Chapter 30
Thirty
Agnes could hear voices inside Harry’s office. They were too muffled to make out every detail, but she heard her name mentioned several times. For a second, she was tempted to press her ear against the door to hear more, and she would have, if Harry’s secretary had not been watching.
Eventually the latch of the door clicked, and she looked up to see Charles striding out of the office. He stopped upon the realization of her presence. He turned to face her, his body first rigid with shock, and then his features smoothed with undeserved confidence.
“Oh, Agnes, dear cousin. I’m surprised to see you here. Are you meeting with Mr. Evans? I don’t remember being invited to attend any meetings about my estate. Unless there are some other matters you have to address with my accountant.”
“It doesn’t concern you,” she bit back. “I’m here to meet with Mr. Evans privately.”
“Privately?” he questioned, looking Agnes up and down. “I see. I guess it doesn’t concern me, considering my proposal is now off the table.”
“I had no interest in marrying you, Charles. My silence has not been because I required more time to consider your offer. It’s due to my answer being no.”
“I see. Well. Mr. Evans will inform you of your newest option. I’m running late for another appointment.” He turned on his heel and walked out the door.
Harry stood in the doorway of his office. “Ag—” he started before his eyes snagged on Parker, sitting behind her. “Lady Skelton, please come in. Parker, please refresh the tea tray.”
Agnes sat down in the chair across from Harry’s desk.
She could still smell the pungent scent left by Charles, that of cheap cologne applied with a heavy hand.
Had he come here to make threats? Agnes worried that Charles knew her relationship with Harry was no longer professional, and she knew the man was not above blackmail.
Harry’s hands trembled as strongly as the day of Richard’s funeral.
It upset her to see him so unnerved again, back to the man he had been before—before they had become something more to each other.
She wanted to stroke his cheek, pull him away from this state with her kisses, but they weren’t alone.
Parker entered with a clean teacup and a plate of biscuits. Agnes was impatient for privacy. “I’ll pour, if you don’t mind.”
When Parker closed the door, Agnes got up and sat gently in Harry’s lap, wrapping one arm around his neck. “Harry. Take a deep breath.” She rested her other palm on his heart. Together, they inhaled and exhaled slowly until she could feel his heartbeat slow.
“I’ve missed you,” he said with a voice full of desperation.
“Me too.”
He lifted his hand to her chin and tugged it down to meet her in a kiss.
His heartbeat quickened again under her palm. “What is it, Harry?”
“I have something to talk to you about, but I’m not sure how it will sound.”
“You can talk to me about anything,” she said, echoing the words he had said when she shared the darkest secrets of her childhood.
“Lord Skelton came to me with a proposal.”
She chuckled softly. “Hopefully not one of marriage like he offered me. I don’t believe you would suit, and I would be a little jealous.” She stroked her fingers over his lips, letting the hairs from his mustache tickle the tips.
Harry returned a small grin, but it was short lived before his expression turned serious again. “Let’s have tea and discuss it.”
Harry told Agnes of Skelton’s proposal, leaving out what Skelton had said about Harry’s desire to make a name for himself in business. That didn’t seem as important to him now.
He explained the details and tried to convince her that it was in fact, objectively their best option.
They couldn’t wait forever for Richard’s actual will to manifest itself from thin air and make everything exactly how it should be.
But with this plan, she would maintain access to her equipment and the funds to continue her craft.
With her talents, the business would be sure to generate a profit.
If Agnes could think of the situation logically—without the idea of what should have been—and consider their current situation, she would agree.
He reassured her that she would not be working for Skelton, but for him, with him.
Her recipes would remain secret, and she would have complete control of the remedies she made.
He could replenish her ingredients and maintain her tools, while counting it as a business expense.
“You really think I should allow Charles to patent my ideas and overcharge the people who really need them? The only people who will be able to afford my remedies will be the people who don’t wake until noon.
The ladies applying creams for beauty, the men looking for remedies to cure their overindulgences. ”
“I didn’t mean . . .” Harry stopped. He wasn’t sure what he had meant. The practical man inside him saw it as a viable option, but Agnes’s commitment to her herbalism clearly made her think otherwise. He didn’t know what to say, but she spoke for him.
“Oh, I’m sure he could make a lot of money selling my capsules that aid in women’s courses to their husbands.
