Chapter 24
Twenty-Four
Harry wasn’t sure if this was what courtship was meant to look like, especially a clandestine one, but he was enjoying it immensely.
He brought his lips to hers on numerous occasions, careful not to allow the heat to simmer too high again, as there were no more tea towels to deal with the consequences. He had managed to put himself back together well enough. He better not push his luck.
The remainder of the trip to Skelton was spent speaking about herbs, moths, the struggles of the people in York, Bram, Harry’s family, and anything else that came to mind.
Somewhere during the journey, Harry had moved back to her side of the carriage, intertwining his hand with hers.
Her head rested on his shoulder. Agnes showed him bits of the countryside outside the window, pointing out St. Giles church and the homes of the country folk she had met since becoming baroness.
The carriage rocked as it went down the lane that led to Skelton Manor. Agnes pulled back the curtain and looked out the window. A generous smile came over her face. The sun had long set, but Harry was none the wiser. The brightness she radiated filled the space around him.
“I have always enjoyed this property. I couldn’t be persuaded to leave York to make it my home, but it is marvelous, nonetheless. The herbs grow well here in variety and abundance.”
He could see himself spending his days walking with Agnes while she gathered her herbs, and the evenings venturing out into the meadows and forests to look for his specimens.
While he would never have his own country estate like Lord Skelton, he would take her out into the country as often as she liked.
He was undoubtedly putting the cart before the horse, but there was nothing that would change his mind about courting Agnes. She was right. They suited.
The carriage driver opened the small window to hear Agnes’s instructions. She told him to make his way to the steward’s house on the west side of the property.
Harry nodded to the smoke rising from the chimney of the small cottage. “It looks like we found him.”
“Indeed.” She gave his hand a small squeeze and kissed him on the cheek before pulling away to smooth the curls that fell around her temples.
He got out of the carriage and allowed the footman to help her down. He had yet to discuss with Agnes which of her staff she trusted with discretion, so he needed to be cautious. Her reputation was still at stake. His, too.
When the footman turned around, he gave Harry a wink. Perhaps Harry needed to work on discretion first. Agnes hadn’t exactly been quiet. A bit of coin placed in the footman’s hand later would be a good idea.
“Let’s go.” He offered his arm to Agnes, and she took it.
He could get used to this. Her touch, her scent—always earthy, with a mix of spice and florals—her energy.
Her steps were quick. No doubt she was eager to speak to Oscar, and she knocked on the door of the cottage without pause.
The answers that they sought might be waiting just inside.
Oscar opened the door, and after an initial flash of surprise, he smiled. “Lady Skelton, my dear.” His shoulders relaxed. “I’ve missed you.”
The petite older gentleman with salt-and-pepper hair stepped aside to make room for Harry and Agnes to enter his modest cottage.
The crow’s-feet around his eyes reflected both tiredness and grief.
Oscar didn’t seem like he was in the state to be hosting a parade of men in his London rooms for dalliances.
He looked like a widower. A man who had lost the love of his life.
Agnes returned a warm smile of her own. “Of course not, Mr. Bowen. You can say whatever you like. Let’s not forget our friendship.”
Once inside the cottage, Oscar turned to Harry. “Mr. Evans. Pleasure to see you as well. I hope that you are helping Agnes get her inheritance sorted.”
“Actually, that is why we are here. May we sit?” Concern etched into the lines around Oscar’s eyes.
“Oh dear. That is not the confirmation I expected. Please, come, sit. I’ll put the kettle on the fire.” Harry and Agnes both chose the love seat, but sat a respectable distance apart, passing curious looks between them.
“He looks genuinely surprised,” she whispered. She leaned toward him, and he could feel the heat from her breath on his ear. Focus, Harry.
“I agree.”
Mr. Bowen carried over a tea try, placing it on the table and sitting across from them.
Harry was eager to get to the bottom of this, for Agnes. “Mr. Bowen—”
“Please, call me Oscar, both of you. Lady Skelton and I have known each other too long, and now that I’m no longer the steward for Lord Skelton—”
Agnes gasped. “What do you mean? I thought you were taking a leave of absence. Now that I know what Richard meant to you, I can understand your need for solitude.”
She stood and moved over to the chair next to Oscar, taking the old man’s hand into her own.
“Oscar, I don’t know why you and Richard never felt like you could tell me, but I’m so sorry that you have been grieving alone.
No one should have to suffer the loss of a loved one while pretending they had never loved him.
I received all the condolences at his funeral, but you loved him just as much as I did, if not more. ”
Moments passed while Agnes and Oscar both stared into their laps, contemplating their loss. Agnes held onto Oscar’s hand. The sullen fog of death surrounded them, and she felt the tremble in the steward’s hands and listened to his ragged breaths.
“I don’t know if I loved him more, Agnes, but I did love him differently. You must have found his letter. Richard wanted to tell you. He really did. He said it was too big of a secret to keep from someone who offered him—offered us—so much. I was the one who told him no. I was too afraid.”
