Page 42 of The Earl and the Reluctant Lady
“I will not apologize for being the woman I am, Agnes. I am sorry that it gives you distress, though I’m not certain why. It shouldn’t matter to you one way or another.”
“Mother, honestly. I hear of one story after another of you with men. Blatantly disregarding your marital vows.” Agnes winced at her own words. “It’s humiliating. Not to mention it has created a false belief that I am to follow in your footsteps.”
A flash of anger shot through her mother’s face. Her features pinched. “That is preposterous. Anyone could spend five minutes with you and know you are not a passionate sort.” She released a cold laugh. “I’ve never understood if you’re simply too stupid or too stubborn to use the gifts you’ve been given. There are women in this town that would kill for our beauty.”
Agnes didn’t understand it, but her mother’s words stung. She should be thrilled, relieved, yet she found herself oddly wounded. Not to mention the fact that what she said was fundamentally false. At least the part about other people recognizing her not to be a passionate woman. It hadn’t kept the men and their lascivious words and glances at bay.
“You’ve never once considered, though, that your actions affect the rest of us, Mother. I’m not even speaking about Father. But certainly, you must know that men have propositioned me.”
“Don’t be so dramatic, Agnes.”
“I’m not. I just wish, for once, you could be more like Harriet’s mother: supportive and encouraging.” She knew the minute the words had left her mouth that she’d said the wrong thing. Her mother hated, above all else, being compared to Agnes’s friend’s mothers.
Her mother’s pretty features hardened. “What am I to do with myself, Agnes? Sit at home and embroider? Being a lady is boring. I know you agree and I know you are not immune to the notion.”
No, she wasn’t. It was partly what had led her to first agreeing to be a member of the Ladies of Virtue and then to designing her weapons.
Her mother shot to her feet and paced the room. “Why is it perfectly acceptable for a man to be flagrant with his affairs, but when a lady does it, she is shunned, branded a whore?”
Agnes had no answer to that. “Whether or not it is fair, men and women are not equal, you know that. This is not a new phenomenon.”
“I am a passionate woman. I enjoy relations. There is no crime in that. And I am fortunate enough to look like this.” Her hands moved down her torso. “You might wish I were more like Duchess Lockwood and her friends, but I am the one the men come to. I could have a different man warm my bed every night, whereas they cannot.”
Agnes’s cheeks flamed. She did not want to discuss this with her mother.
“They can be marvelous, my dear daughter.” She sat then and gathered Agnes’s hands in her own. “Lord Wakefield could give you everything. Passion and love.”
“Father has not given you those things?” Agnes asked before she thought better of it.
“Your father and I were once lovers and wonderful friends. But he is quite a bit older than me and we’ve always been unmatched when it comes to fleshly pleasures. He is too busy for me. Always so focused on his travels and collecting those damn weapons of his. We have an entire museum’s worth of weaponry in this house, it’s ridiculous.”
Agnes winced.
Her mother chuckled. “I won’t go into any further details on the matter because we’re your parents. But suffice it to say, it is wise to test the waters before you jump in, if you understand my meaning.”
“I’m not certain—”
“It goes against standard convention—ladies are taught and encouraged to remain chaste until marriage. I did. But had I, at the very least, kissed your father before the wedding, perhaps I’d have known that we were not a good match.”
“Mother, are you suggesting that I taste the wares, so to speak, before purchasing?”
She chuckled again. “I most certainly am.”
Agnes paused, considering her next statement. “Lord Wakefield says that he feels passion with plenty of women.” Perhaps her mother could provide some maternal guidance, as unconventional as it was.
One delicate brow arched over her mother’s dark-blue eyes. “You and Lord Wakefield have discussed passion?”
Agnes’s cheeks heated. “I’ve kissed him. And Viscount Glenbrook. Very different experiences.”
Her mother’s face lit with joy. “Oh, do tell!”
Agnes shook her head. “No. I will not discuss this. It is far too embarrassing.”
“Honestly, Agnes. You are a grown woman.”
She was quiet for a few moments before she spoke.
“Viscount Glenbrook would be a good choice for you,” her mother said.
