Chapter 16
Sixteen
Richard’s clothing dragged across her hair as Agnes searched inch by inch in the back corner of his dressing room. Guided only by touch, she slid her fingers along the floorboards, feeling for anything besides smooth wood.
The key was still a mystery to her, unlocking only disappointment. It had seemed so important when she found it, but now she wondered if finding it had just been a random occurrence. Perhaps she had wasted time on a false hope.
“Ouch!” She stumbled back, looking at the red drop of blood beading on her fingertip. Ward interrupted her, eyebrow raised, as she inspected the splinter. She anticipated an announcement of Harry’s visit. It had been several days since he last called on her.
“You have visitors, my lady.”
“Visitors?”
“Lord Skelton and Mr. Evans.”
Her heart slowed, each beat heavier now. Why were they here together? She had never been one for surprises.
Ward entered and handed her a small, folded piece of paper. She opened it.
Agnes—
I’m on your side. Trust me.
Yours, Harry
Ida’s warning immediately burned in her ears at his plea. You can’t trust him. Agnes had no way to know the subject of Ida’s vision. The woman hadn’t even known herself.
It didn’t matter, though. After Agnes had spent many of her years with someone to protect her, it was now time for her to look after herself. It wouldn’t be wise to offer her trust to someone so easily, yet the feel of Harry’s note in her hand tempted her into thinking she could.
She wouldn’t make any decisions now. First, she would meet the men and hear what they had come to say. Her alliance with Harry, now even stronger after the time the three of them had met, bolstered her courage to face the confrontation that awaited her. Time was up.
She would never move to the dower house.
Over the last few weeks, the call to remain in York had rooted deeply in her mind.
The Skelton countryside was a lovely place, and Richard had been so fond of the land and its tenants.
But this was her city. Nora and Louisa were here.
As were her apothecary and the people who needed her remedies. Harry, too.
Agnes squared her shoulders, smoothed her skirts, and entered the parlor ready for the fight ahead. Charles and Harry both stood upon her entry. At least Charles hadn’t forgotten all of his manners. She was still the mistress of this house, at least until he managed to expel her.
“Lady Skelton. How peculiar it is for me to call you by that title as I myself am Lord Skelton. Please allow us to use our forenames, being family and all.” He flashed her a smile, but something dangerous lurked behind the curl of his lips.
She nodded. The names they used seemed of little importance given the matters to be discussed. Arguing would just waste her efforts. Besides, it was true. Richard had always called him Charles, so she often did as well.
Her gaze roamed to meet Harry’s, briefly, as she was too cautious to display their flourishing familiarity. Mouth scrunched, complexion pallid, he looked miserable. She permitted herself a small smile. Enough for only him to notice.
“Mr. Evans,” she said with a nod.
“Lady Skelton.”
“Please, let us sit.”
“So, Agnes.” Her name sounded rotten on Charles’s tongue. “Have you had sufficient time to gather your personal belongings? There can’t be too much, as most of this property belonged to Richard. We can arrange for my carriage to bring you to the dower house whenever you are ready.”
“As I have said before, Lord Skelton. York is my home. This is where I intend to stay.”
“If you are going to be stubborn about it, then I have another option.” Charles’s empty coffers seemed to drive a majority of his decisions. She knew better than to hold onto hope, but possibly his offer would be more tolerable than leaving her home.
“You want to stay here in York. I will allow it. You can even toil about in that attic of yours. But things do not come free. I will permit you to stay here as my wife.” He looked around the room, inspecting the modest furniture and familiar decor.
“I grow tired of London. Perchance I will even reside here with you.”
Harry’s teacup plopped onto the saucer with a loud clink. “Lord Skelton, you are my employer. I would advise you to keep this conversation polite.”
Charles’s eyes narrowed as he studied the accountant.
“What do you mean, polite? I have said nothing wrong. A marriage proposal from her late husband’s heir is a kindness to a widow, and not uncommon for people among our standing.
I will excuse you because you are likely unaware of how we do things. ”
The rage that had burned in the pit of Harry’s stomach threatened to engulf him. He had no claims to Agnes besides their friendship, but hearing Skelton’s proposal had blindsided him. She couldn’t possibly consider it, could she?
As much it pained him to acknowledge, it wasn’t an entirely awful option for her.
She would be able to continue her life in much the same way she was living now.
He wasn’t quite sure why the baron was even putting the offer on the table.
Maybe all of Skelton’s financial troubles in London couldn’t be fixed as easily as predicted and he was looking for a place to hide away.
“What’s in it for you?” Harry asked. It wasn’t the most professional way to phrase the question, but he had promised Agnes in that note that he would be on her side.
Lord Skelton mocked surprise. “Mr. Evans, are you implying that Lady Skelton is not a prize herself? And as the new Baron of Skelton, it is my duty to find a wife and produce an heir. This is the least disruptive to Agnes. With a wife handling my domestic duties, I would be available to pursue other business ventures with Cousin Richard’s inheritance.
Continue his legacy as an investor in this city. ”
Harry growled. He didn’t think it had been audible, but Agnes turned in his direction.
The thought of Skelton in the same house, the same bed, as Agnes—he couldn’t handle it without seething.
Calm down. Many society women would compete for the chance to marry Skelton.
He had a title, newly bestowed wealth, properties, and he was attractive in the way many found pleasing.
Maybe Agnes would choose him. Harry couldn’t ruin it for her without knowing what she wanted.
He forced himself to look, knowing that what he might see on her face could crush him. It didn’t. Agnes was furious. The fire in his stomach was only the flicker of a candle compared to the inferno in her eyes.
