Page 67 of The Earl and the Reluctant Lady
“Or I could meet with your mother,” he offered. “Lady Darby seems rather fond of me.”
Agnes did nothing to hide her snort of derision. “You’re handsome, of course she’s fond of you. I’m surprised she hasn’t offered herself to you.” She glanced up at him and his expression tightened. “Oh God, has she?”
He shook his head. “Not exactly. She has flirted, but I made it abundantly clear that I only had my sights set on one woman in her family.”
Being married would solve so many of her problems. But could she be Fletcher’s wife? She looked up into his face. He was so handsome it was annoying.
“You don’t have to decide tonight. You can let me know another day. I’m not in a rush.” He cupped her face. “I do want you protected, though.”
She nodded, but found she had no words.
He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. The other times he’d kissed her, they’d been full of passion and heat, this one, though, was softer, gentler. He ended the kiss and pressed his forehead to hers.
“I could be a good husband for you, Agnes.”
She nodded, but again said nothing.
“I’m going to follow behind as you make your way back to the ballroom. I need to ensure you’re safe.”
“How do you know you could keep the marital vows?” she asked.
He inclined his head. “Surely, you must know that I would do anything for you.” He swallowed visibly. “Having you as my wife, I’d never be tempted by another woman again.”
Oh, how his tongue dripped with honey. But were his words truthful? She wished she knew. At the end of the day, though, she had three options: she could retire to the country a spinster, ask Christopher to arrange a union for her, or marry Fletcher. She wasn’t even certain her family would allow the first, which left her with marrying an unknown gentleman—provided Christopher could find someone—or marry the man who set her body on fire.
So, even if he were lying in this moment, this seemed the very best solution to her problems.
She nodded. “All right, I’ll marry you.”
The official announcement of their engagement wouldn’t hit the papers for another two days, but they’d told enough of the right people to ensure that word had gotten out. Christopher wasn’t speaking to either of them, but Agnes figured that eventually he’d come to terms with their union.
Agnes’s mother dove straight into wedding planning and Agnes had simply stepped aside. It mattered not to her what happened at the wedding itself save the actual vows she and Fletcher would take.
“Lady Darby! Lady Darby, come quick. Something terrible has happened,” one of the maids shouted from the main corridor.
Agnes set down her sketchbook and stepped outside the parlor.
“What is the matter?” she asked the maid.
Agnes’s mother came rushing down the main staircase. “What is all the ruckus about?”
The maid fretted with her hands flitting about in front of her. “Come and see.” She led them out the french doors and to the gardens at the back of the house. “I don’t know what happened. Or how?”
Agnes stepped out into the gardens not believing what she was seeing. Every direction she looked the plants had been ripped out of the ground, displaced, turned over, and scattered about.
“My beautiful garden!” her mother yelled. “It has been ruined. Who would do such a thing?”
Agnes knew. Not exactly who he was, but she knew that the same man who had invaded these gardens and clipped flowers to gift her with had come back here again and destroyed the plants. But why?
“I want a meeting with all of the servants in the main dining room in fifteen minutes,” her mother told the maid sharply. “This is disgraceful.” She turned to go back inside. “Agnes, are you coming?”
“Not just yet.”
Her mother continued to wax on about the horrors her plants had endured as she went back into the house.
Agnes walked through the gardens, looking at each plant that had been displaced. What was he trying to tell her? Had she declined a dance with him again? No, that couldn’t be it, she had only attended one ball since she’d returned from the country, but she’d left early after Fletcher’s proposal and hadn’t danced with anyone. She didn’t even recall anyone asking.
Agnes went back inside, uncertain of what she should do. She didn’t want to tell her mother about her secret suitor as there was no way to determine how her mother would take something like that. But she knew she needed to tell Fletcher and her friends.
