Page 39 of Six Nights to Marry a Marquess

Rising eagerly, Agnes made her way toward the source of the disturbance, relieved at the prospect of interaction. There, in the vestibule, she found a middle-aged man deep in conversation with Mrs. Davis, while a small group of individuals filed in through the doors.

“Your ladyship,” Mrs. Davis acknowledged her approach. “This is Quentin, the Gillingham butler from London,” she introduced the man, then proceeded to present the others as servants from Gillingham House in London. Was the reason why there were no servants in the house earlier because they were shared between the London and the country households?

The realization struck Agnes with an unexpected clarity. The visible wear on the furniture, the unusual arrangement of having servants shuttle between residences alongside their master, and Theodore’s evident urgency regarding his dealings with Asmont—all these elements coalesced into a singular, disconcerting hypothesis: Could it be that her husband was grappling with financial difficulties?

The notion that the Marquess, a man of reputed wealth and status, might be facing monetary strains was perplexing. Yet, the evidence, however circumstantial, painted a picture Agnes could not easily dismiss.

“Pardon our delay, My Lady,” Quentin’s respectful bow pulled Agnes from her contemplation.

She waved away his apology with a gracious smile, her thoughts momentarily diverted by the sight of her lady’s maid, Miss Evans, walking into the foyer. The sight of a familiar face put Agnes at ease, and she gave her lady’s maid a true smile.

Miss Evans helped Agness dress that evening with great care even though Agnes knew adorning herself would be fruitless. She went down to the drawing room and found it empty. Her brows furrowed in confusion, and it was at that moment Quentin entered the room.

“Good evening, My Lady. Dinner shall be served shortly,” he announced, bowing slightly.

“And where might His Lordship be this evening, Quentin?” Agnes asked, her voice steady but her heart sinking with disappointment.

“The Marquess is presently out, attending to the tenants with his steward, My Lady,” Quentin replied, his tone respectful yet bearing a hint of sympathy.

“At this hour?” Agnes couldn’t hide her surprise.

“Yes, My Lady. It was a matter that required his immediate attention,” Quentin offered, his eyes momentarily dropping in what Agnes perceived as a sign of regret.

With a heavy heart, Agnes made her way to the dining room, her footsteps slower than usual. The dinner that followed was a lonely one, the silence only broken by the occasional clinking of her cutlery against the plate—a reminder of Theodore’s absence.

As she ate, the footmen’s exchanged glances did not escape her notice, adding to the growing discomfort of dining alone. She felt overlooked, her significance diminished by Theodore’s absence on what was meant to be a shared beginning.

Later, in the solitude of her chambers, Agnes found herself listening for any sign of Theodore’s return. But the night remained silent.

The morning brought no joy either; Quentin met at the base of the stairs before she could even voice the question burning in her mind.

“Good morning, My Lady. The Marquess is...,” Quentin started, his expression somber.

“Making estate rounds, I presume?” Agnes finished for him, managing a smile despite the dull ache in her heart.

“Indeed, My Lady. He sends his apologies,” Quentin said, echoing the sentiment from the night before.

Seated alone at breakfast once again, Agnes’s smile did not reach her eyes. The butler’s mannerisms confirmed her fears—Theodore was deliberately keeping his distance. With each passing meal spent in solitude, Agnes was forced to confront the reality of their marriage—an arrangement lacking the warmth and companionship she had dared to hope for.

After her meal, she decided to spend the rest of the morning in the library. As Agnes stepped into the library, her gaze was immediately drawn to figures on a table at the room’s far end. Intrigued, she approached, discovering small ships encased in glass, their intricate details suggesting they were the work of expert hands.

She smiled, wondering where Theodore had found them. She reached out, her fingers tracing the edges of the glass case.

“They belong to His Lordship,” came the unexpected voice from behind, startling her. Agnes turned sharply to see Mrs. Davis, ledger in hand. With a slow curtsy, the housekeeper said, “I apologize for startling you. Being accustomed to the solitude here, I seem to have forgotten the courtesies of company—such as knocking.”

This unforeseen encounter seemed the perfect moment for Agnes to satisfy some of the curiosity that had been simmering within her. “Why do you live alone in the manor, Mrs.Davis?” she inquired, hoping for some insight into the peculiar arrangement.

Mrs. Davis explained, “The servants move with His Lordship between London and the country. He prefers it that way.” The answer, devoid of further elaboration, hung between them, prompting Agnes to reluctantly set her questions aside for another time.

“I brought the household accounts for you to acquaint yourself with,” Mrs. Davis said, changing the subject as she handed over the ledger to Agnes, who took it and seated herself in a nearby chair. Flipping through the pages, Agnes noted the modesty of the expenditures, but she attributed it to the manor’s often-empty state.

Her attention drifted back to the ships. “You said these belong to His Lordship?” she asked, her interest piqued anew.

“Yes,” Mrs. Davis confirmed. “He built them himself.”

“He did?” Agnes couldn’t mask her surprise, the revelation offering a glimpse into a facet of her husband she hadn’t known existed. It dawned on her how little she truly understood about the man she had married.

At that moment, Agnes made a silent vow to herself. If Theodore was determined to keep his distance, then it fell upon her to seek him out.

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