by Bree Wolf
Agnes heaved a deep sigh, completely confused about what to do, what to feel, what to think. She closed her eyes and hung her head. “Father, I know that you don’t see the world as it is, not where people are concerned. You look at the stars, the weather, at the ground. You know about constellations and storms and minerals.” She opened her eyes once more, determined not to ignore what she had learned in her nine and twenty years. “You are my father, and when you look at me, you see something others do not. I do not want to argue about truth and lies. In the end, it does not matter. It doesn’t matter who is right or wrong. In the end, what matters is what people believe, and I don’t think you could find a single person outside our family who would encourage Lord Wentford to make me his wife. Everyone—literally everyone—would urge him to reconsider because I am not the kind of woman he ought to marry.” A deep sadness settled in Agnes’ chest as she spoke. She did not want those words to be true, yet, they were.
Shuffled steps brought her father closer, his watchful eyes once more coming to rest upon hers. “It doesn’t matter?” he asked, once more looking at her in that way that made Agnes want to turn away. “Does it truly matter what others think or believe or deem right or wrong?” He heaved a deep sigh, and a persistent look came to his eyes. “When Lord Wentford came here today, I saw the way he looked at you.” His hands once more reached for hers, giving them a gentle squeeze. “And I saw the way you looked at him. Not today. But the many days that have led up to it.”
Agnes hung her head, aware that she had taken note of Lord Wentford long before today. She had even watched him here and there, conversing with others, asking a lady to dance, and every once in a while, she had wondered what it would feel like to find those moss-green eyes looking into hers.
“Do not refuse him because you are afraid,” her father counseled. “You need to do what is right for you, not what other people deem right or wrong. Forget society’s expectations. Forget your own fears and doubts. Ask yourself what you want, and then act accordingly.”
Agnes heaved a deep sigh. “It is not only about what I want, is it?”
Her father laughed. “I should think he has made it abundantly clear that you are what he wants, has he not? He certainly has riled you in a way I have rarely seen before.”
Agnes stared at her father. “You would consider that a good thing? I always believed it to be wise to choose a spouse based on one’s own temperament and—”
“Oh, my dear sweet child, believe me when I tell you that you would be bored to tears with a mild-mannered gentleman after no more than a few days of marriage.” He chuckled. “After all, you yourself are high-spirited and direct in your approach to life, to people. You are like him in many ways, and that is why I believe him. He sees what I see.”
“Do you truly believe so?” Agnes asked, feeling her resolve waver. Always had she trusted her father’s judgment. Still, she knew the loss he had suffered, losing his wife in childbirth. Agnes had always regretted never knowing her own mother, never seeing her parents together. Yet, there were moments when she could see in her father’s eyes the deep love he still felt toward his wife. It had given her a glimpse of the love they had shared. Still, love had led to loss, to heartbreak and misery. It had made Agnes wary, careful. She did not trust easily, and a part of her had panicked the moment Lord Wentford’s eyes had first fallen upon her.
After all, there was no reason why he should have looked at her the way he had. No reason at all. Nothing tangible. Nothing that would make sense. Nothing that would give her any kind of assurance.
It was a leap of faith. Only Agnes did not know if she was daring enough to take it.
“Go and think it through,” her father urged her. “I have no wish to rush you. If you feel you need to be careful, then you should.” He smiled at her. “I have no doubt we will see a lot more of Lord Wentford in the coming days.”
Agnes frowned. “Do you truly believe he will come back? What man would propose to the same woman more than once?”
Her father laughed. “A man in love, my dear. Refuse him as often as you like, for he will not walk away.”
Agnes rolled her eyes. “That is what he said.”
“Then see how determined he is,” her father suggested, a bit of a wicked twinkle in his pale eyes. “Do not make it easy for him. Find your proof, your assurance in every way you need to.”
