Page 3 of In a Rake's Embrace
Sarah’s eyes lit up, and without question, she finished her porridge in a hurry, grabbed Carson’s hand, and darted out the back door. Agatha watched them leave, her heart aching, knowing their innocence wouldn’t last forever. She couldn’t bear for them to know their father’s cruelty yet, not until they were much older.
“What is it, Agatha?” Gloria asked, her voice tight with worry as she gripped her hands in her lap.
Agatha hesitated for a moment, then quickly explained the situation. Maggie, sitting across the table, went pale. She leaped to her feet and rushed over, clutching Agatha’s hands.
“You can’t go, Aga. You can’t!”
Agatha gently tucked a stray wisp of dark blonde hair behind her younger sister’s ear, offering a soft smile. Agatha had the resilience to suppress the torment that gnawed at the depths of her heart and must never show her family how terrified she was.
“I’m going, Maggie. I told you because I need you and Gloria to be careful. Don’t trust Papa anymore. He’s not thinking clearly.”
“But you’re supposed to be married,” Maggie whispered, her voice trembling. “What will David think? What if he finds out? I should go instead.”
“No,” Agatha said firmly. “You will do no such thing. I’m your older sister. It’s my job to protect you.” She cupped Maggie’s face in her hands, her heart breaking at the sight of her sister’s tear-filled eyes. “I love you more than anything, Maggie. And I promise this won’t be a hardship for me.”
Her sister’s lips trembled. “Do you know what to do?”
“I am older than you.”
“That is not an answer, Aga.”
She gently tapped her sister’s chin. “I know enough.”
Maggie threw herself into Agatha’s arms, her small frame shaking with sobs. Agatha held her tightly, stroking her hair, meeting Gloria’s gaze across the room. The sorrow and pity she saw in her stepmother’s eyes nearly undid her. She had to be strong. For Maggie. For Sarah and Carson. For all of them.
Once Maggie calmed, Agatha sent her to join the others outside. Gloria handed her a bowl of porridge, and they sat silently at the small wooden table. Agatha ate quickly, her mind already preparing for what was to come.
“Is it terrible?” Agatha asked softly after a long pause, her voice barely audible. “Being with a man?”
Gloria looked at her, her expression thoughtful. “No, it’s not terrible. It can be ... pleasant. But the first time—it might hurt.”
Agatha nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. “Badly?”
“You will forget it by the next day.”
“I see.” She cleared her throat. “Is it … is it quick?”
“It can be. It depends on the man.”
Silence fell, and several beats passed before her stepmother cleared her throat.
“Aga,” Gloria said softly. “You must never tell David about what happens in London. As a man, they have this notion that we women are to be pure when they are allowed to sow their seeds.”
Agatha’s belly knotted. “I will tell him the truth. I will not blame him if he wishes not to marry me after.”
“There are ways to fake your chastity,” Gloria said insistently. “A vial of chicken blood with a few strategic drops will do the trick. There is no need to tell him anything when the entirety of Cringleford knows Mrs. Murphey is currently his lover. Who is he to demand that you remain pure for him when he still takes up with that woman though he is affianced?”
Agatha nodded, understanding her stepmother’s advice. Even so, until she spoke with David, she couldn’t be certain of her choice. She couldn’t dwell on the enormity of what she was about to do. Not now. She finished her meal and stood, heading to the small bedroom she shared with her sisters. She dressed in her best gown—a simple blue muslin—and slipped on her worn boots, the soles nearly gone from overuse. Her cloak, too tight around the shoulders, was the only one she had. She tugged it on, ignoring how it pinched at the seams.
Stepping outside, Agatha glanced at the carriage waiting, its wheels caked in mud from the village roads. The man stood beside it, his eyes following her every movement, but she refused to meet his gaze. Her heart hammered in her chest as she crossed the yard, the weight of her decision pressing down on her with each step. This was the only way.
As she approached the carriage, determination filled her. Whatever awaited her in London, she would endure it for her family. It had been her promise, after all, when her mother had died days after giving birth to Sarah. Agatha, just nine yearsold at the time, had held her mother’s hand as she lay on her deathbed, vowing through her tears that she would care for and love her sisters always.
That promise had never left her, and it never would.
CHAPTER 2
The journey from the small seaside town of Cringleford to London lasted several hours, the carriage bumping along the uneven roads. The man beside her had attempted to engage her in conversation, but Agatha kept her eyes firmly on the passing scenery, her face an indifferent mask as she stared out the window.
