To Bewitch A Beast

greenwriter · 36 chapters · 11,372 words

The Town

2024 EDITION -

![](https://img.wattpad.com/79356b44fd1ac9b079fdb0277cb0c75031fe6e9d/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f59495f68684c7a54526865586b413d3d2d3234353137303531342e313635623535656161663530313739393132303038343034343630342e6a7067)

In a land not so far away, there lived a place that lived in the past. The Founders called it The Town. A peculiar name for a place, and its location made it even more strange.

Below the surface, the Town remained hidden, its secrets untouched.

Beneath towering cliffs, where nature’s grandeur met human ingenuity, vast caverns were transformed into bustling towns. Here, the earth was sculpted into quaint villages and winding roads, while overhead, the colossal openings they called holes allowed sunlight and fresh air to cascade into the depths below.

Amidst this underground labyrinth, the Townspeople—nobility, merchants, and laborers alike—shared one goal: to navigate and survive the Four Seasons .

The Town’s Seasons did not mean the gentle warmth of sunshine or the soothing patter of raindrops, nor the rustle of fallen leaves or the hush of snowfall. No, not at all. The elements aboveground would recoil from the dangerous cycles in the Town, because here, the Four Seasons meant war.

Each quarter of the year was a battlefield drenched in intrigue and ambition. A desperate battle for status and marriage. The soldiers? Manipulative mamas, eager debutantes, and reluctant gentlemen. Their weapons, you may ask? Dowries wielded like swords, gowns as armor (or the lack thereof as a strategic maneuver), the art of seduction as a dagger concealed in lace and sultry conversations, and the most potent of all: scandal . Delicious and horrifying, they poised to wreak havoc upon reputations and alliances alike.

The Sheills Season fell between July to September. Despite its reputation for lackluster balls and boring entertainments, this season held a promise of unparalleled romance.

The aforementioned season was merely a slow march to the least exciting one of all. Hosted in the most religious town, the Granville Season was the most restrictive. Gowns could never dip below the collarbones, not a single lady should traverse the ballroom without her gloves, and social decorum demanded a distance of no less than five feet—any breach of which would end in marriage under the condemning nose of a pious man. Only the most audacious and desperate souls dared challenge this season, and may their brave souls rest in peace until eternal damnation. Amen.

Hope would rise again at the start of January during the Willowfair Season . While parliament was in session, the mamas and their daughters would happily shed their dreadful gowns. These valiant souls, true heroines of social battlefield, plotted courtships and marriages in painful detail, from the shimmering jewels adorning their coiffures down to the silks around their dainty feet (sturdy soles for the endless dancing definitely much preferred). For those deemed worthy, the Willowfair Season promised enchantment if one could concoct the perfect dose of naughty and nice.

Yet none could dispute that the most anticipated and scandalous of all was the Wickhurst Season . Far more extravagant than the others, this was the occasion of naughty enchantments.

A lady should never attend the Wickhurst Season dressed in anything less than their rivals. Gloves, scarcely thicker than whispers, ensured that no man could deny the delicate warmth of a maiden’s touch. Dresses were as light as the modistes could make them, because should a man be obtuse enough to overlook the tender caress, he surely could not be so blind as to miss the allure of feminine curves.

It was the season of many debutantes’ dreams. And for many gentlemen, it was a hunting ground for bigger dowries (thin gloves and light dresses were not always the best weapons for those who could not employ them well).

While the Town Leaders convened with both Houses for the second round of the political game of the year, the rest of polite society donned their finest armor, discreetly wicked as one should be.

Scandalous, passionate, and furious marriages during the Wickhurst Season were not uncommon.

And rightfully so, because the second quarter of the year was the ultimate entertainment. After all, who would not want to bear witness to a delicious scandal? Even more so if the said scandal involved an Everard?

I. One Everardly Afternoon

Anyone would agree that to be employed by one of the richest families in Wickhurst was a much desired opportunity, most exceedingly so if the said family were the Everards.

The family came not from humble beginnings. They were born into privilege, or rather, came down with it. Their confusing family history would say that they were among the first to arrive with the Founders to put up the Town centuries ago.

