Chapter 33
Thirty-Three
Agnes had not left her home for nearly a week.
She spent her days from sunrise to sunset in the attic crafting a surplus of her most requested remedies.
Each night, she stashed the jars in her personal trunks, hoping that hidden under her slippers and chemises, they would go unnoticed when Charles’s men eventually got past Ward.
Her journals were already hidden in her portmanteau, which she would take to Nora’s when she finally gathered the strength to leave her home.
So far, Ward had effectively dismissed the men who showed up at her door, but they had passed on a message from Charles.
She had until the end of the month—ten days.
In the meantime, the men attempted to gain entry to take inventory.
Charles had likely realized that Harry’s efforts were lacking and anticipated that she planned to make off with the valuables.
As Agnes worked, she was cursed by emotions. After the initial shock and then anger, she was beginning to think that Harry was not the villain that she had thought him to be. She, too, was beginning to feel hopeless after weeks of no clues.
Would it not be better to keep a small part of her life’s work, rather than wasting away in the country or starting over with practically nothing?
Agnes knew that working for a profit-driven pharmacy would deplete her of all passion.
But to an outsider who hadn’t lived her life?
It would seem like a practical solution, and Harry was a practical man.
But Harry wasn’t an outsider, or at least she had thought he wasn’t, and that was what hurt the most. When it really mattered, he was a stranger to her.
He didn’t understand her the way she thought he had.
He had undervalued a purpose so essential to who she was.
There would only be trouble if she attached her future to someone like that.
So while her back ached from leaning over her work table and her eyes grew hazy after hours of concentration, she mourned. She mourned his company, the dream of having a family, and the passion she had just made space for in her life.
Now that space was left empty, and it didn’t feel like what remained would be enough to fill it.
And she hated him for that. Since falling in love with him, she had wanted more.
In the end, he had just wanted to take more from her, more of her, piece by piece until she wouldn’t even recognize herself.
Being the Witch of York had brought merciless judgement, but at least she had an idea of who she was.
Letters arrived from Harry, requesting that she allow him to call on her.
He probably thought she was still just being stubborn and that he could change her mind with just a few practical arguments.
But she would not yield. After she read each letter, searching for an apology that was never there, she tossed them into the fireplace.
If she had to leave Bootham, she wouldn’t go to the dower house, nor would she sell it just yet.
Instead, she wanted to teach at the orphanage, at least for a little while.
Although she’d be far from her usual patrons, she’d be able to teach a new generation of herbalists, just as Edith had done for her.
She was packing jars of devil’s claw and turmeric, ingredients she used for aching joints, into a basket when Ward interrupted her.
“Mr. Evans is here to call on you, my lady. Are you home for a visit?” She’d thought ignoring his letters would keep Harry away, but he was persistent. And he had called her the stubborn one.
Unable to make a choice, she looked to her butler for help. “What do you think, Ward?”
“That is a decision I cannot make for you. But I will say one thing, if you permit.” Agnes nodded, so he continued, “You have been a different person since becoming familiar with Mr. Evans, and it’s been a beautiful thing to see.
The late Lord Skelton thought most highly of him, and I feel as if I would not be honoring my former employer if I judged him differently. ”
“I just need a moment first, Ward. Please have him sit in the parlor.” She was done running away.
She hurried down the stairs and into her bedchamber. Her curls were as errant as her nerves. She called for Kitty and sank to her knees in front of the nightstand. Searching through the drawer, she found a vial of the same passionflower tincture she had given Harry and took three drops.
Kitty fixed her hair and changed her into a dress fit for company. Her maid left the room, but Agnes still hesitated. The door to Richard’s chamber was ajar, and she stepped into her late husband’s room.
“Richard . . .” Her voice caught. She was worried about allowing in dangerous spirits, but she had to do this. “If you can still hear me, please, tell me what to do.”
But she was only met with silence. No rush of air. No tingles on the back of her neck. She was alone. No one would tell her what to do. “I suppose I will hear what he has to say, and then I’ll make my own decision.”
At the bottom of the stairs, Ward gave her a fortifying smile and grabbed her hand. “I’ll be here if you need me.”
With false confidence, she walked into the parlor. She would not cry for him this time. So instead, she cried for herself as soon as she saw Harry’s face. If only the passionflower tincture stopped tears. He moved toward her, but she put her hands up.
“No,” she said sternly. “I want to hear what you came here to say. I can’t have you . . . touching me.”
He gulped, hands trembling. “Yes. I understand.” There was sadness in his voice, a destitute echoing in his words, which broke Agnes’s heart again.
She had lost count of how many times her heart had crumbled in the past week, which perplexed her, as she had never felt it get put back together before it broke again.
He took his handkerchief out of his pocket. Agnes was prepared to deny it, just to solidify her independence, but he didn’t offer it to her. Instead, he wiped the sweat from his own forehead.
“Agnes, I made a mistake in considering Skelton’s proposal. It should have never been an option. I should have told him to bugger off. I should have told him what a vile man he is, how he will never make a successful business off of your talent.”
