Chapter 30

CHAPTER30

George had indeed fallen asleep in the library, but when he had awoken to the trill of the birds singing their dawn chorus and a soft, bluish light filtering through a gap in the drapes, Agnes was nowhere to be found. The fire had long gone out, leaving him cold and alone beneath a blanket that he did not remember laying across himself.

Were you worried I would catch a chill? He smiled, realizing that Agnes must have done it when she left though he did not remember her leaving. Still, he was grateful that at least one of them had had the sense to return to their bedchamber, and even more grateful that she had come to him last night, answering a silent call consisting of nothing but hope and longing.

Stretching out and yawning, he wrapped the blanket around himself, gathered up the previous day’s clothes, and slipped out of the library. At such an early hour, he prayed that no one would see him sneaking back to his bedchamber.

He had almost made it to his door when a sharp voice halted him on the threshold.

“George?” Lady Finch approached from the opposite end of the hallway, rubbing her bleary eyes. “What are you doing, creeping around at such an hour? Have you just returned from somewhere? Tell me you have not settled back into old habits! I knew it was a mistake to leave you behind in London!”

George leaned against the door. “Be at peace, dearest Diana,” he said, using her name—something he only did when he felt extraordinarily fond of her. “I fell asleep in the library. I have no intention of slipping back into old habits, and you no longer get to decide where I stay or do not stay. If I had not remained in London, I would be poorer for it.”

“You… fell asleep in the library?” Lady Finch blinked slowly.

He grinned. “The fall of the Roman Empire.”

“Ah.” She nodded as if that made perfect sense. “But why are you half-dressed?”

He shrugged. “It was warm.”

“Well, I hope you are properly rested,” she said, relaxing. “I have arranged for you bright young things to play a game of shuttlecock on the lawns after breakfast. I thought you could play with Lady Agnes, and I could coax a few gentlemen from the Hall to partner with Lady Rose.”

George groaned as if he were a boy again, being asked to do something he did not wish to. “Are you trying to kill me, Diana? I have not slept nearly enough to exert such efforts.”

“Then enjoy a swift nap, for you will be playing,” Lady Finch instructed. “In truth, I thought you would be thrilled by the notion of competing with Lady Agnes.”

George froze. “What do you mean by that?”

“I see you, George,” Lady Finch replied with a fond smile. “I have seen both of you.”

His throat tightened with panic. “What have you seen?”

“The way you look at one another, the way you squabble, the way you danced with one another, the way you… are when you are together,” she explained, her eyes glazing with a strange sort of sadness. “When I watch you, it is like I am seeing my husband and I as we were when we were first courting. Now, I know I am not to meddle as you have told me a thousand times, but… I think it would be a shame if your stubborn refusal to be truly happy lost you someone who is so entirely perfect for you.”

He swallowed his panic, soothed by his adopted mother’s encouraging words. He did not realize he had been seeking validation yet hearing her say that she approved might have been the greatest gift he had ever received, even if she did not know that he had already confessed to Agnes. Mostly confessed, anyway.

“I shall nap, and then I shall stand there on the lawns with a battledore in my hand though I cannot promise I will be able to muster the strength to play a game,” he said, secretly overjoyed.

Lady Finch clapped her hands together. “Excellent.” She moved forward and drew George into her arms, holding him tightly for a moment. “And do remember that other thing I mentioned. I really believe she would be good for you.”

“Be satisfied with the shuttlecock for now,” he murmured, giving her a gentle squeeze.

For though he knew he was falling in love with Agnes and that his heart already belonged to her, there was something about the word “marriage” that still pierced his heart with a javelin of dread.

* * *

“Fiddlesticks! Blast it all!” George cursed under his breath as he watched the feathered shuttlecock flutter to the grass, a mere half an inch from the end of his battledore—a small racquet that he could have sworn had vowed to defy him.

His thighs and shoulders burned, his brow and back slicked with sweat, until he would have happily thrown his dignity onto the pyre of society in order to rip off his clothes and feel some relief from the intolerable heat of the day.

“I believe that is another point to me!” Agnes chirped, throwing her battledore up and catching it by the handle. “We can rotate competitors if you like?”

George flashed a scowl at his secret beloved. “There will be no need for that. I would not wish to take any prospects away from Lady Rose.”

The other Weston sister was playing a more sedate, polite game of shuttlecock a short distance away with some of the guests from Finch Hall: an equal number of ladies and gentlemen, who changed places with whomever had failed to hit the shuttlecock back to their partner. Lady Finch had insisted on George and Agnes playing alone which he might have preferred if she was not ridiculously talented at the game, using her dancer’s grace and nimbleness to its greatest advantage, trouncing him.

“Should we place a wager on the next point?” Agnes asked as George swiped the shuttlecock up off the grass and braced to hit it toward her.

He paused. “We have not had much success with wagers in the past.”

“You have not. I have been rather fortunate,” she replied, laughing so brightly that he could almost forgive her for annihilating him.

He rolled his eyes, struggling to not be a sore loser. “What are your terms?”

“Might I whisper it to you?” Agnes took a few steps toward him, as if she meant to take the shuttlecock from him.

He tilted his head to one side, suddenly intrigued. “Very well.”

She approached and put out her hand to receive the shuttlecock. As he gave it to her, she leaned in and said, “If I win, I will not come to the library tonight. If you win, I will be there at that same hour, just as you asked.”

His heart leaped and lurched, all at once, for it was something that had troubled him since waking up alone that morning: she had not responded to his request to see her again that night. He knew he must have gotten distracted by the joy of holding her in his arms and seeing the pink flush of pleasure in her cheeks, but it was only as he had settled down to take his nap that he had realized she had not answered him. And considering their history of wagers, it rather sounded like she had already made up her mind, certain that she would win.

“As you wish,” he said, clearing his throat to conceal the hitch in his voice.

She does not want me, he told himself. She does not trust me, does not think me sincere, so she cannot pursue this with me. He had known it was a possibility, but that did not make it any easier to swallow.

With an elegant flourish, she batted the shuttlecock into the air. As it arced through the air, George experienced a pressure unlike anything he had ever experienced before. His entire future happiness rested upon him successfully hitting the shuttlecock back, and he had been lumbered with a spiteful battledore.

He could not bear to look as he swung his arm up, but as he felt the thwack of the shuttlecock striking his battledore, his heart soared with the shuttlecock as it sailed back through the air toward Agnes.

For a player so gifted and competitive, he could not understand why she was not diving toward the shuttlecock as she had been for the past hour. Indeed, to his astonishment, she did not move at all. And as the shuttlecock came down, she swung her arm limply, her battledore nowhere near the little white projectile.

George’s eyes widened as he watched the shuttlecock fall, landing in the grass without a sound. A moment later, his gaze snapped up to meet Agnes’.

You win, she mouthed, flashing a mischievous wink.

Tonight, he mouthed back, deciding he might like the game of shuttlecock after all.