Chapter 14

"Oh, I've dreamed of this day for years," Caroline sighed wistfully as they meandered through the array of shops on Bond Street. The whirlwind of wedding preparations had swept them into the bustling heart of London's fashion district, in pursuit of the perfect trousseau for Agnes.

As her mother and friends reveled in the excitement of selecting fabrics and patterns, Agnes found herself ensnared in a fog of detachment. Theodore's proposal had left her emotions frayed and her heart encased in an armor of indifference.

Perhaps,she mused darkly, adopting a demeanor as stoic as his was the prudent course of action. With no word from him since that fateful morning, and with no inclination on her part to reach out, a chasm of silence had grown between them, deepening her sense of isolation.

"Oh, the cheer of an imminent wedding," Emma exclaimed, her voice dripping with longing as they leafed through the delicate pages of Madame Fontaine's latest catalog.

"Not every wedding augurs cheer," Agnes found herself murmuring, the words escaping her lips before she could reel them back. The sharp turn of Frances and Emma's heads, their faces etched with worry, was a stark contrast to Caroline's engrossment in a spirited discussion with the modiste.

"You're usually the optimist, Aggie," Emma remarked gently, her hand finding Agnes's and offering a squeeze that was both comforting and grounding.

"I know you did not choose these circumstances, but at least Gillingham is not a stranger," Frances added, her attempt at consolation highlighting the scant silver lining in a situation fraught with complexity.

The pace at which events were unfolding left Agnes breathless, the reality of her impending nuptials bearing down on her with the weight of an anvil. She pressed a hand against her belly and took several deep breaths.

Her friends still believed her courtship with Theodore had been real. The guilt of this deception swelled within her, an unwelcome addition to the tempest of her emotions.

"Oh, so the whispers of nuptial arrangements do indeed hold truth," Lady Kirkland's voice, unfortunately familiar and very unwelcome, pierced the veil of Agnes's thoughts.

Lifting her gaze, Agnes met the disconcerting sight of Lady Kirkland making her presence known within the confines of the shop.

"Why, Petunia? Have you wagered against the event and now fear the prospect of loss?" Caroline, ever the protective lioness, interjected swiftly, her tone laced with a sharp wit that left no room for misunderstanding.

"Who frets over the trifling matter of coin?" Lady Kirkland retorted, her disdain thinly veiled. The camaraderie once shared between her mother and Lady Kirkland had frayed, unraveled by the latter's penchant for wagging tongues and weaving tales.

"Why, anything in the service of fueling the mills of rumor, correct, Petunia?" Caroline parried, her words a deft strike that momentarily unsettled their adversary.

Caught off guard, Lady Kirkland's composure flickered, revealing a momentary crack in her fa?ade as she scrambled for a retort.

"Such regrettable conditions paving the path to matrimony," Lady Kirkland remarked with a derisive sneer, her gaze, laden with contempt, settling on Agnes. "It does cast a shadow upon our capacity as mothers and guardians in instilling a sense of discipline and propriety in our charges, wouldn't you concur, Your Grace?" she pivoted, addressing Caroline with a challenge veiled as inquiry.

"Indeed, it is precisely such failings that cultivate a relentless thirst for gossip," Caroline countered, her riposte sharp and unyielding.

A stifled snigger from the modiste punctuated the exchange, her amusement at the Duchess's verbal spar barely contained. Glancing at Frances and Emma, Agnes discerned a shared amusement mirrored in their expressions, a silent solidarity against Lady Kirkland's barbs.

With a scowl, Lady Kirkland directed a final glare at the amused modiste before declaring with haughty disdain, "I perceive naught in this establishment worthy of my expenditure." With a flounce that spoke volumes of her displeasure, she made for the exit.

Yet, at the threshold, she paused, casting over her shoulder a parting shot meant to wound, "I implore you, at the very least, ensure the sustenance provided at your wedding is not offensive." And with that, she departed, leaving a trail of indignation in her wake.

"I knew there was something about that caterpillar still bothering that woman," Caroline mused aloud.

"Oh, I've never seen anyone so elegantly rebuffed, Your Grace," Madame Fontaine chuckled, her laughter ringing clear and genuine within the confines of her boutique. The dressmaker's admiration for Caroline's handling of the situation was evident, her respect for the Duchess's wit and grace unabated by the years.

Turning toward Agnes, Caroline's expression softened, her eyes conveying a silent apology for the unpleasantness that had unfolded. It was a mother's instinct to shield her child from the world's harsher realities, even when that child was fully grown.

And Agnes, recognizing the love and concern behind the gesture, mustered a smile, a silent reassurance that she remained unscathed by Lady Kirkland's barbed words. It was a small act of defiance, a declaration that she would not allow the opinions of others to dictate her state of mind.

The remainder of their shopping expedition passed without further incident, a welcome respite from the earlier drama. Agnes took solace in the laughter and light-hearted banter of her friends, a balm to the wounds inflicted by society's scrutiny. She made a concerted effort to remain engaged, to share in the joy of the moment rather than retreat into the shadows of her own troubled thoughts.

Late afternoon saw them parting ways with her friends, returning home with boxes yet aware they had scarcely made a dent in the list of necessities for the upcoming nuptials. "Oh, and to consider we've acquired but a fraction of what's required," Caroline lamented as they entrusted their outerwear to the butler's care.

