by Fanny Finch
Chapter 39
The next morning, beginning lessons with Georgia, was what cemented Agnes's decision for her. Although she felt ashamed for only seeing things through her own perspective, she knew she could change her point of view for long enough to realize how much the girl had progressed. And now she was looking for it, it was as though the veil of self-doubt had been lifted from before her eyes, and all she could see was the wonder that this precious girl had to offer.
She was speaking more and more words each day, and almost exclusively using her new words with Agnes, rather than with anyone else. She was beginning to try and express opinions, of which she had many, and to enforce her views on others, which she was not necessarily good at, but was very content.
But it was not only her progress with speaking that marked a dramatic improvement in her language skills: Georgia was reading. Not just her usual single letters or invented words, but actual whole words and the odd sentence. Agnes was not even sure when it had begun to happen, but this shy child who had previously been so ashamed of her inability to read that she would pretend she knew all along, was now actually reading.
Sitting down with Georgia, Agnes made a point of leafing through one of the child's favorite books and asking her about specific words and lines, in awe of exactly how many she knew and how many more she almost succeeded at reading.
Agnes was not sure why she felt so overwhelmed with emotion at this discovery, but she did. Finishing the book, she realized how blind she had been to the girl's progress. She had been so determined to deny her own influence and the girl's development under her tuition, that she had all but ignored the very real improvements in the child's skills.
The girl that stood before her now, holding the closed book with a confident smile on her face, was so much more than that small child Agnes had first met. The small, shy, orphaned girl she had met months ago had resembled Agnes more, of course. But that was not a good thing. Agnes had suffered her fate, and she now had an opportunity to guide another girl down a much better path, without the stigma of an absent mother or the confusion of lacking feminine support.
She hugged Georgia and held the child close. "I am so proud of you, Georgia, you did so well," she said.
"Does that mean that mama is staying?" Georgia asked, her words so much clearer than they had been, her voice so much older already.
"Yes, that means I am staying," she said, tucking the girl's hair behind her ear gently and slowly.
Georgia breathed a deep sigh of relief and grinned, leaping to embrace Agnes tightly, joy radiating from her. Then, she froze, releasing Agnes and stepping back cautiously.
"Will mama marry brother?" she asked quietly, her smile falling from her lips. Agnes could tell what Georgia meant by that. It must feel wrong to the poor girl, for her new mother figure to marry her older brother.
"Do you not want me to marry your brother?" Agnes asked softly.
Georgia scowled. "Mamas and brothers cannot marry, the Bible says so."
"If you feel better, your brother can be your father," she said, passing Georgia a new book. "I shall be your mama, and your brother shall be your father. And that way you would have two new parents."
"What about mama and papa in Heaven?" Georgia asked.
Agnes nodded. "They are still your mama and papa, but they cannot care for you right now. I shall care for you, and your brother shall care for you here and now. And when we all go up to Heaven, then your mama and papa will be your parents, and your brother and I shall be your brother and sister."
Georgia wrinkled her nose a moment, holding the new book close to her chest, seemingly thinking through the situation. "That's good," she finally said, sitting down and opening the book.
Agnes felt relieved that Georgia would accept her as a new mother and her own brother as a new father. It would make life much simpler for all of them, and create a more balanced home for the girl. But talking to a child about it was one thing. Accepting the proposal of a real, adult man was another. Agnes knew that he could have a different idea of how he wanted marriage to be, or he might even reject her proposal altogether and instead say he no longer wished to wed her. Rather than fret over the matter, Agnes carried on showing Georgia new words. Only simple ones, with letters she felt confident with. But there was something so deeply rewarding about hearing her repeat those words. And something so valuable about the distraction it offered them both.
Hearing a little noise from the far side of the room, Agnes looked up, seeing the duke hastily leave the doorway. How much had he heard? She felt a slight panic rising. Had he heard her say that she wished to marry him? What had he thought of it? Did he believe her?
She needed to know, but at the same time, she was bound by duty and love to finish the girl's lesson. So they continued reading, Agnes attempting to take her mind off things by teaching the child some new words, yet still counting down the minutes until she could next see the duke.
But when the time came to lay Georgia down for her nap, the duke was nowhere to be found. Of course, he was within his rights to take back his offer. But it felt different. It felt like he was avoiding, not the offer itself, but her. Like he was afraid of Agnes herself and not sure what to do. She was frustrated by this. She wanted to do the right thing, the proper thing, the thing which would help her and the duke, which would make a better life for them all.
She had seen the error of her ways and wanted to apologize, beg forgiveness, and finish that conversation, accepting his proposal, if it still stood. But wherever she looked, from his office to the garden, from the library to his quarters, he was either visibly absent or else did not answer when she knocked on the door. When she asked the staff in the kitchens, the stables, and the cellar, none had seen him all morning.
