"Benedict? Is that you?" Her voice was raspy and weak.
"Yes." He sat on the bed and grasped her frail hand. "Are you feeling under the weather?"
"Oh, it will blow over, it always does." Agatha waved him off with her other hand. "So, what brings you here? I can only imagine the amount of pride you swallowed to seek me out. Surprised you made it up the stairs without cursing me to perdition."
Benedict chuckled, his hand slowly caressing hers. "It seems I've some more pride to swallow, if you'll allow me."
"Always." Her eyes twinkled, but her face was still far too pale for his liking.
"Well, I don't really know how to start."
"Remember, I do love your stories. Let us start at the beginning, shall we?" With a sigh, she tried to squeeze his hand though it was a vain effort for the thing had little strength in her.
"Katherine, she won't, that is to say she won't…"
"Marry you?" Agatha interrupted.
"No, she'll still marry me."
"Then she's disagreeable?"
"No, she's amiable, perfect really." The most beautiful woman I've ever seen, he wanted to add.
"Did she offend you in some way then?" Agatha coughed and reached for the water. He helped her take a sip and shook his head.
"No, I'm afraid it is I who has done the offending. Though I wasn't aware that my past actions would overshadow my future happiness, it seems I've done just that. I've ruined it."
Agatha tilted her head. "But you say she's still going to marry you?"
"Yes."
"Then what is the problem?" Agatha's eyebrows pinched together.
"She won't forgive me."
"But she'll marry you?" Agatha repeated. She truly must be sick for she never wasted time repeating anything, if he wasn't fortunate enough to hear her the first time, well the loss was his, and he would undoubtedly suffer for it.
"Yes," he said slowly.
A smile broke out across her weathered face. "So you wish for something more than marriage. Is this what I'm understanding?"
"Well, I…" Benedict paused, thinking quite seriously on his aunt's simple words. "I want more, but I also want to give her more. I want…" He looked away, a lump forming in his throat. Devil take it, he could not cry over a girl.
"Everything." Agatha patted his hand. "My dear boy, you want everything, all she has to offer, all she has to give, including the very next breath she breathes. Everything is your answer, now for the question. What are you willing to do to obtain it?"
Benedict swallowed, the emotion of the moment was too much for him. To see Agatha — irritating, disagreeable, formidible Agatha — sick, to know he was making Katherine ill with heartache, not to mention the issue with his own heart. The very heart that seemed to have trouble beating without Katherine near.
"Anything. I would do anything."
"So you'd abandon all those mistresses."
"Already done."
"You'd turn away from your devil-may-care attitude and vices?"
Was that even a question? "Of course!"
"And you'd give yourself fully to the one person in the world who has enough of your heart to break it. Would you do that, Benedict?"
His heart hammered in his chest. He looked from Agatha to his hands, the very same hands that all day had felt naked as if missing the other half that fit within them. "I have," he mumbled, his voice sounding foreign because of the hoarse emotion coming from his lips.
"Then what are you waiting for?"
His head snapped up. "I don't know."
With that, he jumped up from his seat and walked to the door, then on second thought, he walked back to Agatha and kissed her on the brow. "You always were my favorite aunt."
"I'm your only aunt, you rogue." She tried to laugh but instead coughed.
"And I'm so glad you are." He kissed her again and fought the emotional turmoil taking place in his heart when a single tear ran down her face.
"As am I, as am I."
He left her then, and walked down the stairs to the study where he knew he would find Baldwyn.
But the room was empty. He heard footsteps and turned.
Baldwyn had cleaned up and was ready to leave.
"Where are you going?" Benedict asked, though he had an idea.
"I have to tell her." Baldwyn was perspiring as he had been running around the house at full speed.
"Then tell her." Benedict encouraged and laughed. "Apparently Agatha does have the final say, eh?"
Baldwyn rolled his eyes. "Do not get me started. That woman's intuition frightens me."
Both men fell silent. Then turned to look at the stairs.
"Do you think?" Baldwyn didn't finish his question.
"She said it will pass." Benedict cleared his throat. "After all, she's a tough old thing. It isn't as if she is doing to die."
Baldwyn nodded his head. "You're right. Paranoia is a side effect of too much drinking I hear."
At that, Benedict laughed and walked out of the house, in search of one woman that could bring him to his knees.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
How Much Do I Love Thee?