Apart from countless titles and estates, the Everards also owned the mines outside Wickhurst, and their exquisite jewelry line adorned many of the Town’s elites. Their wealth and status were a birthright meticulously preserved for centuries. Their name invoked a dream of riches and splendor. Everyone wanted to be friends with them and everyone wanted to sire their heirs.

But the present Everard line was on the brink of slow death. The children, all eight of them, seemed to be in no hurry to give their living mother, Lady Alice Everard, a grandchild. And worse, the children believed that the future of the governess was far more important than finding their own prospects.

“You are both coming out this season. You will no longer need Agatha,” Lady Alice said.

The two youngest Everard children, Emma and Ysabella, snapped their heads at their mother, eyes wide with horror. “But, Mother!” they chorused. “Agatha has merely been with us for a year and seven months!” cried Emma.

“She barely taught us anything thus far!” Ysabella added.

“You’ve learned enough from the many years and the many governesses who came and went. You will both do well if you stop acting like children,” their mother said with ease and calmness, as though her two daughters’ latest mischief did not cost her a carriage, its wheel, and one missing horse.

Agatha remained silent in one corner, her lips curving into a hidden smile. She would not have had wanted to be referred to as a governess. Governesses were typically ladies born into the gentry who found themselves in need of earning money. Agatha needed money, but she was no gentry. She was but a mere servant until her former mistress, Mary Haverston, taught her how to read and provided her with tutors to help her pursue a higher education.

She preferred to be called a tutor rather than a governess, and she knew the Everards were very much aware of that as well. She rarely gave her wards lessons on proper etiquette or decorum, because if they put their heart into it, they were better at it than her. Her expertise lay on arithmetic and science, but the twins, although with great potential, showed little interest in the subjects. In fact, they liked stories more—romance, specifically.

Emma and Ysabella Everard were not really twins. They were born merely nine months apart, with Emma being the younger of the two. Born premature, everyone thought she wouldn’t survive. But alas, the ever adventurous and witty Emma thrived and soon started causing havoc alongside her older sister, Ysabella.

Everyone referred to them as twins, and they seemed not to mind. Both had black hair and emerald eyes as all Everard children, but Emma had a slimmer face while Ysabella’s was fuller around the edges.

“The two of you need to find a husband by your second or third season,” Lady Alice’s voice was saying, drawing Agatha’s attention back inside the large Everard parlor.

“She needs to find a husband first,” Ysabella pointedly said, gesturing towards their eldest sister, Margaret, who had been sitting quietly in a chair with a book in hand.

Margaret, like Agatha, was past the marrying age at twenty-seven. Agatha had always wondered why the woman showed no interest in marriage. It wasn’t as though she lacked suitors because the fifth Everard sibling was among the sought-after in Wickhurst. With the signature Everard look of black hair and emerald eyes, her delicate nose and radiant skin added a touch of perfection to her beauty. But it was her brilliant mind that amazed Agatha the most. Margaret could have had anyone she wished to marry.

“I don’t think I’m—” Margaret started, but Emma interjected, saying, “We need not marry, really,” rolling her eyes. “If we were to have children, they would not have the Everard name. So, really, why bother? We have the brothers to sire as many heirs for the titles we will never inherit.”

“Well, unlike you and Maggie, I intend to marry. But I agree that now is not the time,” Ysabella told Emma, rising from her seat. “Which is why there is still a need for Agatha.”

“She can be my lady companion,” Margaret suggested, eyes suddenly alight with excitement. “Agatha, would you like to be my companion?”

“She will be our companion if she opts to be a companion, Maggie,” Emma argued.

Agatha cleared her throat to break her silence. “I concur that my services as a governess are no longer necessary for either of you,” she addressed the twins.

The twins started to protest, but Agatha calmly continued, saying, “You are both seventeen and are to make your debut this Granville Season.”

“I’ll perish this season, I swear,” Emma said, rolling her eyes. “If not from sheer boredom, then certainly from the absurd high necklines.”

“Agatha will be the perfect companion for our first season,” Ysabella chimed in.

“I do not believe there is a role for me here—”

“As I’ve said, you can be my companion,” Margaret insisted.

“You are practically on the shelf, Maggie,” droned Emma. “You don’t need one.”

Lady Alice sighed heavily. “We have completely jumped off from our previous conversation. We were discussing the eligible bachelors of Wickhurst before these two deliberately steered us astray.” She narrowed her eyes at the twins. “And you both need a husband.”

