Chapter 26
Agnes
Agnes stood beside her bed, waiting for her breathing to level.
She was grateful that Olly had been beside her, and even more grateful that she was not forced to explain why Francis’s arrival was so distressing. She took a deep breath, allowing herself to fill her body once more.
His arrival had left her hollowed out and numb. But now the reality of it was creeping in, and into that space in her chest was seeping anger. How dare he? After all he had done to her? After what she was sure he had done to Ash?
She would not let him ruin this.
Dressed in attire more appropriate for greeting her family, Agnes headed down into the hall.
There she found Sara and her parents, along with Muriel and Ada, her youngest sister, as well as Francis, seated at one of the benches looking around the space with an air of distaste.
Her father spotted her first, turning and catching her as she entered the room.
‘Agnes!’
Her family descended upon her, fussing and crowding.
‘You look well,’ her mother said, with a small smile.
Agnes thanked her, unsure whether or not to believe her. She had found relaxation at Dunlyn, and was feeling brighter in herself for it. But with Francis’s invasion into her home, all she felt was anxiety, wrapped around a tight fist of anger.
At least anger could be wielded. This was her land. There was nothing Francis could do to her here. Francis may have thought he held the power to ruin her in her new husband’s eyes, but he had no idea that she could send him to the gallows for his own, more pressing sins.
‘I am so sorry I was busy,’ she said. ‘I had no idea you would arrive so soon … I assume you were greeted by Ash in the fields?’
‘We were,’ said her father. ‘With a hunting party. He has gone to clean himself up.’
‘Very wise of him,’ Agnes said. ‘He is a poor shot; no doubt he is covered in all sorts of unmentionable things. Was Clara unable to come?’
Her mother gave her a patronising look. ‘She is quite busy with the new baby,’ she crooned. ‘It is such a difficult time, when they are so young.’
‘Of course,’ Agnes said, feeling like a child being chastised. ‘I am sure we will have a chance to introduce her to Ash soon enough.’ She smoothed out her skirts with a little smile. ‘Although we may be forced to wait, should we be blessed with our own child soon.’
She took devilish cheer in the look of alarm on her mother’s face.
‘Agnes …’
Her father looked worried. Agnes steeled herself for what was to come. ‘Yes, Father?’
‘Is there anywhere we may all speak privately?’
Agnes resisted a sigh. She glanced towards Francis. He was watching her. She wanted to demand he leave. To force him to stay in the hall. To claw his eyes out.
‘Of course,’ she said, pushing all the vitriol down into her stomach. ‘This way.’
She led them into a side room. She sat in a high-backed chair, then gestured for them to do the same. Her family took seats, Ada and Muriel perching themselves on the bench beside the fire. Francis remained standing, lurking behind her father.
Agnes sat straighter. This was her space.
‘What did you wish to speak about?’ she asked.
Her father shot her mother a nervous look. ‘We are worried about you,’ he said, voice low. ‘We all are.’
Agnes did not look at Francis. ‘Whatever about?’
‘Agnes, do not be foolish,’ Muriel snapped. ‘The last time we saw each other, that man attacked you. And now we hear you are married to him?’
‘He did not attack me,’ Agnes said, trying to keep her voice even.
‘But—’
‘But nothing, Muriel.’
‘Why has it taken you so long to respond to our letters?’ her mother asked, leaning forwards. ‘We have been so worried for you, just vanishing like that!’
Agnes felt a bite of guilt again. Not for ignoring her family, but that her inaction had convinced them even further of Ash’s crimes.
‘I was busy,’ she said simply. ‘I was navigating a betrothal, Mother. I barely had time for anything else. And besides, can you fault me for not wishing to engage with letters that slandered my husband?’
‘You could have replied, at least,’ her father said. ‘Leaving us with no word for so long? We could only fear the worst.’
‘And what would that be?’ Agnes said.
He looked sombre. ‘We feared he was stopping you from responding.’
‘Or preventing our letters from reaching you,’ Muriel added.
Agnes sat straighter. ‘He did neither,’ she said. ‘So you may put your minds to rest.’
‘But—’
‘Mother.’ Agnes could feel the anger bubbling in her chest. She closed her eyes, breathing through her nose. ‘The letters are upstairs in my chambers. I have them all. Many of them’ – she raised her eyebrows – ‘still sealed. Do you wish to inspect them?’
Her mother’s face mottled pink, but she would not be deterred. ‘You must admit that his reputation is in tatters.’
Before Agnes could begin to deny this, Francis stepped forwards. His hand rested on the back of Agnes’s father’s chair.
