Chapter 25

Instead of working on the ship model he'd intended, Theodore found himself carving out a carriage instead. He recalled the worn-out wooden carriage the little tenant girl had shown him during his last visit. He was certain she would be thrilled with a new addition to her toy collection.

As he carved, his thoughts kept drifting back to Agnes, however, and he wondered if she was still asleep after her tea. He had been surprised earlier when Mrs. Davis reported back that Agnes had taken the tea without the anticipated protests. He hoped it would help soothe her.

Just then, a soft knock came on his workshop door. "Come in," he called out abstractedly, expecting Quentin or Mrs. Davis to enter.

But when he looked up, expecting one of his staff, he was shocked to find his wife instead.

"Agnes," he dropped his carving instruments and shot to his feet, a mix of surprise and concern flashing across his face.

"You're out of bed. Are you alright?" He rounded his work desk quickly, his eyes scanning her for any sign of discomfort.

"I wouldn't let a little headache confine me, Theodore," she chuckled lightly, her voice stronger than he had expected. "I am much better," she added, her assurance bringing a surprising amount of relief that washed over him, easing the tightness he hadn't realized had settled around his heart.

He watched her eyes roam the length and breadth of his workroom with apparent curiosity, noting her intrigued gaze as it settled on various tools and unfinished projects. And then it dawned on him that this was indeed the first time she had ventured into this part of their home.

"How did you find me?" he asked, his tone a mix of amusement and curiosity, wondering how she had known where to look for him.

"Now, that is a secret I refuse to divulge so easily," she replied slyly, a playful glint in her eyes.

"Which means you can divulge it," Theodore teased, stepping closer to her.

"Perhaps," she shrugged nonchalantly, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

"I bet you got Mrs. Davis or Quentin's help," Theodore guessed, trying to figure out her method.

"Oh come now, surely you can do better than that, Theodore," she giggled, waving off his accusation. "And no. They didn't show me your workroom," she added, her denial firm.

"Well then how did you find it?" he pressed, genuinely curious now about her detective skills.

"Life isn't that cheap, Lord Gillingham," his wife returned cheekily as she approached his worktable, her demeanor playful yet charming.

"Name your price then," he found himself laughing, caught up in the light-hearted banter that had so unexpectedly brightened his day.

"These are just as beautiful as the ones I saw in the library," she remarked, sounding almost in awe as she stared at some finished ship models on his desk. "Mrs. Davis said you built those too," she added, her voice soft as she touched the delicate craftsmanship of the models.

"It has been a pastime of mine. I've always loved carving things. Especially ships. I practically spent my childhood chipping away at wood," Theodore explained, his voice laced with nostalgia as he followed her around the room while she explored his work station.

"Such talent," Agnes remarked, running a finger over the hull of a model ship that rested on an end table by the window. The craftsmanship drew her admiration visibly.

"And when the opportunity came for me to make my hobby into my trade, I did," he added, his tone reflecting a mix of pride and satisfaction.

"You sell these models?" Her eyes grew brighter with intrigue and surprise.

"I design and build my own ships," he clarified with a slight nod, before elaborating on his ventures. He shared how he not only created models but also built actual vessels that he then leased out to merchants and other business owners.

"For those interested, of course, I don't just sell my models, I build the vessels for them," Theodore continued, clearly enjoying the opportunity to share this aspect of his life with her. His enthusiasm was palpable, fueled further by her keen interest.

He found himself eager to disclose more, driven by her enthusiasm which seemed to draw out his words more freely than usual. "As a matter of fact, the deal I was supposed to close with Asmont was an order of some vessels based on this very model here," he said, reaching to remove another ship from a nearby glass-covered cabinet. He carefully handed it to her, letting her see the fine details up close.

Building these ships for Asmont would have revived his dying business, a fact that hung silently between them as he awaited her reaction to the miniature piece in her hands.

"It's beautiful," she said, her voice soft with admiration as she carefully held the ship model.

But Asmont wouldn't have it anymore, Theodore thought to himself miserably. The possibility had vanished as swiftly as it had appeared.

"The deal with the Earl is off now, is it not?" Agnes muttered ruefully, her tone reflecting a mix of disappointment and sympathy. It was as though she had somehow read his thoughts right then.

