Chapter 22

The next morning, Theodore decided it was only fair to Agnes that he make the effort to go down for breakfast. He needed to show some semblance of routine and stability, despite the recent upheavals.

He was surprised, however, to find the morning room empty. The absence of his wife"s gentle presence cast a slight pall over the sunlit room.

"Quentin, is the Marchioness not down for breakfast yet?" he asked the butler, who was meticulously aligning the silverware on the table.

"Ah, yes, My Lord. She has not come out of her chambers yet," Quentin replied, his voice carrying a tone of discretion.

"Perhaps she's not awake yet?" Theodore voiced his thought aloud, his brow furrowed slightly. He pondered if she still adhered to the late hours typical of Town society, a habit they had briefly discussed.

"I am not sure, My Lord. But I have heard nothing from her chambers all morning," Quentin responded, his voice low as he proceeded to pour Theodore some coffee, while a footman brought over a plate of breakfast from the sideboard.

Theodore reached for the morning's paper on the table, hoping to distract himself with the daily news. His eyes skimmed the articles, which were filled with the usual recaps and musings about the parliamentary meetings—nothing particularly new or engaging.

That was until he turned a page, and a sheet fell out from between the folds of the newspaper. It was a gossip sheet, one that he normally wouldn't give much credence to. Yet, against his better judgment, he found himself reading it.

With the union of Lord Gillingham and Miss Young now securely, the eyes of the ton should not stray far from this intriguing pair. Though they have sought the tranquility of the countryside, let this not be a reason for society"s vigilant observers to lower their glasses. Indeed, it is at such moments of seeming repose that the most telling truths often emerge. Thus, I implore you, my astute readers, to remain keenly observant of their circumstances. Are the lovebirds as enamored as they have led us to believe, or is society being led on a merry dance of deception? Let us not be duped but stay sharply alert.

Theodore tossed the sheet aside a little impatiently. "Do these columnists never give up?" he muttered under his breath. He knew better than to delve into the gossip pages, always brimming with nettling topics and unnecessary gibes.

But Agnes was right. If they wished to silence society"s wagging tongues and especially those incessant gossip columns, they needed to maintain flawless appearances. It mattered little that they were no longer in the bustling heart of London; the prying eyes of society seemed to reach even the most secluded corners.

As he pondered the exhausting facade they must uphold, he questioned whether this game of pretense was to be his lifelong companion. The clock's ticking seemed louder in the quiet room, and with each sound, he glanced up, half expecting to see Agnes. Yet, she was nowhere to be seen, and he couldn't shake the sudden emptiness that enveloped him.

He was mechanically buttering his toast when Mrs. Davis materialized at the doorway. "Her ladyship won't be joining you this morning, My Lord," the housekeeper announced with a slight bow.

Theodore paused, his knife suspended in mid-air. He looked up, a frown creasing his brow. "Pardon?" he asked, unsure he had heard her correctly.

"She is unwell and is resting in her chambers," Mrs. Davis elaborated, her face lined with concern.

Before he could fully digest this news, a surge of worry propelled him from his seat. "Send for the family physician at once, Quentin," he ordered the butler swiftly before exiting the morning room. His steps were quick as he bolted up the stairs, driven by a worry that was as profound as it was unsettling.

His hand circled around the door knob, and he was just about to push open the door when he remembered his manners and knocked first. It was a small gesture, but essential in maintaining the decorum expected of his station.

The door was promptly answered by her lady's maid. Theodore"s heart sank a bit further at the sight of her; if Agnes"s personal maid was involved, it could only mean her condition was serious.

"My Lord," the maid curtsied, stepping back to allow him entry. Her face was lined with worry, which did nothing to ease his growing concern.

"Her ladyship has a headache, My Lord," the maid informed him, her voice laced with apprehension. "She did not get a wink of sleep last night, I'm afraid," she added, wringing her hands slightly.

"You exaggerate, Evans," came Agnes's voice from the inner chamber, cutting through the tension in the air.

A wave of relief washed over Theodore at the sound of her voice, and he quickly moved towards her. As he entered her bedroom, he found Agnes propped up in bed. Although her voice had carried strength, her appearance told a different story. Her eyes were red and swollen, betraying her weariness.

"I did not tell you that I didn't sleep, Evans," Agnes said, correcting her maid with a gentle firmness.

"But you look it," Theodore interjected, concern coloring his tone as he approached her bedside.

"Oh, but My Lady, I couldn't help but hear the sounds from your bedchamber last night," Evans said, the worry evident on her young face.

"Sounds?" Theodore echoed, his concern morphing into confusion. "What sounds?" he pressed, looking between Agnes and the maid.

"Evans!" Agnes's voice carried a note of admonition, and the maid flinched slightly.

The room tensed as Theodore sensed that something was amiss. When he met Agnes"s gaze, the look in her eyes only confirmed his suspicions.