Tiring of searching and running out of time before she would have to awaken the child, Agnes decided she would wash her face to clear some of the light perspiration that had arisen from covering nearly the entire mansion. Agnes made her way to her room and looked in the desk drawer. In there were still the letters from her unknown relative and her biological mother, as well as the reference Lady Dorset had sent.
She poured the last remaining water from that morning's wash out of the jug and into the basin. It was no longer warm, but icy cold, and felt amazing on her face after so long marching up and down the overly warm building. As she scrubbed her face dry with a towel and tied her hair back up, she saw the drawer, which she had left slightly open, almost inviting herself back.
She had not made a decision just yet, of course. She told herself that she still had time to change her mind, to choose either way, to follow the path she believed was the noblest, the most righteous, the most suited to a person like herself, which most benefited the duke and his sister. She still had time to decide what any of that meant to her.
She could reply to her mother's letter. Send the reference to her new prospective employer. Just like that, it could all come to a close, just as suddenly and swiftly as her journey had begun. It was almost tempting, she had convinced herself so very well of how appropriate that path would be for her.
And yet she knew she was lying to herself. She knew she was telling herself these things because it was easier to follow a path one had already set out upon than to tread a new and unknown path. But there was only one option that would satisfy her heart. She had already made up her mind, and if she turned back on that choice, if she turned away from the future that held for her, she would be forever filled with regret.
Agnes thought of the woman who'd abandoned her, of all the terrible things which she had done, of the way she had left a girl behind, a girl who carried the same blood rushing through her veins.
Agnes thought of the family who'd rejected her, who had told her time and time again that she would only diminish the status of whoever was foolish enough to associate with her.
Agnes thought of the household which wished to employ her, who were willing to take her in as a governess and allow
her to live out her years in a manner befitting her station.
But then Agnes thought of the man who had raised her, who had sacrificed so much so as to give his daughter a chance to escape the curses of her past.
She thought of the motherless little girl, scared and alone, and the other motherless little girl, peacefully sleeping upstairs, her whole life still ahead of her.
She thought of the handsome man who wished to marry her, who had told her time and time again that she was a valuable, lovable human being, regardless of where her blood came from.
Yes, she could carry on as before, following the life that everyone expected her to lead, carrying the burdens of sins she did not commit, and living how her family wanted her to, all for nothing. Or she could create a new life and a new path for herself. A new identity, a new role, a new home and a new family. She cast the letters into the fire, watching the red and yellow tongues rip them and turn them to ash.
Epilogue
Although he had made himself hard to find all day, and after the child's nap Agnes was busy with the girl's introduction to the piano, he could not hide all day, much less in his own home. At dinner, there was no avoiding her. She walked in to see him already seated, looking as calm as he could. Their eyes met and he smiled a little, somewhat nervously.
"Good evening, sir," she said with a curtsy. What else could she say? It was his house, and he was a duke, she could hardly complain when he had a busy day. Even if she knew the true reason he was so evasive.
"I have something to say to you," he said, looking down, face flushing red. "It shall be difficult for me, but I must. Lara," he turned to the maid who was dusting the shelves at the far side of the room. "Please take Georgia out and show her the cakes that shall be served tonight."
Lara curtsied and took Georgia's hand from Agnes.
Agnes no longer feared this meeting. What was the worst-case scenario? She had contemplated every possible outcome already. All there was to know now was the end result.
"What is it you wish to speak of, sir?" she asked as the door clicked shut. "I trust nothing too serious?"
"You may be the judge of how serious it is, Agnes. As you have probably guessed, I have asked you here to apologize to you. I am sorry for being so controlling, for losing my temper with you and trying to treat you like a child," he said. "I suppose when I feel I am losing control, I attempt to compensate. And I went too far. I did not mean to insult you, or to hurt you."
Agnes shook her head. "It is no trouble, sir. I am more than capable of handling myself. I was never trapped here."
He nodded. "I understand that. But I would hate to part on bad terms. I... I do still love you. But if you wish to leave, you shall leave whatever it is that I say or do. And toying with you is hardly the way to persuade you to stay, or to return."
"I am glad that you understand that, sir," she replied with a smile.
"And, if you intend on leaving, I shall ensure that your future employers know what an asset you have been to me," he said, smiling back.
"So Your Grace would write a reference for my future employers?" she asked, looking him in the eye. "A good reference, that I could use to get a better job?"