At that moment, an unexpected knock at the door heralded another visitor. The butler, having just passed the ladies' coats to a footman, opened the door to reveal Theodore standing on the threshold. Caroline's expression brightened at the sight of her future son-in-law, a stark contrast to Agnes's mixed feelings of surprise and uncertainty as she escorted him to the drawing room.

She was on the verge of ringing for tea when Theodore proposed an alternative. "The weather is far too splendid to remain indoors," he observed.

"As it happens, we've only just arrived back ourselves," Agnes felt compelled to mention, aware of the awkwardness that seemed to envelop them like a dense fog.

"Does that mean you'd prefer not to venture out for a walk?" he inquired, his chuckle attempting to lighten the mood.

"I shall have my coat and hat retrieved," she decided, the prospect of escaping the claustrophobic atmosphere of the drawing room suddenly appealing. The promise of fresh air and the open spaces of Hyde Park seemed a far more enticing prospect, potentially offering them the respite needed to navigate their current discomfort.

Indeed, the late afternoon breeze was refreshing, the verdant landscape of Hyde Park serving as a welcome distraction from the undercurrents of tension between them. Despite the occasional curious glance from passersby, Agnes found herself less concerned with the wagging tongues of society and more focused on the here and now. The past was immutable, yet the future remained hers to shape.

It was amidst this reflective silence that Theodore sought to broach the subject of their impending union. "I thought it prudent to allow you some time to adjust to the idea," he started, breaking the ice that had formed around them.

"There's scarcely anything to adjust to," Agnes responded with a slight snort, her attempt at humor masking the depth of her resignation. "We must simply take things as they come," she added with a shrug, a pragmatic acceptance of their situation.

"I hadn't pegged you for someone as pragmatic as you are obstinate, Agnes," he commented, his laughter hinting at a newfound appreciation for her resilience.

"I am a woman of myriad talents," she retorted playfully.

And the pleasant sound of his laughter filled the air around them, a rare moment of levity between the pair that seemed to momentarily lift the weight of their circumstances. However, the disapproving gazes of passersby quickly served as a reminder of the society's scrutiny under which they found themselves. Theodore, noticing the looks as well, broached the subject with a hint of resolve.

"Given our situation, it seems prudent to consider a few adjustments," he suggested, his voice carrying a seriousness that drew Agnes's attention.

"Adjustments?" she echoed, curiosity piqued.

"The ton continues to see us through the lens of scandal. We must endeavor to present a united front, to demonstrate the depth of our affections for one another. This means we shall need to spend more time in public, to convince even the staunchest skeptics of our... love," he concluded, the last word hanging awkwardly in the air between them.

They concurred that the plan warranted an attempt, a mutual agreement to face society's judgment head-on.

The repercussions of their decision became apparent with the publication of the following morning's gossip sheet.

In a most audacious display of disregard for propriety, Miss Young, the recent subject of considerable scandal, dared to parade herself in Town! One would think the girl would shut herself in her bedchamber, but no!

Is it defiance or mere folly that propels Miss Young to flout the unspoken rules of our society? How does the Duke of Richmond justify such behavior from his ward?

Agnes was quietly studying the venomous lines in the gossip sheet when Emma rushed in, her face alight with concern. "Agnes, have you seen this morning"s paper?" she exclaimed.

Agnes looked up, feigning calm. "Yes, I have it here," she said, waving the sheet dismissively. "It"s all quite expected, really. Nothing to fuss over."

Frances, following closely behind Emma, wasn"t convinced. She approached Agnes, her gaze soft yet piercing. "Aggie, dear, pretending it doesn't hurt doesn't fool us. You"re about as subtle as a clashing cymbal at a chamber concert."

Emma snatched the paper from the table, her eyes scanning the harsh words. "This is outrageous! They speak as if Theodore had no part in yesterday"s walk. Why must you alone bear the pain of this?" Her indignation filled the room.

Frances sighed, sitting beside Agnes. "When has the judgment of society ever been wielded with fairness, Emma?" she asked, her voice low and thoughtful.

Agnes let out a small, weary laugh. "One becomes accustomed to it, in truth," she confessed, her voice softer now, revealing a trace of her true feelings. "But thank you, both of you, for your concern. It seems one must grow a thick skin or perish under the weight of all these whispers."

"There is no acclimating oneself to the societal barrage of criticism, Aggie," Emma declared passionately. "Yet, you ought not to shoulder these trials alone. As the adage goes, a burden shared is indeed a burden halved," she continued, her sentiment earnest.

"And pray tell, who precisely is credited with this saying?" Frances arched a skeptical eyebrow in Emma's direction, her curiosity piqued.

"I'm not entirely certain... but it's what they proclaim," Emma reiterated, emphasizing the anonymous authority with a hint of defensiveness.

"You pose peculiar inquiries, Frannie," Emma remarked, a touch of amusement coloring her tone.

"To match your yet more peculiar proclamations," Frances retorted with an eye roll.

For the first time in days, Agnes heard herself laugh. How she had missed her friends' banter. The recent events had changed her, and she feared she would soon be unrecognizable.