He took a step forward. “Whatever he does to you, to us, we can handle it together without making concessions. Even if he threatens to take everything, I refuse to play a part in taking it from you.” He dropped to his knees before her.
“That was unforgivable, but still, here I am, asking you to forgive me.”
She pulled her own handkerchief from her sleeve, dabbing at the tears pooling under her eyes. “I don’t know.” She wished she had something more poignant to say, but she was speaking her truth. How was she meant to make a choice like this?
“I didn’t expect you to be ready for forgiveness. But I have something to show you, if you would be willing to go on a walk with me.” He stood and offered her his arm.
Indecision still riddled her body, gripping her stomach until the bile burned. Movement outside the parlor door caught her attention, and she saw Ward hiding just out of Harry’s sight. He nodded, urging her to go on. Maybe she wasn’t alone after all.
It was a short walk, and it was torture having Agnes this close beside him without her holding his arm the way she had in the countryside. He missed the feeling of her body pressed to his. Her absence had disoriented him. It was a miracle that he was able to navigate the streets.
After ten minutes, they reached a plain, unmarked door, not far from Nora’s shop. To Harry’s relief, Agnes let him take her hand. He gently uncurled each of her fingers and placed a key into her palm.
“Open it,” he said. Confusion knotted her face, so he nodded toward the door. “Open it.”
Her hands wavered as she maneuvered the key into the lock. “What is this?”
“Please, can I just give you a surprise? Trust me even though I know I don’t deserve that right now.” Her nostrils flared, but then her face softened.
“You’re lucky Ward has grown to like you.” She gave the key a hard twist. He would have to thank the old grump later.
She pushed open the door, and Harry trailed behind her.
“Hold on,” he said, looking around the dark room.
He pulled down a corner of the brown paper that covered the window.
Shelves of equipment, instruments, and empty jars bounced light around the room.
He turned to watch her reaction. Her expression was frustratingly neutral as her eyes traveled along each shelf.
“I don’t know exactly what tools you need, but I recognized these from your attic. Some funds still remain if there is anything really important that I’ve missed. We can go to the shops to gather the rest.”
Harry had used the account he had set aside for the nameless business venture he really had no interest in pursuing. He didn’t need it anymore. He had a career, but what he really needed was her. He wanted someone to come home to, someone to have a family with, someone to love and love him.
She shook her head. He was terrified that she would see this as another attempt to control her work. His heart sputtered as he waited for her to reveal her thoughts.
“I don’t understand.” Agnes’s words were timid, so unlike the woman who faced down barons. Here was his chance. He said a silent prayer that he wouldn’t mess this up again.
“I haven’t given up hope that we can secure your rightful inheritance, but if we don’t, I cannot allow you to lose this part of yourself. This space is yours, yours to use how you wish. You deserved more than having to start over.”
“I’m about to lose almost all of my funds, Harry. I can’t afford a place to live, let alone rent something this spacious.”
“The rent is paid for. If you decide to turn it into a business, consider me an investor. If you decide to run it as a charity, consider me a philanthropist.”
He watched her as she slowly turned about the room, fingers drifting over the jars of ingredients he had stocked in advance.
“What is this space?” she asked, pointing to an alcove in the back corner. Nestled into the small space was a table with two large terrariums sitting on top.
A blush warmed his cheeks. “Well. If I were to relocate to York, I’m not sure if the new rooms would have a space suitable for my collection. I thought, perhaps, I would be allowed to pursue my hobby here. I won’t take up much space. In return, maybe I could provide some enjoyable company?”
He gathered the courage to look at her. She stared back at him. A hopeful glimmer brightened her eyes. He took a tentative step toward her to see if she would stay or step back, but instead, she closed the space between them and he pulled her into his arms.
“I know it’s not everything you wanted, but at least Skelton would have nothing to do with any of this. I won’t let him near you. Never again.” She put her head on his chest.
“And Agnes?” She turned her face to his.
“If you will have me. If you could forgive me, I would provide for you as your husband. It wouldn’t match the funds that Richard had promised, but I do well for myself.
It would be enough to support us . . . and a family.
You would have me and you would still have your work. I would never stop you from that.”
“Harry,” she said, scolding him playfully.
“I’m still in mourning.” She tugged on her black bonnet.
“This is highly improper.” He knew she was teasing him, but it didn’t stop his heart from racing nor his hands from trembling ever so slightly.
“But yes, I will marry you. That wasn’t much of a proposal, but I accept.
That is, if you can forgive me for running away. ”
“There’s nothing to forgive. I was being dense.”
She twisted her fingers into his hair. A simultaneous rush of heat and relief thrashed his heart. His eyes filled with tears, and he tried to blink them away before Agnes noticed.
Her lips were close to his, but she stopped. “Oh, Harry. It has felt awful, hasn’t it?” She pulled his face closer, but instead of meeting his lips, she kissed the tears at the corner of each eye. “Let’s not be fools again.”
“How about fools in love?” She demonstrated her agreement with another kiss.