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“At the ball, William was being very . . . cozy with someone. One of his third cousins. Miss Amelia Bidwell—that was her name. And then, the next morning, over breakfast, William’s uncle made it seem like William and Miss Bidwell were . . . betrothed or something.” Not wanting to see Agnes’s reaction, Edwin looked away, fixing his eyes on the hat’s vibrant blue. “It’s not official. Yet. But I think it could be. Someday.” Irritation flared to life inside him, causing his face to flush as his blood boiled. “And so, I’m mad at him. On your behalf, obviously. God, I knew this was a possibility, but still . . .” He let out a huff. “I let myself think that he’d propose to you eventually.”

Edwin clenched his hands into fists. He counted to three before relaxing them. And then, finally, he mustered up the courage to lift his eyes and see his sister’s reaction to what he had told her.

Agnes was staring straight ahead, her mouth a hard line. Every trace of emotion was gone from her face. She was simply looking out into nothingness, her breathing noticeably shallow. And then a solitary tear escaped her left eye. She swept her fingers across her cheekbone in one fast motion, wiping it away.

“I see,” she said. Seconds passed. She took a long breath and looked over at him. “Thank you for telling me, Edwin.”

How she managed to stay so composed, Edwin didn’t know. Immediately, Agnes returned to her sewing. Edwin continued to watch her, unease churning in his stomach. He waited for her to lower the veil of false stoicism, but she never did. Instead, she finished patching the hole, placed her needle and thread on the side table, and lifted the completed garment with a small smile.

“Finished,” she said simply. After folding the petticoat, she placed it on the floor by the feet of the chair she was sitting in and looked over at Edwin. “Do you still want to work on the hat?”

Staring, Edwin shook his head in befuddlement, a scowl settling on his face. Not five minutes before, Agnes had expected Edwin to bear his soul about Andrew, but now she couldn’t even give him the courtesy of being honest about her own relationship woes. Agnes couldn’t seem to let herself show one-tenth of the emotions she must have been feeling about what Edwin had told her. And this was exactly why Edwin had become so captivated by Andrew when they’d first met. It was why he was still so captivated by him. Andrew Thompson was someone who wore his heart on his sleeve. He wore all of his emotions on his sleeve. Edwin never had to wonder whether Andrew liked him or whether or not he was happy or hurt or any number of things. Meanwhile, Agnes and William were still playing games like they were children.

“You can’t be serious,” Edwin said. “I just told you that the love of your life might marry someone else, and you . . . you want to know if I want to finish crocheting a stupid hat?!”

“Well, what do you expect me to say, Edwin?” she asked, her nostrils flaring. “It isn’t up to me! You, of all people, know how little power women have in this world, because you were forced to live it. William knows how I feel. I’ve made it as clear to him as I possibly could. I’ve knitted him scarves, baked him treats, sent him letters, made excuses to spend time with him, sent tea, given him photographs. William knows I’m in love with him. And, God, if not, if he’s somehow too thick to see it, then maybe it’s better that we won’t be getting married anyway.”

Edwin tightened his jaw. Agnes was right. Dammit, he hated that she was right. He clenched his fist once more and then released it, letting out a breath as he relaxed his hand.

“Sorry,” he said softly.

“You should be,” she huffed. “From the sound of it, I’ve been humiliating myself for years now. That’s essentially what you’ve just told me. William has been playing me for a fool. And I can’t even confront him about it. Because then I’d be the one who looks bad.” Her voice began to wobble, and tears welled in her eyes. “I shouldn’t have let myself think there was something real between us. We’re not compatible. Not on paper. Why would the son of one of Albany’s wealthiest families be interested in a seamstress like me? One who can barely afford half of our rent? Yes, perhaps back when Father was here, when we lived in our old neighborhood, our family was somewhat well off, but even then, the money we had didn’t compare to the wealth of the Whitney family. Why in God’s name did I delude myself into thinking that William might consider someone like me?”

“Agnes—”

“Excuse me,” she said, springing to her feet.

Edwin’s heart broke for her, and sorrow twisted in his gut as she walked away. He closed his eyes and let out a long breath as her footsteps receded. Running a hand over his face, he cursed himself for being so obtuse. Of course Agnes wasn’t in control here. William was. Agnes had clearly shown interest in William. So, then why—

Right. William wasn’t pursuing Agnes because of him. Or, rather, because of his need for secrecy about who he was and who he had once been. But what choice did he even have about that? And, regardless, William should have been more considerate of Agnes’s feelings all this time.

Fury flooded Edwin’s veins. He smacked his fist on the cushion, spluttering a bit of profanity. Now he was back to being mad at William and at himself. And he had no idea how to fix things. But he had to try. At the very least, he had to confront William at some point in the future. Confirm whether he really was the reason for William’s hesitation to propose to Agnes. And, if he was, then he had to figure out what to do about it.

But, before that, he ought to figure out how to handle things with Andrew.

Chapter Eighteen

Edwin

Sunlight was only just starting to stream in through the walls of the conservatory, even though Edwin had been there for some time. Setting the oil lamp on the closest table, Edwin prepared for the last task he’d have to complete before leaving for Andrew’s: checking on the orchids. Thankfully, Edwin’s time in New York City hadn’t put the orchids at risk. Despite the fact that they were finicky compared to many of the other plants in the conservatory, they had entered their resting phase. Their colorful petals had finally fallen off in late November, and now, the plants were conserving their energy for blooming in the spring. Spikes had started to form—protrusions from the main stem of each of the flowers from which the beautiful buds would eventually sprout. Some orchids boasted twenty or thirty spikes, others more. Overall, this seemed very promising. Even though Edwin had been fretting over the orchids, especially Andrew’s favorite blue one, he was starting to feel a little more confident in his ability to care for them ever since seeing their spikes form. The Whitneys were likely to be pleased. Hopefully they’d see beautiful blooms in only a couple of months.

Edwin brought his face close to the nearest orchid’s soil to try to ascertain how moist it was. He reached out to poke it when—tap, tap, tap—someone knocked on one of the glass walls. Frazzled, Edwin turned to see who it was.

Outside in the cold, stood a well-bundled, but still shivering, Andrew. Questioningly, Edwin tilted his head, and his lips curled into a smile. Andrew waved.

With a shake of his head, Edwin motioned in the direction of the front of the house, signaling Andrew to walk around so that Edwin could let him inside. Andrew left, and Edwin hurried to meet him. Hopefully he’d make it before any of the servants realized they had a visitor.

Luckily, Edwin made it in time, opening the door before Andrew even knocked. Andrew flashed him a sweet but somewhat uncertain smile.

“Good morning,” Andrew whispered. “Don’t worry, I managed to catch one of the streetcars, so I only had to walk a tiny bit.”

Edwin took a step backward so that Andrew could come around him, into the house.

“Andrew, what on earth are you doing here?” Edwin whispered back, hoping he sounded more bewildered than upset over Andrew’s unexpected visit.

“I couldn’t wait to see you,” Andrew said with a boyish shrug. “If I’m being honest, I barely even lasted this long.”

“You were worried I wouldn’t come back,” Edwin said. “Weren’t you?”