Page 79 of Six Nights to Marry a Marquess

“You cannot starve yourself,” he said at last, breaking the heavy silence that hung between them like a thick fog.

“Not hungry is not starving oneself,” she replied, her voice low and devoid of its usual warmth. “Besides, what care of yours would it be whether or not I eat?” She couldn’t help but add, the bitterness seeping into her words, tinged with the hurt of the previous night.

He looked hurt by her last statement, his eyes widening slightly as if her words had struck a deeper chord.The nerve of him,she thought, feeling a surge of anger at his apparent surprise.

“You are my responsibility, Agnes. Of course I care,” he said, his voice earnest, as if trying to bridge the chasm that had opened between them. Agnes thought his words superficial, and it only hurt her more.

She didn’t want to be a mere responsibility of his. Couldn’t he see that? Her heart ached for something more, something deeper that she feared they might never have.

“You are right. Ihavebeen selfish, Agnes,” he continued when she did not respond, his gaze fixed on her. “Which is why I must let you go,” he added, his voice faltering slightly as if the weight of his decision was too much even for him to bear.

Her brows instantly knitted in confusion, her mind racing to understand the full implication of his words.

And when he spoke again, his words felt like a dagger through her heart. “We would have the marriage annulled,” he proposed. “I will take full responsibility. Even on grounds of adultery. I assure you a clean reputation out of this union.”

“Why?” Agnes was as shocked as she was pained by this sudden turn of events, her voice a whisper of disbelief, her heart breaking in her chest. “You would prefer to walk away from our union instead of trying?” She didn’t know why she asked this question despite already knowing the answer to it.

Perhaps a part of her, a treacherous part, still harbored some hope. Despite everything, some small, foolish part of her heart clung to the possibility of a love yet to bloom.

“You don’t understand, Agnes. This is for your own good,” he responded, his voice strained, as if the words pained him to speak.

“Why?” She was barely able to recognize her own voice right now, so choked with emotion it was. “Why exactly should we annul our marriage, Theodore?” she demanded, needing to hear his reasoning, however flawed it might be.

“Please don’t do this, Agnes,” he implored, his voice breaking slightly. The usual steadiness of his demeanor was nowhere to be seen, replaced instead by a visible torment. The pain in his gaze was palpable, almost tangible in its intensity, making her heart twist in her chest.

“Why are you subjecting us to this?” She asked, her voice a soft plea for understanding, for any insight that might explain his sudden desire to sever their bond.

He opened his mouth several times to speak, but no words came out, as if he struggled to find the right ones, or perhaps any that could adequately explain his thoughts. Until finally, he said, “You do not know the man you married, Agnes.”

“Then show me who I married so I may learn about him, Theodore,” she persisted.

“I would rather die than let you see what would hurt you, Agnes,” he responded, his voice laced with a desperation that bordered on despair.

And she found herself even more perplexed by his words. But the finality in them was clear as day. Theodore did not want her to see, to know the depths of whatever darkness he believed he harbored.

Oh, but you’re already hurting me, Theodore,she thought to herself as the bitter realization dawned on her. The more he pushed her away, the deeper the knife twisted.

She would never find what she was looking for with Theodore. He did not love her. He never will. It was time she woke from her illusory slumber, from the fanciful hopes that had no place in the reality of their loveless union.

“Very well, Theodore. We shall have the annulment,” she accepted his offer at last, forcing down the growing lump in her throat. Alas, if only she could do the same to the ache in her heart.

Nodding, he stood and walked out of the room. When the door closed, the silence became deafening. Agnes shot to her feet and began packing her belongings.

CHAPTER 36

“When you are ready to talk, my dear, we are here to listen,” Caroline squeezed her hand reassuringly, her eyes filled with concern.

Agnes swallowed convulsively and nodded, her throat tight with unshed tears. She didn’t trust herself to speak without giving way to the tears which had haunted her since the very moment she’d stepped out of her marital home.

“If you need anything else, you need only ask,” her mother added before gaining her feet and exiting the library. Agnes had found some semblance of solace amongst the books since her return; their silent presence offered a comfort that words from others could not.

“Has she said anything yet?” Agnes heard her father’s voice, low and worried, ask her mother outside the library door.

“I’m afraid not,” her mother replied ruefully, her voice tinged with disappointment and concern. And he sighed, a deep sound of frustration and helplessness that seeped through the walls.

No matter how hard she tried, Agnes couldn’t find it in her to share what had transpired between her and Theodore. She would be opening a wound and subjecting herself to a pain she didn’t think she could endure. The memories were too fresh, too painful.

“I am going to summon Gillingham and ask him what happened. The girl is clearly hurting. It is enough,” she heard her father’s displeased voice, firm and resolute.

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