“A husband? For the both of us? And we are to share him? Mother, surely there are enough gentlemen around the Town!” Ysabella exclaimed with feigned horror.

“That is not what I meant!” Lady Alice’s shrilling voice made everyone wince as she fanned herself with her hand. “You children are killing me.”

“I believe murder is the least of our priorities—”

“Emma,” Agatha cautioned, shaking her head. The girl closed her mouth and huffed. “I hope to find a new employment before this season ends.”

“Agatha and I have already discussed her plans,” Lady Alice said over their moans. “There is nothing you can do.”

“Nothing you can do on what?” a voice asked from the doorway. All heads turned in unison. “What’s going on?”

With his piercing green eyes and a raised eyebrow cocked high in question, Benedict Everard surveyed the room. His gaze briefly brushed over Agatha before swiftly redirecting his attention to his mother and sisters.

“Benedict!” Ysabella exclaimed.

“Did you just arrive?” Lady Alice asked.

“Yes. Apparently, your sons left a significant amount of unfinished work before disappearing for their hunting trip.”

“But you do all your work in Devonshire,” Margaret said, confused.

“I thought you were not coming home until after the holidays?” Emma added with a frown.

“I have other important matters to deal with in Wickhurst,” he said dismissively. “No one answered my question.”

“It’s nothing. We’re discussing the lack of wives in this family,” Margaret smoothly lied.

“I don’t know about the others, but I am to be married—hopefully soon,” Benedict said, his rectangular jaw rigid as always, the white scars on his face—two long ones on the right, and another on the left, were almost translucent under the light of the parlor.

His thick brows were slightly raised, as if expecting his family to laugh at his statement. However, no one did. They were still considering whether or not he was jesting.

Agatha was among them. In the nineteen months she had been with the Everards, she only saw Benedict Everard on very few occasions. Since he spent most of his time in his Devonshire estate, and only came to Wickhurst now and then to check on the family or deal with business matters, Agatha could count on one hand the times he attempted humor. Regrettably, none of those moments elicited spontaneous laughter or amusement.

As the eldest of the Everard children, and the master of the house, Benedict Everard, Lord of Devonshire, was regarded by almost everyone—including not family, but most especially the family—as too boring and dry. His scarred face, which was always set too stern, did little to improve people’s perceptions of him, nor did he try to change their opinions. Benedict Everard was not one to engage in idle chatter, often preferring silence over conversation.

She could, once again, count on her fingers the times he had turned and threw a question her way whenever they were in the same room. And all inquiries were always about his sisters. One could practically say they were strangers. He knew nothing about her, and she had somehow made the impression that she had no interest in knowing more about him, even though everything about Benedict Everard piqued her curiosity.

For one, the origin of his scars, a subject never discussed within the household, was a great mystery to her. Agatha also sometimes wondered how he could navigate an entire day without uttering a single word. Sometimes, just like today, she would not even realize he had come home to Wickhurst until he had left.

Perhaps one of the many reasons Benedict Everard was never deemed charming was the fact that he never tried to be. His presence commanded attention without him needing to raise his voice; his words, if ever he spoke, could be cutting. In the few times she stayed in the same room as him, he rarely tolerated incompetence, foolishness, and ignorance, and nothing irked him more than when others failed to grasp what he was talking about.

He was the only one in his family who took matters with utmost gravity because his brothers were no different from the rest. It was Benedict Everard whom his family regarded with a mixture of respect and trepidation, his mother most certainly included. A mere gesture of his hand could silence everyone, and one glance could render the twins quiet for hours.

Agatha heard one servant say that he had been the Lord of Devonshire for so long that it may have hardened him like the jewels they mined. He had assumed all responsibilities when their father passed away, and he had taken them too seriously. She had heard Lady Alice lament the same thing countless times.

“What do you mean you’re getting married?” It was Lady Alice who finally broke the silence.

Agatha watched his face intently, desperately searching for any hint of what he was thinking or feeling, but to no avail. He was a hard man to read.

“I’ve asked for Lady Frances Highmore’s hand. I’m still waiting, but I’m hopeful she and her family will accept.” It was the casual manner in which he delivered the news that made it difficult for everyone to believe. Yet, it was also the name he mentioned that made everyone gasp in surprise.

