Chapter 15
Fifteen
Visiting for a second day in a row was not Harry’s wisest idea. He was running out of excuses, and yesterday, he had compensated his missing hours at the office by working late into the night.
It wasn’t as if he could concentrate on his work anyway.
Memories of his time with Agnes dominated every thought.
The feel of her leaning into him on their walk, her bright smile as he shared a funny story, her rump on display as she trimmed plants, and her perfectly rosy blush when she had asked him to remove his clothes.
She plagued his mind, and he did not want to be cured.
His sleep had become interrupted, and he grew more exhausted with each passing day.
What he had done to satiate his not-so-friendly desire for her under the cover of darkness in his bedchamber must require atonement.
But at least in his dreams, she didn’t wear her widow’s weeds, a reminder of his wickedness. She wore nothing at all.
He raised his hand to knock on the door of the familiar Bootham townhome, but it flung open with Ward scowling behind it. “She’s not home, sir.”
“I can wait until she returns.”
“I would advise that you do not. And I would also advise that you do not linger here on this doorstep. She is a widow.” He pointed to the large black ribbon adorning the door. “It will not look good on her for the neighbors to see you making yourself a frequent visitor here.”
“Then perhaps you can allow me in before we catch the attention of said neighbors.” Harry looked around. No one on the street returned his gaze. “Look. No one is even watching us.”
“They’re always watching, sir.”
The door slammed, and Harry quickly removed himself from the doorstep as Ward had insisted.
The butler was right, and he couldn’t bear to create any more trouble for Agnes.
The false pretenses that their meetings were purely business had fallen.
His last visit had included no talk of the Skelton estate, although a tint of defeat colored their meeting.
They were just biding their time and enjoying each other’s company while they waited for Skelton to return in full force.
If Agnes did move to the dower house in Skelton, Harry could still visit her—as a friend. It wouldn’t be as convenient as taking the train and it would take considerably more time.
But he would do it. If she wanted him to.
Agnes struggled to keep her eyes from falling shut as Louisa and Nora continued their conversation in the back room of the chocolate shop.
Sleep had eluded her for a fortnight. Her mind raced through the many places inside their home where she could search for a keyhole that didn’t seem to exist. She feared that she would need to search Skelton Manor next, but Charles had already begun refurbishing the country estate.
The constant clatter of rattling knobs, slamming doors, and a rolling paperweight certainly did not help in her pursuit of sleep either. This week, she would take Nora’s offer of sleep-inducing chocolates in hopes that they could coax a restful night out of her.
It had been nearly two weeks since she had visited her friends.
Each day she had planned to see them, but she couldn’t pull herself away from her house, in fear that she would miss Harry’s call.
He seemed to be working hard on affairs of the Skelton estate, but to no avail.
Nothing came from his constant review of the document, nor his investigations into Richard’s dealings.
She still had not received word of Oscar’s whereabouts.
Louisa attempted to nurse her son. Switching the infant from breast to breast, she was almost in tears, flustered by her inability to calm his frustrated wailing.
“I do not think I am making enough milk. With everything that has been on my mind,” she said, casting her eyes downward, “I think my body had just forgotten what to do.”
The shadows beneath Louisa’s lower lids suggested that her husband was back to his bad habits.
Agnes stroked baby Georgie’s head trying to soothe his cries. “I’ll make a tea for you and have it delivered tonight.”
Agnes’s stores of fenugreek and fennel were full—a blessing considering many of her other ingredients were running out.
She’d mix those with anise, creating one of her most requested teas, a blend that supported mothers’ milk.
“The taste is actually quite lovely, slightly spiced. Take a moment for yourself while you drink it too. I know things are overwhelming.” She lifted her hand to Louisa’s back, and her friend leaned into her touch.
“You always have the answer to everything, Agnes, a remedy for every ailment.” Nora was always generous with praise among her friends.
“Little good would it do if I lose it all. I would barely be able to help myself, let alone others. Charles sent a solicitor this morning, but Ward sent him away. It seems as if he is losing confidence in Mr. Evans’s authority as the executor and plans to bring in his own people.
I know he’s going to be coming back soon.
I’m surprised he’s waited this long. I suspect he’s been busy with Skelton Manor. ”
Agnes thought her tears had been depleted over the past weeks, but again, she conjured them from thin air. They ran down her face even as she wiped them away.
Nora squeezed herself onto the settee on Agnes’s other side. “We won’t let that happen. There has to be something we can do. I cannot believe that Richard really would have left you with so little. I find it all suspicious.”
Agnes nodded, but her attentions were elsewhere.
She couldn’t hold back any longer. “Nora, I believe you met Mr. Evans the other day.” After seeing Harry’s fortune in the tea leaves, Agnes didn’t believe her friendship with the accountant would be long-lasting, but she was still curious of his previous encounter with her friend.
Nora gave her a mischievous smile, and for a moment, Agnes remembered Harry’s shyness when he told her about his time in her shop. A faint whisper of the jealousy she had felt returned.
“Oh, yes. Mr. Evans. He came in to buy a box of chocolates. Said he needed to gift them to a lonely woman. He seemed quite enchanted with her, if you ask me.”
She hadn’t been prepared for the sorrow to hit her as strongly as it did in the once comfortable room surrounded by her closest friends.
