by Regina Scott
“What you term ‘sabotage’ is simply me refusing to pretend I am something other than what I am. If the Warricks choose me, Father, they will have to choose me, even with all my quirks and oddities.”
That was the Agatha he had come to know. In a Society that valued appearances to the point of insisting on false fronts and fabrications, she refused to be anything other than her true and authentic self. That required a level of bravery few could claim.
“We endure your eccentricities because we are your family,” Mr. Holmwood said, “but this is not a leisurely summer spent at home away from people. This is a chance at a fortune, not merely for you, but for your entire family. This could save us all, and you are refusing to even try.”
“I will not pretend to be something I am not.”
“‘Something you are not?’ You mean, ‘selfless’?”
Edward felt the sting of that rebuke all the way in the corridor.
“How have I been selfish, Father?” It was clearly a question meant to point out his error in judgment, but Mr. Holmwood answered bluntly.
“You have placed your pride above your family’s well-being. You have turned your nose up at this opportunity in order to prove that you are above the others here—the others who, I would point out, are doing their utmost to save those they love from ruin.” His words were sharp and reproving. “But that, it seems, does not matter to you.”
“How can you say that? I have set aside my dignity time and again begging for the things this family needs.” She spoke not out of wounded pride but, judging from the pain in her voice, as a result of wounded feelings. “The needs of this family have always trumped my self-respect.”
“I am not speaking of charity baskets or an extra week to pay the coal merchant. This is a solution to our troubles, not a bandage.”
“That our family is bleeding financially is not my fault,” Agatha insisted, “nor is it my responsibility to fix it.”
“You are right. The responsibility is mine, and I wish there were another means of making it right. There are no other options, no other chances for reversing the situation I, and this family, inherited.”
“Father—”
“I have arranged for you to take tea with Mrs. Warrick this afternoon. I expect you to do what is right by your family.”
“You wish me to assume a mask, to pretend I am something other than what I am?” A hint of defiance had entered her tone, and yet Edward could not mistake the hurt underlying it.
“I expect you to think of your family and their precarious situation. I expect you to act in a way that shows you consider yourself part of this family and appreciate all we have done for you.” There was something of a threat in his words, though Edward couldn’t immediately identify it.
“Of course I consider myself part of our family.”
“Then act like you do, Agatha. If you aren’t willing to sacrifice for us, then I don’t know that we can continue sacrificing for you.”
There was the detail Edward hadn’t been able to put his thumb on. Whether or not the threat was an idle one, he couldn’t say, but Agatha’s father had essentially warned her that if she did not participate in the Warricks’ game of chance, if she didn’t abandon her self-respect and grovel as expected, her family would turn their backs on her.
Mr. Holmwood said nothing more. He left the room with determined stride, walking in the opposite direction of where Edward stood. He hadn’t been seen there, listening. But he had most certainly heard, and his heart ached for Agatha.
He peered inside, unsure what he could or ought to do. The sight of his usually indomitable Agatha standing with her head hung low made the decision for him. He stepped inside and directly to her.
“You’ll think me the worst sort of busybody, but I overheard.”
She looked up at him, worry and uncertainty in her eyes. “What did you overhear?”
“Most everything,” he admitted.
She shook her head. “I mean, what did—I know what I think my father meant, but I’m not certain. What did you hear? What did you understand from what he said?”
Ah. He set his hand on her back and guided her to the window seat. He sat beside her, disliking the worry that marred her features. “I do not know your father well,” he reminded her, “so I cannot guarantee that I am accurately interpreting his words.”
She nodded her understanding.
“On the surface, at least, it sounded as though he is demanding your active participation in the Warricks’ competition on threat of being cut off.”
She sighed, her shoulders dropping. “That is what I heard as well.” She threaded her fingers, her gaze unfocused ahead.
“Would he follow through, do you suppose?” Edward couldn’t help being worried for her. The world was a cruel one for a lady alone, without family or finances.
“I don’t know. He has mentioned the family’s sacrifice in keeping on a daughter with so few prospects, but always as a means of inflicting guilt, not as a threat.”
“He dangles that sword over your head?” What kind of father does that to his own daughter?
Agatha stood and paced away. “What if—What if he truly does decide to stop ‘sacrificing’ for me? What if he truly does cut me off?”
“I can’t imagine he would.” He hoped not at least.
“I’ve never seen him so angry. He is usually cheerful—a bit frazzled at times, perhaps, but generally hopeful. He is determined to be the victor in this.”
“Determined enough to punish his own daughter?” Edward asked.
She turned back to face him. Her eyes had lost their sparkle. Not a hint of a smile tugged at her mouth. “I think he might be.” Her hands clutched one another. “What do I do? Even with my best effort, there is little chance of being selected as the Warricks’ heir, but if I don’t convince my father that I am tossing myself wholeheartedly into the fray, I might not have a home to return to. Simply failing to be selected might be seen as enough of a failure in his eyes to justify tossing me into the hedgerow.”
Edward rose and crossed to her, setting his hands on her arms. “He seems a more reasonable man than that. His threat, I am certain, was meant only to spur you into action. Surely he won’t act upon it.”
