Chapter 3

I have 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 and 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.

"We are barely acquainted with each other," Agnes continued in a quieter voice. "We met this afternoon at the park."

"Why has the Marquess called upon you so early in your acquaintance?" asked Caroline, her eyes bright with matchmaking schemes. Agnes felt the familiar gap between her mother's hopeful fantasies and her own experiences.

"I don't think he's interested in me at all," said Agnes, dismissing the notion of the notorious Marquess of Gillingham taking a personal liking to her. He was only after a business venture, and he thought her gullible enough to fall into his trap. "And we know his reputation."

"Nonsense!" Caroline waved it off. "Even a man with a reputation can change for the better, given the right woman."

Agnes admired her mother's unwavering faith in love and transformation. But she knew better than to let this particular idea gain any ground. "Gillingham's ‘right woman' is certainly not me."

Caroline refused to be swayed. "He met you in the park this afternoon and followed you home. He must be interested in you, Agnes."

She swallowed. "We shall see."

Caroline frowned. "You do not look pleased."

"I am confused," she confessed.

"Why, my dear?" she smoothed a curl from Agnes' brow.

"I should be able to trust whoever approaches me for courtship, should I not, Mother?"

Caroline wrapped her arms around Agnes. "Oh, you think excessively, Agnes! Do not hurt you poor head." She pulled away and smiled. "Do get some sleep and you will feel good as new in the morning."

As Agnes retired for the night, she was troubled by their conversation and Gillingham's puzzling actions. Her father's voice from his study stopped her in her tracks as she was on her way to the library to retrieve a book.

"Gillingham?" William Young sounded surprised and perhaps disapproving. Agnes hesitated outside the slightly open door, curiosity pulling at her.

"Yes. He met her at the park this afternoon and followed her home shortly after," Caroline's voice still danced with excitement, undimmed by the Duke's skepticism.

A heavy silence fell over the room. "What business does Gillingham want with our Agnes?" William's voice finally broke the silence, his tone protective.

"Oh not you, too, William!" Caroline exclaimed. "Agnes was just as dubious earlier when I broached the notion of the Marquess's interest."

"Any prudent girl would exercise caution around a man such as him," William pointed out.

"Are you implying I lack wisdom for fostering hope, then?"

"Oh no, Caroline dear, you could never be unwise," William quickly reassured. "It's merely your enthusiasm that sometimes outpaces caution," he added, his tone soft.

A playful huff escaped Caroline. Agnes allowed herself a small smile.

"My excitement is tethered with concern, William," Caroline said. "The whispers going around London about Agnes are growing louder, more insistent."

"I know," came William's heavy acknowledgment. "I fear I've let her down."

"You've done nothing of the sort," Caroline was quick to console, her voice firm. "And as for the rumors, Agnes remains blissfully unaware. It's imperative we maintain that shield around her, let her enjoy her Season untouched by such baseless chatter."

Too late.Agnes felt a pang of sorrow. She was aware of everything that was being said about her, and how it was affecting her debut. Still, she yearned to protect her parents from her pain, just as they sought to shield her from the world's cruelty.

"She's bearing the consequences of my past choices… choices she had no part in making," William lamented.

Her father had been in love with an actress, but duty called him to marry properly. As such, he'd brought his affair with her birth mother to an end just when she discovered herself with child. She passed away birthing Agnes. Caroline, whom his parents had arranged for him, understood his love, and she took Agnes as her own.

"Love is not a sin, William. How many times do I have to tell you that?" Agnes heard Caroline say. Her voice was as patient and understanding as ever.

"Then why is Agnes made to pay for it?" William lamented. "What if I have ruined her chances of ever making a match?"

"Do not think like that. We have Gillingham in the scene now," she reminded him.

"Can he be trusted?" her father asked.

"I want to believe people change. Especially for love," Caroline responded, moving closer to him. "I pray our Agnes finds it," she added softly. Agnes' gaze dropped to the floor. How could she ever repay Caroline for her unwavering support?

"I don't know what I would do without you, Caroline," William said.

She heard a chair scrape against the parquet floor and moved a bit closer, her curiosity piqued. Peeking into the room, she saw her father pull Caroline into his arms, a gesture so tender it took her breath away.

"I love you," he murmured, dropping a kiss into her hair, a simple act that spoke volumes of the love and respect that had grown between them over the years. It was that love that gave Agnes hope. It was the reason she could not agree to Gillingham's preposterous offer.

However, she found herself thinking, perhaps Caroline was right. Time and love did have the power to change a person. They had certainly changed her father, molding him into the man who now stood embracing his wife with all the love of a devoted husband.

