Chapter 33

CHAPTER33

Agnes had heard it all, and every vile, beguiling word of trickery and dishonor that had fallen from Lord Morton’s lips had dripped more fuel onto the fire of her inhuman rage. If George had not swung open the bedchamber door when he had, she would have barreled right through it, fists raised, not caring that she was dressed in nothing but a bedlinen that she had fashioned into a sort of Roman toga.

“Unhand her!” Agnes bellowed, grabbing Lord Morton by the scruff of his collar and yanking back as hard as she could. She heard him choke as he sailed backward, hitting the hard floor with a wheezing thud.

As he lay there in a daze, sprawled out, Agnes turned her attention to where it was truly needed. “Did he hurt you, my sweet Rosie? Are you well? Are you harmed?” She kneeled in front of her sister, her fingertips gently searching Rose’s face for any hint of injury. “Oh, my dearest Rosie…”

Rose blinked slowly, tears beading in her eyelashes as she stared at her sister. “How long have—”

“Long enough,” Agnes interjected, pulling Rose into her arms. “You are safe now, my sweet sister. You are safe.”

Behind her, she heard the groan of a floorboard and watched with violent hatred as a shadow stretched over the sisters. Bracing herself for whatever blow might come, Agnes held her sister as tight as she could without suffocating the poor girl and squeezed her eyes shut, whispering, “You are safe, Rosie. You are safe,” over and over.

But when no retaliation came, Agnes eked open one eye and twisted around, just in time to see George land a punch that sent Lord Morton flying. The wretched man stumbled into a second armchair, struggling to regain his balance, but George did not hesitate as he marched forward and seized Lord Morton by the front of his shirt.

“Men who try to force themselves upon a lady are the scum of the earth,” George snarled, his grip on Lord Morton’s collar turning the cretin’s face an alarming shade of purple. “And men who try to steal away young ladies under false pretenses are sewer rats. There is no carriage coming is there, Seth?”

The Baron’s eyes bulged, his arms flailing as he fought to free himself.

“Answer me, you bastard, and I will loosen my hold!” George barked while Agnes tried to cover Rose’s ears.

Lord Morton’s face twisted into a mask of true malice: his real face. “No,” he rasped, half-strangled.

“Say it louder so that Lady Rose can hear!” George demanded.

“There is… no carriage… coming,” Lord Morton croaked.

George released him, and Lord Morton crumpled to the floor, his knees crunching as he hit the bare boards. The cretin’s hands flew to his throat as he hunched over, dragging in breath after breath, coughing and spluttering as a more ordinary color returned to his despicable face.

“I have been a fool,” Rose whispered, hugging Agnes with all her might. “Oh, Agnes, I… I will be ruined.”

Agnes pressed her lips to her sister’s hair, murmuring, “No, my dearest one, you will not.” She raised her voice, so Lord Morton would be sure to hear every word. “Lord Morton will not breathe a word of any of this. Lord Morton will keep his wretched scheme with you a secret until his dying day, unless he wishes that day to be much earlier than he expects. No one knows he is here. No one knows he rode here in the dead of night to steal you away. As such, no one will know where he disappeared to—a mystery that might elicit gossip for a few weeks but will soon be forgotten, along with him.”

She would not have resorted to murdering anyone, but she needed Lord Morton to believe that she was capable of it if pushed, and he had certainly pushed her to the edge of reason.

“You would not!” Rose gasped, reeling back.

Staring intently at her sister, Agnes nodded. “I would for you, Rosie. If it meant saving you, I would do anything.” The steely, unforgiving ice in her own voice frightened her. “Even if it cost my immortal soul, I would bury that vile toad in a hole so deep that no one would ever find him. I would dig it with my own hands.”

“I… will not breathe a… word,” Lord Morton panted, flopping back against the nearest armchair. His eyes were wide with terror. “I shall… take it to my grave when the heavens… decide it is my time.”

George loomed over him. “How can we trust anything you say? You made Lady Rose believe you loved her, you made her believe your intentions were good, yet this was all a disgusting ruse.” He paused. “I must say, you are an excellent thespian. Even I believed you were honorable, and I have known hundreds of “gentlemen” like you. You slipped through my net of perception which does not happen very often.”

Lord Morton laughed bitterly. “It is a talent.”

“Have you done this often?” George pressed, squinting at the wretch.

Lord Morton nodded. “At least once a year, every year. The season is full of fresh fruit, ripe for plucking.” He sneered. “How quickly they turn rotten once you have taken a bite. Is that not true, Your Grace?” He spat the last two words as if they were that rotten fruit, moldering in his mouth.

“Lady Agnes knows all there is to know about me, so do not try to turn her against me,” George replied coolly. “She truly has changed me. You, you wretched viper, are the kind who cannot be changed.”

Lord Morton rolled his eyes. “How lucky you are.” He tilted his head from side to side, wincing. “Perhaps, next year, I shall pretend to be a Duke. I imagine I shall have decidedly less trouble in getting what I desire.”