Agnes could not help but smile. “Thank you, Father.” She hugged him tightly, grateful to have him in her life, to not be on her own in this. Still, a part of her wondered what it would be like to have a mother to advise her. “How often would you have proposed, Father?”
Stepping back, her father smiled at her. “Until she said yes.”
Agnes could not help but wonder if Lord Wentford would be equally determined. Granted, part of her simply wanted him to go away as well as the temptation he posed. Still, quite another part of her wanted him to prove her wrong. Yes, a part of her wanted him to succeed.
Perhaps he would.
Chapter Four – A Mother Intervenes
Later that day, Grant found himself pacing on the edge of the ballroom, his gaze sweeping over the many attending guests, looking for a pair of hazel eyes. As far as he could tell, Nessa was not yet in attendance. Still, she would be. Grant had no doubt. In fact, when he had left her home earlier that day, he had waited outside until Nessa’s cousin, Lady Crawford, had left.
Fortunately, the woman had been most forthcoming. Her face had lit up when he had addressed her, asking for her assistance. She had assured him that Nessa would be at Lord McIntyre’s ball tonight.
Thus, Grant proceeded through the crowd, his gaze returning to the entrance hall time and time again. His pulse beat fast in anticipation and with each step he took, the longing in his heart grew. He had only said goodbye to her a few hours ago and, yet, it seemed he already missed her beyond reason.
Once more turning upon his heel, Grant noticed his mother waving to him from the other end of the ballroom. He was not in the mood to speak to her. After all, she had been most displeased to notice his partiality toward Nessa the night before. Indeed, he had no doubt that it was people like her who had made Nessa believe that she was not good enough for him.
Nevertheless, he could not very well ignore her. Perhaps with time she would come to see what a wonderful woman Nessa was.
With a last glance at the entrance, Grant turned and headed toward his mother. She stood with Lady Hartridge, two matrons overlooking the ballroom with their watchful eyes, always aware of everything, their noses slightly crinkled in a snobbish sort of way. Grant deeply disliked the way his mother tended to look down upon people. Unfortunately, she was not the only one who considered it a most enjoyable pastime.
“Mother. Lady Hartridge,” he greeted them with a formal bow. “I sincerely hope you find this an enjoyable evening.”
Lady Hartridge cast him a polite smile while his mother nodded, a slightly calculating look in her eyes that made Grant tense. “It is indeed. Most enjoyable.” She exchanged a meaningful look with Lady Hartridge. “It is wonderful spending this time with family, is it not?”
Grant nodded, somewhat confused as he cast a glance across the room toward his cousin, Pierce, as well as his aunt and uncle. For as long as he could remember, some kind of strange feud had existed between his own mother and Aunt Theodora. As far as he could glean, Aunt Theodora had always been rather displeased with the fact that she had only married the second son while Grant’s mother had married the heir.
“It most certainly is,” Lady Hartridge intoned melodiously, then lifted a hand for a slight wave. “Do you remember my daughter, Lady Elizabeth, my lord?”
Looking over his shoulder, Grant found a young, golden-haired woman walking toward them. She wore a light blue gown that offset her pale skin and glowing hair. A smile rested upon her face; yet, Grant could not help but think that it appeared a bit forced.
Much like his own. “Yes, indeed. I remember her well.”
As the young woman came to stand next to her mother, Grant greeted her kindly, wishing he could simply turn and leave the two matrons to their scheming. However, Lady Elizabeth did not deserve to be treated in such a manner. They had known each other for years, although not well, and Grant had always felt a certain kind of connection to her because of their meddling mothers. Clearly, this was another matchmaking scheme, was it not?
As though to answer his question, Lady Hartridge turned to her daughter and said, “Did you not just say you wished to dance, my dear?”
The young woman’s features tensed, a hint of embarrassment coming to her cheeks. However, before she could say a word, Grant’s own mother interfered. “Oh, yes, what a wonderful idea.” She turned to Grant. “My son is a most proficient dancer.” Her blue eyes turned to him, urging, insisting, demanding.