Theodore nodded, his face a mask of resigned acceptance just as he felt her free hand gently touching his arm, offering comfort.

"I'm sorry, Theodore," she said sincerely, her eyes filled with genuine concern.

He swallowed convulsively, the emotions welling up unexpectedly. He felt like a failure and did not want her pity—especially not hers.

"You do not need to apologize," he said quickly, stepping away from her touch slightly.

"But—" she began, her brow furrowing, not understanding his sudden retreat.

"I am not an object of pity, Agnes," he stated firmly, his voice perhaps sharper than he intended. He wanted to convey his resilience, not his despair.

Losing the deal was his own fault. He had owned up to his responsibility, and that was enough. He did not need, nor did he want, to be pitied for doing what was right.

"I should go get ready for dinner," she suddenly said, her voice breaking slightly with hurt. The emotional distance he had put between them was palpable.

His response had been more brusque than he'd intended, driven by his own feelings of inadequacy. He didn't want to disappoint her, yet that was precisely what he felt he was—a disappointment.

He watched her set down the ship she was holding. And without another word, she exited his study, leaving him feeling like a cad for his treatment of her. She'd only meant well.

Theodore needed to apologize. He would do that over dinner, he decided.

He was on his way down to the drawing room later when he came across a pretty flower arrangement on a table in the hallway. This was not a usual sight in his household, and Theodore couldn"t help but wonder if Agnes had something to do with it. The presence of the flowers seemed to breathe a bit more life into the manor, a touch of softness amid the stately austerity. He selected a lily from the arrangement, admiring its purity, and took it down to the drawing room with him.

Agnes was yet to join him as he awaited the announcement for dinner, and he found himself pacing about, the lily held loosely in his hand. He couldn't understand why he was suddenly feeling nervous, his thoughts flitting anxiously between the flowers and Agnes"s possible reaction to his earlier harsh words.

After what felt like an eternity, and just when he began to think she wouldn't show up—perhaps because of his outburst earlier—he heard footsteps in the hallway. His heart momentarily stopped as she finally appeared in the door frame.

Theodore's breath caught at the sight of her. She looked magnificent in her attire for the evening, dressed in a gown of pale blue that not only complemented her eyes but also seemed to make her hair burn a brighter gold.

This was the woman whom he'd robbed of a future. The woman he'd been selfish enough to cast reason aside and drag into his problems. The woman he could never love. Yet she'd stolen every waking thought of his. And for the life of him, he neither knew how this happened, nor understood why. The complexity of his feelings for her tangled further as he watched her approach, radiant and poised.

He scrambled to collect his thoughts, the tension of the moment clinging to him. Then he remembered the flower still in his hand, a small gesture but perhaps a meaningful one.

"For you, My Lady," he offered her the lone lily, extending his hand towards her.

"Why, this is surely an improvement over that red rose and poetry," she accepted it with a light chuckle, her voice carrying a warmth that eased some of his tension.

"Thank you," she said and took an instinctive sniff of the bloom, her eyes closing briefly as she inhaled.

"Perhaps I should improve on the poetry too," Theodore suggested, trying to maintain the lighter tone between them.

"Oh no, no. There would be no need for more poetry from you, Theodore. This lily suffices," she laughed, her amusement clear.

"Oh come now, Agnes. My poetry cannot be that bad," he chuckled, joining in the banter.

"Only worse," she laughed again, her mirth genuine and infectious. He laughed with her, finding solace in the shared moment of levity.

Just then, Quentin interrupted their mirth with the announcement of dinner. As they moved towards the dining room, Theodore noticed the butler grinning from the corner of his eye. The footmen also had similar expressions on their faces, an unusual occurrence that piqued his curiosity.

As they sat to dinner, Theodore couldn't help but notice that their meal was even more elaborate than usual tonight. The table was laid with their finest China, and the silver gleamed under the soft light of the chandelier.

"Oh," his wife let out after a bite of her salmon dressed in a delicate yogurt sauce. "This is delicious," she sighed, clearly savoring the flavor.

Something about her contentment in that moment warmed his heart. He wished things could always be like this, peaceful and filled with simple joys.

"I got a welcome party earlier," she announced, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them.

"A welcome party?" He echoed, intrigued, pausing with a sip of sherry halfway to his lips.

