Chapter 12

CHAPTER12

From the darkness of his carriage, George observed the main entrance of the Dowager House. Footmen had trickled in and out for the past fifteen minutes, carrying boxes and trunks, and it seemed that the household was finally preparing to depart. Still, he did not intend to leave himself until he had seen the results of his commands.

“I did not do it for you.” His words echoed in his head like church bells at midnight, for he could not understand why he had said that. He had heard the shouting from outside, and recognizing Agnes’ voice, he had charged in without hesitation. Of course, he had done it for her to spare her embarrassment.

Or did I do it for myself to prove that I am not what she thinks I am? He groaned, half-wishing he had not stopped at the Dowager House on his way to London. Then again, it was not as if the past three days of being absent had given him any peace, not when his mind continued to fill with thoughts of Agnes, dreams of Agnes, the possibilities of Agnes.

He sat up straighter as the carriage door opened, and William scrambled inside, laughing. He held what appeared to be a waxed paper package in his hands and offered it to George with childish glee.

“Delicacies for the journey,” William explained. “I stole them from the kitchens.”

“What are they?”

William grinned. “Raspberry madeleines.” He pulled something else from inside his waistcoat. “And this, to put us in the right disposition for London.”

It was a bottle of brandy, yet the sight of it did not cheer George as it usually would. Nor did the pilfered madeleines though they were his favorite.

“You should have asked if you could take them,” he said coolly.

William raised an eyebrow. “What is the matter with you, Buxton? You have been peculiar ever since my return, and I am starting to worry that I am the cause of it.” He paused. “It is the wedding, is it not? I have disappointed you by breaking our covenant of bachelorhood.”

“It is not that,” George replied, returning his attention to the main entrance of the manor house. “I am concerned that Lady Finch is feeling exploited. Everyone takes from her and gives nothing in return.”

William opened the waxed paper package and took out a madeleine, releasing the delicious aroma of warm butter and sugar into the carriage. “Are you referring to that awful woman who is causing such a fuss?”

“In part,” George admitted, just as Lady Finch stepped out onto the porticoed porch with Agnes and Lady Rose in tow. “But also, your theft. Pass me one of those.”

William did so, and as George bit into the soft cake, another figure shuffled out to join the three women. Lady Snowley resembled a ghoul, swathed in a black cloak, her face pale and downturned. But at least she was out of her bedchamber; it remained to be seen if she would be heading south with her daughters or returning to the North which might have been in the best interests of everyone.

I have witnessed far less bothersome mothers ruining their daughters’ prospects, and you are assuredly a liability. George was almost tempted to invite her into his carriage, so he could ensure that she went north, but he was not ready to stand in front of Agnes again. At this juncture, she likely did not know what to think of him.

“What are you staring at so intently?” William leaned over George’s shoulder, following the latter’s line of sight. Spying the women, he gave a low whistle. “Which is it, Buxton? Which one has taken your fancy? That lady in the lavender is exceptionally beautiful.”

But George only had eyes for the lady in duck-egg blue, searching Agnes’ blank expression for a hint of emotion. It was clear that she had retreated into herself, donning a mask of quiet calm, putting on an unflustered performance. Yet, George could not forget the vehemence in her when he had rushed to her aid and seen her yelling and banging upon the door like a hellion. The passion of her anger had not been unseemly to him; it had inspired the hunger that gnawed within him, leaving him ravenous for a taste of Agnes.

“I am merely watching to ensure that Lady Snowley does not distress Lady Finch anymore,” George lied, swallowing the mouthful of raspberry madeleine. But nothing could have been sweeter than Agnes.

William sat back on the squabs, evidently bored with the scene on the porch. “When are we departing? There is a gathering at Beckett’s Club tonight, and if we do not arrive early, we shall have to stand.”

“Does your betrothed know you are still frequenting gentlemen’s clubs?” George glanced at his friend. “Or is this season to be your last hurrah before you are married?”

With a shrug, William pulled a blanket across himself and wedged his body into the far corner, preparing for a nap. “I shall not do anything that might jeopardize my wedding, but nor shall I miss out on all the revels. Indeed, there is no safer place for a betrothed gentleman than a gentleman’s club where the door is barred to temptations.”

“Then, I shall join you,” George said, urging Agnes to look his way, but she was too occupied with shepherding her mother and sister toward their carriage.

So, Lady Snowley will be in attendance. What a pity.

“Join me in what, Buxton?” William asked.

George smiled, sensing that this coming season might be very different for him. “In avoiding temptation, Reid.”

“Pardon?” William shot up, dropping the blanket. “You are going to deny yourself?”

At that moment, Agnes’ gaze drifted toward George’s carriage, and though she was at a distance, he thought he saw her sigh: the sigh of a lady who was just as confused as he was.

“Yes, Reid, I think I am. I cannot promise to be any good at it, but I should like to see if I am capable of resisting the appetites that have landed me in such trouble these past years,” he told his friend though the real reason behind the challenge was standing right there, by the door of her own carriage, glancing over in his direction.

William launched a round of mocking applause. “Well, good luck to you I say. I look forward to us both being righteous pillars of society though I was rather hoping to live vicariously through you.” He sighed. “No matter, I shall just have to read those ghastly scandal sheets to satisfy my curiosities.”

“This year, neither of us shall find our names within those pages,” George said, more to himself than to his friend.

A grin spread across William’s face as he threw another madeleine at George. “You do have a liking for that lady in lavender. I am no fool, Buxton, for that is the only thing that has changed since I went away—the presence of those two sisters.”

“I do not have a liking for her,” George insisted as he watched Agnes’ hand lift in a small, uncertain wave. “If I did, I would tell you.”

He resisted the urge to wave back, for after all she had made him endure, day and night, haunting his thoughts and dreams with impossible delights, he thought it wise to let her stew for a while. At least until he could figure out how he planned to proceed, for though his body and mind and soul craved her, she had still shown no reflection of that burning desire. Indeed, when he had pressed himself against her by the chamber door, she had withdrawn, locking her arms behind her back. And that was not a good sign.

“Very well,” William conceded. “I believe you, but something is different. Something has changed, and I shall get to the bottom of it.”

It is quite simple, George knew, watching Agnes climb into the carriage, disappearing from view. I shall starve if I cannot have her, for this is a hunger I will not survive.