Although Grant was not one to easily give in to his mother’s demands, he did not wish to insult Lady Elizabeth. She looked about as uncomfortable as he felt himself, and so he offered her his arm and politely asked for the next dance.
As they walked toward the dance floor, the looks on both their mothers’ faces held more than simply joy, but triumph instead.
“My lord, I must apologize,” Lady Elizabeth said as they stood up together. “My mother can be quite…” Her voice trailed off as she searched for the right word.
Grant nodded. “Yes, mine as well.” He smiled at her, and she laughed. Still, as they danced, his gaze continued to sweep around the room, wondering if Nessa had arrived by now. He could only hope that her cousin, Lady Crawford, had not been mistaken or that perhaps Nessa had changed her mind, determined to avoid him. She was not wont to cower, but definitely one to make it hard for him. Grant had to admit he liked that about her.
Still, she was worth it.
Every effort.
Every thought.
“Are you looking for someone?”
Lady Elizabeth’s voice abruptly jarred him back to the present, and he almost stumbled in his steps, uncertain as to how to reply. After all, it was poor manners to be dancing with one woman and thinking about another, was it not?
“Well, I…” If only he knew what to say.
Her blue eyes looked at him curiously. “If it is your cousin you seek, I believe he’s right over there.”
Grateful for this way out, Grant smiled at her kindly, his gaze traveling toward Pierce as he stood with his parents on the edge of the ballroom...and it took Grant no more than moment to realize that Pierce, too, was looking at him.
Or perhaps not at him, but at her.
At Lady Elizabeth.
In fact, the look in his cousin’s eyes suggested that…
Grant chuckled. “Are you acquainted with him?” he asked Lady Elizabeth.
Her gaze dropped from his in a most telling way. “Not well,” she admitted after a heartbeat or two. “We have exchanged a few words now and then. No more.”
“He is a truly kind man,” Grant remarked, observing his dance partner most curiously. “And a very good friend to me.” In truth, they could be even better friends if it were not for their mothers’ ridiculous feud.
Lady Elizabeth’s gaze darted to Pierce before returning to him. “I am glad to hear it. Family is most precious.”
Grant was about to reply when he suddenly paused, his gaze drawn to the entrance.
To Nessa.
Accompanied by Lord and Lady Crawford as well as her father, she stood in the entranceway, her hazel eyes bright and shining, her hair swept back and pinned up, revealing a graceful neck line. She wore a gown in a pale violet that complemented the soft golden hue of her curls. She looked stunning, beautiful, breathtaking, and Grant forgot the world around him.
“My lord?”
Again, Lady Elizabeth’s voice jarred him from his thoughts. “Pardon me?”
A smile rested upon her lips. “The music has ended,” she said, her gaze straying beyond his shoulder to the woman who had captured his heart. “You’re free again to dance with whom you please.” Then she turned and headed back toward a small circle of friends who, as it seemed, had been observing them dance most intently, now whispering to one another in the usual manner. No doubt, rumors were already being spread about a potential match between him and Lady Elizabeth. It was the way of the world, was it not?
Yet, Grant could not help but notice the way she glanced at his cousin nor the way Pierce looked back at her. It made Grant wonder if perhaps they could be more than mere acquaintances.
And then he turned and his eyes fell on Nessa and everything else went away.
Chapter Five – What If
It was official; she was a fool!
Of course, the moment Agnes walked into the ballroom, Lord Wentford was dancing with a golden-haired siren. She was tall and slender and young and so very beautiful—everything Agnes was not—that Agnes felt like sinking into a hole in the ground. It was a crippling feeling after the small smidgen of hope she had allowed herself. She should not have! She had known all along it would be foolish. But her father’s words had inspired her.
“There he is!” Connie whispered under her breath, jerking her chin toward Lord Wentford and the luminous lady upon his arm.
