The Cerulean (Untitled Duology, #1)(83)

“But you have his letter of permission.”

“Unfortunately, your account does not accept letters of permission.”

Agnes might not be a good liar, but she was sharp as a tack when it came to spotting inconsistencies. There was no reason for a letter of permission to be denied, unless . . . unless her father had explicitly stated it to be so.

“I see,” she said with a poor attempt at nonchalance. “Do not bother my father. I will speak to him myself this evening.”

“I’m afraid he will have to be informed, miss.”

The room began to spin. Xavier could not, under any circumstances, know that she was here. As her brain whirred, trying to come up with an excuse, a familiar voice broke into her thoughts.

“Agnes?”

Ebenezer Grange was standing not five feet away. Agnes went from frightened to terrified in a heartbeat. Then, to her great surprise, Ebenezer came up beside her, took her hand, and linked it around his elbow.

“Are they giving you trouble, darling?”

She could only blink at him. Darling?

Ebenezer smiled at Mr. Wilder and the manager.

“We are hoping to take out a little extra money to plan our honeymoon. Agnes is my fiancée, you see.”

Her head had the good sense to nod, she was pleased to note. Her brain was having a difficult time keeping up.

“We didn’t tell him what the letter of permission was for—we wanted to keep a few things in our marriage our own. I thought he would have called ahead, as I was unsure whether I would be able to meet Agnes here today. I see Mr. McLellan was far too busy to make the arrangements. But then, he does have his hands full at the moment, doesn’t he, Mr. Inklet?”

So Ebenezer knew the manager. Agnes was gripping his arm so hard she was probably cutting off his circulation, but she managed a smile and hoped it looked demure. Or, at the very least, natural.

“He does indeed. I did not realize you were engaged. I must have missed the announcement in the Telegraph. Congratulations, Mr. Grange.” Mr. Inklet looked down at the letter and back at Ebenezer. “There is a note on the account—”

“That prevents a fiancé from giving permission for his future wife?”

Mr. Inklet frowned. “Well, no, there are no exceptions for—”

“Excellent!” Ebenezer gestured to Agnes with the arm that wasn’t currently being paralyzed. “Give her whatever she asked for.”

“Of course, Mr. Grange. Right away.”

Agnes stared up at Ebenezer’s slightly smudged glasses and hoped she looked desperately in love instead of desperately overwhelmed.

When Mr. Wilder returned with the stack of krogers, Ebenezer’s eyes widened for a brief second before he pulled himself together.

“Three thousand krogers, Miss McLellan. Shall I count it out for you?”

“No, thank you. I trust you.”

He put the money in an envelope and handed it to her.

“That will make for quite a honeymoon,” he said to Ebenezer with a sly wink.

“We can hardly wait,” Ebenezer replied.

Agnes held her breath until they were outside the bank.

“I . . . don’t know what to say.” She wiped the back of her neck with her handkerchief. “I mean, thank you. Thank you very much, Ebenezer.”

“I take it your father didn’t actually sign that letter of permission?”

She could feel the guilt blossoming across her face.

“Don’t worry, I won’t say anything.” He shrugged. “It’s a stupid rule, in my opinion. It’s your money, isn’t it?”

“You’re quite a progressive thinker for an Old Port society boy.”

“I’m no society boy. We both know where my family stands on the social ladder, no matter how much my father would like to think otherwise.”

“And you know I don’t give a fig for social ladders. You’re twice the man your father is.”

Ebenezer grinned. “Why, was that a compliment, Miss McLellan?”

Agnes had to laugh. “They slip out sometimes. When deserved.”

They walked down the steps of the bank together to the sidewalk. Xavier’s motorcar was mercifully gone, Agnes noted.

“So what do you need all those krogers for?” Ebenezer asked.

She hesitated. “A rainy day.”

“Right. Sorry, it’s none of my business.”

“No, I . . . I’m trying to help a friend. That’s all.”

“Well, that is one lucky friend.”

They stood for a moment in the shade of the bank, men in suits swarming past them.

“You’re quite a good actor, you know,” Agnes said. “My father should hire you for one of his productions.”

It was Ebenezer’s turn to laugh. “I don’t think my father would much approve of me taking up an actor’s life. Besides, your father’s interests lie elsewhere now.” He took his glasses off and cleaned them on his shirtsleeve. “Would you like a ride home? I don’t much fancy the idea of you walking around with all that money.”

Agnes felt another rush of gratitude for this scrawny, bespectacled boy.

“I would love a ride,” she said. “But I’m not going home. Could you take me to the Seaport?”