Page 37 of Six Nights to Marry a Marquess

Upon noticing her, George sprang up and hurled himself into her embrace. “Is it really true? You’re going away?” he inquired, his young face marred by the tracks of tears.

“Yes, Georgie, I must,” Agnes admitted, her heart aching with the admission.

“That’s what marriage does. People leave,” Harry reiterated to George, his attempt at being the knowledgeable older brother doing little to assuage George’s distress.

“But it doesn’t mean we won’t see each other again,” Agnes hastened to reassure them, especially as George’s eyes mirrored the turmoil of a sea during a storm.

“When will we see you again, Agnes?” Philip’s voice cut through, surprisingly laden with emotion. It was a sentiment echoed in the hearts of everyone present.

“Soon, I promise,” she responded, both determined and hopeful.

In that moment, Harry, too, surrendered to the emotions of the day and embraced her. As Agnes hugged and kissed her brothers, Caroline wrapped her arms around them all.

“Oh, this isn’t a forever farewell,” her father reassured amidst the emotional scene, though his own face bore a heavy, somber look that belied his comforting words.

“We will miss you, little girl,” William told her, his voice thick with emotion.

“Not so little anymore,” Agnes managed a nervous chuckle, trying to lighten the mood as she embraced her father.

“I will miss you, Agnes,” he murmured, planting a tender kiss atop her hair just as Theodore made his timely return to her side.

Stepping out of her childhood home and into her new life, Agnes noticed the crowd outside had swelled, their eyes filled with curiosity and surprise. Whispers filled the air, and heads turned, everyone eager to catch a glimpse of the newest couple in Town.

“It’s actually happened,” someone exclaimed in a combination of shock and awe.

“Gracious, there goes my wager,” lamented another, revealing the extent to which society had gambled on the outcome of their union.

“Their obsession with gossip is truly astounding,” Theodore whispered to her, his tone a blend of amusement and disdain. His arm was securely around her, his grip possessive yet reassuring as he looked down at her with a smile, playing the part of the elated groom to perfection.

Even the Richmond servants had come out to witness their departure, partaking in the celebration by showering them with rice and flower petals—a tradition meant to symbolize prosperity and fertility.

The spectacle of her wedding was the very picture of joyous matrimony, a beautiful facade that masked the true nature of their arrangement. To her family and the onlookers, it was a love match. To society, it was fodder for their endless gossip.

Nevertheless, Agnes maintained her smile as she waved farewell to the Richmond servants who had gathered to send her off. Among the familiar faces, she caught sight of George, energetically hopping about with a bowl of rice in hand. His earlier sorrow at her departure seemed momentarily forgotten in his childish antics. Agnes couldn’t help but watch in amusement as George, in his exuberance, attempted to taste ahandful of the raw rice, only to promptly spit it out with a look of dismay. The sight coaxed a genuine chuckle from her.

“Shall we?” Theodore’s gentle inquiry pulled her back from her momentary distraction, his voice a soothing presence.

“We shall,” Agnes affirmed, placing her hand in his with a sense of finality, stepping into the carriage that symbolized the start of their new life together.

“If that isn’t love, I don’t know what is,” an onlooker’s voice carried through the air.

“Such unfounded rumors we were told,” another spectator mused, their words reflecting the shift in public opinion at the sight of the couple’s apparent affection.

In that brief exchange of smiles with Theodore, Agnes felt an unexpected stir within her, a flicker of emotion that seemed both foreign and intriguing. It was a sensation that beckoned with the promise of something more, something real, despite the arrangement that had brought them together.

Yet, as the carriage door closed, sealing them away from the eyes of the world, Agnes felt the crushing weight of their reality settle upon her. Whatever this budding feeling might be, she recognized the danger it posed to the fragile balance of their agreement. With a silent resolve, she quelled the spark of hope, allowing the mask of contentment she had donned for the crowd to fall away.

Theodore’s face, too, became a mask of neutrality, his earlier warmth retreating behind a veil of inscrutability. Profound silence enveloped them.

CHAPTER 18

The carriage ride to Essex felt interminably long for Agnes, each minute stretching into what felt like hours. By the time they arrived, her body ached from the tension and her posture, making her feel years beyond her age.

“This is Gillingham Hall,” Theodore said, his gaze fixed on the window as the carriage stopped in front of the manor. This was one of the only words he’d spoken to her since the start of their journey.

A footman opened the door, and Theodore climbed down before reaching for her. Agnes was greeted by an old stone structure with dried vines creeping up the walls. The surroundings were well maintained, but there was no grandeur anywhere in sight. Of course, she did not mind, but she had been expecting a little cheer—perhaps more flowers around them.

A slender middle-aged woman descended the stone steps to greet them, her expression austere. “It is good to have youback, My Lord,” she said, her voice carrying a note of genuine pleasure.

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