“Is that how you have gone unnoticed?” George asked, his eyes widening as if something had just occurred to him. “You are not a Baron at all, are you? Who is Lord Morton?”

The scoundrel shrugged. “A pleasant enough fellow, I am sure, sailing the tides in pursuit of silk and gold. No mother or father or close family living who would notice that I am not him.” He grinned. “But I am a Baron, and my name is Seth. That is all you need to know about me. Allow me to keep my secrets, and I shall keep yours.”

Releasing Rose from her tight embrace, Agnes twisted around fully until she was facing Lord Morton, or Seth, or whoever he was. “Do not grin and mock and make demands, Seth. I was quite serious in my threat. If you do not do as you are asked, you will not leave this hunting lodge at all.”

Seth blinked rapidly, pulling a face that reminded her of a little boy who had been scolded. “What are your terms?” he muttered, sweeping a hand through the pale blond hair that Agnes now suspected was definitely a wig.

“You return to wherever it is you hail from,” Agnes seethed. “You forget all you have seen here tonight and any ruination you planned to reap from Rose or me or His Grace. And if I catch so much as a glimpse of you at any ball or gathering or dinner either this season or during any season to come, you will truly come to understand what is meant by a woman’s wrath.”

George nodded. “And do not forget that, should you disobey Lady Agnes’ command tonight, she will have the protection of a Duke if you lead her into fulfilling this violent promise.”

Agnes’ astonished gaze flitted to George for a moment, her angry heart soothed by his words. Of course, she had hoped that his confession and the delicious hours they had spent, tangled up in one another, had meant they were on the path to something perpetual. But that had almost sounded like a proposal of marriage—something she would have been happy to wait for as long as she had him by her side.

True fear rippled across Seth’s face. “You are… engaged to be wed? I had not heard mention of such a thing.”

“We are,” George replied without hesitation. “At present, only Lady Finch is aware, but the banns will soon be announced. So, heed our warning, or face the full brunt of a Duke and Duchess raining their revenge down upon you—it is entirely your choice.”

Seth got up on shaky legs, dusting down the front of his ripped tailcoat. “I am free to leave if I promise to obey?”

“You are,” George said.

Seth bowed his head, all the color drained from his face. “Lady Rose, I am sorry to have deceived you. If I had known that you were soon to be the sister-in-law of a Duke, I would have avoided you like the plague.” It was a cruel apology, twisting a knife that he had already plunged into Rose’s back. “But you deceived me, too. You swore to me that there was nothing between His Grace and your sister.”

“Continue in this manner, and I will take something of yours that you will sorely miss,” Agnes hissed.

Seth balked. “Very well, I apologize for the inconvenience I have caused. I will say nothing of what I have seen or done.” He skirted around the armchair and backed away toward the door. “Lady Agnes, I have never believed that a rake can change his ways, but perhaps I am mistaken.”

“You are,” Agnes shot back with a saccharine smile.

He frowned as if he had expected her to crumble instead. “You are all quite mad. I am pleased I never entered into a marriage that would tie me to such lunatics.” He fumbled for the door handle. “I pray we never meet again.”

“As do I,” Agnes replied, for she had been called far worse than “mad” and from her own mother, no less.

With that, Seth wrenched open the door and fell out into the lightening night, vanishing into the gloom. But, for a short while, Agnes heard the crack of twigs underfoot and the rustle of undergrowth being disturbed, and the rather satisfying sound of Seth cursing as the forest took its vengeance upon him.

When silence reigned at last, Agnes sank to her knees in front of her sister and cradled the poor girl’s face in her hands. “All is well, dear Rosie. No harm has been done.”

“I… have been such a… dolt,” Rose choked, her breath hitching as tears fell in slow trickles down her cheeks. “I thought… he loved me. I thought… we were to be… blissfully happy.”

Agnes smiled sadly. “I know, my sweet girl. I know.”

“But that is not the… worst thing!” Rose cried, hiding her face in her hands.

“It is not?”

Rose shook her head. “The worst part is… Mother was right!”

Despite everything, laughter pealed from Agnes’ lips, tumbling out in contagious waves that soon had George and Rose laughing, too. “Oh, we must never tell her!” Agnes urged, wheezing with the hilarious irony of it all. “Swear it here and now—swear she will never know!”

“I swear it.” Rose dabbed her eyes with her sleeves, a smile peeking through the storm-clouds of her misfortune. “I would be locked inside my bedchamber if she ever discovered any of it.”

Agnes gestured at her makeshift garment. “As would I.” She paused, grinning. “Although, if anything could jolt her out of her grief for good, it would surely be finding out that one daughter almost fled with a dishonorable wretch, and the other was discovered alone in a hunting lodge with a devilishly handsome Duke, wearing naught but bedlinens.”

George hastily grabbed a blanket from the back of the armchair and draped it over his own bare skin, evidently remembering that he had stormed out of the bedchamber without a shirt. Fortunately, he had remembered his trousers.

“Then, is it true that you are engaged to be married?” Rose’s cheeks flushed pink at the sight of George covering himself and the mention of Agnes’ “toga,” like she had only just realized that there was something untoward about the situation.