While her father and Lord Crawford proceeded to greet a few acquaintances, Agnes and Connie ventured over to the refreshment table. Yes, she needed something to hold on to, even if it was merely a glass of lemonade. She felt foolish and would have liked nothing more than to simply turn around and hasten back home.
“I’m aware,” Agnes hissed in answer to her cousin’s observation, determinedly turning her back toward the dance floor. “I hope you are equally aware that his attention has shifted.” She could only hope that her cousin would realize that there had been no sincerity in Lord Wentford’s words and that she would therefore not continue to nag Agnes about the matter any further.
A small chuckle left Connie’s lips as she continued to stare past Agnes’ shoulder at the dance floor. “I don’t know what gave you that idea.”
Agnes glared at her cousin. “Please, can we speak of something else? You are even more foolish than I if you believe that—”
Connie’s hand reached out and grasped Agnes’. “Before you say anything else,” her cousin informed her, “you should know that Lord Wentford is heading straight this way.”
Agnes’ breath lodged in her throat. “Pardon me?” She struggled to fight the overwhelming urge to turn around and see for herself.
Connie smiled at her. “He is headed this way.”
Agnes swallowed. “Perhaps he simply wants a glass of…” Her voice trailed off as she looked at her cousin, who was presently shaking her head from side to side, a rather disconcerting gleam in her wickedly twinkling eyes.
A shiver danced up and down Agnes’ spine, and she thought she could all but feel Lord Wentford drawing closer. Why on earth did he affect her so? If only she knew what he had planned, perhaps she would be able to guard her heart better. For there had to be a plan! Agnes was certain of it.
Yet, as foolish as it was, she could not help but sigh at the mere thought of those moss-green eyes looking into hers. All last night, when sleep had eluded her, his voice had continued to echo in her head, whispering of a future together. Agnes had buried her face in her pillow, but still had been unable to shut out that voice deep inside that urged her to look at him more closely, to give him a chance, to consider the possibility that perhaps, perhaps he was speaking the truth after all.
Dimly, Agnes noticed her cousin stepping away, allowing them privacy before a much too familiar voice spoke out from behind her, “Good evening, Nessa.”
The smooth trickle of his voice teased her nerve endings, and she felt as though he had reached out and was trailing the tips of his fingers down her spine. There was something teasing, but equally adoring in the way he said her name. No, not her name. Of course, it was not her name. Her name was Agnes, was it not? Still, despite herself, Agnes had come to treasure t
he name he called her by.
Nessa. Was that her? Could it be her?
In that moment, Agnes almost desperately wanted to be Nessa. She wanted to be the woman who had conquered his heart, the woman who made him bold enough to ask for her hand after only a few hours, the woman who would spend the rest of her life by his side. It was what she wanted, was it not? Was she as mad as he was?
Lord Wentford had first addressed her only twenty-four hours ago. Of course, she had been observing him for much longer than that. However, he had only discovered her existence a mere day ago. It was not long enough, was it? To be in love?
Agnes gritted her teeth against the wave of affection that rushed through her. Of course, she was not in love. That was foolish!
“Are you determined to ignore me?” Lord Wentford asked, and Agnes could sense him move closer. She could almost feel the warmth of his body, his presence reaching out to her, urging her to turn around and look upon him.
Gripping the glass in her hand tighter, Agnes straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. She reminded herself that she could not yet be certain of his true intentions, and therefore ought to be careful. If he was trying to play her for a fool, she would not make it easy on him. And if he was sincere, if he truly wanted her as he said he did, then she would…
Afraid to even consider that possibility, Agnes turned around, trying her best not to allow the way he was looking at her to affect her or, at the very least, to pretend that it did not. “Good evening, my lord.” She offered him a polite smile, but no more than that. Still, she was curious to see what he would do. As annoyed as she might be with him, with his duplicity, Agnes could not help but enjoy the way they spoke to one another. He was unpredictable, and she never quite knew what to make of him.