Agatha saw Benedict’s face twitch, a subtle hint of a smile. “They’re joining us for dinner three days from now, and I expect nothing but the best behavior.” His eyes scanned the room, once more hovering over Agatha for a mere second before veering away. “That’s all,” he said to the gaping ladies. Before walking out of the parlor, he added, “I will be working in my study and would appreciate no disturbance.”

Benedict was gone in a flash, just like always. Agatha blinked a few times, unsure of what she had witnessed, or if he had been there at all.

“Did we all hear the same thing?” It was Emma who finally broke the silence. “Ysa, tell me what you heard Benedict say.”

“He asked for Lady Frances Highmore’s hand in marriage. And they’re going to dine with us.”

Then all hell broke loose.

“Oh, goodness gracious! It must be true! It must be true!” Lady Alice came to her feet and hurried out the door, followed by Margaret and then the twins. “Benedict!” Lady Alice’s voice faded as she and her daughters chased after Benedict.

Left alone, Agatha forced her practiced smile while the gleeful voices of the Everard ladies erupted from somewhere above.

Benedict Everard? Married? Agatha was bewildered. He had always opposed the idea, and no one had dared force him into it.

“A Highmore!” Lady Alice’s voice echoed from somewhere.

“But they’re blonds!” Emma or Ysabella whined. “Isn’t she too thin?” Emma or Ysabella added.

“Are you certain they’ll accept? They’re not fond of us,” Margaret asked.

Agatha heard of the rumors that the Highmores were one of the very few who didn’t like the Everards. It was whispered around that at one point, Lord Highmore accused the Everards of going after his ruby mines. Gossip also said that Lady Highmore had warned her friends to keep their daughters away from the wicked Everard brothers.

“Oh, be quiet, you three,” Lady Alice said. “Dear Frances is nothing like her parents.”

Agatha swallowed the uncomfortable feeling brewing inside her. She blinked a few times before attempting to stand up, but found herself unable to move.

She scoffed in disbelief.

Benedict Everard, the beast, was getting married?

II. Agatha Blair

The Everards welcomed Lady Frances Highmore and her family over dinner three days later. And the morning after, she remained the topic over breakfast.

“I like her nose,” Ysabella said with a smile.

Benedict knew his sisters were just starting. He could not trust Ysabella’s suspiciously forced smile, nor Emma’s overly done act of nonchalance, but he wanted to hear what they had to say about the woman.

“Her lips are—”

“—too thin,” Emma finished Ysabella’s statement in her most well-mannered tone. “Not that I don’t like them, of course, Benedict,” she hastily added.

“Her hair is almost white,” Ysabella continued carefully, lips curled into her most behaved smile.

“She ought to eat more, I’m afraid,” Emma provided further, her voice growing confident when Benedict made no comment as he ate.

“She is rather nice. Very soft-spoken—perfectly graceful,” Ysabella added, and from the corner of his eye, he saw her assessing his reaction. “But that doesn’t mean she is nice. We don’t know her enough, and there is always room for doubt—Ow!”

Benedict swallowed and wiped his mouth with a napkin to hide his amusement as Ysabella glared across the table at Emma. “You kicked me. Why did you kick me?” she hissed.

His sisters’ gaze flew to the corner of the breakfast room when they heard the soft clearing of a throat. They promptly straightened in their seats and resumed with their meals.

The governess, of course , he thought, sensing the woman’s calm presence in one corner.

Letting Ysabella’s comment slide, he asked, “Where are Mother and Margaret?”

“They went out to shop for gifts to bring to the Highmores. She is planning to call on Lady Highmore this afternoon so they can get to know each other more,” Emma replied.

Benedict’s jaw tightened. He had been afraid of this.

“Mother is going to do everything to make sure the Highmores would say yes. She must think you are not doing enough,” Ysabella told Benedict with a chuckle.

“Are you regretting telling us about your courtship too soon?” Emma asked.

Benedict sighed, shaking his head, because his sister was completely right.

“Please excuse me, I will need a few moments to prepare before our lessons,” Agatha spoke from her customary corner, ambling out of the dining room while Ysabella and Emma groaned in response.

Benedict’s gaze followed the governess’ stiff posture as she exited the room.