Her eyes belied his bravado. Good heavens, she believed her father capable of so ill-using her. She truly believed it.
“Oh, Agatha,” he whispered, agonizing for her.
He wrapped his arms around her. She clutched the front of his waistcoat and rested her head against his chest.
“What will I do if I lose my home?” she asked from within his embrace. “I have nowhere to go.”
In that heartrending moment, he missed the lighthearted Agatha he’d come to know the past few days. He missed her smile, missed her humor. More than that, he hated the reason her laughter had disappeared so entirely. His own sister had nearly been forced to sacrifice her happiness for the family’s financial well-being. He’d intervened then, insisting on a compromise, and he’d somehow been successful. But he hadn’t the right to interfere this time.
“Will throwing yourself into the fray be less miserable for you if I do the same?” he offered. “We can both feel ridiculous together.”
“I can’t ask you to do that,” she said. “I know how adamantly you oppose it.”
“You aren’t asking,” he pointed out. “I am offering, willingly.”
“But not happily,” she countered.
He pulled her in ever closer and lowered his voice. “Seeing you hurting makes this important to me, Agatha. If participating in the Warricks’ competition will relieve even a bit of your misery, then I will do so happily.”
“Careful there, Edward. I will begin to believe you think rather highly of me.” The first hints of her usual teasing tone trickled into her words.
Relief flooded over him at the sound. “I do rather like you, even if you are particularly bad at quoits.”
He felt her silent laughter in the moment befor
e she pulled back. His arms slipped away from her. She offered a tremulous smile.
“Thank you,” she said. “I feel better. Not great, mind you, but better.”
He hoped his smile was encouraging. “We’ll convince your father that you are important to your family and they are important to you. We’ll find a way.”
She gave a small nod. “I hope so.” She took a deep breath. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to prepare myself to take tea with ‘her majesty, the high and mighty Mrs. Warrick’ and take some time in my bedchamber emptying my vocabulary of anything she might find odd or unflattering.”
“Things like ‘her majesty, the high and mighty Mrs. Warrick’?” he suggested.
Agatha’s shoulders dropped. “This could be a very unsuccessful endeavor, Edward.”
“I will offer you silent words of encouragement all afternoon,” he promised.
“You might see fit to include a silent prayer or two as well. I suspect nothing short of divine intervention is going to make this anything but a disaster.”
She gave him a quick wave at the door before hurrying out. He remained behind, fighting his own frustration. Here was a witty, companionable, lovely lady who, for the sake of a potential fortune, was being forced to play the part of an uninteresting shell of the person she was. How often would her father require this of her if the Warricks’ scheme didn’t fall in his favor? How long before pretending became so frequent that she could no longer find the strength or the will to be the person she was?
Exhaustion did that to a person. Misery did as well. And hopelessness.
But what could be done? He knew perfectly well that nothing could be done, and his heart hurt at the harsh reality of her situation.
He stepped from the room as well, his thoughts so entirely preoccupied that he didn’t notice Isley stepping around the corner. They nearly collided.
“Isley.” Edward pulled himself into the present once more. “How has the house party been for you thus far?” He’d not seen much of his friend over the past days.
“Considering none of us can seem to catch the Warricks’ attention as easily as you and Tom did during the lawn games?” Accusation sat heavy in Isley’s tone.
“What is it you suspect us of?” Edward asked.
Isley held his hands up in a dramatic show of innocence. “I am merely pointing out a fact. You two seem to have emerged victorious, or at least not unvictorious. Curious, that, since you told me on the first day of this party that you didn’t mean to even try.”
Such bitterness from a gentleman whom Edward considered a friend. Was this what such competitions did? Ruined friendships? Strained family relationships?
“If it sets your mind at ease, the entirety of Mrs. Warrick’s commentary on my lawn game skills was to denounce and bemoan them.”
Isley did not seem satisfied. “Are you entering the competition?” he demanded.
“I suppose,” Edward admitted. “But only in the barest of senses. I mean to stay and I don’t mean to refuse every activity set out for us.”
Isley pushed out a breath that sounded something like a growl. “I thought you were my friend,” he muttered as he walked away.
And I thought you were mine.
Chapter Six
Agatha sat beside Mrs. Warrick at another interminable early afternoon tea. The past week of teas had seen little conversation beyond inconsequential topics and an unending stream of compliments directed at one—and only one—member of the party. Another week of this nonsense, and Agatha would lose her mind.
“You seemed quite a disappointment at first,” Mrs. Warrick said between watercress sandwiches. “But I like what I’ve seen this last week.” She pointed at Agatha with her teaspoon. “You are showing promise.”
“At last.” Agatha didn’t catch herself before making the dry response. She pasted on a smile and corrected her tone to an appropriately grateful one. “You are so kind to say so.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Warrick said sweetly. “Yes, I am.”
Good heavens, Agatha couldn’t keep up this charade much longer. But her father kept a close eye on her, asking the other ladies about their teas and watching her every move when the entire party was together.
