“Miss McLellan, sir,” the butler announced.
“Thank you, Peter,” he said. His voice was slightly nasal. He had thick brown hair and a very simple beard, Agnes was pleased to see—she hated all the ornate ways men in Old Port wore their beards, with ribbons or pins or curls or, worst of all, perfume. Ebenezer’s olive skin had a sallow quality, and his wire-rimmed glasses slid down the bridge of his nose; he pushed them up and blinked at her. He gave her the overall impression of a very thin owl.
“How do you do, Agnes?” Ebenezer said, stepping forward and offering his hand, before seeming to remember that men and women did not shake hands. He put the offending appendage in his pocket, took it out and wiped it on his trousers, and then put it back in again.
“Very well, thank you,” Agnes said stiffly, making her traditional awful curtsy. Her father must have had quite a laugh at this pairing. Two misfits who couldn’t do anything right.
“Would you like some tea?”
Agnes thought she might have preferred whatever was in the crystal decanters—she never drank hard alcohol but was willing to make an exception on this day.
“Yes, please, that would be lovely,” she said, sitting on the sofa by the lilies and trying to keep as much distance between her and Ebenezer as possible. His hands shook so hard as he poured that he nearly spilled the tea. Agnes almost felt bad for him, but still not as bad as she felt for herself.
She held her saucer and sipped her tea. The silence was oppressive. Ebenezer took a great amount of time adding the correct ratio of milk to sugar in his. She wondered if he was merely nervous or if it was a compulsion.
They sat and sipped and sipped and sat. The only noise was the occasional hum of a car passing or the chirp of a bird.
“Quite the heat wave we’re having, isn’t it?” Ebenezer said at last, and she groaned internally.
“Yes,” she replied. “Even hotter than last year.”
They fell into silence again. Agnes had just about had it. She hadn’t asked for this arrangement, and she certainly wasn’t going to twist herself into knots for Ebenezer Grange.
“At least you don’t have to wear a corset,” she said. “I feel as though my ribs are trapped in a very sweaty vise.”
Her words certainly had an effect—Ebenezer choked on his tea, his cheeks darkening.
“I—I—I—” he stuttered.
“What?” she asked innocently. “You do know what a corset is, don’t you?”
“Of course, but . . .” His whole face was coloring. “I’ve never heard a lady speak of one quite like that in public before.”
Agnes swept a hand out at the room around them. “We are alone in your parlor. It isn’t exactly the lobby of the Regent.”
Ebenezer went to drink more tea and found he had finished it. He put the cup down with a clink. “My father told me of our engagement only last night,” he said. “I am feeling quite . . . unprepared.”
“So did mine,” she replied. “And so am I.”
He cleared his throat. “It isn’t fair, is it? To have them decide.”
“It isn’t.” She put her teacup down as well. “Look, Ebenezer, I know I’m not the greatest catch for a wife. My father has money and a good name, sure, but I’m not a pretty little Kaolin society girl. I say the wrong things and I wear the wrong clothes and I hate parties and small talk. And to be perfectly honest, if there was any way I could get out of this arrangement, I would.”
“So would I,” Ebenezer said miserably, and Agnes felt herself warm to him. He looked mortified, however. “I don’t mean that you aren’t . . . I didn’t . . .” He wrung his hands. “I meant no offense.”
“None taken,” she said. “If we have to endure this dreadful charade, we should at least be honest with each other, shouldn’t we?”
His thin lips twitched. “You are not like other girls, Agnes McLellan.”
“No,” she said. “I’m not.” It felt good to say that, at least. She was glad she wasn’t being forced on someone like Robert Conway or Bernard Foster-Brown or one of her brother’s other awful friends. She would gladly take awkwardness over arrogance.
“Did your father say when the wedding will take place?” he asked.
“No, did yours?”
“No.”
“Maybe we have some time then.”
Ebenezer snorted. “Not likely, knowing my father. He’s ready to get me out of the house so he can focus on Gerald and Louis like he’s always wanted to.” He made a gasping croak, like he was trying to suck the words back into his mouth. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
“Ebenezer.” Agnes cut him off before he could keep apologizing. “Nothing you say will offend me. My father wishes I had been born a boy; he even told me so to my face. I am not one to adhere to manners and courtesy, and I know firsthand how cruel fathers can be. Never apologize for telling the truth, at least not to me. It’s refreshing, to be honest.”
He grinned. “Old Port society can be quite stifling, can’t it?”
“You have no idea.” She sighed.
“I didn’t know your father was aware of my existence, actually,” Ebenezer said, taking off his glasses and cleaning them on a napkin.
“He makes it a point to know everything about everyone,” she said. “So he can better exploit weakness.”
“He seems a terribly frightful man.”
“He is.” She remembered the vein throbbing in his neck when she’d challenged him the night before. “I’m afraid he will not make a pleasant father-in-law. But then, I don’t imagine he will be visiting much.”
“Mine won’t either,” Ebenezer mused. He looked at her fearfully. “There isn’t some other young man in Old Port who will be angry with this . . . arrangement? I cannot imagine my family was the only one that made an offer for your hand.”
“No, there is no one,” Agnes said. “I don’t know who else offered. Father would never let me in on such minor decisions like who I marry.”
She smiled at him so he knew she was joking, and he relaxed.
“What about you?” she asked, realizing she was being quite selfish. For all she knew, Ebenezer was in love and was now being ripped from his own happiness.
His ears turned pink. “There was one girl, but she, ah, did not share my affections.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “It’s all right. I was not surprised, really. I know my family isn’t as rich as some, and I’m certainly not as handsome as . . . well, as your brother, for one. Girls seem to like him.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t let him hear you say that. He’ll be even more insufferable than he already is.”
“I must say, Agnes, I’m quite relieved. You are not at all what I thought you would be like.”
“And what was that?”
He cocked his head and thought for a moment. “I imagined something along the lines of an overbearing headmistress.”
“The horror,” she said, grinning. “I only dress like one.”
Ebenezer let out a loud laugh. “You have the sharpest tongue of any girl I have ever met.”