“Afraid of what? You know I would never think less of someone because of who they choose to love. I am no stranger to the idea that a man can love a man or that a woman can love a woman. I must admit I should have recognized what existed between you and Richard. It all seems so apparent now.”
“I wasn’t afraid of what you would think.
You’re a sweet and intelligent woman, and I consider you a close friend, family even,” he said, sniffling and taking out his handkerchief.
“I was afraid of Charles. That vile cousin of his. He had started to suspect there was something between Richard and me. Charles feared it would affect his inheritance. That’s all he cared about.
And he grew more anxious when Richard married you.
“He threatened Edith when your marriage was announced, urging her to claim that it was a farce. She paid him a decent sum to keep him quiet, but he continued to threaten her until the day she died. I was worried that with her gone, he would look for a new victim. I didn’t want him to make threats against you, and Richard didn’t want that either.
He had already made it clear that he didn’t believe your marriage had been consummated because Richard was unnatural.
We thought your ignorance would be safest for everyone. ”
Hot tears settled in her eyes. Charles was more treacherous than she had realized. He had sought control over Richard, using her late husband’s fears for his own gain. “I’m sorry, Oscar.”
Oscar placed his other hand on top of hers, patting it tenderly, almost fatherly.
“You’ve done nothing wrong. I am the one who should apologize.
The guilt of not telling you everything nearly destroyed Richard.
He already felt indebted to you for the protection you provided us.
People had grown suspicious, but the day he introduced you as his wife, those rumors stopped. ”
At this, the tears broke free and Agnes began to weep.
She missed her dear friend, and she had been mistaken to be upset with him after everything they had given each other.
But in addition to her regret, she wept from anger—no, not anger.
Rage. Rage that Charles would threaten his cousin, the kindest man she had ever known.
She now understood Richard’s request to consummate the marriage that night. He clearly hadn’t wanted to, but he was forced into doing so to protect her. She remembered how afterwards he told her she was lovely, apologizing that he could not feel for her what husband should be able feel for a wife.
She thought back to the day that Richard had given her permission to take a lover.
It had fractured her heart that her husband would allow her to offer herself to another man.
If only she had known that he would never love any woman in that way, she would have seen it for what it was—a kindness, one offered with guilt.
“Lady Skelton?” Harry called from across the room.
She supposed she had been woolgathering for quite some time, lost in her head, silencing the world around her.
He looked ready to leap over the table and take her into his arms. He was putting forth a commendable effort to seem like a professional associate, but she didn’t need him to keep up the act in front of Oscar.
“I’m okay, Harry. I needed to hear all of this.” Wiping the remaining tears from her eyes, she stood to pour the tea. A silver chain around Oscar’s wrist caught her attention. Something was woven in between the links. “Is that his hair?”
Oscar cradled the bracelet against his heart. “I hope you don’t mind. It felt right to keep something from him. I needed him with me.” At Richard’s funeral, Agnes had heard whispers about Richard’s hair being cut. She had thought it was just another rumor.
“Not at all, Oscar.”
She returned to her place next to Harry and gave him a subtle nod of reassurance. His foot continued to rock back and forth. “Really, I’m fine,” she whispered to him alone, placing a hand on his knee. His foot slowed.
“But Oscar, what were you saying before? You’re no longer the steward of the Skelton estate?”
“No. I have resigned. I have no desire to work for that man, nor would Charles like to work with me. Either way, it is long past time for me to retire.”
Harry spoke next. “Oscar, I’m afraid we need to discuss something more dire before it becomes too late. It’s a matter of Richard’s will. In the letter Agnes found, it mentions that he meant to bestow the York home onto Agnes.”
Oscar stared at them expectantly. “Yes?”
“Well, the will I have in my possession does not say this. In fact, Agnes receives just a modest sum, the dower house, and this cottage. The York home is not mentioned, so it will go to the heir, along with its contents.”
“No, no. That can’t be.” Oscar’s jaw dropped, and he clutched his chest. “Not only would Richard never have done that, I signed the will. I saw it with my own eyes. Agnes was given exactly what she had been promised.”
“The letter says that there were three copies of the will. You have one. Where is it?”
Oscar appeared stricken. “It was stolen from my rooms in London. The whole place was ransacked, but that was the only thing missing.”
“Your landlady mentioned that there had been a series of men visiting your rooms.” A shyness crossed Harry’s face. “She blamed the break-in on one of them. Is it possible any of them are responsible?”
“No. I trust them too. They’ve all been involved with our publication for several years now and we’ve never had any leaks as to our identities.
At the risk of sounding vain, they adored Richard and me.
Said we gave them hope that they, too, can find happiness and longevity with a partner. They would never.”
“No, I don’t imagine they would. I am beginning to suspect Charles is behind all of this.”
Oscar nodded. “I’m way past suspicion.”