Page 4 of Six Nights to Marry a Marquess

“I am not most ladies,” she stated emphatically.

“Precisely. That is why I believe you will agree to this without…expectations.”

“By ‘expectations,’ you mean…”

“A lasting commitment—marriage, at the end of the deal,” Theodore detailed, watching her reaction closely. She seemed as uninterested in the notion of marriage as he was—a good sign.

“What makes you think I won’t reveal your clever scheme?” Her tone held a trace of playful defiance, and he chuckled.

“Firstly, it is strategic,” he argued, despite his growing desperation. His woes were like a mountain, and he needed Miss Young to agree. He yearned to be the respectable Marquess of Gillingham, not the libertine he had become, living in the shadow his father cast.

Miss Young was his only option. Her circumstances mirrored his own, making her a suitable accomplice in this venture. “Secondly, if you expose our plan, you risk just as much,” he said hastily. Instant regret followed the implications of his comment.

Her cheeks colored, and her eyes flared. “I beg your pardon, My Lord, but do you usually threaten those from whom you want favors?” she demanded, halting their walk through the garden.

“You misinterpret my words…” he tried to clarify.

“I understand perfectly,” she stopped him coldly. “You believe rumors about me have forced me into desperation. I’m not jumping at your every proposal.” She looked at him with such conviction that it brooked no argument. “To put it simply—I am not interested.” Miss Young removed her hand from his arm and took a step back, curtsying politely, yet coolly. “Now, Lord Gillingham, I have more urgent matters to handle. I will send the butler to show you out.”

As she left, the irony didn’t escape him; in trying to ensure his future, he might’ve jeopardized it further. He had to admire her pride, however. Another lady would have jumped at this opportunity, but the truth was that no lady would want courtship from him without marriage.

Instead of allowing the butler to show him out, Theodore left on his own terms. He climbed his barouche that was waiting in front of the house, and movement from one of the windows caught his eye. He looked in time to see Miss Young duck out of view. He chuckled and shook his head, driving off.

Despite her rejection, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of admiration for her spirited nature. She was unlike any woman he had ever encountered. She might have rejected his offer, butshe was still very curious about him. Perhaps he could use that to his advantage somehow.

Theodore arrived home as the sun dipped below the horizon. Quentin opened the door and received his hat, saying, “Good evening, My Lord. I have a missive for you.”

Theodore nodded in acknowledgment, taking the letter from Quentin’s outstretched hand. With a murmured thanks, he glanced down to see that it was from his solicitor before he headed to his study and broke the seal with a flick of his fingers. He unfolded the parchment and read.

Dear Lord Gillingham,

I am pleased to inform you that there has been significant interest in the property you have put up for sale. Two affluent parties have expressed their desire to acquire the estate. Both have requested a meeting with you to discuss the terms of the sale. Would you be available to entertain these prospective buyers at your earliest convenience?

Sincerely,

Mr. Thompson

Theodore’s heart quickened at the news. This could be the solution to his financial woes that he had been desperately seeking. Alas, it was not what he wanted. It was the only un-entailed property he possessed, and it was a bequest from his mother.

How could he part with it?

CHAPTER 3

Ihave never met a man so insufferable,Agnes mused silently, walking up to the drawing room window and parting the brocade drapes as if expecting to see the Marquess there. Of course not. He left hours ago.

His offer was undeniably generous and potentially life-altering, but Agnes did not trust him. No woman in her right mind would ever trust a rake. Could their arrangement indeed have elevated her station, provided her with a future she dreamed of? Yes, without a doubt. A flicker of regret, unbidden and unwelcome, tugged at her heart as the question, and answer, came. No, the core of her being, her principles, recoiled at the thought of conceding to a man who wielded his proposals as if they were favors from on high.

Lost in her reflections, Agnes barely registered another presence until a voice, soft and gentle, came. “I heard the Marquess of Gillingham called upon you, my dear.”

She turned from the window to see the Duchess of Richmond, Caroline Travers, her eyes alight with an eager curiosity and the gleam of hopeful matchmaking.

“Mother,” she acknowledged, then nodded. “Yes, he did.”

In the Duchess’s company, Agnes felt an inherent sense of acceptance. Caroline had filled the maternal void in Agnes’s life, forming a bond based on choice and affection. She’d steadfastly supported Agnes, often proudly referring to her as her unexpected daughter.

“Is he courting you?” she asked, sitting on the sofa, and patting the spot beside her.

“No, Mother,” Agnes replied, going to sit beside her. Caroline had made clear to Agnes how she wished to be addressed: ‘Mother’ in private, ‘Your Grace’ in public, as many peers preferred.

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