He asked her lady's maid to excuse them before perching on the covers beside his wife. The room quieted with her departure, leaving Theodore to focus solely on Agnes.

"What is wrong, Agnes?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.

Her nose was just as red as her eyes, and she looked more exhausted than he had ever seen her. The sight tugged at his heartstrings, adding urgency to his tone.

"I just have a slight headache, Theodore," she dismissed, attempting a weak smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Mrs. Davis told me that," he nodded, remembering the housekeeper"s worried expression. "And I have asked for the Physician to be summoned," he added, watching her reaction closely.

"Oh, it is not so serious that I must see a physician," she began to argue, a hint of frustration seeping into her voice.

"Oh, but it is, dear," Theodore insisted gently yet firmly.

"Theodore," she implored, her voice softening, pleading for understanding.

"Agnes," he returned with equal softness, yet with a resolve that brooked no argument. "You are sick. And you need an examination to know what is truly wrong," he added, his concern deepening.

"I know what is wrong with me," she argued, her voice growing slightly sharper with her mounting frustration.

"Then pray tell me so that I am assured of your health," he urged, his brows knitting together in worry.

"Like I said. A slight headache, nothing more," she responded firmly. "And slight headaches do not need a physician's care," she added stubbornly, her chin lifting defiantly.

"Well, a slight headache will not have you looking this devastated, Agnes," Theodore countered, his voice laced with a touch of exasperation.

"Devastated?" Her puffy eyes grew large with surprise and a touch of indignation. "Why, you are worse than Evans in your exaggeration, Theodore," she retorted, her spirit showing despite her physical discomfort.

"Unless you tell me the truth, Agnes, you are seeing that Physician," he stated decisively.

He watched her lips part, perhaps to argue further. But instead of forming words, she gave a little pout, her resistance faltering.

Despite the gravity of the situation, Theodore couldn't help but smile now, touched by her stubborn yet endearing display.

"Evans is right. I didn't sleep last night," she confessed at last, her voice barely above a whisper.

"That wasn't so difficult now, was it?" he said, trying to lighten the mood with a gentle tease.

"When you see the physician, I am sure he will have something for you to help," he added, hoping to reassure her.

"Now you are going back on your words. You said that if I tell you the truth, I wouldn't have to see the physician," she cried petulantly, her frustration evident.

"Your health precedes me keeping my words, Agnes," he responded firmly, his tone softening to express his deep concern for her well-being.

"Why didn't you sleep? Is something on your mind?" he asked, his worry resurfacing as he studied her troubled expression.

She was quiet for a moment, her gaze drifting away before she replied, "I don't know... I think I am still getting used to being married and away from my family."

Theodore swallowed uncomfortably, the weight of her words sinking in. He had indeed dragged her into a tumultuous life, far from the comfort and familiarity of her home.

Before he could offer any words of comfort, a knock sounded on the door, followed by the butler's voice announcing the arrival of the physician. Theodore stood, his intention to open the door halted by her sudden movement.

"Theodore," her hand shot out, grasping his sleeve. "Please. I don't want a physician. Not for this. I'm fine. I will be alright," she added, her eyes conveying a quiet determination.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice laden with concern despite the certainty he saw in her gaze. She nodded, her expression resolute.

"If you insist," he conceded reluctantly before leaving the room to answer the door.

He informed Quentin that there was no need for the physician and then went down himself to apologize to the man for the inconvenience of the sudden wasted journey.

"Ah, women and their colorful moods," the physician chuckled good-naturedly when Theodore explained the situation. The man's understanding and jovial manner eased the tension of the moment somewhat.

"Well, in case a need arises, you can have some chamomile tea administered to her, My Lord. That never fails to calm the nerves," the doctor advised, his tone light yet professional, before taking his leave.

"I shall be on it, My Lord," Mrs. Davis, who had been standing by patiently, said as she caught the conversation from a distance.

Quentin went to see the doctor out, and the housekeeper turned to leave the hall.

"Mrs. Davis," Theodore stopped her with a call. She paused and turned towards him, attentive.

"I know she will insist against it, but can you please have her take the tea?" Theodore implored, his concern for Agnes evident in his voice. "I think she needs it," he added, his brow furrowed with worry.

He couldn't shake the feeling that Agnes might not be sharing the whole truth with him, and this small act might offer some relief.

An odd smile flickered across Mrs. Davis's features, perhaps touched by his evident concern, before she nodded in agreement.

"Rest assured that your wife is in the best hands, My Lord," Mrs. Davis reassured him with a confident nod.

"Thank you," Theodore sighed, a mixture of gratitude and residual concern in his tone. He had great trust in the housekeeper's capabilities, and yet, the weight of worry was slow to lift.

He went about starting his work for the day, but his thoughts kept drifting back to Agnes. He wanted to stay with her, or at least see her once again. However, understood she needed to rest, and his visits would only interrupt that.

The day felt very long, and he could not understand why he was disquieted by it.

I think you know, Theodore.