There already was another woman, possibly another woman here in York.
That explained why he had been making the visits to the city himself rather than sending his secretary or corresponding by mail.
She hadn’t noticed Harry carrying a second box of chocolates that day.
He had probably just come from seeing her.
“He was quite insistent that they were a business gift, as it would be inappropriate to court a widow.”
Agnes’s runaway thoughts froze in place. “She’s a widow too?”
Nora stared blankly, and Agnes had the feeling that she was missing something. “Honey, unless there is another widow here in York with dark brown eyes who serves lavender and lemon balm tea, I’m going to assume he was speaking of you.”
“Me?”
Nora winked. The weight around Agnes lifted. Her senses now seemed anew. The room brightened, the smell of cocoa tickled her nose, and the taste of the tea on her lips tingled with a floral intensity.
Louisa jumped in. “No, you renegade. That is not enough detail. Go back and repeat word for word what he told you!”
Nora reiterated their conversation from memory while Louisa wiggled with delight. “So the real question is,” Nora asked, “what do you feel for Mr. Evans? If you weren’t recently widowed and all that other nonsense that seems to have given him cold feet, would you want him to court you?”
Agnes already knew the truth. When had she decided?
But as her heart gave one answer, her common sense gave another.
She had long accepted the idea of independence, knowing that she would outlive Richard.
She was ready to dedicate herself to becoming a better herbalist and helping more people than before.
She couldn’t afford to ostracize herself by dallying with her late husband’s accountant and the executor of his will. Richard had been buried mere weeks ago.
“We have agreed to a friendship, as I enjoy his company. He usually stays for tea after finishing his business, and we recently took a nature walk together in the country.”
Duncan, Nora’s husband, came crashing through the door at the sound of her friends’ shrill, excited responses. “Is everything all right?” he asked with fear written across his features.
“Everything is fine. Agnes here just has herself an admirer.”
His face immediately relaxed, and he scoffed before returning back to the counter. Duncan was used to his wife’s antics, especially when the three of them were together.
“Shh, Nora, please don’t spread rumors. We are just friends.”
“Friendship was not what I saw in his eyes.”
Agnes smiled behind her teacup. The glow from this news would last until nightfall. Could it be true? Was she the love written in the tea leaves?
Harry leaned closer to the branch of an oak tree, raising his finger slowly to point to the December moth camouflaged against the bark. While he preferred nighttime strolls for observation, his nieces were too skittish to enjoy walks in the dark, even by the light of a lantern.
It was a crisp day, the ground still crunching under his boots from the overnight freeze. According to Papa, Harry’s mother had always said that any weather was fine for a picnic, as long as one was dressed appropriately.
“But it’s so furry. Are you sure that’s a moth, Uncle Harry?” asked Lorrie.
“Yes. I’ve raised a few of them from cocoons in my study.”
“But it’s not very pretty, is it?” Catherine wrinkled her nose.
“Yes. It’s quite plain.” Lorrie’s face mimicked her sister’s.
Harry welcomed the girls’ honesty. Not everything in nature was eye-catching. He had the opportunity to teach the girls that there can still be beauty in the ordinary.
“Being plain is helpful for survival. His subdued coloring allows him to camouflage with his surroundings. Therefore, predators are less likely to make him their lunch. We almost walked right past without seeing him, didn’t we?”
Catherine tilted her head up at Harry, and for a moment, he thought she was considering the wisdom he had just imparted. “Speaking of lunch, I’m hungry.”
Harry sighed. They were young. There would still be time for him to foster this particular appreciation, but right now, he was glad that they enjoyed spending time with him. He loved being an uncle, although one day, he hoped to have children of his own.
He walked them back to the picnic arrangement where John, Sylvia, and Papa sat, bundled under woolen blankets. At the age of five-and-sixty, his father was still a healthy man despite the heavy, chesty cough years of tobacco smoking had given him.
Papa loved spending time with his sons and loved spending time with his grandchildren even more. Still, every now and again, Harry could see the sadness in his father’s eyes when he retreated to his thoughts. Mother had been his everything.
Throughout Harry’s life, Papa would intermittently break into prayer for his sons to find the same love he had shared with Mother.
At the moment, he had a commendable record with three out of five sons married to their soulmates, and Bert likely to follow suit once he finally introduced his secret partner to the family.
“The moment I saw Martha leaning over her silks, I was a gone man, Harry. I promised to love her every day, provide everything for her, just to have her beauty in my home. And I don’t just mean her physical beauty—she was a looker—but her soul.
” At Papa’s recollection of Mother, John cast a loving look at Sylvia.
Once Papa began talking about her, no one ever dared to interrupt.
“And she did. She made my life beautiful. I just didn’t know hers would be so short.
” His chin quivered and his voice broke, but he continued, “She would have been proud of all of you. And I’m proud of her for giving me five men who are out there putting their stamp on the world. ”
Harry inspected his fingernails, feeling caught under the way Papa had beamed at him. It wasn’t as if Papa forced his own expectations on his sons, but his father hoped for things that Harry wasn’t sure were possible for him.
Harold Evans had no stamp of his own. He was a good accountant, but not irreplaceable. He wasn’t like Agnes, a vital organ to her community. And as he spent time in her company, he was starting to suspect she was vital to him too.