Agnes Or The Art 0f Friendship

by Catherine Bowness

  In the end it was the Viscount who came to the rescue, suggesting that Agnes and he travel back with his great friend, Mr Melkinsop, and his new wife. Agnes fairly jumped at the offer and went, on the Viscount’s supportive arm, to tell Louisa that she would not be travelling in the barouche-landau.

  “Oh, that is excessively disappointing!” Louisa exclaimed in an over-loud voice as though determined to silence her own feelings of relief. “Have you found a better offer?” she added with a waspish look.

  “Not that, precisely,” Agnes replied. “Nothing gives me more pleasure than to travel with you but, as I am sure you will be amply diverted by Lord Danehill, I have accepted a place in a carriage with my lord Hersham and his friends. I hope it will not inconvenience you.”

  “Well, it will,” Louisa said ungraciously. “Because now I cannot think who will come with us.”

  “It looks as though you may be obliged to go alone together,” Agnes said, watching the other carriages set off. “Will that not meet with your mama’s approval?”

  “It is an open carriage,” Louisa pointed out. “So I do not see how anyone could find anything improper in our travelling by ourselves, particularly since his lordship has eyes only for you.”

  “Nonsense! He has only fixed on me in order to get your attention. I don’t suppose you would have liked him at all if he had not shown an interest in me. After all, you did not care for him five years ago when you were presented.”

  “I hope I am not so childish,” Louisa snapped, her colour rising.

  “Well, if you are certain that you do not need me to act as chaperone,” Agnes suggested slyly, “I will leave you two together.”

  Louisa, seated in the barouche-landau with the Marquess at her side, was the last to leave Pevensey, the large vehicle following the much smaller chaise in which Agnes was ensconced with the Viscount and his friends.

  Neither spoke for some time, Louisa embarrassed by having achieved what she wanted without having in fact had a hand in the matter, he annoyed at being baulked of his prey and forced to submit, as he thought, to Louisa’s will.

  “I begin to think Miss Helman’s portrait of you gives an excellent indication of your character,” he said at last.

  “I was under the impression that was your belief all along. I had thought she could do no wrong in your eyes.”

  “I own I have not searched for her faults,” he said simply.

  Louisa bit her lip and stared fixedly out of her side of the vehicle.

  “I am sorry mine are so exceedingly obvious,” she said at last, sulkily.

  “I did not say that.”

  “No, but you have admitted you consider her to be without fault.”

  “I do not know her particularly well,” he said equably, “but, from what I have seen so far, she seems an admirable young woman although not, I am convinced, perfect. Which of us is?” he added lightly.

  “Well, you are certainly not!” Louisa snapped, her colour rising again. “Ever since you arrived in my house you have done your best to insult me, initially by standing up for the first dance with Agnes and then by pursuing her in the most obvious manner all this afternoon.”

  “Oh no, you judge me too harshly, Miss Newbolt. When I first arrived I seem to remember you ran off – or tried to – almost as soon as we had been introduced, saying that you had to fetch a young man from somewhere down the road. I own to having felt a little hurt at the time but I rallied, put my own feelings to one side, and offered to drive you. In the event, of course, the young man turned up on the doorstep before we had left but we still went and picked up Miss Helman instead, for whom you swore deep affection and eternal friendship.”

  “Did you take umbrage at that?” she asked, struggling to depress the hope that his coldness towards her was merely the manifestation of his smarting from what he had taken as a slight.

  “A little, as I say, but it is nothing to the fury you have expressed – and continue to express – at my effrontery in asking Agnes to stand up with me for the first dance. I had not realised it was such a formal occasion nor that it would upset you so greatly; to me it was merely a few couples dancing after dinner in the drawing room and Agnes, Miss Helman, seemed alone – and not acquainted with any of the other guests – so I took pity on her. I wanted to make her feel she belonged. Indeed,” he went on, warming to his theme, “as I understood her to be your dearest friend, I believed that you would be pleased that I had paid her attention.”

  “I was, of course; I see now that I should have thanked you for your kindness but everyone noticed and many thought it amusing that you had taken a cit’s daughter down a peg or two.”

  “That was by no means my intention,” he said with so much surprise that she knew he was speaking the truth. “Is this whole display of petulance on account of your belief that I despise you for your birth? Do you think that, if I had felt that way, I would have accepted the invitation to spend an appreciable length of time in your house? Fie, Miss Newbolt, you are taking offence where none was intended. Will it soothe your wounded feelings if I invite you to stand up first this evening – if there is to be dancing?”

  “No!” she exclaimed in a strangled voice. “Not if that is your reason. If you would rather dance with Agnes – and teach her the steps as you go along – pray feel at liberty to do so.”

  “No; I think on the whole I would prefer to dance with you; she has been avoiding me ever since luncheon.”

  “Have you formed an attachment to her?” she asked.

  “What, jealous, Miss Newbolt? I hardly know her!” he protested, laughing.

  But he had not answered the question and she was too afraid of eliciting the answer she dreaded to persist.

  “What entertainment is planned for tonight?” he asked after a pause.

