Chapter 16

"There you are!" Frances's voice carried through the serene ambiance of the garden, interrupting Agnes's thoughts. She turned, her lips curving into a smile at the sight of Emma and Frances making their way toward her.

It was the afternoon before her wedding, a time when courage seemed as elusive as the gentle breeze that toyed with the surrounding leaves. They settled at the garden table, where Emma, without hesitation, reached for a biscuit, biting into it with an enthusiasm Agnes wished she could muster for her own impending nuptials.

"How are you faring?" Frances inquired, her gaze scrutinizing.

"I'm fine," Agnes lied, the word tasting as bland as she felt.

Emma, crumbs at the corner of her mouth, observed pointedly, "You don't seem at all excited."

Sighing, Agnes found no reason to maintain her facade. "The truth is... Theodore and I... We're not in love. I fear I might have lost my only chance at finding true love."

Emma nodded, her expression somber. "It seems love has truly forsaken us."

Frances's response came swift and sharp, a reprimand wrapped in concern. "What is the matter with you both? Where is the hope you overflowed with when we left the seminary?"

"The ton has eroded it," Emma countered, her shoulders falling in resignation.

Agnes, however, clung to a sliver of optimism. "But you, Emma, still have a chance to find love," she said, willing her friend to believe in possibilities yet to unfold.

Frances turned her attention to Agnes, her tone softening. "And Gillingham is a charming man. Who is to say you won't fall in love with him?"

The problem isn't me falling in love with him,Agnes thought despondently. It's whether Theodore could ever love me. But voicing such fears seemed pointless, so she merely nodded in response.

Then, brightening the mood, Frances placed a small box on the table, announcing, "Emma and I had this made for you."

"It's a wedding gift," Emma chimed in, her smile gentle.

With trembling fingers, Agnes unwrapped the brown paper to reveal a framed miniature—a beautiful depiction of the three of them seated in a flower field, smiles captured in a moment of blissful joy. Emotion welled up within her, blurring her vision as she stood to embrace her friends.

"Forgive me for being a water pot," Agnes murmured, sniffling. "I love it. Thank you!"

Frances, taking Agnes's hand in hers, implored, "You must do your best to find happiness in your marriage, Aggie. Promise me."

"I promise," Agnes responded, knowing it would be broken.

As Theodore and his sisters stepped into the drawing room, Agnes rose to greet them, a flutter of anticipation stirring within her. It was the evening before their wedding, an occasion marked by a dinner hosted by Agnes's family, bringing together not only their immediate circles but also their closest friends for a night of prenuptial celebration.

Theodore approached Agnes first, taking her hand in his with a charm that belied the tension she knew he harbored. With a gentle kiss upon her knuckles, he turned to introduce his sisters, Lady Harriet Augefort and Lady Leslie Augefort, with a warmth that momentarily bridged the distance she had felt growing between them.

"You have the most enchanting blue eyes," Lady Harriet exclaimed upon her introduction, her admiration forthright and unguarded. "Like pale sapphires!"

"My apologies for my sister's forthrightness," Lady Leslie interjected with a grace that suggested she was well accustomed to smoothing over her sister's bluntness. "It is a great pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Young."

Harriet shot Leslie a mock glare, prompting a light chuckle from Agnes. "Why, you are both utterly endearing," she assured them, her heart warmed by their spirited dynamic.

Yet, when Agnes's eyes sought Theodore's, she found him distant, his thoughts seemingly elsewhere. The memory of their uncomfortable encounter with Lord Asmont lingered, casting a shadow over the evening. She couldn't help but wonder if Theodore harbored resentment toward her for the scandal that had ensnared them both, perhaps even blaming her for the Earl's disdainful treatment.

As dinner was announced and they gathered around the table, Theodore's elusive gaze continued to haunt Agnes, lending weight to her fears that he might view her as the architect of his current predicament.

"Right, Agnes?" The inquiry from her mother snapped her back to the present, her attention having drifted amidst the whirlwind of her anxieties.

"I beg your pardon?" Agnes stammered, momentarily disoriented, her fork clattering against her plate.

"She's off in a world of her own," Emma's mother, Lady Lovell, observed with a gentle laugh, inadvertently drawing the room's attention to Agnes's distraction.

"At this hour of the evening?" Sir Henry Lovell echoed his wife's amusement.

"It is merely the bride's jitters, I assure you. No cause for concern, Your Graces," Lady Lovell proclaimed with a robustness that invited shared laughter from those gathered around the dinner table.

Despite the convivial atmosphere, Agnes could feel Theodore's gaze upon her, adding weight to her already fluttering nerves. When she dared to meet his eyes, she found them devoid of the mirth that animated the rest of the company.

She took a nervous sip of water, attempting to mask her discomfort.