“Benedict, may I ask you a question?” Ysabella asked, drawing his attention back to the table.

He cocked an eyebrow. The twins asking permission to pose a question ought to be taken with caution. “Need you ask for permission?”

His sister eyed him dryly. “I’m trying to practice proper decorum, so yes, of course, I should ask.”

He gave Ysabella a slight bow. “Of course, you may, my lady,” he said, matching his sister’s sarcastic tone.

“Thank you, kind sir,” she said, suppressing a giggle. This was perhaps one thing he missed whenever he was away in Devonshire—their devious laughter. “I would like to ask if a governess can marry a lord?” And this was perhaps one of the many reasons he enjoyed staying away in Devonshire—they always had something wicked in mind.

He could almost see the machineries running in his sisters’ heads. “That would depend,” he suspiciously replied. When they leaned closer, waiting for a more elaborate answer, Benedict explained, “The law does not prohibit marriage between two unmarried individuals. However, society standards dictate our behaviors.”

“So, can a governess marry a lord?” Emma impatiently asked.

“If she holds a title, then yes, she could without potentially attracting society’s disapproval.”

“And if she isn’t from a family with a title?”

“She will have to be rich.”

“And if she’s not?”

“She and her husband have to be brave.”

“Because she will be frowned upon by society,” Ysabella said, rolling her eyes.

“Simply because they think she is not their equal,” Emma finished with a scoff. “Can she marry a middle class gentleman?”

“Society shall not mind, yes.”

Ysabella and Emma looked at each other and smiled with excitement. Benedict frowned and studied them thoughtfully. “Are you planning to find your governess a husband?”

They started coughing, and he knew it would not stop until one or both of them had thought of the best reply. It was Emma who finally gulped and met his gaze. “If she wants one, why not?”

Benedict narrowed his eyes, and the twins grew anxious. “I was told she’s leaving. Is this the reason for this matchmaking scheme?”

They blinked and shook their heads. He cocked one brow higher. The direction of their heads shifted, and they eventually nodded in unison. “She deserves to be married. She cannot spend her entire life as a governess, can she?” asked Ysabella.

Agatha Blair, wearing a wedding gown and walking down the aisle, was a picture Benedict could not easily conjure in his mind. “It’s not your place to decide what Miss Blair does with her life.”

“We’re not going to force her to marry anyone, Benedict,” Emma retorted, as if the roles had reversed and he was the one being reprimanded. “We merely wish for her to have a chance at a life far different from what she has now.”

“What makes you think she doesn’t like the one she has now? You’re meddling in people’s affairs again.”

“No, we’re not!” both ladies protested. “We aren’t meddling in yours,” Ysabella pointed out as Emma added, “We don’t even tell you we’re baffled that you offered for Lady Frances! I’d wager the other brothers would agree that she is not—”

Benedict finally had enough. He fixed his sisters a stern look, and they bit their lips in silence.

Frances Highmore was a respectable lady. In the recent weeks they had become better acquainted, he discovered she was going to be a good wife. “I will not tolerate any inappropriate remarks against Lady Frances,” he warned his sisters, voice stern. “If you do something wicked, you shall be sent to Devonshire, and you will miss the entire season.”

Their eyes shook in horror.

Satisfied that he had made himself clear, Benedict ordered, “Finish your breakfast. Someone here, other than your governess, ought to put you in your proper place. You are both seventeen and should behave and think maturely.”

As he spoke, Benedict realized something. He had been constantly away in Devonshire in recent years that he had not fully grasped the fact that the twins had indeed grown into ladies. Whenever he came home to Wickhurst, it seemed nothing had changed because they always acted the same. But this year they were finally coming out into society. Soon, they, too, could very well be receiving offers. That, of course, would be another challenge he would have to face with his brothers.

“Nick and Ralph are older and they act like children. And matchmaking is not a game—” One look from him and Emma pursed her lips tight.

As the ladies quietly resumed their breakfast, Benedict wondered why they were so engrossed in matchmaking. The first of their many projects was the cook, who had taken a fancy to a baker in town. The two had married after a year. That was followed by two more servants marrying two of their footmen.