“Charles. That is not an option, and I find it insulting that you would belittle me by insinuating that I would marry Richard’s cousin for property, property that should be mine. I assure you this proposal will not be up for consideration.”
She turned to Harry, silently pleading with him. She was a fighter, but at the moment she looked desperate to share the burden with someone else. Not just with anyone else. With him.
Harry straightened in his chair. “Lord Skelton, I believe the message has been delivered. Let us take our leave. I will walk you to the train station, but I have some additional matters to attend to in York for other clients.”
Lord Skelton stood. “I’m no lady in need of an escort,” he snarled. “I will walk myself.”
The front door slammed and the sound echoed through the foyer. The bastard had either shown himself out, or Ward had done the honors. Good riddance.
“Agnes, I’m sorry. Skelton demanded that he call on you today, regardless if I accompanied him. I didn’t want to leave you alone with him, and now I can see my concerns were justified. He did not indicate that he’d offer such a proposal to you.” He reached for her hand, but she was too far.
“Harry, Harry. It’s not your fault.” Why was she calming him, when he should be calming her? She was the one who had suffered such an insult.
Sometime during Agnes’s assurances, he had stepped forward, standing closer to her than ever before. Her eyes reflected back his own question. What were they doing?
Harry held his hands in the space between them, desperate to reach out for her. Her hands mirrored his as she struggled with her own indecision. He made the choice for them both—she had enough choices to make at the moment—and closed her hands between his.
Agnes’s lips parted in surprise, but she took another step forward. The contact between them felt right in a way he couldn’t comprehend, not at the moment or ever.
“Agnes, we will figure something out. There has to be a way forward that leaves you protected and happy.”
Her lips quivered, and he was close enough to see the outline of that tempting freckle. Such an enticing mark. When he met her eyes, it was clear she had caught him staring. Her eyes dropped to his own mouth.
A forgotten but familiar rush of nerves overcame him. He hadn’t needed the passionflower tincture since their nature walk, but he could have used it now.
He was helpless, and before he could force himself to do something, Agnes brought her lips to his.
His surprise was completely washed away by the effect the kiss had on his senses.
Her lips were sweet and soft. She pressed them deeply into his, almost possessively.
It wasn’t a kiss of passion, but one of connection.
He returned his own gentle pressure, not in fear of startling her, but in an attempt to work up his own courage. He may not be a virgin, but this was his first kiss. He hoped the depth of his feelings for her would mask his inexperience, but she pulled back.
Bracing himself for rejection, he was relieved to see her smiling back at him with no shimmers of regret. “Kiss me back.”
He was trembling, but he pulled her close anyway. Her waist beneath his palms stabilized him, emboldening him to return his mouth to hers.
This time their lips danced in unison as they negotiated the tempo together.
He didn’t know the ways of kissing with tongue—he would ask his brothers about that later—but he was learning how her lips harmonized with his.
He moved from her top lip to the bottom, sucking it gently.
The sound she made from the back of her throat rewarded him for his courage.
Harry was no rake, but he was sure she was enjoying this.
Breaking the kiss seemed like punishment, but he couldn’t kiss her the whole night, could he? Sooner or later, Ward or another servant would come to find her and he would be expected to leave.
Unable to pull himself away from her all at once, he laid kisses up her cheek to her temple. She rested her chest against his, nuzzling the side of his face. The tickle of her breath and the press of her bosom added heat to the sweetness of the moment.
He leaned back just to see her face.
“Agnes, I . . . I should apologize—”
“Don’t,” she interrupted, trying to pull herself out of his arms that encircled her waist. He didn’t let her. Why did she always try to run?
“No, listen. I was saying, I should apologize, but I will not. I’ve been wanting to do this since our walk.” And long before that, if he were being honest.
Ward cleared his throat from the doorway.
He was already giving Harry a look of warning before his eyes dropped, pinning Harry’s hands around Agnes’s waist. No doubt the old servant had Agnes’s best interests at heart, but she was the mistress of the house, her own woman, and could do what she chose.
Still, Harry’s hands fell to his side, and he stepped back.
Agnes spoke in a tone of overt professionalism. “Mr. Evans. I appreciate your alliance. I am still unable to make a decision at this time, but your support is invaluable.”
“We will find a way, Agnes.” He said her name quietly.
Surely her butler’s hearing was no longer that sharp.
Harry wasn’t sure if there was a way out of this, but if there was, he would find it.
“I will double down in my search for Oscar. He must know something or have additional documents about the Skelton estate.”
“And I will write to the staff again at Skelton Manor to inquire if anyone has seen him. He was not an infrequent visitor here in York, but he spent most of his time in the cottage. In the meantime, I’ve been thinking about what I want if we are unable to save my home.
I’d like to sell the dower house and use the funds to stay here in the city. Would you assist me with that?”
Her strength to move forward through the broken promises was admirable. Harry secretly hoped that her new life would include him. He nodded. “I’m at your service.”
Kitty walked past the incensed Ward looming in the doorway and handed Agnes a wrapped bundle. Agnes passed it to Harry.
“Some of my tea blends for you to take home, Harry. I know you are disappointed when I don’t serve my own.”
It was a thoughtful gift, but Harry really wished that he could bring her back home with him.
Still, the taste of her teas would bring him comfort when he was stuck in London.
It had become more difficult to be away from her.
He had known that for a while now. Before, it was a silly thought, but now, after she had kissed him, missing her didn’t seem so delusional.
How beautiful would it be to stay here, wake up next to her, greet her each morning with his words and his mouth, tongue, and teeth.
To watch the pink blush begin over her breasts and creep up to her neck.
To run his fingers through her curls, nestle his face under them as he brushed his lips along her shoulders.
But for now, the tea would suffice.