Page 43 of The Earl and the Reluctant Lady
“He is kind and respectful and very handsome.”
“Yes, he is,” her mother agreed.
“Lord Wakefield.” Even saying his name made her sigh. Good heavens but she was a goose. “He is all wrong for me.”
“You know I only want you to be happy, Agnes. I spent a lot of time in the early part of our marriage being unhappy. Then we came to an agreement. Your father is fully aware of my indiscretions.” She frowned. “Do not, for a moment, believe he is a victim in this relationship. He cannot or will not give me what I need, so he gave me freedom to seek it elsewhere.” She was quiet for a moment. “If you feel as if Viscount Glenbrook is a better fit for you for marriage, then marry him. But do not discount the passion you share with Lord Wakefield.”
Was she actually telling her to marry Sullivan and have an affair with Fletcher on the side? Though Agnes had seen glimpses of the mother she needed, ultimately, they’d never have the relationship that Agnes desired. She sighed. There was nothing more to discuss.
“This is not appropriate maternal advice,” Agnes said.
Her mother shrugged. “Perhaps not. What would you have me say to you?”
She thought again of Duchess Lockwood and how loving she was toward Harriet. She thought of Lady Somersby and how supportive she was, not only to her own children, but to all of the women in the Ladies of Virtue.
Agnes closed her eyes. What did she want?
A mother who provided comfort and understanding. A mother who gave advice that would actually be helpful and wouldn’t possibly get her ostracized from Society.
Was it Agnes’s fault that her mother had never been able to be a mother? Perhaps if she wasn’t so analytical and pragmatic, her mother would engage more with her. Perhaps the flaw wasn’t with her mother, but in her.
“I want you to be a mother to me. I don’t want you to see me as a rival. I don’t want you to encourage me to seduce my suitors. I want you to be a mother.”
After that there was nothing left to say.
Agnes silently made her way into her bedchamber, her thoughts bouncing from the kiss she’d shared with Fletcher to her mother’s inappropriate advice. A silver tray sat atop her dressing table with a single envelope. She recognized the penmanship immediately and her heart thundered.
She had dared hope her secret suitor had given up after seeing her in Fletcher’s arms on more than one occasion.
My dearest Agnes,
I must admit that I am very disappointed in you. I know that we share a powerful connection and yet recently when I sought a dance from you, you declined. Initially I thought that perhaps you didn’t want people to see how things will be when you’re in my arms. We won’t be able to hide it. The passion will be all consuming and everyone will notice. Is that why you denied me?
My darling, I cannot wait too much longer for us to be together. Do not be shy about showing me how you feel. I know you feel it, too, anytime I’m near.
Dance with me, Agnes. The next time I ask, you must say yes. I won’t take no for an answer.
With great adoration.
Agnes dropped the letter and shivered. She went in search for the footman who had delivered the envelope to her room. Perhaps one of the servants had caught a glimpse of her secret suitor.
She needed to uncover this man’s identity and quickly before he ruined her.
