Chapter 13

"Agnes, darling, open the door," Caroline's gentle voice seeped through the wooden barrier for what felt like the umpteenth time that morning.

The events of the previous night had left Agnes with a heart so heavy she was anchored to her bed, her tears having been her sole companion as she drifted into a restless slumber. With the dawn, she had chosen solitude as her refuge, locking herself away in her room, desiring to bear her sorrows in isolation, reluctant to impose her gloom upon those she held dear.

"Agnes?" Caroline's voice pierced the silence once more, a tender entreaty that tugged at Agnes's heartstrings.

With a sigh borne of a mixture of fatigue and resignation, Agnes made her way to the door, her steps as hesitant as her resolve. Her hand lingered on the doorknob, the metal feeling unusually cold. Yet, the courage to open the door and face her mother eluded her. She stood motionless until the hall fell into a hush, signaling her mother's reluctant departure.

Retreating to her previous vigil by the window that overlooked the garden, Agnes picked up her drawing sheets and sat. As she touched her pencil to the parchment to continue drawing the flowers in the garden, her eyes flooded with tears, blurring her vision. She had never felt removed from the world around her as she did not, and it was taking everything she had not to fall into despair.

"Aggie," came Emma's voice.

"Your mother told us you wouldn't let her in," Frances said. "Please open the door for us."

Agnes sighed and looked away from the door, wiping the tears that rolled down her cheeks. This was her burden to bear alone, and she felt no need to involve her friends. Yet, the lump in her throat swelled. How she wanted to open the door for them, and she fought back the tide of emotions threatening to overwhelm her once again.

"Agnes Young!" Emma called again. When she didn't answer, Emma added, "At least let us know that you are still alive."

Raising her pen, Agnes aimed it at the door and tossed it. It hit the wood before falling to the carpet, giving Frances and Emma the answer they sought. After a while, she heard them retreat down the hall.

With a resolve as fragile as glass, Agnes remained steadfast in her seclusion. She knew Theodore would not offer for her. He had made it very clear when they met that he had no intention of marrying her. Why would he need her to pretend they were courting otherwise? This was the reason her despair was growing.

Just as the cloak of despondency seemed to tighten around her, a new voice reached her ears. "Agnes, please open the door for me," implored George. She heard a small knuckle rap gently against the wood before he added, "I have your breakfast with me. And I promise my friends wouldn't be joining this time."

"Oh, Georgie," a little sob wrenched forth unbidden from her as a tear rolled down her cheek. In that moment, she realized the depth of her affection for her brother—his simple, earnest attempts to comfort her pierced through the shroud of her sorrow. She couldn't bear to deny him, not when he was offering such a token of love. Gathering her strength, she rose from her position at the window, pausing briefly at the door to dab at her eyes with her sleeve, striving to present a semblance of composure.

Upon opening the door, the sight that greeted her tugged at a smile she thought she'd lost. There stood George, and a step behind him, a footman held a tray laden with the breakfast George had mentioned.

"You did not come down for breakfast. So, I thought to bring it to you," George explained as he brushed past her into the room, his tone matter-of-fact.

Following a nod from Agnes, the footman deposited the tray on the center table near the fireplace before excusing himself.

"Mother mentioned you weren't feeling your best," George began, his brows knitting together in a facsimile of adult worry. "Are you ill, Agnes?" he inquired, his young mind no doubt trying to reconcile the news of her indisposition with his sister's appearance.

Grateful for her brother's concern, Agnes shook her head with a weak smile, attempting to steer the conversation away from the shadows of her troubles. "Thank you for the breakfast, Georgie," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Unperturbed, George continued, parroting the wisdom of their governess. "Miss Tate always says breakfast is the most crucial meal of the day, insisting it should never be skipped." As he spoke, he couldn't resist swiping a sausage from the tray.

Amused despite herself, Agnes served him some food on a plate, playing along with his sudden interest in the meal. "Oh, but I am not hungry. I had my breakfast already," he protested lightly, even as his hand wandered to pluck some berries from the assortment before him. "I had eight of these earlier," he claimed, popping them into his mouth with the enthusiasm only a child could muster.

"I can see that," Agnes chuckled softly, finding a small measure of comfort in her brother's simple presence and the innocent curiosity that seemed to fuel his every action.

"You're not eating?" he asked her, his brows furrowed.

"I will," she lied, forcing a smile. The truth was that food was the last thing on her mind; her appetite had vanished long ago.

"Mother and Father will be more worried if you do not eat," George said with a serious look. "They've been worried about you all morning," he added, his attention momentarily drifting as he surveyed the tray for his next target, ultimately settling on a piece of toast.