Agnes looked to George, who smiled back.

“We are,” he said, “though I have not exactly asked her yet. And now might not be the most opportune moment, considering all you have suffered tonight, Lady Rose. It would feel rather like rubbing salt into a very fresh wound.”

Rose shook her head vehemently. “No, no, you must! Do not worry about me, Your Grace.” She clapped her hands together in delight. “All my life, I have wanted nothing more than to see my sister deliriously happy, and if you are the gentleman who can manage that feat, then there will be no sting whatsoever! Indeed, it would not be salt at all but a salve!”

“If you are certain?” George asked shyly.

Rose beamed from ear to ear, all traces of misery gone from her beautiful face. “I am, Your Grace.”

Agnes’ attention drifted between her sister and her beloved, her heart torn in two between her own happiness and her sister’s pain. After years of being crushed by their mother’s rejection, Rose had become adept at hiding her sorrow swiftly, and though Agnes wanted to believe that her sister had recovered at such a breakneck pace, she could not. It was just a well-meaning façade.

“We must all return to the manor,” Agnes insisted. “We can speak of proposals and such later.”

But Rose stubbornly resisted, turning to George. “Please, Your Grace. If you love her, ask her to marry you.” Her voice caught in her throat. “After tonight, I must know that there is hope, or I shall not be able to muster the strength to walk back to the manor, much less endure the rest of this… dismal season.”

“Well,” George began, “I had hoped to do so more privately, but there seems to be little use in delaying. Of course, I shall have to speak to your mother, who despises me, but I am hopeful of gaining her consent.”

Agnes’ eyes widened as he beckoned for her to come to him. Leaving Rose in the armchair, Agnes went to stand before him, taking his hands as he offered them out to her.

“Agnes,” he said softly, his eyes shining. “I realize that I am in a state of woeful undress, and my knuckles are bruised which is not how I imagined myself appearing when I asked this of you, but… would you do me the greatest honor and privilege of consenting to be my wife and my love from this day until our last?”

For what felt like an eternity, Agnes could not get her mouth and throat and mind to cooperate in forming speech. Her mouth opened and closed, saying nothing, as her heart thundered in her chest—so loud she was certain George could hear it.

“Regardless of what that cretin said,” George continued nervously, when Agnes did not reply, “I am changed because of you. You removed the mask that I was wearing and saw me—the real me—and you did not turn away. I will honor you, cherish you, adore you, worship you, and love you until we are naught but solid bones in the ground, resting together as we have rested together in life.”

Tears pricked Agnes’ eyes. “Solid bones?”

“The most unbreakable kind,” he replied, nodding. “I love you, Agnes.”

“As I love you,” she gasped, overwhelmed.

“Then consent!” Rose cried, tears running down her face as she jigged up and down on the armchair’s cushion. “I beg of you, consent and be ridiculously, enviably happy! Give me hope, sister!”

Chuckling through her own tears, Agnes took a half step closer to George. “If you are certain you can endure me, it would be my greatest pleasure to be your wife.”

“I can endure you,” he told her, bringing his hands to her face to cradle her cheeks. “I long to.”

As he dipped his head and kissed her, sealing their joyful fate, Agnes melted into his embrace. She kissed him back, smiling against his lips as he wrapped his dignity blanket around her and pulled her closer, both of them briefly forgetting that they were not in the privacy of the bedchamber.

Rose cleared her throat. “If I may, I think we ought to be returning to the manor before our absence is noticed.”

Pulling away from George, Agnes flashed an apologetic smile at her sister. “I promise, we shall not be insufferable.”

“Oh, be as insufferable as you please,” Rose insisted, grinning back. “You have earned it, Agnes. Truly, you have, but… I would perhaps prefer it if I was not in the same room as you when you are in the midst of your affections.”

“Noted.” Agnes chuckled. “Allow us a moment to gather our garments, and we shall all return to the manor together. Indeed, I think a nip of something potent might be in order.”

As Agnes and George headed back to the bedchamber to dress, collecting their respective garments from the floor where they had fallen, they both paused with their armfuls of clothes and gazed at one another. A moment later, they were in each other’s arms, their lips meeting in an eager dance that spoke of an exciting future.

“I love you, Agnes,” George whispered.

She peered up at him, smoothing back his silky curls. “As I love you.”

And as he kissed her again and she pressed herself against him, sinking into the safety and strength of his body wrapping around her, she knew without doubt that these were the solid bones that Lady Finch had spoken of. And though they might weather and warp and take a scrape or two over the years, they would never break, for they were forged of an unexpected love that could only be everlasting.

If an avowed spinster and an infamous rake could find one another and bloom love from the tangled weeds of stubbornness and conflict and shadowed pasts, Agnes was certain there was hope for everyone. Especially Rose. And as Agnes clung to her beloved, her heart soared, knowing it would never have to feel the weight of loneliness ever again as long as she was in his arms.

“I love you,” she whispered, knowing she would never get tired of saying it.

“I love you more,” he replied, and though it was not in her nature, she let him win, just this once.