know what a tragic life it was to be ruined. He did not realize all she had been through due to losing her status, all that she had left behind when she moved into this life. He would never understand her pain.
She had lost it all, after all. Her power, her title, her family, her wealth, her home. Everything she had known and loved was gone now. She had been stripped of her future, of her rightful place as a noble lady, of her marriage prospects. And she had even been stripped of her past, of her mother's supposed noble heritage, of her father's gentle and loving nature.
Every aspect of her existence had been taken away from her. How could she put the man she loved through such dreadful torment also? He deserved better than that.
But Agnes could not trust herself to care for him, to look out for his well-being the way she ought to as a lady. Especially not when, knowing all she knew, she acted like a child. Rather than moving back, rejecting him, and continuing to bother and hurt him until he let her be until he was happy to free her because she was more trouble than she was worth... she embraced him.
She welcomed his advances in the undignified manner of a simple peasant girl, or worse. Of course, no better was to be expected of her. She was not the product of nobility, but the product of a simple woman from a humble background and an upbringing consisting of abandonment and lies. But that did not justify her actions, even if it explained them.
Even worse, Georgia was growing ever closer to Agnes, never wanting to leave her governess's side, always calling her "mama" and refusing to change her mind about this. Agnes was her "mama", in the girl's mind. As the duke had said, Georgia did not see Agnes as a biological parent, but rather as a person who was filling the role of "mother", who was plugging the gap left by her parents' death. It was too late to prevent the attachment, and the only thing Agnes could think of was leaving as swiftly as possible, to make sure that the impact of being left alone yet again did not hurt the child too much.
She knew it would never be a good thing. After all, Georgia would be going through the same issues she herself had gone through as a girl. But it would be better than being raised by a morally tarnished woman, would it not?
It was almost a relief when the letter arrived from the Duchess of Dorset's School. Now she would finally be able to leave.
"My dearest Miss Hubbard,
I am so sorry to hear what trouble you have been undergoing. I am sure that you have endured more than you can bear, and that you will benefit from the adjunct reference. It must be quite distressing to you, to reject the unwelcome advances of your employer and to face his wrath, but I would ask you to retain your composure and recall that he has been through some trials of his own. He is acting most out of character and is sure to become only more pleasant with time.
And yet, Miss Hubbard, I must wonder why you would not wish to marry the Duke of Portsmouth. He is an eligible young man with quite some standing. His reputation is on the up and up, and his wealth and power are increasing also. If I were in your position, seeking to rejoin high society, I would certainly consider my options regarding marriage. And one could do far worse than a young, handsome, well-connected duke.
Were you to have said that he is an unapproachable man, or an unattractive one, or an ungodly one, perhaps I would better understand your hesitation. But the only reason you have given for your lack of interest appears to be the social order you wish to maintain. Miss Hubbard, you are such a respectful young lady where society's wants and needs are concerned, but if you shall put social order before your own desires even in such important matters, you may be giving too much value to a matter that is not so serious as you may believe.
I fully understand that perhaps he is not to your liking. It is wholly possible that you find him in some sense a detestable man you are incapable of marrying. Yet you gave no indication of that. If anything, knowing that you care for his welfare and that you would not want Georgia to endure the same lonely and motherless childhood as you did yourself, I would ask you to consider if you are not being perhaps too rash in departing.
Yours sincerely,
The Duchess of Dorset"
For a second Agnes wanted to consider what the woman was saying. After all, it touched on several things that were of the utmost importance to Agnes herself. Perhaps her own wants and needs were more important than she had thought? Perhaps she was being rash?
No, it was easy for the duchess to say that. She did not know. ... Except she did. She knew well. She was one of the most powerful, well-connected older ladies in the country. She, of all people, could easily tell what would work and what would not when it came to the complex dances of noble social strata. And if the duchess approved such a union, perhaps it could be arranged to benefit them both? Agnes still felt her doubts rising, but the duchess's letter had given her much cause to think.
Especially that last part. Especially that fear in the back of her mind that by leaving Georgia, she would be doing the same thing to the girl that her own mother had done to herself.
On the one hand, she had already made up her mind that she was doing the right thing by leaving. But she always chastised the duke for not listening to the words of someone more socially aware than himself. Now it was her turn to pay close attention to the duchess and consider her. The duchess knew what was respectable and good in society. More so than Agnes's own bickering relatives.
Perhaps her family was wrong? Perhaps they were not acting in accordance with the dynamics of high society, but rather were simply tolerated? Perhaps a union such as that between herself and the Duke of Portsmouth would be respected by others like the duchess, and the various other earls and dukes Agnes had heard of and never met?
For the first time in a long time, Agnes made her way downstairs to join the Duke and Georgia for dinner. They seemed a little surprised when she walked in, but she did not announce herself or act as though it were out of the ordinary. She merely curtsied, drew out her chair, and sat down in her place.
The duke continued to stare for a few seconds before smiling warmly and continuing eating. Georgia started gaily talking to Agnes, as though she were there every dinnertime and yet as eagerly as if they had not met for many weeks. A servant stepped up and began carving Agnes some ham, which was piled high on the plate that was already waiting in her place.
It was so sweet how, even as she refused to dine with him, he had asked to have the table laid for three yet again, just in case she wanted to stop by and eat with them. It was so kind that they still thought of her as part of the family to a point where she would always be welcome at the table.
As she began eating her ham and roast potatoes, Georgia carried on talking, and the duke, setting his fork down, simply watched over the table, taking in the scene, an expression of warm satisfaction on his face as he looked out upon his little family. His new family. The family he had chosen for himself and that, in a sense, had chosen him as well.
"Will you stay after dinner to talk?" the duke asked.
Agnes knew what he wished to talk about. But she was not ready to discuss these matters yet. She was not even sure what she thought of the situation yet.
"No, I must leave and get some rest," she said, trying to be as friendly as possible. "I received a letter earlier and have many things which I need to think about."
The duke nodded. He did not touch his plate for the rest of the meal, rather choosing to talk to Georgia and Agnes, and watch them as they finished their food and spoke to one another over two coffees and one warm milky drink with a little sugar in it.
***
Agnes knew she would be kept busy thinking about her situation, but she did not realize exactly how busy. She had been so convinced of her own correct
ness that she had not even considered the other perspectives. Even when the duke had given her a week to think things through, she had only stayed out of pity, not out of understanding.
But lying awake that night, unable to sleep, she realized the duchess was correct in some senses. Or in all senses. He needed her. He was doing so much better for her company and what was more, he loved her. And she loved him, she could become a duchess, a member of higher society once again. She could return to the world she was raised in, to the only world where, despite her humble heritage, she had ever truly belonged. If their union had the potential to save them both, then what would the harm be?
That was even before considering Georgia. The duchess's words lingered in Agnes's mind. A lonely and motherless childhood. And that was exactly what Agnes had experienced. That was what Georgia would be facing, without Agnes. Her biological mother had died. And now the next person to fill the role was leaving? Agnes knew full well that the girl would not bounce back from losing a second mother. She would grow up bitter and without female company. She would perpetuate a cycle of suffering.
