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“You have a family, too,” he thundered. “You have chosen to not be part of it.”
“Is that what you think? Your daughter married and the chit never even invited me,” she crowed.
His brow furrowed at her remark. “We digress, Agatha, and we have much to cover. I must show you…things. Follow me,” he said cryptically, then turned and walked through a doorway into a dark hall. Unable to stop herself, she followed. The hall ended in a room illuminated by candelabras. When her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw herself during her first Season sitting along the wall with other young women. During the time that followed, several handsome young men were introduced and asked for a dance. Each time, she declined their invitations until one. He was a handsome blond wearing regimentals, and as she watched, he seemed absurdly familiar. She tried to think of their names. Frustrated, she looked up at her brother. “Why have you brought me here, Thomas? Am I supposed to read your mind?” she snapped.
“Agatha, you blame me for your marriage, yet you had choices. I could show an identical scene to you from each dance in your three Seasons, and it would only prove my point. But time is important and we must keep moving,” he spoke without inflection.
“I cannot see what this proves. I remember dancing…” she returned.
“With me, sister. Your dances were only with me and my friends,” he bit off.
“All right! I was frightened. You must have known that,” she retorted.
“We have time to see this through a little longer.Pay attention,” he said, pointing back to her dream.
Once again, they returned to the night of her first ball. The young man in regimentals was escorting her back to her chair.
“May I place my name down for another dance, Lady Agatha?” he asked as she lightly held his arm and moved toward her chair.
“No, no, thank you. My feet are already tired,” she heard herself answer.
“Agatha, he really seems interested in you. Perhaps you should dance with him. He is quite handsome,” a lovely, blonde young woman sitting next to her suggested, as he walked away.
Agatha recognized Miss Alice Langdale, the young woman who would become her sister-in-law.
“You are right. However, Mother says he is shopping for a well-dowered bride. He is the second son of a baron and has no title. Mother says he will have nothing. I am hoping for more,” Agatha countered.
“What would a dance hurt?” Miss Langdale persisted. “You might enjoy his company.”
Agatha snorted. “I will need more in life thancompany,” she replied tersely. “One never knows where life takes you.”
“Indeed,” murmured Miss Langdale.
A younger Thomas walked up and acknowledged his sister before turning to Miss Langdale and asking her to dance. Agatha gave an expression of disdain as they walked away. “I see you set your sights on my brother, an earl. And you are trying to push me to a nobody,” she whispered loudly to no one in particular.
“Despite any sensible entreaties, you refused to allow others to court you. That baron’s second son attempted to court you several times, but you sent him away.”
“I sent no one away,” she retorted, flummoxed that he should have known about him. “Thomas, I did not send a suitor away.” He had seemed kind, but her mother had been adamant that she look higher.
He looked at his sister. “Perhaps it was Mother. She should not have done that,” he declared. “However, after three Seasons, Father accepted Lord Wendt’s offer. I could offer no defense to stop it, as I had seen little effort on your partin three yearsto find a husband,” he said on a sigh. “It was not like you to not complain. Why did you stay silent when she was pushing you so?” he asked, his voice tinged with sarcasm.
“You should have…” she protested.
“What? What shouldIhave done? You resented anything having to do with me—even my family. We have spent enough time on this, dearest sister. We must move on,” Thomas countered in a tone of disgust.
A draft of wind blew out the light and the darkness and white mist returned.
“Look carefully,” her brother pointed, as the mist cleared.
A poorly lit room with beds lining the walls, full of children of various ages– many in tattered or too small night clothing– emerged. “’Tis naught but a bunch of children,” she moaned. “They appear to be poor. Is this an orphanage?”
“Watch and learn,” he prodded.
She focused on the little boy that was being held by a woman. He could not have been more than a year in age. The toddler wailed, clearly distressed. A man entered and Agatha recognized him as Mr. Hanson, the man that had visited that very evening. “Why am I watching a beggar?”
“Shhh!Listen for once,” Thomas pointed her attention back to the scene.
“Husband, he is refusing to eat,” the lady said.