She found she couldn’t be entirely angry with him—not really. He seemed more panicked than greedy. The fear she saw in his eyes spoke of desperation, and she knew perfectly well what that level of anxiety did to a person. It overrode reason and, too often, compassion. The look on his face the past few days reminded her that his threat to toss her out of the family might not be an idle one.
Mrs. Warrick set her teacup down and squared her shoulders, looking over them all. Agatha had come to know that look and posture well: their hostess had an announcement.
“You will all be pleased to know that Mr. Warrick and I have planned an activity for this afternoon.”
The expected oohs and ahhs and expressions of eager anticipation filled the gap Mrs. Warrick always inserted between her declarations and the more detailed explanations that followed. Agatha offered a smile; it was the closest to fawning she could force herself to come.
Mrs. Warrick folded her hands on her lap, her smile one of pointed magnanimousness. “Mr. Warrick and I first made one another’s acquaintance at a house party whilst participating in a gathering game. Each team was given a list of items, each list being identical, and a time limit was set. During the time allotted, the teams were charged with gathering as many items as they could. The team who returned with the most items was declared the winner and received a prize.”
Even Agatha had to admit that the game sounded quite diverting, depending, of course, on what the items were and with whom a person was partnered.
“We mean to recreate that long-ago hunt,” Mrs. Warrick said. “Each of you has been paired with one of the gentlemen. Those of you who are married were, of course, matched with your husbands.”
The necessary smiles and light laughs were offered in acknowledgement of Mrs. Warrick’s bit of humor.
“The gentlemen have already been informed,” she continued. “They have also been given the names of their partners and have been instructed to come seek you out.” A knock on the door brought a conspiratorial grin to Mrs. Warrick’s face. “I suppose that might be the gentlemen now.”
It was, indeed. A well-timed, likely rehearsed bit of pageantry. The gentlemen sought out their assigned partners, some with sincere pleasure, others with forced expressions of delight on the part of both participants.
Agatha’s gaze sought out and quickly found Edward, entering at the back of the group of gentlemen, his brother at his side. Tom said something. Edward grinned. A feeling akin to relief washed over her at the sight. He was a happy person, and modest, and kind. The perfect antidote to the subtle pompousness she had endured nearly every waking moment of the past seven days.
She held her breath, wondering with whom Edward had been paired. There was no denying she deeply hoped she had been selected for that role, but she braced herself for disappointment.
“Do not fret,” Mrs. Warrick said. “We have partnered you with a young gentleman who has caught our attention as much as you have these past days. You will, we are quite certain, make a perfect team.”
Oh, dear.
But it was, indeed, Edward who approached her. Without a word, he held up a piece of paper with Miss Agatha Holmwood scrawled across it.
Mrs. Warrick’s brows pulled low, her mouth turned down in confusion. “There must be an error. Mr. Thomas Downy was meant to have—”
“Begging your pardon, ma’am,” Edward said, his tone pleasant and patient, “but this is the paper I have been given, and it would be terribly ungentlemanly of me to be anything but utterly charmed with my good fortune.”
Mrs. Warrick’s almost frantic gaze slid over the crowd, settling on, if Agatha didn’t miss her mark, Thomas Downy. “Miss Sumner? No, she was meant to have been your partner.”
Edward offered a commiserating look. “He
did not seem at all displeased with the arrangement, just as I am not the least bit disappointed. All will be well, Mrs. Warrick. I assure you.”
“But—”
“Miss Holmwood, I hope you will forgive my eagerness,” Edward said, eyeing her with an expression that was just a bit too serious. “I very much wish to emerge victorious in today’s challenge and, as such, feel a certain earnestness to begin quickly.”
“Indeed. We had best not waste a single moment.”
He held his hand out to her, and she set hers inside it. A warmth she’d not felt before trickled through her at that simple touch. It was more than the relief at being free of Mrs. Warrick’s demanding company for an afternoon, more than the pleasure of being paid a bit of attention by a handsome gentleman. It was Edward. Edward, himself. He had found a place in her heart and had claimed it as his own. His presence filled that place once more, filled it with hope and reassurance and tenderness of feeling.
He led her away from their slightly agape hostess and directly to the corridor.
She lowered her voice and asked, “Was my name the one you were truly given?”
“My paper originally read Miss Henrietta Sumner, which I am absolutely certain was due to a grave error on someone’s part.” He threaded her arm through his. “Tom was the victim of a similar mistake. We, however, sorted it out nicely.”
She felt herself relax for the first time in a week. “I’ve hardly seen you these past days. Mrs. Warrick has begun to suspect that I am not as undesirable a person as she first believed, and, as a result, I can’t ever seem to be free of her company.”
“Well, in the week since I decided to begin making an effort, I have seen increasingly less of our host. It seems he is not impressed.” Though Edward spoke somberly, a laugh hovered just below the surface.
“What a blow to your pride, Edward.” She patted his arm.
“Yes. I’m utterly devastated.” He led her through the terrace doors and down the stairs to the garden. “Now. Let us find a place to sit where we can look over our list.”