His sisters’ fourth and most notable achievement was their fifth governess, Lady Belinda Carrington, now Haverston. After learning about the woman’s story, Ysabella and Emma addressed a letter to McKenzie Haverston in Willowfair, informing him that their governess was marrying their eldest brother— him , Benedict—pushing the poor man to travel for two straight days on horseback to claim his lady.

Later, highly recommended by the Haverstons, Agatha replaced Belinda’s position. And now, without her knowledge, the twins were hunting a husband for her.

He had never doubted his sisters’ matchmaking skills until now because the chance they would fail with this one was quite high.

Agatha Blair was rather odd, in his opinion. Her observant eyes looked at things as though she was dissecting each part, and whenever they focused on him, it made him feel uncomfortable. She was too stiff and never carried herself to spark interest in anyone. There was no hidden mischief in her eyes, no hint of courage or even boldness. Her auburn hair was never askew, and her plain white, black, and gray dresses made her appear dull. She could very well stand against a wall and one would think she was one of the stone statues.

In the months the woman had been his sisters’ governess, she had never spoken to him about anything of interest. During his brief visits in Wickhurst, their conversations, which he could count in his hands, and were always short, revolved only around the twins and their studies. In fact, he couldn’t recall a single moment when she had spoken over three sentences at once in his presence. He always asked the questions, and she always replied with a “No, my lord,” or “Yes, my lord,” or ’They are doing well, my lord.“

He had always found it curious why the females in the household, particularly the twins, seemed to like her, because in his opinion, Agatha Blair was an uninteresting woman. A governess had more privileges than the other staff, and the past governesses had indeed exploited those privileges, but never Agatha Blair. She never spoke when not spoken to, expressed no opinions on topics that could have improved his interest.

The fact that she was a servant before her education, with no dowry to her name, might make it difficult for her to find a husband. He might not express it to the twins, but he was looking forward to their first and greatest failure.

Agatha always made sure to only display her best manners to the Everards. If they knew how different she was in the past, they may throw her out in the streets.

As a servant in the past, she had a reputation for being both wise and outspoken, a combination that often caused her trouble. The Haverstons knew that very well, and in fact, it was Adrien Haverston, her former mistress’ husband, who advised her to watch her manners.

“I’m not saying this because you’ve overstepped the line too many times with me, you little devil,” the man had told her with amusement. “My wife and I may not care, but others will. In our society, it’s one thing to be educated, but another to be well-mannered.”

And once she mastered proper manners, she grew to like it.

She could easily forget her past by being the prim and proper governess for Emma and Ysabella. By stripping herself of her old self, she earned the approval of the Everards. Since then, she made sure she never slipped.

It was Mary Haverston who gave her a very good referral, and Agatha would never mar her previous mistress’ good name by acting like an uneducated servant. She was a governess now, and if Lady Alice could give her a good referral, she could easily find an excellent post elsewhere.

Perhaps somewhere farther this time, she thought as she gazed at the mirror. She studied her face and practiced a small smile, staring at her brown topaz eyes until she scoffed at her silliness.

Good manners and a sharp mind would not make her appear good enough in the eyes of society. She could never have the grace of Frances Highmore. The woman was perfect in all ways a woman could. Lady Frances was gentry, born into riches, with her family owning the only two ruby mines that the Everard family had always wanted for centuries.

She stared at her long nose and her oval face, a bitter smile tugging at her lips. Everyone would always judge everyone’s looks, even their own. Even an Everard was not spared of such trivial things. Last night was a good example. Frances Highmore’s gaze traveled to Benedict’s scars a few times during dinner. Did the scars bother her? And it wasn’t just her. Lord and Lady Highmore, too.

Couldn’t they see beyond the scars?

His eyes, for one, were beautiful. They had always captivated her, rendering his scars to mere light shades, almost absent. He may be boring, but Agatha knew he had more depth than most people thought. For one, he could talk about any subject as if he spent years studying them. He may not be charming like his brothers, but he was responsible and calm whenever a problem arose. His family may fear him, but they loved him all the same. While his words may sting when he was irked, his hands were never heavy. Emma and Ysabella had never taken a beating from him.

Agatha shook her head. Lady Frances had been kind, even asking for her name last night. She must have recognized Benedict’s excellent traits, too. Otherwise, she would not be entertaining his courtship.

