Page 46 of Six Nights to Marry a Marquess

“When I saw the light, I thought you might need something warm to keep you going through the night,” the housekeeper said as she bore a tea service into the room.

“Ah, you never tire of interrupting your night’s rest for me, Mrs. Davis,” Theodore remarked with a light chuckle, appreciating her thoughtful gesture.

He should have expected the tea; Mrs. Davis had a way of anticipating his needs, especially when he found himself working late or aimlessly wandering the hallways during the night.

It compensates for the warmth I lack within,he thought, a slight smile touching his lips at the irony.

“Oh no, it is no interruption at all, My Lord,” Mrs. Davis countered swiftly, setting the tray down with a gentle clink of China.

“I should hate to inconvenience you,” he said, his tone earnest, reflecting his genuine respect for her dedication.

“Bringing you tea is neither an interruption of my rest, nor an inconvenience,” she reassured him, pouring the steaming liquid with practiced ease.

He thanked her, his gratitude sincere. Reflecting on it, Theodore realized that Mrs. Davis seemed almost as nocturnal as he was; her efficiency and presence were almost too perfect, always there when needed.

“The Marchioness seems very amiable,” she observed, handing him a cup of tea.

“She is,” he agreed, taking a sip of the comforting brew. “I must thank you for suggesting that we dine in the greenhouse tonight, Mrs. Davis. The Marchioness enjoyed her meal amongst the greenery and color.”

“Oh, I am glad she likes the greenhouse at least,” the housekeeper replied, a touch of relief in her voice. “She’d seemed quite disappointed by the gardens, so I hoped the greenhouse would remedy that,” she added, a thoughtful frown briefly crossing her features.

The garden on the property was hardly a garden, Theodore thought to himself miserably. What once might have been a vibrant array of colors and scents was now just a neglected stretch of greenery. Maintaining it had become an extra cost he’d had to cut back on, a decision that pained him more now than ever.

This revelation about his wife’s disappointment wrapped a cold, heavy cloak around his shoulders. It was bad enough that he’d inadvertently dragged her into a scandal, resulting in her separation from her family. Now, he found himself unable to provide even the simplest of joys—a few blooming flowers to brighten her days.

“Are you alright, My Lord?” The housekeeper’s concerned voice cut through his gloomy reflections.

“Quite alright, Mrs. Davis, thank you,” he responded too quickly, forcing a smile that felt as thin as parchment.

She eyed him for a moment, her expression tinged with skepticism, but chose not to press further. With a polite nod, she bid him goodnight and turned on her heels, her steps echoing softly as she departed.

Theodore sank into a chair and squeezed the bridge of his nose. What was he to do with Agnes? He hadn’t the first inkling about being a decent husband. Heavens! He barely knew how to be a decent man.

CHAPTER 22

The next morning, Theodore decided it was only fair to Agnes that he make the effort to go down for breakfast. He needed to show some semblance of routine and stability, despite the recent upheavals.

He was surprised, however, to find the morning room empty. The absence of his wife's gentle presence cast a slight pall over the sunlit room.

“Quentin, is the Marchioness not down for breakfast yet?” he asked the butler, who was meticulously aligning the silverware on the table.

“Ah, yes, My Lord. She has not come out of her chambers yet,” Quentin replied, his voice carrying a tone of discretion.

“Perhaps she’s not awake yet?” Theodore voiced his thought aloud, his brow furrowed slightly. He pondered if she stilladhered to the late hours typical of Town society, a habit they had briefly discussed.

“I am not sure, My Lord. But I have heard nothing from her chambers all morning,” Quentin responded, his voice low as he proceeded to pour Theodore some coffee, while a footman brought over a plate of breakfast from the sideboard.

Theodore reached for the morning’s paper on the table, hoping to distract himself with the daily news. His eyes skimmed the articles, which were filled with the usual recaps and musings about the parliamentary meetings—nothing particularly new or engaging.

That was until he turned a page, and a sheet fell out from between the folds of the newspaper. It was a gossip sheet, one that he normally wouldn’t give much credence to. Yet, against his better judgment, he found himself reading it.

With the union of Lord Gillingham and Miss Young now securely, the eyes of the ton should not stray far from this intriguing pair. Though they have sought the tranquility of the countryside, let this not be a reason for society's vigilant observers to lower their glasses. Indeed, it is at such moments of seeming repose that the most telling truths often emerge. Thus, I implore you, my astute readers, to remain keenly observant of their circumstances. Are the lovebirds as enamored as they have led us to believe, or is society being led on a merry dance of deception? Let us not be duped but stay sharply alert.

Theodore tossed the sheet aside a little impatiently. "Do these columnists never give up?" he muttered under his breath. He knew better than to delve into the gossip pages, always brimming with nettling topics and unnecessary gibes.

But Agnes was right. If they wished to silence society's wagging tongues and especially those incessant gossip columns, they needed to maintain flawless appearances. It mattered little that they were no longer in the bustling heart of London; the prying eyes of society seemed to reach even the most secluded corners.

As he pondered the exhausting facade they must uphold, he questioned whether this game of pretense was to be his lifelong companion. The clock’s ticking seemed louder in the quiet room, and with each sound, he glanced up, half expecting to see Agnes. Yet, she was nowhere to be seen, and he couldn’t shake the sudden emptiness that enveloped him.

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