Page 2 of Six Nights to Marry a Marquess

“I find it difficult to appreciate the trite, sir,” she retorted.

“Do you always form your opinions without any substantial basis?”

She noted that he did not appear annoyed or wounded by her words. “My judgments are based purely on what I observe. Therefore, my current conclusions are drawn solely from your behavior, sir,” Agnes asserted, her chin jutting out defiantly.

A gentle pull at her dress caught her attention. She glanced down to find Frances’s pleading eyes silently begging her to halt this exchange. Emma’s gaze held the same warning. But Agnes wasn’t in the mood to appease either of her friends or this gentleman standing before her.

Seemingly understanding the situation, he turned toward Emma with a warm smile and offered her the rose instead. Agnes watched as Emma hesitantly accepted his gift.

“I wish you ladies a pleasant afternoon.” He inclined his head, his smile intact, and walked away.

“It is impolite to stare? Honestly, Aggie?” Emma exclaimed once he was out of hearing range. “Could you have been any more discourteous?”

“Since when didyoubecome so concerned about courtesy, Emma?” Agnes countered defensively.

“Ever since you recklessly discarded what could have been an advantageous opportunity for yourself,” Emma answered sharply. “A gentleman presented you with a rose! What happened to our earlier discussion about luck and prospects?”

“What I seek from these men is honesty, not roses and grand gestures,” she responded firmly.

Frances intervened. “Emma?” she began cautiously. “A rose is but a flower. It will wilt and be forgotten in time. But if it carries genuine sentiment within its petals, then that feeling will remain cherished forever.”

Emma fell into thoughtful silence before grudgingly conceding to Frances’s point. However, not without petulantly whining, “Why don’t you ever take my side, Frannie?” The three women burst into laughter at Emma’s melodramatic display. “If it isn’t rakes and gamblers, it’s men with absurdly poetic inclinations,” she sighed. “It’s no wonder we have no one courting us, Aggie.”

“So, are we all in agreement then? His poetry is utterly preposterous?” Agnes asked, and the response was another chorus of laughter.

Agnes was settled at home when the butler, Wells, walked in, and bowed. “The Marquess of Gillingham is in the receiving room, Miss,” he announced.

Gillingham… The name rang a bell in Agnes’s mind. Then a gasp fluttered from her lips as she recalled Lady Kirkland’s mention of him at the park earlier. She sat up abruptly, blinking. Could this day hold any more astonishment? She sprang to her feet.

“Let him in…no, wait…” she glanced around, noting her brothers’ toys littering the room. “Show him to the finer drawing room. Thank you.”

Wells bowed again and left. Agnes’ heart raced. Gillingham in her home? What for? How did he even know of her existence? Or was he here to determine her resemblance to the Duke like the rest of society?

Smoothing her hands down her peach frock, she stepped out of the drawing room and walked down the hallway. As she passed a mirror, she paused and looked at her reflection, instinctively reaching up to pinch her cheeks. Then she caught sight of her bright blonde hair and pale blue eyes. They were the reason for the rumors, for they were identical to the Duke’s and his three sons.

Sighing, she made her way to the drawing room where a man waited by the fireplace, his back to her. She noticed he had dark brown hair that was slightly tousled, and he was of a fine build that was flattered by his deep blue afternoon coat.

When he turned, she stopped breathing.

The gentleman in her drawing room was none other than the one she encountered earlier at the park!

CHAPTER 2

Theodore tilted his head, observing Miss Young. She was staring at him as though she had just seen a ghost. He was not surprised, however. She glanced about the room as though expecting to find someone else there.

“The Marquess…of…Gillingham?” she asked, her gaze uncertain.

He smiled at her surprise. Of course, she did not expect him to call upon her. “I thought it prudent to introduce myself properly,” he began smoothly. “Our encounter in the park left much to be desired,” he added with a light chuckle.

“Did you travel all this way simply to present another rose?” she inquired, and Theodore thought her rather bold for a young lady. Honestly, he had expected her to be meek and blushing like the rest of the unmarried women of the ton.

“Oh, I’m afraid that particular rose is no longer on offer,” he returned with a teasing smirk. “I’m not in the habit of repeating my offers, Miss Young.”

Something flashed in her pale blue eyes, then she blinked. Seeming to recall propriety, she curtsied. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance, My Lord,” she murmured, looking far from delighted. “Please, do be seated.” She gestured at the chairs around them.

Theodore waited for her to perch—rather uncomfortably—on the edge of a sofa before lowering himself into a chair adjacent.

“What brings you here, My Lord?” she asked.

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