by Fanny Finch
He shook his head. "It is not terrible. If anything, you could become the perfect example of how losing status is not the end. It is only becoming the end because you are allowing it to be."
Agnes laughed. "Do you truly believe that if I were to marry you, I would be the one elevated? That you would not be the one to fall?"
"I do," he said.
"Sir, think of your sister, of your own well-being," she insisted.
"I am. And we both need you," he replied.
She walked away. It was all she could do. Otherwise, she would probably cry, and not just a little. It had been so many years since she felt the impulse to cry like this, but somehow she knew exactly what it was when it swept over her.
Her head was hurting. Her heart was pounding. Her eyes were stinging.
As she walked to her room, she felt a couple of tears leak out and glide down her cheeks. It had been so long since she had shed more than one or two, and, even though this was far from a river, she was surprised at how many were flowing now. She was glad to be retiring to the privacy of her own room.
Finally alone, Agnes sat down on her bed and observed the letters. They were still spread out across the desk and the drawer, as though someone had been rummaging through them again. In a sense, she had. And she could not bear the idea of dropping them back into that drawer, to be forgotten again for weeks, months, years. She had to send them. She needed closure. She needed to let her family know that she was aware of why she was rejected and that she would never bother them again.
She wondered what would happen now that the duke knew all about her deepest, darkest secrets. Especially now she had confirmed that there was no chance of him getting what he wanted out of her.
He would probably fire her, she realized. Why hold onto someone who was so unimportant? Who was not only unimportant but an active threat to his status and well-being?
He might have genuinely been clueless as to the risk her presence posed. But even if that were the case, he certainly was not clueless anymore. Now she had explained it to him in detail, he was probably already thinking of how to get her out of his home, where her family's sins could not ruin the life his parents had crafted so carefully for him and for his little sister.
Besides that, he was probably only keeping her around because he was attracted to her. Unless he still held onto the hope that she would change her mind and pursue him, he was probably already realizing that he would never be able to join her in matrimony. And, with that little piece of hope gone, he was no doubt already considering how to replace her.
If he was not, then it would be her duty to leave. She had more than overstayed her welcome. Agnes began sorting each letter back into the envelopes, piling them high. If he would not fire her, she would find a way of leaving on her own. It would be her final gift to him.
When she left, maybe all would be easier for them. Their improvements were probably a coincidence. After all, did people not recover from trauma in their own time? Perhaps Georgia was recovering at her own pace, and it simply coincided with Agnes's presence. The girl was going to fare so much better with a tutor.
And the duke's own improvements were simply a matter of experience. He was practicing being a duke and getting better at it every time without actually needing her.
Once they had both spent enough time without Agnes they would realize what a fraud she had been, how they could have done it all and more, probably even better, without Agnes.
Agnes sealed each envelope and considered writing a final letter. One to the Duchess of Dorset. Agnes was hesitant. A part of her hoped that she would stay and continue working for the duke, that he would be happy to keep her around and that she would not need to seek new work.
If she did need a new employer, the Duchess of Dorset would be the only person who could help her. She was the last true friend Agnes had in the upper classes, the last person who knew how to keep Agnes in favor of other nobles. So Agnes would have to write a letter to her. If she lost this job and could not find one on her own.
But no doubt she would have no job at all in short order. Why wait until the last minute to ask for help? Why not admit to her flaws and write to the duchess immediately? Agnes collapsed on her back on the bed, clutching the letters to her chest, and wondering what she could do now.
She knew what she wanted to do. She wanted to erase it all, to start over and not go there in the first place. To go somewhere else and work for a family. But that could not happen. What was done was done. The past was past. And now she had to deal with the consequences of what had already happened, even if she did not want to.
The duke seemingly did not want to either.
He sent a maid to find her to ask about dinner. When she did not reply, he knocked on her door. He tried to open it, but she had placed a chair behind it. She knew it was childish, but it was the only way she could keep him out when he felt himself entitled to invade her privacy like that.
She ignored him until she heard him walk away down the hall. It was better like that.
Of course it hurt. She still loved him. Love did not vanish just because you wanted it to. Oh, how much easier life would be if that were the case! But it was not.
She wanted him to like her, but she knew that, so long as he loved her, she had to make herself the most unlikeable, insufferable person possible. Then perhaps he would grow bitter and be glad to see the back of her.
And he could not like her. He could not even care about her. Not anymore. He had to hate her. Even if he still loved her, even if she still loved him, he had to hate her. He had to be prepared to see the back of her, possibly to even fire her.
So she would do all she could to enrage and confuse him so that he stopped asking for her company.