  “I am not certain. I think Mama intended a game of charades at some point but she may think that, after such an exhausting day out, our wits will not be equal to the task.”

  “I should think many of us lack sufficient wit at any time although I daresay your intellect will dazzle.”

  Louisa stared at him. “Mine? I do not aspire to intellect, my lord. All I have are managerial skills.”

  “Which are no doubt a great deal more useful for getting your own way.”

  “Perhaps, although I am learning that even they are not so powerful as I had once believed.”

  “Or, rather, are you perhaps learning that, sometimes, getting what one had passionately believed one wanted turns out not to be quite what one expected?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have always understood it to be a part of growing up,” he said more gently.

  “I am a little old to be learning such things,” she retorted with a little twist of her lips.

  “It is always difficult when one is born with every advantage,” he explained. “One grows up believing that one can have everything one wants but must learn, eventually, that such is not the case. At the risk of sending you into another miff, I will mention your little friend again. She has not been much accustomed to having her own way and is, as a consequence, slow to recognise when it is being offered to her.”

  “I daresay you will be able to make it clear,” Louisa said bitterly.

  But this more elliptical approach to the Marquess’s feelings drew a blank. He did not reply but turned the subject to an innocuous discussion of the country through which they were passing so that, by the time they arrived at the house, they were more or less in harmony.

  It was not until a few days later that dancing was again proposed by Mrs Newbolt and accepted with apparent pleasure by everyone present. This time Agnes insisted on seating herself at the pianoforte, thus avoiding a repetition of the first evening’s awkwardness. The Marquess duly led out Louisa and the evening passed pleasantly enough.

  Halfway through Mrs Newbolt insisted on Agnes ceding her place at the instrument to Miss Harrison so that she would be free to dance. She was soon snapped up by the Marquess, s
wiftly followed by the Viscount. Later still, she stood up with Mr Armitage, who had not come on the picnic, saying that he felt he should spend the day with his mama.

  “She misses you,” he said awkwardly.

  “I miss her too,” she replied. She was beginning to think that, although her life had threatened to be engulfed in tedium at the cottage, it had at least not involved her in a constant game of cat and mouse with the man to whom she strongly suspected her greatest friend had formed an attachment.

  The late-night sessions in either her or Louisa’s bedchamber had come to an abrupt end and Agnes was beginning to suspect that Louisa wished she was not there.

  “My brother is already much stronger and can walk by himself now, although he is still a trifle shaky,” Mr Armitage continued.

  “I am glad. Has he any plans for the future?”

  “Do you mean does he intend to throw out the tenants and repossess his own house? Yes, I believe he does but says he must wait until the contract has run its course, which will not be for another few months yet. I suggested he come to London for a time which might, I hoped, lift some of his despondency. However, he was adamant that he had no wish to return there, at least at present.”

  “No. I daresay despondency is a natural progression of his illness as he becomes stronger. In addition, I am persuaded he does not feel he can leave your mother at present.”

  “I believe that is part of his thinking although he has not said so, particularly since he is conscious of having asked you to leave. I am toying with the idea of finding a relative nearer to London where my mother could stay for a time and where it would be easier for me to visit her. He would then be free to pursue his own interests.”

  “But do you want him to do that?” she asked cynically, assuming the elder brother’s interests were not ones of which either his mother or brother approved.

  “Not particularly,” Mr Armitage conceded. “But I do not like the turn his mind has taken. He is exceedingly low.”

  “That must be distressing for your mama,” Agnes hazarded, picturing the mother and son glowering at each other across the table.

  “I own it is – and I myself find it worrying. I fear he might do something foolish in such a mood.”

  “Good God! What in the world do you mean?”

  “Oh, I am not afraid that he will actively take his own life but I do fear that he will put it in jeopardy – as of course he did when he joined up.”

  “Could he not take back the management of his estate even if he is unable to take up residence immediately? Perhaps he could ride over – is he able to ride yet, do you think? – and speak to his manager – begin to put plans for the future in train?”

  “I will suggest it but, to be perfectly frank, he has neither a horse nor riding attire at present.”

  “Oh! Well, I suppose he could drive.” It was beginning to strike Agnes that Mr Armitage himself had been somewhat afflicted with the low mood which appertained at the cottage.

  “I think,” he said hesitantly, “that they would both appreciate a visit from you if you could find the time.”

  “Would they? I thought they had decided they did not need me,” she replied with a touch of bitterness.

  “My mother never thought that but was obliged to fall in with John’s wishes as it is he who …” Mr Armitage’s voice tailed off in embarrassment.

  “Would be expected to pay my wages,” she finished.

  “Yes; I am sorry.”

  “There is no need for you to be sorry; I will call within the next few days – the next time everyone goes off on a riding expedition, perhaps.”

  But it did not in the end turn out quite that way although a riding expedition was arranged a few days later.

  Agnes drifted away to the library, intending to set off for the cottage as soon as the party had left, but she was thwarted by the Marquess following her.

  He had discovered that the library was one of the places to which she retreated and, almost as soon as she had taken her usual seat in the window and opened her sketchbook to tidy up some of her drawings, he came into the room.

