Chapter 10 #2
“Have you always been nervous, Mr. Evans, or is this a recent development?”
Richard had never once mentioned the way that Mr. Evans sweated profusely or struggled to produce words.
In fact, he had often remarked of the man’s appeal.
The man before her was kind, there was no denying that, but he hardly seemed like the man Richard spoke of.
However, in the times when Mr. Evans had relaxed, even just for a moment, she could see the glimmer of something thrilling behind his nerves. She wanted to see more of it.
“Oh. It’s not recent. I’ve been like this for as long as I can remember, but I promise I’m not always like this. The trembles, the stammering, the moisture . . .” he said, wiping his brow, “it only happens around certain people.”
Ice shot through her heart. Agnes had believed that they were forming a friendship of sorts.
Instead, he’d just admitted that her company made him anxious, while others put him at ease.
It had been a mistake to allow her emotions to take control in their past meetings.
It had been impolite to mention her bedchamber or undergarments to the man, especially when he had already been worked into a state.
She squirmed in her chair as she stared down at her teacup.
Agnes tried to blink away the wetness in her eyes.
Her chin scrunched and her lip trembled.
She wished she had asked him to call her that hack.
Perhaps she could take her leave now, claiming that it was her intention to make her deliveries on foot or feign fatigue.
Mr. Evans was already uncomfortable around her, and now she was going to cry in his office. That would only unsettle him more.
“No, no. Lady Skelton!” The alarm in his voice forced her to look up from her teacup.
“It’s not just you that makes me nervous.
You’re lovely—” He clamped his mouth shut.
His own teacup rattled against the saucer.
“It’s just that all women make me feel this way.
You see, I grew up without a mother. Only a father, four brothers, and an old, feisty housekeeper. ”
All women. Her mind tried to unknot her confusion. Was she pleased that she alone didn’t frighten him, or was she disappointed that she was the same as everyone else? As every other woman.
Mr. Evans rambled on to describe the overbearing masculine influence of his childhood as she sat with quiet interest. In a way, she could empathize, although her discomfort around men had been not due to their absence but due to their vile presence.
“But please, Lady Skelton, I’ve dominated too much of this conversation. Tell me more about you.”
“I do not know where to begin.” Thoughts of her childhood tussled around in her mind. She couldn’t share those with him, but her mind went blank when she tried to pull herself away from her memories.
He tapped his chin, thinking. “Hmmm . . .”
At some point in their conversation, he had begun to calm. Glimmers of a playful, conversational man flickered through. She was drawn to him, eager for him to reveal new sides to himself. He would make a good friend, even after the inheritance was settled.
“How about you tell me why you love York. I admit I only take the train in and bounce from appointment to appointment. I haven’t had time to participate in tourism as many of my fellow Londoners have.”
The question was unexpected, but Agnes collected herself. She could talk about York for hours, if someone were willing to listen.
And the man before her was a superb listener. His eyes never broke contact, even as he sipped his tea and bit into his third biscuit. She, on the other hand, was less focused, especially when the crumbs got caught in his mustache. How badly she wanted to brush them out with her thumb.
She spoke of the railways that brought liveliness to York, the confectionary shops that filled the air with the smell of cocoa and sugar, and the museums that safekept the city’s history.
She described the guarding presence of the Minster and the old walls that had sheltered the city from harm for centuries.
But she felt alive when she spoke about her home, the little world she and Richard had created for themselves. The cozy mornings over a shared breakfast, the solitary afternoons in her apothecary, and the quiet evenings next to her husband, he deep in his thoughts and she deep in hers.
The possible loss of it all hit her with a punishing force as she spoke her last few words. She pressed the tips of her fingers against her lips as she heard the fracture in her voice.
Edith would haunt her from the grave if she knew Agnes would just give up her apothecary this easily. Her mentor had believed they were blessed with gifts, she herself with the craft of magic and Agnes with a talent for herbalism. That was their purpose, not a choice.
But Edith had been the sister of a wealthy baron who could indulge her eccentricities. She had never been worried about her next meal or keeping a home. And Agnes had been the wife of such a man, until now.
She glanced at the clock on the wall and realized she had been speaking with Mr. Evans for nearly an hour.
“Oh. I must make these deliveries if I am to return to York before dark.” She stood while gathering the vials scattered across the tea table and dumped them into her reticule. She donned her veil, replaced her gloves, and hastily prepared herself to leave.
“I appreciate your hospitality, Mr. Evans. I hope I did not disrupt your morning too significantly.”
“I welcome the disruption, Lady Skelton.” They stood facing each other, not sure how to end things after such a familiar conversation. He opened his mouth, but she spoke first.
“All right. Good day.” She dipped through the door, her body burning. The feeling excited her but frightened her at the same time.
Disappointed by her own cowardice, she sighed and opened the door to the street. Her black gloves on the handle brought her back to reality. For a brief moment, she had forgotten she was in mourning, allowing herself to get swept away by a fantasy.
Mr. Evans was the type of man she would have dreamed of courting her in those days when she had lived with her mother, struggling to fall asleep with an empty stomach, concealed behind the curtain hung in the one-room flat.
A few steps out the door, she saw a familiar face.
Lady Tubbs, one of the biggest backbiters of the ton.
She had been the most vicious with rumors about Agnes when her marriage to Richard was first revealed.
Although Richard denied any affection for her, the woman had told everyone that they were all but betrothed and claimed Agnes had stolen him from her through the devil’s work.
The woman veered from her path to bump into her, becoming entangled in the chain of Agnes’s reticule.
“Oh, my, Lady Skelton,” she said in feigned shock, as if she had slammed herself into Agnes by accident.
“I almost didn’t recognize you. I thought you would be hiding away in that .
. . remote home of yours since the passing of Lord Skelton, may God rest his soul.
” She inhaled sharply and placed her hand on Agnes’s.
“Oh my. I hope I don’t offend you by speaking of the Lord. ”
Agnes ignored the woman’s last remark. “Yes, may God rest his soul. And I have matters to attend to. I’m not making social calls.”
Agnes stepped forward in hopes of keeping Lady Tubbs’s scrutiny far from Mr. Evans’s office, yet the woman scrunched her face and turned to read the placard on the door. Fortunately, his name was just one of many listed on the building.
“Oh, estate matters? All the way here in London?” She raised an eyebrow.
Agnes held her tongue, worried her tone would betray her. It hadn’t exactly been a business meeting, and she feared her ill reputation would infect that of Mr. Evans if he was known to be a willing associate of the Witch of York.
Lady Tubbs scoffed. “I wouldn’t expect a woman with your history to understand social expectations at a time like this.
Wait until the current Lord Skelton hears of the mockery you’re making of his departed cousin by running around London.
” She looked back at the office building. “And having meetings.”
“Do you really believe it wise to threaten the Witch of York, Lady Tubbs?”
“It seems like you’re the one making threats, Lady Skelton.”
“You’re right. I am.”
The woman’s eyes bulged in horror. Agnes brushed past her and listened to the woman shriek among the clatter of the busy street.