"Pay no heed to Mama; she would jest with the very ants upon the wall," Emma, seated beside Agnes, leaned in to whisper, a conspiratorial warmth in her voice.

"I caught that, dear Emma," her mother retorted, casting a playfully stern look in her daughter's direction, igniting another round of chuckles amongst the guests.

Amidst her own unease, Agnes found a sliver of solace in the laughter and banter of her family and friends, a momentary reprieve from the tangled web of emotions that the upcoming nuptials had spun around her.

"I've acquainted myself with some rather interesting friends in the stables, Sir Henry. Might I interest you in making their acquaintance?" George, ever the spirited conversationalist, piped up as the laughter began to ebb, diverting the attention toward himself.

Oh dear!

"Why, our young gentleman appears to have taken quite the interest in horsemanship," Sir Henry remarked, visibly impressed by George's apparent enthusiasm.

"Horseman?" George repeated, a touch of confusion in his voice. "No, sir, I meant beetle collector. Though, alas, one cannot precisely ride beetles. They are, regrettably, too diminutive," he clarified, his initial excitement dampened by this practical realization.

"Oh," Sir Henry responded, his chuckle carrying a note of bemusement as he cast a glance around the table, seemingly in search of someone to translate this unexpected turn in the conversation.

Caroline was about to interject when Lady Lovell leaned closer to her husband, offering a clarification, "It appears George wishes to introduce you to his collection of beetles in the stables, my dear."

"The beetles in the walls!" George's face lit up, thrilled at being understood, his earlier dismay at the size limitations of his beetles momentarily set aside.

"I could take you to meet them this instant," he proposed, his enthusiasm undimmed.

"I believe it's a tad too late for an excursion to the stables tonight, Georgie," Caroline interjected, gently curbing her son's eagerness.

"Then I shall bring them to you at your residence," George declared with unwavering determination. "Pray tell, where do you reside, Sir Henry?" he inquired, his curiosity unabated.

Frances and Emma, well-acquainted with George's penchant for collecting all manner of critters, couldn't contain their laughter at this suggestion.

Preston, observing the scene, raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by the lively exchange.

Frances leaned closer to her husband, whispering an explanation into his ear, and a look of comprehension quickly dawned on Preston's face.

"Keep your insects to yourself, Georgie. Not all of us share your... enthusiasm for them," Harry chided his younger brother with a mixture of amusement and mild exasperation.

"You simply lack appreciation, Harry. I've mentioned it time and again!" George retorted, shaking his head and clicking his tongue as if mourning his brother's lack of sophistication, which once again sent ripples of laughter through the room.

"Oh, what a delightful family you have, Your Graces," Lady Lovell exclaimed, her laughter joining the harmonious chorus that filled the drawing room.

The Duke and Duchess, unable to hide their pride, exchanged a glance that spoke volumes of their love and appreciation for their lively household.

"And here I was, under the impression that my sisters' disagreements were unrivaled in their intensity," Theodore added, his previous reservations seemingly lightened by the familial banter.

"Brother!" Harriet's admonition was soft but firm, though her tone couldn't mask the affection underlying her rebuke.

"Why, it's merely the truth, dear sister," he shrugged, his response light-hearted yet sincere.

"The burdens we bear as the elder siblings," Philip chimed in from his corner, having remained largely silent up to this point. Despite being just thirteen, he often sought to project an air of maturity well beyond his years.

"Quite," Theodore agreed with a chuckle, finding common ground in Philip's observation, while Agnes, despite her own inner turmoil, couldn't help but be swept up in the evening's joviality.

"As we enjoy port, I must say, gatherings such as this ought to become a more regular occurrence," the Duke mused, his suggestion met with nods of agreement as Harriet's skillful fingers coaxed melodious strains from the pianoforte, her performance a display of her elegance and musical prowess.

Preston voiced his concurrence, even proposing that they play host next time, a notion that was met with general approval. George, ever the inquisitor, questioned Frances about the inclusion of his ‘friends', to which she responded with a heartwarming chuckle, "But of course, Georgie. Any friend of yours is indeed a friend of ours."

"Be cautious in what liberties you allow him, Frannie. He tends to take them rather expansively," Agnes softly warned her friend, a hint of jest in her voice as she recounted George's latest escapades with his critter friends.

"I believe I can endure the company of a caterpillar or two at my table without much ado," Frances responded with a light-hearted chuckle, her amusement evident.

"Unlike a certain someone we are both acquainted with," Emma added, the tease in her voice drawing a round of laughter from the Duchess as well.

Agnes had previously regaled her friends with tales of George's caterpillar incidents, making it a point of mirth among them.

"Would you ladies excuse us for a moment? I would be honored if my fiancée might grant me a turn about the room," Theodore smoothly interjected, breaking into the women's light-hearted exchange.