  “Hiding again, Miss Helman?”

  “By no means, my lord, but, as I do not ride, I thought I would take the opportunity to do some work.”

  “Have you begun to paint your pictures yet?” he asked, advancing towards her.

  “No; I will have to buy some paints before I can do that,” she admitted with a little smile. “I was using Lady Armitage’s when I was at the cottage.”

  “And you will need money before you can do that,” he concluded.

  “Well, yes.”

  “Have you been paid for the time you spent there?”

  “I own I have not yet but I am aware that they are exceedingly embarrassed in that department,” she admitted. “I am sure they will settle the matter as soon as they can.”

  “Are you? It is a family well-known for running up debts so I would not be too optimistic, if I were you. Have you put in a bill? That might be one way to tackle the problem.”

  Agnes inclined her head but said nothing. She had discovered that, although she had found the courage to attempt portraits of her fellow guests, she still lacked the requisite boldness for demanding money from her erstwhile employer.

  But Lord Danehill evidently had something on his mind other than Agnes’s unpaid wages for he did not pursue the matter. He said, “I came to ask you something, Miss Helman.”

  “Indeed? Will they not be waiting for you outside?”

  “I have decided not to go and have already made my excuses. I wanted to speak to you when we were not in danger of being interrupted.”

  Agnes still said nothing for she was suddenly afflicted with the most terrible presentiment: the Marquess was about to make her an offer.

  “You look anxious,” he said, sitting down beside her on the window seat and removing the sketchbook and pencil from her hands.

  Still she could find nothing to say but her heart began to beat wildly.

  “I think you have guessed how I feel about you,” he began, taking her hands and holding them in a strong clasp.

  “You have been very kind, my lord,” she murmured weakly and ambiguously.

  “I have wanted above all to impress you with my character,” he said. “I had a suspicion - at first - that you did not altogether approve of me – and very likely you had some justification for your opinion. I have not always behaved with the probity which informs your own actions and by which I believe you set store. I am aware that I do not deserve you but, in spite of that, I am determined not to allow that which I desire with all my heart to slip away merely because I have not the courage to speak.”

  “Pray, pray do not, my lord,” Agnes begged, looking into his face with such earnestness that he flushed.

  “I must,” he countered with an intensity that almost frightened her, “although I already know, from the way you are trying to prevent me from continuing, that your initial reaction is negative; indeed, I am not unaware that for some days now you have tried to avoid me but still I am determined to speak. Miss Helman, Agnes, I have fallen deep in love with you and beg you to make me the happiest man on earth by becoming my wife.” This last was said in something of a rush after the touchingly hesitant style of the opening words. He was, as he had said, determined to finish what he had begun although he already knew that he would not receive the answer he wanted.

  “Oh, my lord,” she said hopelessly, her voice hoarse with unshed tears on his behalf for she knew that he spoke the truth.

  “I cannot,” she went on while he waited. “I am so very sorry, but I cannot.”

  Chapter 27

  “You do not love me,” he said flatly. It was not a question and she did not answer.

  “I know you do not,” he continued, “but I believe you do not hold me in such strong dislike as you did when we first met. Can you at least confirm that I am right there?”

  “Yes, you are right. I have grown to resp
ect and – and like you, my lord. But I do not love you and I do not believe that I would make you happy.”

  This last was a mistake because it gave him cause to hope that he might be able to persuade her to accept if only he could find the right argument.

  “There I fear I must disagree with you. I can conceive of nothing more likely to make me happy – indeed nothing that ever will make me happy – other than for you to become my wife. If you do not love me now, I hope I will be able to persuade you to do so in time; after all, you have already moved from positive dislike to liking in a short time. Surely it can be but a step from there to the sort of love which I believe, hope, you may one day feel for me. I promise I will not be an exacting husband; I will allow – indeed encourage – you to follow your own heart in every direction except one: I own I could not tolerate your bestowing your affection upon another. I hope you will continue with your ambition to become a portrait painter; naturally, I shall be excessively proud when the Marchioness of Danehill is acknowledged as Society’s favourite portraitist.”

  He paused here and she smiled fleetingly but kept her head turned away; she did not want to meet his imploring eyes for fear they would make her weaken.

  After a moment, he went on, “I am not a wealthy man, although I possess many hundreds of acres of land. I have been extravagant and have not managed my estates as well as I might have done, but I promise to try harder to make a profit once I am married.

  “As you have no doubt guessed, I did come here with the intention of making Miss Newbolt an offer; unfortunately, I have fallen in love with you. I have wrestled with my heart; I have pointed out to it that my property would be enhanced by a match with her but it has remained adamant that nothing will do for it but to have you. Rest assured that I can provide for you adequately, even generously: I can buy you any number of paints; you shall have all the gowns you desire – and all the jewels. It will be my greatest pleasure to provide you with a beautiful and gentle horse to match your beauty and gentleness. My dearest Miss Helman, I have lived more than forty years without losing my heart until I met you. Will you not consider me? I will be a most devoted husband and swear that I will respect your wishes in every way.”