‘We have heard some truly awful things, Aggie. From people who have known him for far longer than you have. Stories of violence and erratic behaviour. The man is mad.’
Agnes remembered Ash’s concerns: his uncle, desperate for power, and his spiteful tongue.
‘And who told you such things?’ she asked.
Francis gave her a wary look. Clearly he did not want to name his confidant. Unluckily for him, Agnes’s father robbed him of the chance to protect them.
‘Hugh Barden,’ he said helpfully. ‘Lord Barden’s uncle.’
Agnes could have laughed at Francis’s quickly hidden expression of frustration.
‘My word,’ she said. ‘How awful. Of course, I suppose he is unhappy with Ash’s conduct at the late earl’s funeral’ – Francis went to speak, but Agnes spoke over him – ‘but we have spoken about that, and I fully understand what happened that day. Emotions were running very high. Did Hugh specify anything beyond that, Father?’
Her father frowned. ‘He mentioned many incidents, compounded over the years. He said that the war Lord Barden fought in France addled his brain, made him violent. But Francis would know more than I. He has met the man many times. What else did he talk of, Francis?’
Agnes glanced towards him. His face was carefully blank, but she could tell by the constrained rising and falling of his chest that he was holding himself back.
‘He mentioned that he has always been impossible. Hugh said Lord Barden became even worse after returning from France. Short-tempered and cruel. That he has shirked his duties since coming of age.’
Agnes frowned at him. ‘Now that simply cannot be true,’ she said. ‘I cannot vouch for his behaviour before I arrived, of course, but Ash has been dedicated to his role since I have been here.’
‘Hugh said that Lord Barden’s brother—’
‘Oh, it is a dreadful story, isn’t it?’ Agnes said, swooping in before Francis could continue to besmirch Ash’s name.
‘So horribly wounded. Did you know, his arm is still unhealed? Regardless: yes, Ash told me that – to his deep shame – Raff did take on the burden of duty for some time. Ash suffered terribly in France. When he returned, he was seriously ill. He is thankful that Raff was there to stand where he could not.’
Francis was apparently speechless.
‘He was ill?’ Ada asked. ‘How so?’
‘Ada!’ Agnes’s mother chastised.
‘No, no, it is quite all right,’ Agnes said, turning to her little sister.
‘He was wounded in battle, hence …’ She made a vague gesture to indicate Ash’s scar.
‘He did not seek treatment until he returned home. It made him very unwell. And …’ she took a deep breath, finding the best words ‘… one of his dearest friends was killed. He tried to save him and failed.’ Ada looked startled.
‘It was a tragedy,’ Agnes said. ‘And its own kind of illness, one which he still suffers from now. What sort of person would I be to judge a man for such things he cannot control? Anyone would be affected by the things he has seen.’
Everyone else had fallen silent. Agnes looked at them, waiting to see if they intended to levy any more accusations against him.
‘I chose to marry Ash,’ she said. ‘I—’ She remembered her letter, how effusive it had been. She cursed inwardly: she had forgotten the act. ‘I care for him a great deal. He cares for me, and he has vowed to keep me safe. He has never shown any violence towards me. He has only been kind.’
‘Your letter …’ Muriel began, clearly unconvinced. ‘You really meant all of that?’
‘I did.’
‘I have never known you feel so much.’
‘Yes, well …’ Agnes glanced down at her hands.
At least the embarrassment was real; the awkward flush on her cheeks was easy to mistake for love.
‘It is why I wrote to you. We last saw each other on such poor terms. I wanted to reassure you. Now …’ she looked between her parents.
‘Is that all? Or is there anything else you wish to discuss?’
They shared a look. Quite clearly there was.
‘The attack on the road …’ her father began. ‘What happened? Your letter was so short …’
Agnes had been waiting for this. She willed herself not to look at Francis.
‘It was horrible,’ she said. ‘We were walking together, and the attacker burst from the trees.’ She left a pause long enough to take a breath. ‘He had a knife to Ash’s throat.’
‘My God …’
‘How awful,’ Ada whispered, behind her hands.
‘It was,’ Agnes agreed. ‘Quite awful.’
‘Do you know why he did it?’ Muriel asked.
Francis was leaning forwards in the chair, his elbows pressed to his knees. To anyone else, he looked like a concerned friend, a man worried about the woman he claimed to love. He put Agnes in mind of a weasel waiting to pounce. She caught his eye.
‘We presume he was attempting to rob us,’ she lied.
She did not look away, waiting for Francis to break first. He did.
‘I see.’
‘Enough of this,’ she said. ‘It is a difficult topic, I am sure you understand. Would you like to join us in the hall? Ash must be ready by now …’