"Oh, the sweet whispers of young affection," Lady Lovell remarked, her sigh embodying the romantic notions of the moment.

As Agnes's cheeks tinged with color, she gracefully accepted Theodore's arm. "It appears we've managed to convince at least one person of the depth of our feelings," Theodore quipped softly as they distanced themselves from the gathering.

"That leaves but the remainder of society to persuade," Agnes replied, her laughter filled with nervous anticipation.

"An effortless task, would you not concur?" he jested back, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, easing Agnes into a more relaxed state. Maybe her earlier apprehensions about his feelings and intentions were misplaced.

Their promenade around the room transitioned seamlessly onto the balcony, the night air cool and refreshing. "You are blessed with lovely sisters, Theodore," Agnes remarked, her gaze momentarily returning to Harriet, who continued her enchanting performance at the pianoforte.

"And they possess a unique talent for thoroughly wearing out their brother," Theodore responded, his exaggerated sigh drawing a laugh from Agnes.

"The children all have that charm," Agnes observed, reminiscing about her brothers' antics during dinner. "It's what renders them so endearing."

Yet, as laughter faded, a somber realization dawned upon Agnes. She might never be able to experience such familial joys and challenges. The thought of never witnessing the lively squabbles of her own children or mediating their playful disputes cast a shadow over the moment, reminding her of the sacrifices inherent in their arrangement.

After all, Theodore had made it clear in the bookstore that their marriage was an arrangement and nothing more. And she had agreed, relinquishing her right to the happy family she'd once dreamed of for herself.

"I propose that we retreat to the countryside immediately following our nuptials," Theodore's voice pierced through her reverie, offering a temporary distraction from her somber reflections.

"We shall spend our honeymoon at my ancestral estate in Essex," he continued, his words painting a picture of a secluded respite far removed from the relentless buzz of London's high society.

The notion of a honeymoon, in the traditional sense of a period rich with intimacy and newfound marital bliss, seemed a foreign concept within the bounds of their arrangement. Agnes couldn't help but remind herself of this disparity between expectation and reality.

"Distancing ourselves from the city and its relentless rumor mill will undoubtedly benefit us both," he added, unwittingly echoing Agnes's own weariness of the gossip that had become an all too familiar antagonist in their lives.

Conceding to the logic in his suggestion, Agnes found herself grappling with the limited agency she held in the trajectory of her own life. The prospect of exile to Essex, intended as a sanctuary from societal scrutiny, loomed more as an encroachment on her freedom than as a welcome reprieve.

Despite the joy and camaraderie that dinner with their nearest and dearest had brought, the looming departure to Essex cast a pall over the evening's end for Agnes. Seeking out her parents to relay Theodore's intentions, she found herself enveloped in the pragmatic acceptance that characterized her father's reaction.

"It is to be expected that he would wish to introduce you to his family's domain after the wedding," her father said.

"Oh, my dear little Agnes, all grown up and going away," Caroline murmured, reaching for a handkerchief to dab at her eyes, the reality of the impending separation sinking in.

"I'm going to miss you terribly," Agnes whispered, pulling her mother into a heartfelt embrace. "Both of you," she added, ensuring her gaze met her father's, including him in the sentiment that welled up from the depths of her heart.

William stepped forward, wrapping his arms around both his wife and daughter, a symbol of their united front in the face of change. There, in the warmth of their embrace, they offered solace to Caroline, whose emotions threatened to spill over.

"Oh, and the boys. The thought of being apart from them is unbearable," Agnes sighed heavily, the weight of her departure made all the more palpable by the mention of her brothers. "Promise me, once I'm settled, you'll send them to visit. I dread to think of life without their presence," she implored, seeking the comfort of familiarity in an uncertain future.

Her father nodded in agreement, understanding the importance of maintaining those familial ties. However, Caroline's concerns were not so easily assuaged. "George needs constant supervision. I worry about the mischief he might find himself in, especially without us there to guide him," the Duchess expressed, her protective instincts flaring at the thought of George's well-documented curiosity leading him astray.

"I assure you, Mother, I can handle George's adventurous spirit," Agnes replied, her voice steady and reassuring. The prospect of reuniting with her brothers in Essex offered her a glimmer of hope, a semblance of home in a landscape that would be unfamiliar in many ways.

"Very well then. The boys shall join you," Caroline conceded, her initial reservations giving way to the understanding.

A profound sense of gratitude washed over Agnes at her mother's acquiescence. The promise of her brothers' company lightened her spirits, somewhat.

"Now, then, do get some sleep. A bride must look her best on her wedding day," Caroline said, spiritedly ushering Agnes up to her bedchamber.

She did not feel like a bride, and she doubted she would ever feel like a wife.