When she finally unblocked her door, ready to go and get some water to wash her face from the first proper cry she had experienced in years, a tray waited. It was carefully placed on a little serving trolley, and when she lifted the cover she saw a full dinner had been laid out, and it was still hot.
On the second level of the tray was a basin, a jug of still warm water, and a towel. Agnes pulled the trolley back into the room and pulled the door shut, putting the chair back behind it so that nobody could open it and walk in uninvited, using the trolley as some kind of a Trojan horse.
The duke had left her a meal and water to wash her face.
He did care. But that made it so much harder. Agnes sat down with her meal and began eating it. It tasted like sawdust again. It smelled so lovely, but she was simply incapable of enjoying it. It appeared that even her own body did not believe she deserved the pleasure of such an expertly crafted meal. Those were only for members of high society. Not for people like her. People like her ate only for sustenance.
And yet, knowing what she knew about her body, she needed to eat. She would not enjoy it but she had to, for looking at the clock, she realized she had scarcely eaten since those few bites at breakfast.
She forced herself to eat as much as possible. Tomorrow would be a new day. She would pull the pieces together and rebuild her life as it ought to be. One way or another.
She would write a letter to the duchess. She would post all the letters and wait to hear back from the duchess, to find out where she would be working next. She would beg the duke for forgiveness and insist on staying and working for him at least until her replacement arrived, at which point she would find her new employment.
Staring at her plate, she wondered how he could still care about her after what she had said and done to him. How could he want anything but pain for her now she had broken his heart?
She wanted him to hate her so it would be easier for her to leave. But she also feared his hatred, because she loved him so much herself. It was too much, too confusing for her. What she wanted and what she needed seemed to be at odds. She knew he had to be wrong, at least. She could not stay and curse him any longer. She got what she wanted. He had fallen in love with her. And what a terrible thing it was
. How awful it was to ruin a man like that for her own selfish reasons.
Eating was hard, but she did not want to be ungrateful. He had gone so far to make her happy. But hopefully, he would not hate her, at least. Hopefully, he could forgive her for breaking his heart. Because she certainly could not forgive herself.
Chapter 34
That morning, Agnes made sure to get up on time to awaken Georgia herself. The very least she could do was ensure that she was useful whilst she was still there. After all, the duke was being kind enough to continue to house her and feed her still. She was not even sure whether to expect pay after what he now knew about her. She was not sure she deserved it, and if she did not deserve it, how could he be expected to give it to her?
No, she had to be humble and grateful for whatever he did for her from now on.
Georgia did not speak to her, seemingly feeling the mood and deciding it was for the best to not get involved. Instead, she clung onto one of her dolls as Agnes got her washed and clothed. Once both were dressed and ready for breakfast, Agnes prepared for the worst.
She tried to put herself in the duke's shoes and wondered how she would feel had she discovered that a servant whom she had trusted and cared for was a farce, a damaged person from a dark background. She would be angry, most likely. She wanted to think she would be a better person than that, but without a doubt, she would feel betrayed. And rightly so.
Walking into the drawing room, Agnes felt surprised when she realized the duke was as ashamed as she was. His face flushed red and he struggled to maintain eye contact. "Good morning, Agnes, Georgia," he said. He looked as though he had not slept a wink all night.
"Good morning, sir," she replied, curtsying and taking her seat.
She was not sure if she wanted to talk to him at all or simply leave as soon as breakfast was over. But now she needed to know more. She needed to know how he could gaze upon her so affectionately, be so ashamed of himself and so worried for her, knowing that she was not as noble as either of them had thought.
The duke seemed to notice her need to talk and followed her through into the library after breakfast. So as to not distract his sister, he sat down at a desk in the corner and took out a book, watching Agnes and the child over the top of it, only looking down when Georgia looked his way.
Despite the slow start to the morning, Georgia seemed to get much more interested in her book suddenly and before long all but forgot her brother's presence, instead chatting to Agnes with her own simple words, and flicking through the pages of books, pausing at every picture to ask about it.
Agnes had to wait until Georgia was busied pretending to read a book so that she could walk over to where the duke waited and talk to him. Seated opposite one another, they spoke in hushed voices.
"You do not seem well, sir," Agnes remarked.
The duke shook his head. "I am not. I am deeply concerned about you. I feared you would run away in the night, or else harm yourself, or simply act foolishly. I have not been able to sleep, or so much as relax, since you shut yourself away yesterday."
"Your Grace should not worry so much about someone as lowly as myself," Agnes replied. "I must reject your kindness. Now I am worried for you, sir."
"You are not lowly," he replied, reaching out and holding her hand. "You are the daughter of an earl, and you have endured too much already. You may not wish to treat yourself with kindness and love, but after so much pain, kindness and love are what you deserve."
