Page 54 of Six Nights to Marry a Marquess

“I’m sorry, Theodore,” she said sincerely, her eyes filled with genuine concern.

He swallowed convulsively, the emotions welling up unexpectedly. He felt like a failure and did not want her pity—especially not hers.

“You do not need to apologize,” he said quickly, stepping away from her touch slightly.

“But—” she began, her brow furrowing, not understanding his sudden retreat.

“I am not an object of pity, Agnes,” he stated firmly, his voice perhaps sharper than he intended. He wanted to convey his resilience, not his despair.

Losing the deal was his own fault. He had owned up to his responsibility, and that was enough. He did not need, nor did he want, to be pitied for doing what was right.

“I should go get ready for dinner,” she suddenly said, her voice breaking slightly with hurt. The emotional distance he had put between them was palpable.

His response had been more brusque than he’d intended, driven by his own feelings of inadequacy. He didn’t want to disappoint her, yet that was precisely what he felt he was—a disappointment.

He watched her set down the ship she was holding. And without another word, she exited his study, leaving him feeling like a cad for his treatment of her. She’d only meant well.

Theodore needed to apologize. He would do that over dinner, he decided.

He was on his way down to the drawing room later when he came across a pretty flower arrangement on a table in the hallway. This was not a usual sight in his household, andTheodore couldn't help but wonder if Agnes had something to do with it. The presence of the flowers seemed to breathe a bit more life into the manor, a touch of softness amid the stately austerity. He selected a lily from the arrangement, admiring its purity, and took it down to the drawing room with him.

Agnes was yet to join him as he awaited the announcement for dinner, and he found himself pacing about, the lily held loosely in his hand. He couldn’t understand why he was suddenly feeling nervous, his thoughts flitting anxiously between the flowers and Agnes's possible reaction to his earlier harsh words.

After what felt like an eternity, and just when he began to think she wouldn’t show up—perhaps because of his outburst earlier—he heard footsteps in the hallway. His heart momentarily stopped as she finally appeared in the door frame.

Theodore’s breath caught at the sight of her. She looked magnificent in her attire for the evening, dressed in a gown of pale blue that not only complemented her eyes but also seemed to make her hair burn a brighter gold.

This was the woman whom he’d robbed of a future. The woman he’d been selfish enough to cast reason aside and drag into his problems. The woman he could never love. Yet she’d stolen every waking thought of his. And for the life of him, he neither knew how this happened, nor understood why. The complexity of his feelings for her tangled further as he watched her approach, radiant and poised.

He scrambled to collect his thoughts, the tension of the moment clinging to him. Then he remembered the flower still in his hand, a small gesture but perhaps a meaningful one.

“For you, My Lady,” he offered her the lone lily, extending his hand towards her.

“Why, this is surely an improvement over that red rose and poetry,” she accepted it with a light chuckle, her voice carrying a warmth that eased some of his tension.

“Thank you,” she said and took an instinctive sniff of the bloom, her eyes closing briefly as she inhaled.

“Perhaps I should improve on the poetry too,” Theodore suggested, trying to maintain the lighter tone between them.

“Oh no, no. There would be no need for more poetry from you, Theodore. This lily suffices,” she laughed, her amusement clear.

“Oh come now, Agnes. My poetry cannot be that bad,” he chuckled, joining in the banter.

“Only worse,” she laughed again, her mirth genuine and infectious. He laughed with her, finding solace in the shared moment of levity.

Just then, Quentin interrupted their mirth with the announcement of dinner. As they moved towards the dining room, Theodore noticed the butler grinning from the corner ofhis eye. The footmen also had similar expressions on their faces, an unusual occurrence that piqued his curiosity.

As they sat to dinner, Theodore couldn’t help but notice that their meal was even more elaborate than usual tonight. The table was laid with their finest China, and the silver gleamed under the soft light of the chandelier.

“Oh,” his wife let out after a bite of her salmon dressed in a delicate yogurt sauce. “This is delicious,” she sighed, clearly savoring the flavor.

Something about her contentment in that moment warmed his heart. He wished things could always be like this, peaceful and filled with simple joys.

"I got a welcome party earlier,” she announced, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them.

“A welcome party?” He echoed, intrigued, pausing with a sip of sherry halfway to his lips.

“The tenants’ wives called with gifts for the new Marchioness,” she explained, her eyes lighting up with the memory. “It was really thoughtful of them,” she added, her smile broadening.

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