"Of course. I shall not lie in it. But I do not need to lie in order to paint you in the best possible light," he replied, standing and walking over to her. "You are an amazing woman, Agnes. You have the best of both worlds in you, in every sense. And I am so thankful for all the work you have done here, for my sister and myself."
Looking up into his eyes, she saw the glow of love. "What made you change your mind, sir?" she asked.
"I suppose I realized that I was being immature. You have already suffered enough misfortune," he explained. "And if what you want from life is to leave here, to never see me again, then so it shall be. I can accept that."
"I am glad you are prepared to allow me to leave," she said, wondering how long she could continue playing with him like this.
He sighed. "I am not glad of it, but if it is what you want..."
"That's such a pity, Your Grace, now that I do not plan on leaving any longer," she said.
"I know-" He froze mid-sentence. "I beg your pardon?"
"I am not leaving, sir," Agnes replied. "I have given it some thought and what you said was true. You and Georgia need me, and I would gladly continue to care for you both and assist you in becoming the best members of high society you can be."
His eyes lit up. "I am so glad to hear so. You have made me one of the happiest men alive already!" He wrapped his arms around her and drew her in close. "So you shall stay? And it will be exactly as it has been?"
Agnes nodded. "If you wish it to be, sir. I can stay and continue to act as a governess to Georgia, and to support yourself in all of your social endeavors. However, I would much prefer it if we omitted the arguments and snooping around other people's rooms."
"Of course. Although I would still prefer it if you were to marry me," he said with a slight shrug. "But I suppose-"
"I would prefer it also, Your Grace," Agnes interrupted him.
She could see that beautiful shimmer of excitement in his eyes, and suddenly the tension left his face, making him seem his usual, relaxed self for the first time in a long time. They kissed briefly but were forced to part as the door opened and the maid, Lara, returned with Georgia. Agnes knew that their flushed faces would betray them, but she did not mind too much.
As they all sat down to dinner, Georgia eyed the two adults suspiciously, as though attempting to divine what it was that they had been talking about and why she had been excluded. She was getting more perceptive by the day, but Agnes knew it was up to the duke, and not herself, to break the news to Georgia. So she waited and watched him as he stirred his food around on his plate, not eating, only stopping to sip some wine or look up at her and smile.
"When shall we be wed?" he asked, putting down his fork, clearly too excited to eat.
"I would gladly marry you tomorrow, Your Grace," Agnes said with a wide smile. "I would marry Your Grace within the hour."
Georgia's eyes grew wide as she realized that it was going to happen. That event that she had talked to Agnes about earlier was going to become reality. "Brother will marry mama?" she asked.
"I shall," the duke replied, still dreamily looking at Agnes. For the first time since she had met him, he failed to read the tension in the room. He was too absorbed in his own thoughts. "Do you want a traditional wedding?" he asked Agnes.
"Does it matter?" she asked. Of course it did. Conventionally speaking. But neither of them was continuing convention. So what did it matter if they broke another unspoken rule?
He shook his head. "It does not. You can do as you please, to be fair."
Agnes blushed. "I had always had my heart set on a white or a pale pink dress," she confessed.
"It would look so lovely on you," he replied, eyes gleaming.
Georgia, briefly forgetting her distress, nodded. "Mama looks nice in pink."
She went ignored again. Agnes reached over the table and held the girl's hand gently for reassurance. Georgia looked up and smiled. Both continued listening to the duke as he carried on daydreaming aloud about the wedding. Something about it reminded Agnes of Georgia's list for the ball.
"And finally, I want you to invite a few friends. Maybe two. I shall do the same," he concluded. "You will, of course, be the one planning the event. I doubt I could manage it as expertly as yourself."
"I would like to invite three friends," Agnes mused. "I already have three in mind, you see. And I could not disappoint any of them by inviting the other two."
"You already have three in mind?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
She nodded. "I have only ever had three friends. So it is a fairly simple choice for me to make."
"Then I shall invite three also," he replied. "And the Duchess of Dorset, of course. Were it not for her, we would never have met, now, would we?"
Agnes was distracted briefly as Georgia let
out a slightly panicked groan. She was being excluded, and she also clearly seemed a little alarmed and a little confused by the whole conversation. Her little brow was knotted in frustration as she looked from Agnes to her brother and back again. "Will mama be sister, or brother be papa?" she asked.
"Neither," the duke replied. "It is not like that now, it is a new thing."
Georgia shook her head. She did not understand. She descended from her chair and clambered into Agnes's lap, wrapping her arms around Agnes's neck and hugging her closely. "Please, mama, don't go."
Agnes was not sure whether to laugh or cry as she wrapped her arms around the child. "Mama is not going anywhere," she said softly. "You will be our little girl. We shall raise you as our own."