Agnes attempted to pull her hand away, but he held her firmly.
"You found the letters, did you not?" she asked, averting her gaze, face blushing hot red in shame. "How do you not understand why I cannot allow you to treat me so warmly, with so much love?"
"I do not understand because there is no reason for me to treat you unkindly," he replied, caressing the back of her hand slowly with his thumb. "I love you dearly, and you have shown yourself to be worthy of that love."
Agnes shook her head. "Sir, you cannot love me. It is not right."
"I cannot help but love you, whatever your past might be," he said with a tired sigh. "I simply do."
Agnes froze, then tried to pull her hand away again. She dared not make a scene and upset Georgia, but at the same time, she could not bear the duke's touch any longer. It was such torment.
"Sir, if you cannot control what you feel in your heart, then you must control what you do. Actions are as much part of love as feelings and words, so you must not treat me with love, however much you feel," she insisted.
"No, I shall treat you as you deserve to be treated. I know you, Agnes, and I love you for who you are, so I shall treat you with love," he replied.
"It is not about us. It is about the world we live in," she explained. "How is it that Your Grace never truly understands such things? My shame comes from my mother, I carry it with me. And if you treat me with love, you are denying society's judgment."
He smiled. "Of course I deny it. You have done no wrong, so why should I treat you harshly based on what your mother did, or what others think?"
"Because that is the world we live in, and if you do not, you too will be tarnished by my mother's reputation," Agnes replied. "It is like a disease that spreads and spreads unless someone stops it."
"A girl should not bear the shame of her family," he said, pursing his lips a little. "It's senseless. The disease is not the shame of your mother's sins. The disease is the ill-treatment of people based on things which they cannot change. That disease ravages not you or I, but the people who would hate you for a mother you never knew, or hate me for treating you kindly."
Agnes finally succeeded in worming her hand out from beneath his. "If Your Grace cannot see the sense in this, then I must be the one to break our contact. I shall leave as soon as my replacement is selected."
"I do not wish for you to go," he said plainly, making eye contact with her sternly. "I want to stay by your side for as long as possible, and I need you here with Georgia."
"No, you do not, sir. You may desire me, but you do not want what burdens come with me. And Georgia may want me, but she does not need me," Agnes explained.
"No, I want you, no matter what price I must pay. And Georgia needs you, there is no doubt about that. Can you not see her there, reading so happily? She may not understand the words, but a few weeks back, could you have imagined that distressed, angry child sitting and reading so peacefully? You are a mother to her now, and she cannot lose another one," he explained.
Agnes bit her lip. "You said that you love me last night. I cannot stay, it would be inappropriate."
"Why?" he asked.
"I am an unmarried young lady in your household. I am a servant and a dependent, and you are a duke," Agnes explained. "I am sure I do not need to tell you this, Your Grace, but it is not right for a woman to remain living with a man who has so much power over her and desires her so much. It is inappropriate."
"But you love me also," he replied with a shrug.
Agnes shook her head. "That makes it even more inappropriate, sir. We are a wicked temptation to one another."
"Then you must marry me," he said, smiling. "That would make it wholly appropriate, wouldn’t it?"
For a second, Agnes felt swept away in a daydream. To marry the duke. To walk down the aisle to him. To legitimize their love before God and the world. To become one flesh. It would be so beautiful, so perfect, all she could have ever dreamed of.
"It cannot be," she said with an aching chest. "That would be so wrong, so embarrassing, so horrible for you, sir."
"Why would it be any of those things? If God and the church approve our marriage, then we would be allowed to love one another freely. Why is there any trouble with that?"
"Because a man cannot marry his servant!" Agnes exclaimed, tears in her eyes. "Do not make this harder for either of us."
The duke reached out and held her hand again. "Agnes, I do not understand this at all. Many people wed across class boundaries. Did your father n
ot marry the daughter of a knighted doctor? Did your friend not marry the son of a duchess, and a marquis at that?"
"Both cases are different, sir," Agnes replied. "In neither case was the head of the household marrying his own staff. My father and mother were much closer in status than you and I are, and Leah and the marquis were as well. We are worlds apart."
"You are the daughter of an earl," he said. "You come from better blood than a mere, humble maid, or even an everyday governess, do you not? You can easily fit in with my family and my friends. Your father did. And he raised you to be like himself."
"What does my background matter when I was deprived of the earldom and when my mother was such a pariah?" she replied, feeling her hand trembling beneath his.
The duke growled in the back of his throat. "Agnes, you are being ridiculous. Why should your mother's actions matter, and your present status matter, but all that took place in between be disregarded?"