Page 71 of Six Nights to Marry a Marquess

“How do you like the garden?” Theodore asked, making a show of clapping his dirt-caked hands together. “It isn’t much, but it’s coming together fine. I think,” he added, his voice carrying a hint of uncertainty—as if he was seeking her approval.

“It’s coming together beautifully,” Agnes assured him. She truly loved the transformation, appreciating not just the change in the landscape but also his effort and the way he involved her brothers so soon after their arrival.

“We will go over the music sheets later then,” came Leslie’s voice from nearby. Agnes turned to see her with Harry and Harriet seated at a wrought iron table, their attention divided between the gardening activity and the parchment in front of them.

Deciding this was a perfect moment to engage with everyone, Agnes moved toward the table to join them.

“Come plant with us, Agnes!” George offered eagerly, waving at her.

Before she could respond, Harry quickly said, “Can’t you see she’s all clean now? No one wants to get soiled like you, Georgie!”

“Gillingham does!” George stuck his tongue out at Harry, his retort spirited and cheeky.

Harriet and Leslie laughed at this brotherly exchange. Just then, some footmen arrived bearing trays of lemonade and sandwiches, shepherded by Mrs. Davis. The refreshments came as a pleasant interruption to the lively gardening session.

As the children ate, gardened, and filled the air with chatter and laughter, Agnes’s gaze met her husband’s across the garden. Her throat tightened and she felt emptier than ever. It was proving to be an impossible task understanding why she was feeling this way.

Theodore held her gaze and she thought she could see longing that mirrored hers, but then he looked away when Goerge spoke to him, and the spell was broken. She watched him pluck a primrose and hand it to the boy before whispering something to him.

George accepted the flower, and with a broad grin, shot to his feet, darted toward her and offered the bloom.

“Gillingham says you look prettier than this flower,” George giggled.

Agnes felt her cheeks warm, and she laughed, her fingers curling around the primrose stalk. When she looked up and her eyes met Theodore’s again, she realized what had been happening to her. She was in love. With Theodore!

CHAPTER 33

Agnes couldn’t be more grateful for her brothers’ company and the constant distraction they provided. Yet, every night was a time when she had to face her reality all alone. It was on one such night that she found herself unable to sleep yet again. Deciding to find a book to read in the library seemed a suitable diversion.

As she approached, light sifting into the hallway from underneath the door caught her attention, and she wondered if Harriet was up reading late, as usual. When she opened the door, however, she was surprised to find her husband instead.

Theodore was hunched diligently over his desk, utterly vested in whatever had him occupied. He looked up when he heard her entrance.

“I didn’t realize you were in here. I thought it was Harriet,” Agnes said as he gained his feet. “I have no wish to disturb you,” she added, turning to leave the room and preserve the solitude he seemed to prefer.

“Wait!” he called out.

Agnes did not stop, continuing her exit without looking back, the weight of their strained interactions too heavy to pause for another potentially painful exchange.

“Please don’t go, Agnes,” he quickly caught up to her. She felt his hand, gentle but firm around her wrist, stopping her. “I’d like for you to join me.” He utterly surprised her with this request.

Agnes swallowed. Why would he desire her company when she was nothing to him? Nevertheless, she wanted to stay. Even if she was nothing to her husband, she desired his company more than he would ever know.

“I never did get the chance to apologize to you, Agnes,” he suddenly said. And she could have sworn that his voice held a nervous edge to it. “I shouldn’t have said what I said to you. I am truly sorry.”

“It’s in the past, Theodore,” she dismissed, trying to maintain a facade of indifference. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does. Because I know I hurt my wife,” he insisted, his expression earnest.

“I am not offended, Theodore,” she lied, offering him a reassurance that all was well even though her heart felt otherwise.

Her gaze landed on a small wooden carriage on the desk just then. She recalled the unfinished one she saw the last time she was in his workroom. “Do you like it?” Theodore’s gaze followed hers. “It’s Loralei’s. I’ve finally finished it,” he explained.

“Why, you made her a new carriage?” Agnes was equal parts surprised and touched by his thoughtfulness.

“The one she owns now is rather old, don’t you agree?” He ran a hand through his hair, looking somewhat sheepish.

“It’s beautiful, Theodore. I’m sure she’ll love it,” Agnes said, her eyes reflecting genuine admiration. He smiled contentedly, pleased by her appreciation.

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