Chapter 18

The carriage ride to Essex felt interminably long for Agnes, each minute stretching into what felt like hours. By the time they arrived, her body ached from the tension and her posture, making her feel years beyond her age.

"This is Gillingham Hall," Theodore said, his gaze fixed on the window as the carriage stopped in front of the manor. This was one of the only words he'd spoken to her since the start of their journey.

A footman opened the door, and Theodore climbed down before reaching for her. Agnes was greeted by an old stone structure with dried vines creeping up the walls. The surroundings were well maintained, but there was no grandeur anywhere in sight. Of course, she did not mind, but she had been expecting a little cheer—perhaps more flowers around them.

A slender middle-aged woman descended the stone steps to greet them, her expression austere. "It is good to have you back, My Lord," she said, her voice carrying a note of genuine pleasure.

"Thank you, Mrs. Davis." He turned to Agnes with a stiff smile. "Allow me to introduce my wife, Lady Gillingham."

Her new title sounded odd to her ears, but she quickly dismissed the thought and offered the housekeeper a smile, inclining her head gracefully as the woman curtsied.

"It's a pleasure, My Lady," she said. Despite the polite words, Agnes couldn't help the feeling that the warmth she had initially observed in Mrs. Davis's eyes had cooled considerably upon their introduction.

"Come," Theodore said, taking her hand and leading her up the steps and into a spacious vestibule.

Agnes noted its emptiness with a sense of foreboding. Two chairs in front of the large fireplace, and a lone table that stood against the opposite wall were the only furnishings in the place. She had anticipated a welcome from several servants, yet they were greeted only by the housekeeper.

"You will find all the guidance you need in Mrs. Davis," Theodore said. "I must leave you now to attend to some estate matters that cannot be delayed."

"Of course," she murmured.

As she watched his retreating form, a lump formed in her throat, her heart constricting with a sense of abandonment she hadn't anticipated. She had married him, not Mrs. Davis, and yet, here she was, feeling left behind before their new life had even begun.

"This way, My Lady," Mrs. Davis's voice, devoid of warmth, pulled Agnes from her reverie.

Silently, Agnes trailed behind the housekeeper, her footsteps echoing through the vast hallways of the estate. They ascended the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last.

"The Marchioness's bedchambers," announced Mrs. Davis, pushing open a large mahogany door to reveal the room intended for Agnes. Stepping inside, Agnes noted the meticulous arrangement of the furnishings and soft tones of rose and cream.

"I have prepared everything to ensure comfort. I hope it meets Her Ladyship's approval," Mrs. Davis stated, a hint of pride in her otherwise flat voice suggesting a personal hand in the room's preparation. This detail piqued Agnes's curiosity.

"Over here is the dressing room. And that door there leads to the Marquess's chambers," the housekeeper continued.

"Should you require anything at all, you can always ring for me," Mrs. Davis concluded.

"Thank you, Mrs. Davis." Agnes walked to a window that overlooked the gardens as the housekeeper took her leave. The grounds were neat, but there were only green hedges and no flowers.

Perhaps I could occupy myself by introducing colors to the garden. I should do it.

Agnes turned to the door the housekeeper had mentioned led to Theodore's chambers. Slowly, she approached it, and opening the door, she stepped into a large bedchamber, decorated in tones of deep blue and mahogany.

What am I doing here? She retreated quickly and shut the door. Then, after a moment's thought, she turned the key in the lock. The door would have no use in their life, after all.

With some time to spare before dinner, Agnes decided to familiarize herself further with the place that was now her home. The mansion was undeniably elegant, yet she couldn't overlook the signs of neglect. As she trailed her fingers over the fabric of a drape, the frayed threads suggested a lack of attention, unlike the meticulous upkeep of her family's estate in Cornwall.

This observation led her to ponder the absence of life within these walls, and the pervasive silence added to the growing sense of isolation she felt… Eerily so.

The knowledge that his sisters remained in London, with plans to join them shortly, offered little comfort. Their delayed arrival seemed unnecessary, particularly under the pretense of affording the newlyweds privacy for a honeymoon that was anything but.

Wandering through the silent halls, Agnes felt an emerging sense of responsibility. The notion that she was to breathe life into these halls was daunting. As she moved through the manor, taking note of its beauty and its shortcomings alike, Agnes resolved to make the best of her circumstances.

She found a door at the end of one of the halls and opened it, stepping into a large library that was surprisingly well stocked. For the first time, a small genuine smile touched her lips.

"Would you care for some tea, My Lady?" Mrs. Davis materialized seemingly out of nowhere, her presence startling Agnes as she was reaching for a book from one of the top shelves.

Caught off guard by the silent approach of the housekeeper, Agnes couldn't help but liken her to a wraith. "You appear somewhat agitated, My Lady. Might I suggest something to soothe your nerves?" Mrs. Davis proposed, her tone both gentle and probing.

Agnes, interpreting this as a subtle hint to settle down, gratefully accepted the offer, if only to have a momentary diversion. "Yes, please."

The housekeeper herself returned with the tea, reinforcing the peculiar absence of other servants. "Is the Marquess..." Agnes attempted to inquire about Theodore's whereabouts.

"Engaged in his study, yes," Mrs. Davis cut in smoothly. "Is there anything else you require, My Lady?" she inquired, her demeanor impeccable yet somehow imposing.

