Page 6 of Six Nights to Marry a Marquess

“Can he be trusted?” her father asked.

“I want to believe people change. Especially for love,” Caroline responded, moving closer to him. “I pray our Agnes finds it,” she added softly. Agnes’ gaze dropped to the floor. How could she ever repay Caroline for her unwavering support?

“I don’t know what I would do without you, Caroline,” William said.

She heard a chair scrape against the parquet floor and moved a bit closer, her curiosity piqued. Peeking into the room, she saw her father pull Caroline into his arms, a gesture so tender it took her breath away.

“I love you,” he murmured, dropping a kiss into her hair, a simple act that spoke volumes of the love and respect that had grown between them over the years. It was that love that gave Agnes hope. It was the reason she could not agree to Gillingham’s preposterous offer.

However, she found herself thinking, perhaps Caroline was right. Time and love did have the power to change a person. They had certainly changed her father, molding him into the man who now stood embracing his wife with all the love of a devoted husband.

Agnes slipped away. That night, she was unable to sleep, her mind churning over the conversation she’d accidentally overheard. The fear of disappointing her parents and the specter of spinsterhood loomed large in her thoughts.

A voice within her whispered of a potential escape from such a fate, a chance she might have inadvertently squandered. Her thoughts drifted to her recent conversation with Gillingham. Could it indeed be the opportunity she needed? Was it foolish to let it slip through her fingers? And, perhaps most pressingly, was it too late to accept his offer? She knew, if nothing else, she needed to bolster her prospects.

Determined, Agnes quickly moved to her escritoire, her actions swift and purposeful. With a steady hand, she penned a note, her heart fluttering with fear and hope. Slipping out of her room, she found a footman, entrusting him with the delivery of her message, hoping against hope it was not too late.

The Derby ball unfolded much as she expected, mirroring the countless other society events she had attended—nothing new, nothing extraordinary.

“I’m tired,” yawned Emma, leaning against the refreshment table with a look of utter boredom.

“These events drain the life out of a person,” Frances chimed in, her tone fatigued as she toyed with a glass of punch.

They found themselves, as usual, congregating by the refreshments, the food offering a rare point of interest in the otherwise tedious affair. Yet tonight, Agnes was scarcely paying attention to the spread before her. Instead, her gaze swept the crowd, searching for Gillingham, the man who had begun to occupy her thoughts far more than she cared to admit.

Gillingham was nowhere to be seen, and Agnes had yet to receive any response to her note. Her anticipation had morphed into anxiety as the day progressed, leaving her on edge, hoping for a chance to see him, to talk. She needed to know whether his offer still stood. After all, he did say he never made the same offer twice.

“Is that not so, Agnes?” Frances’s voice cut through her reverie, prompting Agnes to snap back to the moment, her focus momentarily scattered.

Frances and Emma looked at her, their expressions a mixture of concern and curiosity, awaiting her response.

“I beg your pardon?” Agnes managed, feeling disoriented. What had she missed?

“You’ve been distracted all evening. Is everything all right?” Frances inquired, her brows furrowed.

“Perhaps she is looking for her poet from the park,” Emma teased with a playful nudge, eliciting a round of soft chuckles.

“He’s notmypoet. He’s no poet at all,” Agnes retorted, the corners of her mouth turning up in a reluctant smile despite her preoccupation. “And if anything, he gaveyouthe rose,” she added, trying to deflect the attention away from her tangled emotions.

“Only because you rejected it. His interests were clearly on you, Aggie,” Emma carried on teasing, her eyes sparkling with mischief under the grand chandeliers of the ballroom.

“Oh not you too, Emma,” Agnes cried. She remembered her mother’s similar observations from yesterday, after Gillingham had made an unexpected visit. To think, her own mother saw something she couldn’t—or perhaps wouldn’t—acknowledge.

The truth was, Gillingham’s interests lay far from matters of the heart, focused instead on the cold practicalities of business deals. At least, that was what Agnes told herself, steadfastly ignoring the niggling thought that maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t mind his company if fate decreed she was to end up a spinster and he was the last man in England. But no, he was utterly insufferable.

Is he now?The little voice in her head dared to challenge her firm beliefs, causing Agnes to mentally squash it. Yet, she couldn’t deny the unbidden warmth creeping onto her cheeks. Shame? Or perhaps something else, something more curious and unsettling.

“Then what has your head in the clouds?” Emma pressed, her gaze intent, as if trying to unravel the mysteries of Agnes’s emotions with a single question.

Before Agnes could muster an answer, a noticeable buzz swept through the ballroom, pulling their attention toward the entrance. It was him—Gillingham. He stood proudly, his gaze purposefully sweeping across the room. Their eyes met, and at that moment, the crowded space seemed to shrink to just the two of them. He began to make his way over, his eyes never leaving Agnes’.

Her heart skipped a beat, surprise rendering her momentarily speechless when he reached them. “May I have the honor of a dance, Miss Young?” he asked, causing a nearby gasp to break the brief silence. Suddenly, it felt as if every eye in the room was upon them.

“Iknewit!” Emma whispered to Frances, loud enough for Agnes to hear, and perhaps even Gillingham. “She was thinking of her poet,” she couldn’t resist adding, a teasing lilt to her words.

Agnes wondered if Gillingham had caught Emma’s comment, for a subtle amusement flickered across his features, the corners of his mouth twitching. Caught between surprise,nervous anticipation, and a newfound self-consciousness, Agnes hesitantly accepted his outstretched arm. Together, they stepped onto the dance floor, just as the orchestra began the opening strains of a waltz.

CHAPTER 4

---