Agnes slipped away. That night, she was unable to sleep, her mind churning over the conversation she'd accidentally overheard. The fear of disappointing her parents and the specter of spinsterhood loomed large in her thoughts.

A voice within her whispered of a potential escape from such a fate, a chance she might have inadvertently squandered. Her thoughts drifted to her recent conversation with Gillingham. Could it indeed be the opportunity she needed? Was it foolish to let it slip through her fingers? And, perhaps most pressingly, was it too late to accept his offer? She knew, if nothing else, she needed to bolster her prospects.

Determined, Agnes quickly moved to her escritoire, her actions swift and purposeful. With a steady hand, she penned a note, her heart fluttering with fear and hope. Slipping out of her room, she found a footman, entrusting him with delivering her message, hoping against hope it was not too late.

The Derby ball unfolded much as she expected, mirroring the countless other society events she had attended—nothing new, nothing extraordinary.

"I'm tired," yawned Emma, leaning against the refreshment table with a look of utter boredom.

"These events drain the life out of a person," Frances chimed in, her tone fatigued as she toyed with a glass of punch.

They found themselves, as usual, congregating by the refreshments, the food offering a rare point of interest in the otherwise tedious affair. Yet tonight, Agnes was scarcely paying attention to the spread before her. Instead, her gaze swept the crowd, searching for Gillingham, the man who had begun to occupy her thoughts far more than she cared to admit.

Gillingham was nowhere to be seen, and Agnes had yet to receive any response to her note. Her anticipation had morphed into anxiety as the day progressed, leaving her on edge, hoping for a chance to see him, to talk. She needed to know whether his offer still stood. After all, he did say he never made the same offer twice.

"Is that not so, Agnes?" Frances's voice cut through her reverie, prompting Agnes to snap back to the moment, her focus momentarily scattered.

Frances and Emma looked at her, their expressions a mixture of concern and curiosity, awaiting her response.

"I beg your pardon?" Agnes managed, feeling disoriented. What had she missed?

"You've been distracted all evening. Is everything all right?" Frances inquired, her brows furrowed.

"Perhaps she is looking for her poet from the park," Emma teased with a playful nudge, eliciting a round of soft chuckles.

"He's not my poet. He's no poet at all," Agnes retorted, the corners of her mouth turning up in a reluctant smile despite her preoccupation. "And if anything, he gave you the rose," she added, trying to deflect the attention away from her tangled emotions.

"Only because you rejected it. His interests were clearly on you, Aggie," Emma carried on teasing, her eyes sparkling with mischief under the grand chandeliers of the ballroom.

"Oh not you too, Emma," Agnes cried. She remembered her mother's similar observations from yesterday, after Gillingham had made an unexpected visit. To think, her own mother saw something she couldn't—or perhaps wouldn't—acknowledge.

The truth was, Gillingham's interests lay far from matters of the heart, focused instead on the cold practicalities of business deals. At least, that was what Agnes told herself, steadfastly ignoring the niggling thought that maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't mind his company if fate decreed she was to end up a spinster and he was the last man in England. But no, he was utterly insufferable.

Is he now?The little voice in her head dared to challenge her firm beliefs, causing Agnes to mentally squash it. Yet, she couldn't deny the unbidden warmth creeping onto her cheeks. Shame? Or perhaps something else, something more curious and unsettling.

"Then what has your head in the clouds?" Emma pressed, her gaze intent as if trying to unravel the mysteries of Agnes's emotions with a single question.

Before Agnes could muster an answer, a noticeable buzz swept through the ballroom, pulling their attention toward the entrance. It was him—Gillingham. He stood proudly, his gaze purposefully sweeping across the room. Their eyes met, and at that moment, the crowded space seemed to shrink to just the two of them. He began to make his way over, his eyes never leaving Agnes'.

Her heart skipped a beat, surprise rendering her momentarily speechless when he reached them. "May I have the honor of a dance, Miss Young?" he asked, causing a nearby gasp to break the brief silence. Suddenly, it felt as if every eye in the room was upon them.

"I knew it!" Emma whispered to Frances, loud enough for Agnes to hear, and perhaps even Gillingham. "She was thinking of her poet," she couldn't resist adding, a teasing lilt to her words.

Agnes wondered if Gillingham had caught Emma's comment, for a subtle amusement flickered across his features, the corners of his mouth twitching. Caught between surprise, nervous anticipation, and a newfound self-consciousness, Agnes hesitantly accepted his outstretched arm. Together, they stepped onto the dance floor, just as the orchestra began the opening strains of a waltz.