Feed your wife these pills to cure hysteria.
Claim natural bodies as ‘problems’ to be solved.
Here, these drops for children make them too sleepy to cry like babes are meant to.
No thank you. I would rather quit it all than to work under men who want to profit from people’s ailments. ”
“What are you accusing me of?”
“You heard what I said. Charles presented you with this preposterous proposal, and you were too blinded by the promise of profit to consider that it would be a poison to my life’s work.” She spat each word as if it tasted bitter on her tongue.
Then she said nothing more, and that was worse.
She focused her gaze just below his eyes and stared, void of all expression.
Her eyes showed no emotion, but the tension she held in her throat distorted the usually lovely shape of her neck.
The silence was ominous. Harry waited, holding his breath while his fingers knotted together in his lap.
She put her teacup down. The clink of ceramic marked the end of their standoff.
“After all that you have learned about me, after seeing all the work I do, you agree with him? You’d allow him to profit from me and the knowledge of generations of herbalists and cunning folk?
Just so you can finally have a business with your own name on it, like your brothers? ”
“It isn’t like that, Agnes. Right now we have nothing.
Oscar’s copy of the will is gone, Skelton will never give us his, and we don’t even know what happened to Richard’s true copy.
It’s either this or Skelton will take it all.
You’d be left with just the dower house and a bit of coin. Why wouldn’t you choose to have more?”
Agnes was an exceptionally intelligent woman. He knew that she could be practical and consider the benefits to the proposal before writing it off.
“So you’d be content to make a profit off of me too?”
“If we marry, it will be our money, Agnes. Not just mine. I know it’s not perfect, and I know it’s not right, but you have to see it’s not a terrible idea.”
Just a few months ago, the idea of profits to validate his success as a businessman would have been enticing to Harry.
This wasn’t about building his own legacy.
This was about securing hers, and for some painful reason, she didn’t believe him.
He should have never told her about his plans to build a business.
“When I came here, I was going to tell you that no matter what happens with the Bootham townhouse, I would be fine. Even if I lost the apothecary and my home, I would still have you by my side. You are enough for me, Harry. And I don’t know why I am not enough for you.
You’re still obsessed with this idea that other men must deem you worthy. ”
The words stung. She was more than enough for him. She always had been. “Agnes. You don’t understand. I’m doing this for you.”
“If you think this is for me, then you don’t understand who I am. You want me to be grateful to have permission to use my own equipment while earning a measly wage. It’s theft. I cannot allow myself to be dependent on anyone again, not even you, Harry.”
Harry had thought she would see having him as a husband in the same light he saw having her as a wife. It was a gift, a partnership, not forced dependence.
He was convinced it would be the best gift of his life, but he had been wrong to hope she’d feel the same.
The back of his eyes stung and the air in his lungs didn’t seem sufficient.
If only he could convince her they could be happy this way.
This could be the beginning of their life, not just the next step of hers.
“Agnes, you’re being stubborn. You can’t have it exactly as you want. It’s not possible.” The abrupt clash of her eyes with his made him certain that he had just made a mistake. He wished he could take the words back, hide them away until they both forgot they had ever been spoken.
“Stubborn? I am the one who has the most to lose, while everyone around me says I should feel fortunate. I want the life I built! It’s mine!”
“What about the life that we can build? Together?”
She stood up and his heart sank, heavy with hurt and frustration. Before he could stop her, she walked out of his office and slammed the door behind her. He stared at the closed door, trying to figure out what had gone wrong.
He could still fix this. He would apologize. Tell her that they would do whatever she wanted, just as long as he could be part of her future.
Jumping out of his chair, he ran to the door and threw it open. Parker was standing on the other side. “She’s already gone.”
Harry ran out to the street. She couldn’t be gone. He could catch her, but as he turned his head left, right, even scanning the crowds on the other side, he saw no sign of her.
He had to make a choice. Right or left? He turned right, rushing through people, bumping shoulders and shouting her name. People voiced their offense, but it all meant nothing to him. Nothing mattered but her.
He was risking both of their reputations by calling her name through the busy London street, but he didn’t care.
He couldn’t be left alone with his shattered heart.
He ran until he reached the train station and bribed a porter to let him check each train car about to depart for York. She wasn’t there.