“Agatha!” Emma’s voice startled her, causing her to jump on her feet and face the door. “Respite! Respite!”

Only Agatha and the twins knew what a respite meant. It was she who introduced it to them on her first day as their governess. With a respite , the three of them could drop the formality and proper decorum in private. But it could only be done twice a day and could only last for half an hour each.

“What is it?” she asked, alarmed.

“We need gowns.”

Her brows knitted in a frown. “I don’t think I’m the right person to—”

“We’re not asking for your fashionable sense, of course,” Ysabella said, stepping into her room. “ We need gowns. Me, Emma, and you .“

She blinked in confusion. “Me? Why?”

“You’ll be our companion to the balls this season—of course, you need some.”

“But I might not—”

“You are yet to find a new employer, yes?”

“Yes, but—”

“And you can find the perfect one this season! We can introduce you to some of Mother’s acquaintances.”

Well, now that they mentioned that…

Emma seized her hand and pulled her toward the door. “We should hurry. It’s rare for Benedict to take us shopping!”

Benedict? “But—”

“We cannot allow our chaperone to be dressed in blacks and grays, Agatha,” Ysabella insisted, nudging her out the door. “Not when this is our first season!”

“I want a velvet gown, and a yellow one and—”

“You will look old in velvet,” Emma said to Ysabella.

Benedict closed his eyes, praying he could do the same with his ears. He should be home working, yet here he was, forced to face a trivial task that should be dealt with by his mother and Margaret. But the two had not returned since they went to the Highmores and, as his sisters claimed, it would take them another week to secure an appointment with Madam Vernice.

When he opened his eyes again, they landed straight on Agatha Blair. She had not said a word since they left, and as she sat beside Ysabella, her head leaned a little to the left, as if it would help muffle his sister’s voice. And he realized he was doing the same, his body tilted away from Emma who was sitting beside him.

They looked ridiculous, and he thought to point it out, but when the governess’ eyes wandered to him, Benedict looked away and straightened in his seat, finally saying, “A moment of quiet, please, the both of you.”

When they arrived at Vernice Couture Shop, the twins bounded out with excitement. And for some stupid reason, Benedict had forgotten the governess was with them, and he almost closed the carriage door in her face.

“My apologies,” he murmured, pulling the door back. He held out a hand to help her, but she did not take it and merely threw him a quick look before scurrying behind the girls.

Benedict blinked after her. Did she intentionally disregard his polite gesture? And was that a disapproving look?

The moment he entered the shop, the strong smell of perfume and fabric greeted him. There was only one settee inside, which Agatha had already taken. He reluctantly sat beside her as the twins talked with Vernice.

“My lord!” Vernice happily exclaimed when she saw him. “Are you back in town to see your sisters on their first season?” She was a large woman, and it took her merely three steps to approach him with an awkward curtsy. Benedict nodded. “I’m certain you’re excited?”

Again, Benedict just nodded.

“He holds the money for the gowns, thus his presence today, Vernice,” Emma said with a laugh from the center of the room.

Vernice faced his sisters, hands clasped on her chest. “Very well, then. Are you ready for your first season?”

“Well, not to hunt for a husband. But we love the idea of a season. We have always been curious!” Ysabella eagerly said. “The brothers don’t share anything about their experience. Margaret does, but only a little when we force her.”

Benedict knew why his brothers refused to share their experiences with the twins. Most of them were not for a proper lady’s ears to begin with. He was almost afraid for their first season, honestly. And he knew his brothers were, too. They did not only have to guard them from men who may have bad intentions, but also from themselves because their impetuous nature might bring them trouble.

“You will have a lot to deal with once the season starts,” he found himself saying to Agatha.

It took her a while to realize that he was actually addressing her. She cleared her throat and stole him a glance. “I’ll have to endure, I’m afraid,” she finally replied in a modulated tone.

Benedict could not think of another word to say, but the shop was rather small to do anything else, so he said, “I have been informed that you are considering finding a different employment.”

“You were informed correctly, my lord.”

“Margaret wants to have a lady companion, and she believes you are the best candidate. Why would you wish to leave?”

Agatha did not answer for a long time, causing Benedict to turn his head to look at her.

She was already staring at him and… Well, hell. Agatha Blair had the most stunning topaz eyes.