"Would you like some orange juice with that?" Agnes offered, trying to play the part of the caring hostess, if only to maintain a semblance of her former self.

"Oh no. This is your breakfast, Agnes. I've had mine. What manner of a boy would I be if I finished it for you?" he protested even as he reached for a cube of cheese.

"A hungry one," Agnes chuckled again, her heart warming slightly at his words, even as he proceeded to slather his toast with marmalade.

"Do you think snails like marmalade?" George suddenly asked, his curiosity taking a whimsical turn.

"I'm sure they make their own marmalade, Georgie. So no need to offer them any," Agnes responded quickly, half-amused and half-dismayed at the prospect of her brother embarking on a culinary adventure on behalf of the garden's snails.

"Truly?" Georgie's eyes sparkled with intrigue, though Agnes sensed a mischievous undertone to his wonder, a sign that his mind was already weaving fantastical tales from her playful deception.

"Do you think they'd be so generous to share some of their marmalade with me?" he asked, his imagination clearly captivated by the idea of a snail's marmalade.

"Oh dear, snails and humans have quite different diets, George," Agnes tried to steer him back toward reality, hoping to quell his burgeoning fascination before it led to some unexpected escapade.

"Nonsense! Marmalade is marmalade. And everyone likes marmalade," he declared, scooping an almost comical amount of it onto his toast before taking an enthusiastic bite.

George bounced happily in his seat as he chewed, his spirits unaffected by the somber mood that had enveloped the household. He regaled Agnes with his grand plan to coax the garden snails into a marmalade-sharing arrangement. "...and I'm not sharing it with Harry," he finished with a decisive nod.

"I daresay Harry would have little interest in partaking of marmalade produced by snails," Agnes responded, affectionately ruffling her brother's pale blonde hair, a soft smile gracing her face.

"Pray, might I claim the last sausage?" George inquired, eyeing the solitary piece left on the plate with an earnest gaze.

"You may have it," she conceded with a gentle wave of her hand. Her appetite had deserted her; she had managed to eat but one sausage to his four. She was silently thankful for his robust appetite—it meant their parents would be none the wiser about the scant attention she'd paid to her meal.

For a fleeting moment, her brother's presence and his tales of his marmalade venture provided a welcome distraction from the shadows that lurked at the edges of her thoughts. "You will come down, won't you?" George asked when the meal was over.

Agnes was about to decline, but thought better. "I will."

He hopped down from the sofa. "Come, then!"

"Go ahead. I will join you soon."

His eyes narrowed. "Are you certain you are not saying that to be rid of me so you can lock the door again?"

That coaxed a laugh from her. "I will join you soon. I promise."

"I believe you, for you have always kept your promises." He skipped to the door. As soon as she was left by herself, the harsh reality of her situation returned, unbidden and chilling.

After taking a moment—along with several deep breaths to steel her resolve—Agnes made her way downstairs, her steps hesitant yet determined. To her mild surprise, she found her mother, Frances, and Emma gathered in the drawing room. The realization that her friends had chosen to stay, to offer their support in her time of need, warmed her heart.

The room was steeped in a solemn air, but at her entrance, her mother rose swiftly, crossing the room to wrap Agnes in a tight embrace that unleashed the floodgates of her barely restrained tears. The three women gathered around her, consoling.

"What happens now?" Emma asked, her voice soft but filled with concern.

It was, indeed, the question that hovered like a specter over all their heads. What would become of her in the wake of the scandal that threatened to mar her future? "What are people saying?" she asked.

"Never mind what people are saying," Caroline replied, guiding her to sit on the sofa. "They can only be lies."

Lost in her contemplation, Agnes barely registered the sound of footsteps until her father entered the drawing room.

"It is nearing midday, and I still haven't heard a word from that Marquess, Caroline," William said to his wife, his expression dark and his footfalls heavy.

"I implore you, my dear, afford the gentleman a little more time. We are hopeful to receive his correspondence soon," Caroline responded, her voice calm. She took Agnes' hand and patted it. "He's likely as shocked by the events as we are," she continued. Her attempt at reassurance did not quite reach her eyes, and it did not escape Agnes's notice.

Her father turned to her. "George told me you ate the breakfast he took up to you."

"Yes, Your Grace," Agnes responded.

"Good. We must be steadfast in keeping ourselves healthy. No matter what."

He walked to the tall window that overlooked the garden and stood for a moment, his hands clasped behind him. Everything about his posture spoke of his worry, and Agnes wanted to go to him, apologize for her failure. However, she remained in her seat, showing strength she did not feel.

William swiveled. "If Gillingham fails to act in a manner befitting his station, I vow to escort him to the altar myself, with a pistol to his back, if need be," he declared.