"No, thank you," Agnes replied, her response more timidly than intended. There was an intangible air about Mrs. Davis that Agnes found disconcerting, a feeling of constraint that lingered long after the housekeeper had departed.

Resigned to her solitude, Agnes sipped her tea alone, the silence of the mansion her only companion as the afternoon waned into evening. It was the distant sound of voices and movement that eventually broke through her reverie, sparking a glimmer of anticipation for the arrival of fresh company.

Rising eagerly, Agnes made her way toward the source of the disturbance, relieved at the prospect of interaction. There, in the vestibule, she found a middle-aged man deep in conversation with Mrs. Davis, while a small group of individuals filed in through the doors.

"Your ladyship," Mrs. Davis acknowledged her approach. "This is Quentin, the Gillingham butler from London," she introduced the man, then proceeded to present the others as servants from Gillingham House in London. Was the reason why there were no servants in the house earlier because they were shared between the London and the country households?

The realization struck Agnes with an unexpected clarity. The visible wear on the furniture, the unusual arrangement of having servants shuttle between residences alongside their master, and Theodore's evident urgency regarding his dealings with Asmont—all these elements coalesced into a singular, disconcerting hypothesis: Could it be that her husband was grappling with financial difficulties?

The notion that the Marquess, a man of reputed wealth and status, might be facing monetary strains was perplexing. Yet, the evidence, however circumstantial, painted a picture Agnes could not easily dismiss.

"Pardon our delay, My Lady," Quentin's respectful bow pulled Agnes from her contemplation.

She waved away his apology with a gracious smile, her thoughts momentarily diverted by the sight of her lady's maid, Miss Evans, walking into the foyer. The sight of a familiar face put Agnes at ease, and she gave her lady's maid a true smile.

Miss Evans helped Agness dress that evening with great care even though Agnes knew adorning herself would be fruitless. She went down to the drawing room and found it empty. Her brows furrowed in confusion, and it was at that moment Quentin entered the room.

"Good evening, My Lady. Dinner shall be served shortly," he announced, bowing slightly.

"And where might His Lordship be this evening, Quentin?" Agnes asked, her voice steady but her heart sinking with disappointment.

"The Marquess is presently out, attending to the tenants with his steward, My Lady," Quentin replied, his tone respectful yet bearing a hint of sympathy.

"At this hour?" Agnes couldn't hide her surprise.

"Yes, My Lady. It was a matter that required his immediate attention," Quentin offered, his eyes momentarily dropping in what Agnes perceived as a sign of regret.

With a heavy heart, Agnes made her way to the dining room, her footsteps slower than usual. The dinner that followed was a lonely one, the silence only broken by the occasional clinking of her cutlery against the plate—a reminder of Theodore's absence.

As she ate, the footmen's exchanged glances did not escape her notice, adding to the growing discomfort of dining alone. She felt overlooked, her significance diminished by Theodore's absence on what was meant to be a shared beginning.

Later, in the solitude of her chambers, Agnes found herself listening for any sign of Theodore's return. But the night remained silent.

The morning brought no joy either; Quentin met at the base of the stairs before she could even voice the question burning in her mind.

"Good morning, My Lady. The Marquess is...," Quentin started, his expression somber.

"Making estate rounds, I presume?" Agnes finished for him, managing a smile despite the dull ache in her heart.

"Indeed, My Lady. He sends his apologies," Quentin said, echoing the sentiment from the night before.

Seated alone at breakfast once again, Agnes's smile did not reach her eyes. The butler's mannerisms confirmed her fears—Theodore was deliberately keeping his distance. With each passing meal spent in solitude, Agnes was forced to confront the reality of their marriage—an arrangement lacking the warmth and companionship she had dared to hope for.

After her meal, she decided to spend the rest of the morning in the library. As Agnes stepped into the library, her gaze was immediately drawn to figures on a table at the room's far end. Intrigued, she approached, discovering small ships encased in glass, their intricate details suggesting they were the work of expert hands.

She smiled, wondering where Theodore had found them. She reached out, her fingers tracing the edges of the glass case.

"They belong to His Lordship," came the unexpected voice from behind, startling her. Agnes turned sharply to see Mrs. Davis, ledger in hand. With a slow curtsy, the housekeeper said, "I apologize for startling you. Being accustomed to the solitude here, I seem to have forgotten the courtesies of company—such as knocking."

This unforeseen encounter seemed the perfect moment for Agnes to satisfy some of the curiosity that had been simmering within her. "Why do you live alone in the manor, Mrs. Davis?" she inquired, hoping for some insight into the peculiar arrangement.

Mrs. Davis explained, "The servants move with His Lordship between London and the country. He prefers it that way." The answer, devoid of further elaboration, hung between them, prompting Agnes to reluctantly set her questions aside for another time.

"I brought the household accounts for you to acquaint yourself with," Mrs. Davis said, changing the subject as she handed over the ledger to Agnes, who took it and seated herself in a nearby chair. Flipping through the pages, Agnes noted the modesty of the expenditures, but she attributed it to the manor's often-empty state.

Her attention drifted back to the ships. "You said these belong to His Lordship?" she asked, her interest piqued anew.

"Yes," Mrs. Davis confirmed. "He built them himself."

"He did?" Agnes couldn't mask her surprise, the revelation offering a glimpse into a facet of her husband she hadn't known existed. It dawned on her how little she truly understood about the man she had married.

At that moment, Agnes made a silent vow to herself. If Theodore was determined to keep his distance, then it fell upon her to seek him out.