As though caught doing something she should not be doing, Agatha swung her gaze back to the twins. He was about to say something when his gaze dipped down to her mouth. They were full with a natural blush of rose. Though her nose was long and the base wide, Benedict found it complimented her features in an oddly satisfying way, but it also made him think something was missing. Something that would make it perfect. He just didn’t know what.

He blinked and realized that she was talking, answering his question. “I studied to be a tutor, my lord. As much as I adore your sisters, I do not wish for my knowledge to go stagnant as a paid companion.”

He let out a curt nod. “You’re right,” was his only reply, because he could not think of anything better to add. This was perhaps the longest conversation they ever had, and it was dying a natural death.

They sat in silence as his sisters started with their fittings. It was odd to sit beside someone who could remain as motionless as him. With most of his siblings, such was never the case.

“Benedict, what do you think?” Ysabella asked when she walked out in a cream dress.

“Good.”

And that started the series of inquiries and curt replies.

Better.

It suits you.

No.

Should it not be the other way around?

“I don’t think any of them suits us well,” Ysabella said, shoulders sagging. “Look at his face,” she added, pointing at Benedict.

Everyone looked at him, including Agatha. He sighed. “I’m the last person to ask about this, Ysa. And I didn’t say it looks bad.”

“Well, you don’t look like you’re willing to spend on them either,” Emma said.

“I think everything you both tried, except the orange on Ysabella earlier, looked beautiful,” Agatha spoke, throwing Benedict a silent look that said he should agree.

“I agree,” he said.

“Now, now, ladies,” Vernice said, standing before his sisters. “I would not have my excellent reputation if I don’t provide the best. I assure you that the gowns you’ll receive in the coming days will be nothing but stunning.”

The twins slowly smiled. “Very well,” Ysabella said. “We trust you. I will take all three. The orange is a no.”

“I will get the three I’ve tried as well,” Emma added.

“Are we going home now?” he asked Agatha, shifting his numb legs.

But before Agatha could reply, his sisters turned to her and said, “It’s Agatha’s turn now.”

He froze and snapped his head in surprise to look at the governess. She had gone crimson, clearly embarrassed by the sudden attention.

Ysabella clucked her tongue and came to tug Agatha out of her seat to drag before Vernice. The modiste stared at Agatha with curious eyes, and Benedict did the same with more interest than he did with his sisters.

“This one definitely needs more color,” Vernice said.

“She has a wardrobe filled with gray and black and white. Nothing else,” Emma informed the modiste.

“She’s our governess and will be our lady companion for the balls. She should have new gowns and dresses,” Ysabella insisted. “Our brother shall pay for them, of course.”

Benedict blinked. “I will?”

“N-No, he will not,” Agatha protested with a tight smile.

“Of course, he will,” his sisters chorused.

And when he saw Agatha open her mouth to start another protest, Benedict immediately said, “Very well.”

Satisfied, the twins gave Vernice their own opinions about what to do and which colors to use. Agatha merely stood there, seemingly lost and speechless.

When Vernice pushed a green gown in her direction for her to try on, Agatha said, “I trust your exceptional talent, Madam Vernice, I don’t need to try—”

“Agatha!” Ysabella and Emma growled in frustration.

Agatha stared at her two wards, her expression a mixture of desperation, frustration, and determination. “One hour of arithmetic.”

“Fine.”

“And another on science.”

“Fine.”

Agatha pursed her lips and finally nodded with a sigh before she turned and allowed Madam Vernice to take her to the back. She was gone for quite some time, and they could hear Vernice growl an order for her to let down her hair. “That’s better, don’t you think?” they heard Vernice ask.

“But—”

“Go out, now. Show them,” Vernice ordered.

Emma and Ysabella straightened beside Benedict, excited to see their governess.

A part of him wanted to tell the woman to hurry along so they could go back to the manor, but a small part of him was curious. He hid it by crossing his arms over his chest, pretending he would rather be anywhere else than here.

And as though hearing his thoughts, Agatha Blair stepped out from behind the fitting partition clad in an emerald gown.

The twins gasped in unison.

Benedict’s heart stopped.

III. Spectacles

This story is part of the Paid Stories program, a selection of exclusive stories that help support Wattpad writers. Click here to continue reading on the Wattpad app.