"That will not be necessary, Your Grace," came a voice, steady and unmistakable.

Agnes' heart skipped. The room fell silent as Theodore walked in ahead of the butler.

Emma's gasp was the only sound to break the silence, then she clapped a hand over her mouth and looked away, while Frances grinned.

"I find myself before you today to request the hand of your ward in marriage, Your Grace," Theodore said, his demeanor formal.

"Very well," the Duke responded after a moment, his earlier ire dampening into a wary acceptance. "Should she find herself agreeable to the match, you shall have my blessing." William's gaze shifted to Agnes.

At that instant, Agnes felt a tumultuous wave of emotion threatening to overwhelm her. Despite the dire circumstances, her father was affording her the final say in the matter. She could reject Theodore and they would not blame her. The room's attention shifted to her, a silent inquiry hanging in the air.

Agnes raised her eyes to Theodore's, and she was met with a visage that was detached, far from the warmth she once believed they shared. His expression was one of a man resigned to his fate, rather than a suitor eager to propose. Was this the life partner she was expected to accept? Her heart ached at the thought, the realization dawning that his proposal was born not of desire but of duty. It seemed, to him, this union was akin to walking through the gates of perdition rather than a pledge of companionship.

"If you will excuse us for a moment, Lord Gillingham," Caroline said, looping an arm though Agnes'. She guided her out of the room to her father's study.

"How do you feel about his offer, Agnes?" she inquired, her voice soft, inviting honesty. Before Agnes could marshal her thoughts into words, Caroline hastened to add, "Whatever decision you make, know that we will always support you."

"Even if I turn him down?" Agnes' voice barely rose above a whisper.

"If that is your wish, we will respect your decision, dear," Caroline assured. "I must be honest with you, however. Society is merciless, and the road ahead may prove challenging. But your father and I will spare no effort to keep you safe."

Agnes felt the weight of her mother's words, the reality of her situation pressing down on her with an unbearable heaviness. She inhaled deeply.

"I will marry him," Agnes declared, the words falling from her lips with a resignation born of necessity rather than desire. To decline Theodore's offer would be to expose her family to further scandal, to subject them to the whispers and sneers of the ton. He had stepped forward with an offer of marriage, an honorable gesture that demanded a sacrifice of her own. It was time, she reasoned, to ease the burden her predicament had placed on her loved ones.

"Is this truly your desire, Agnes?" Caroline's query was solemn, her eyes searching her daughter's for any sign of doubt or hesitation. Agnes nodded, unable to speak.

"Is everything quite all right?" Her father's voice broke through the heavy air as he entered the room, his eyes shifting between his wife and daughter in search of understanding.

"She has consented to his proposal," Caroline shared, her voice carrying a note of relief that visibly eased some of the tension etched into the Duke's features.

"I shall immediately set about procuring a special license," William said "They shall marry in the coming days."

"You needn't trouble yourself on that account, Papa," Agnes interjected softly. The thought of her family going through the arduous process to secure a special license, especially given the circumstances, weighed heavily on her conscience. She had already been the cause of enough distress.

"It is no trouble. Indeed, it is my wish," William insisted, his response leaving no room for debate. His determination to expedite the matter conveyed his desire to see his daughter's reputation salvaged as swiftly as possible.

"We could simply abide by the customary waiting period for the?—"

"Let us regard the license as an early nuptial gift," he stated, effectively silencing any objections she might have had.

If only she could find a sliver of hope in the midst of this turmoil, Agnes mused despairingly. Her parents left her in the study, and a moment later, the door opened and Theodore entered, his presence filling the room with an intensity that made her heart race.

Their gazes met and held for a moment. She could not guess what he was thinking, and she could see neither pleasure nor displeasure in his expression. Theodore gestured toward the chairs by the hearth, his movements graceful yet tentative. "Shall we sit?" he asked, sounding more formal than she had ever heard him.

"You are still playing the role of the host in my home, My Lord," Agnes said to lighten the air.

A ghost of a smile flitted across his lips, and he raised a single brow. "My Lord?"

"I am unsure what to call you now," she admitted.

"Your betrothed if you accept my proposal."

Agnes sat and looked at the empty fireplace for a moment. "None of us imagined this would happen."

Instead of responding to her statement, he asked, "Will you?" A moment's pause passed between them. "Marry me, that is."

"Yes," she whispered. "His Grace is gifting us a special license."

Theodore nodded. "Then we should be married in a few days." He stood and held out his hand. When she took it, he pulled her to her feet. "I shall see you soon." He placed a polite kiss on her knuckles before turning and striding out of the room.

Agnes placed a hand on her belly, seeking to ease the knots tightening there. Why was she not feeling any relief even after her reputation had seemingly been saved?