Page 23 of Six Nights to Marry a Marquess

“No, dear.Weare sorry,” came her mother’s soft voice. She joined the embrace.

As they stood united, Agnes found courage to speak again. “Lady Kirkland thrives on rumors; it’s not your fault.”

When she locked eyes with them once more, an unspoken understanding passed between them—support not just for this moment but for all challenges ahead. “I’ll be more cautious,” she muttered to herself, reflecting on past events.

Her father’s next words held wisdom and kindness. “Can you promise me something, Agnes?” he asked earnestly.

She looked at him attentively. “Yes,”

“Never blame yourself—not now, not ever,” he implored gently yet firmly with eyes full of compassion.

Overwhelmed by the depth of her parents’ love and the strength of their support, Agnes felt a fresh wave of emotion tightening her throat. She nodded, her voice lost to the tears.

“Society is never worth the heartache,” Caroline said. “She seems to harbor some sort of grudge, though. I’ve felt tension from her since the caterpillar incident.”

Her father, who had been silent in his contemplation, looked up, a hint of amusement in his eyes despite the gravity of their situation. “Oh come now, Caroline. What woman would harbor a grudge against a foolish little boy?” he asked.

“Lady Kirkland most definitely would, William,” her mother countered without missing a beat, her fact tightening with displeasure. “So much so that she has now brazenly taken it out on his family by spreading a false scandal. That woman is as petty as she is a gossip.”

“Well, whatever her reasons are, we must find a way to rectify what we can,” her father said. The determination in his tone suggested he was already strategizing, pondering their next moves in the game of their social standing.

Agnes felt an overwhelming surge of guilt and despair wash over her. Despite the warmth and support radiating from her parents, the stark reality of the situation pressed heavily upon her. She couldn’t escape the nagging thought that she had irrevocably tarnished not just her own reputation, but her family’s good name as well. Watching her mother and father deliberate over potential solutions, a poignant realization struck her—her heart fracturing anew with the weight of her perceived failure.

What had she done? The question haunted her, echoing through the recesses of her mind like a persistent shadow. And, perhaps more painfully, what had her actions forced her parents to endure? They had done nothing to deserve a daughter who would inadvertently cast them into the midst of scandal and societal scorn.

She should never have agreed to the arrangement with Gillingham. Her father had advised her not to let society push her to desperation. But she’d done just that.At great cost, too.

His life felt like an atrocious joke, and he wandered the lamp-lit streets aimlessly. The lamp lights flickered, casting shadows that danced mockingly at his every step. The very air he breathed felt like poison. Theodore’s mind was a tempest, churning with the shocking, unbelievable events of the evening—a scandal, of all things, when his reputation hung by a thread.

A reputation he’d been painstakingly mending. And then there was the deal with Asmont, critical beyond measure, now teetering on the brink of collapse. Glancing up to confirm where he was, he opened the door and went inside.

“Ah, Lord Gillingham, I’d despaired of seeing you again in this lifetime,” came Gentleman John Jackson’s familiar, buoyant greeting the moment Theodore stepped into the establishment.

Boxing at Gentleman Jackson’s had long been a favored diversion of Theodore’s, and tonight, he was hoping it would be a balm to his restless spirit. Yet, it felt like it had been ages since he last donned boxing gloves—and not mere weeks.

He had every intention of fully indulging in the sport tonight.Albeit for all the wrong reasons,he mused miserably. “Do you have an empty room?” he inquired, his voice devoid of any warmth or jest.

“Oh—ah, just a moment, My Lord,” Jackson replied, a hint of stutter in his voice, taken aback by Theodore’s uncharacteristic brusqueness. Jackson studied him for a moment, his gaze flickering with concern and curiosity. It seemed he yearned to inquire about Theodore’s distress, but he wisely held his tongue.With a nod, he turned, retreating into the deeper recesses of his establishment, leaving Theodore to his brooding silence.

“Must feel good, Gillingham,” a voice nearby taunted, almost too quietly, breaking through his reverie.

Theodore turned, noticing a man seated at a table in the corner, diligently tying strips of linen around his knuckles in what appeared to be preparation for a boxing bout. The man’s focus seemed intense, yet there was an unusual ease in his posture, a contradiction that caught Theodore’s attention just as the man’s words reached his ears.

“I beg your pardon?” Theodore found himself momentarily taken aback by the intrusion, his brows knitting.

“Must feel good to be strutting brazenly about Town after ruining an innocent young lady,” the man repeated, his voice carrying an unconcerned yet piercing edge. As he spoke, he paused his actions to pick lint off his colorful waistcoat. “But then, the young lady’s reputation was already questionable.” The corners of his mouth twitched and he let out a mocking chuckle.

Theodore’s vision grew red—figuratively—and something hot and overwhelming surged through him. His hands clenched at his sides as every last bit of composure he had broke.

CHAPTER 12

“What did you say?” Theodore demanded, his voice unrecognizable as he took a step toward the gentleman. His words hung heavy in the air, charged with anger and disbelief.

The gentleman before him only smirked in response, completely unperturbed by Theodore’s outburst. His amusement was evident as he lightly chided, “Oh, come now, no need for such theatrics. The tales of Miss Young are hardly a secret. Surely, it’s no surprise if she’s allowed a man—or several—the same liberties she presumably afforded you. It’s simply unfortunate that you were the one caught in the act, isn’t it?”

Each word struck Theodore like a physical blow, igniting a fierce blaze of indignation and protective fury within him. With swift decisiveness, he advanced, his hands shooting out to grasp the man by his cravat. In one fluid motion, he had the man pinned against the wall, his feet dangling as he gasped for air. The once-smug smirk was wiped clean from his face.

Theodore held him there, his arm tensed and poised for a strike that would release the pent-up frustration boiling inside him. But just as he was about to deliver the blow, a firm hand clasped his raised arm. Theodore turned to find Preston standing beside him, firmly preventing any further action.

---