Page 6 of Falling for a Forsaken Marquess
Lavinia shook her head, pale ringlets dancing about her heart-shaped face. “I could never be as talented as you are, Aggie. It’s such a shame that you sell them all. I do not know if I would be able to go through all this trouble only to sell my masterpiece to someone who might not even appreciate all the effort.”
“Who is to say they do not?” Agnes asked, settling on the floor in front of her sister. “We cannot know the thoughts or hearts of everyone who buys my embroidery. Besides, I receive a good income that allows me some financial freedom.”
The younger sister snorted. “A few pennies is hardly a good income. Why, I’ve seen embroideries sold in shops that come nowhere close to the quality of your creations. Those sell for several shillings to pounds, while you receive eight to ten pennies apiece, perhaps two shillings at the most. That is less than a loaf of bread!”
“You forget that Penny sells the embroideries for me,” Agnes reminded her. “The middle and upper-class people tend to look down on servants and think them uneducated mules. Suppose I tell Penny to sell them for five shillings each?
The customers might think her overstepping herself. Now, if she had owned a lovely shop where she could sell my creations, she would have been able to attach a higher buying price. We all must work within our means, Livvy.”
The maid took time out of her day every week to sell the embroideries at the weekly market because Agnes could not do it herself. It wouldn’t do for a baron’s daughter to be seen selling anything to the public, no matter their financial straits. To do so would bring unwanted scandal and further alienation for her family.
“It still does not make it right,” Lavinia insisted. “Quality work should be rewarded accordingly— servant or no servant.”
“Perhaps such things might happen in an ideal world, but we can only make do with the world we have right now,” said Agnes, reaching over to gently pinch her sister’s plump cheek.
Lavinia pulled away and stuck out her tongue, but there was only love and mirth in her eyes. The young woman was an even-tempered and gentle soul who knew nothing of the world’s evils because she lived a sheltered life. The sisters were six years apart, and as the older sister, Agnes had taken it upon herself to protect Lavinia from anyone and everything that could hurt her.
Agnes often wondered if she was doing the right thing by wrapping her sister in wool, but she felt justified whenever she considered the alternative of pain, shame, and suffering.
“What has put such a frown on your face?” Lavinia asked, staring intently at her.
“Nothing you need worry about,” Agnes replied, smiling at her sister. “Why don’t we play a game of vingt-et-un? I think I left a deck of cards in one of these drawers.”
Getting to her feet, Agnes searched through the writing desk drawers, her eyes travelling to the embroidery she had set up on a stand. It was indeed a unique piece of artwork and a representation of how she often imagined freedom would feel if she possessed it.
She wasn’t by any means imprisoned, and her parents didn’t make any unnecessary demands on her, but the world she lived in often felt stifling and monotonous. Agnes did the same things every day, from the moment she arose from her bed in the morning to when she lay down to sleep.
At one point in her twenty-three years of life, she had had the opportunity to have more out of life, but the chance had unravelled before she could take a step to grasp it in her hands. Magnus Archibald had promised her the moon and stars and had spoken about exploring their country and travelling to distant lands.
Agnes had taken his words to heart because she had loved him and believed he had cherished her just as much. Their plans and dreams had bonded them together as tightly as the stitches she wove on her embroidery, never expecting her parents’ lack of money to be the scissors that would snip the threads and have the entire design fall apart.
“You have that frown on your face again, Aggie,” Lavinia pointed out. “You’re overthinking about something again. What is it this time?”
Only Lavinia was privy to the moments where Agnes’ usual cheerfulness and laughter did not hide her troubling thoughts. It was a vulnerability only shared between two sisters and best friends, and Lavinia was both to Agnes.
“I have a hankering for wings,” said Agnes, pulling out a worn deck of cards from an oak drawer.
“Wings?” Lavinia repeated. “Do you mean the chicken wings Cook usually smothers in a black sauce? Although I am certain she used quail wings in the last dish. The wings seemed smaller than usual.”
Agnes laughed. “Goodness, no! I mean the ability to fly. Why has some mad inventor not created a contraption to put humans in the sky? How I would love to soar high above the heads of people and make my home upon a mountain top.”
“Your thoughts never fail to intrigue me. How would you live on the mountaintop?”
“The highest mountains usually have snow, so I could use that for water. I suppose I shall have to come down to find food, but the forests tend to have enough food for the animals, so I assume I could find enough food as well.”
“Would I be able to visit you?” Lavinia asked.
“I would come down to visit as often as you like,” Agnes said, taking her place on the floor again. “Are you ready to play?”
“I shall only lose again,” Lavinia complained. “I am not an accomplished player.”
“You need only concentrate, Livvy,” said Agnes. “However, this is more a game of chance than critical thinking. You cannot know what card you will pick next, which makes the anticipation rise. You may go first.”
Agnes dealt out two cards and placed the rest between them. She looked at her own cards and struggled not to smile. She had a king and an eight— that already made eighteen. Agnes was not going to pick up a card just yet. Lavinia pulled a card from the deck, gnawing her lower lip as she placed it with the others. She met Agnes’ eyes and sighed.
“I do not know what to do,” she cried, her expression pained and distressed. “This is a good number, but there is every chance that you have something better.”
“That is why card games are so exciting, dear sister,” Agnes told her. “You must take a chance.”