"The tenants' wives called with gifts for the new Marchioness," she explained, her eyes lighting up with the memory. "It was really thoughtful of them," she added, her smile broadening.

"Pray tell, what gifts did you get? And what do I get from these gifts?" He asked in good humor, setting down his glass and leaning forward with interest.

She chuckled lightly before she held up a handkerchief she'd set beside her plate on the table. It was a delicate little thing, with blue flowers embroidered on it. It complemented her gown perfectly, he observed, the soft hues echoing the color of her eyes.

"I got some pretty handkerchiefs. This is one of them," she replied, her fingers lightly tracing the embroidery.

"Cook got some jam as well," she continued, returning her attention to her plate and cutting her salmon into bite-sized pieces. Her tone was light, but Theodore could hear the underlying pride in her voice, pleased with the warm reception she"d received from the community.

"Oh, and some yarn. Plenty of it as a matter of fact," she laughed, though her attention seemed more occupied by her meal. Theodore wasn't surprised; the cook had indeed outdone himself tonight.

"You were given yarn?" He quirked a brow, genuinely surprised. What an odd gift, he thought to himself.

"Yes, of course. To knit socks and mittens for children," she added casually, still dividing her focus between the conversation and her delicious dinner.

"Children?" He blurted out, the word escaping him before he could think.

She looked up from her plate now, and her eyes suddenly grew wide as if she'd only just realized the implication of her words. The insinuation.

"Well, that is to say..." She began, her cheeks turning a bright shade of pink. "The women obviously think that we..." Her voice trailed off, and she quickly lowered her gaze back to her plate, embarrassed.

She muttered something under her breath, and though it was barely audible, he thought he heard the words ‘You foolish girl.'

This made him smile in spite of the slightly awkward situation, finding her fluster both endearing and humorous.

"So, apart from collecting yarn and jars of jam from the tenants' wives, how did you spend your afternoon?" he asked, aiming to steer the conversation to a lighter topic.

Agnes was comfortable and clearly enjoying her meal. Theodore did not want her retreating into an awkward shell. He had every intention of keeping that bright smile on her face tonight—of keeping it on her face forever, a voice in his head whispered. A dangerous thought...

"Collecting? Why, you make me sound like a cruel tax collector, Theodore," she chuckled, breaking through his thoughts.

He felt a wave of relief wash over him at her relaxed demeanor. "Far from cruel," he shook his head, amused by her analogy. "But a rather stubborn one, I must say," he teased, enjoying the light banter.

She sent a playful glare in his direction, and her feigned petulance only made him laugh more, delighted by her spirited response.

"Oh, as a matter of fact, I was invited to a festival," she suddenly declared, catching him slightly off guard.

"The annual summer festival in the village," she elaborated, her eyes lighting up with the mention.

Theodore was well aware of this festival. He'd been to quite a few as a child. His mother had been quite fond of, and very much involved in these festivities. But after her death, he'd retreated from the annual celebrations, finding them empty and painful without her vibrant presence.

"I was thinking that perhaps we could go to this one together," Agnes suggested, her voice tinged with a hopeful undertone.

"No," Theodore responded abruptly, without a second thought.

"No?" Her brow quirked, showing surprise but not disappointment. If anything, her assertiveness seemed to strengthen.

"Come now, Theodore. Think about it," she urged, her voice firm yet gentle. She threw a cautious glance in the direction of the footmen, ensuring their conversation remained private, before leaning closer and lowering her voice. "This is the perfect opportunity for you to introduce your Marchioness to the public," she whispered, her words laden with strategic import.

The significance of her suggestion resonated with him. They had an appearance to maintain, now more than ever in the eyes of their community.

"Very well," he agreed reluctantly, the weight of her logic undeniable.

"That wasn't so difficult now, was it?" She practically bounced in her seat with satisfaction, her spirits visibly lifted by his concession.

"Do not push your luck, wife," he chuckled, his tone light despite the heaviness of their earlier discourse.

A snort sounded nearby, drawing their attention. Realizing it came from the direction of the footmen, Theodore caught Agnes struggling to conceal her amusement as well.

"How about a little music to further aid our digestion?" he suggested after they had finished their meal, looking to shift the atmosphere to something lighter.

"Music?" She echoed, her curiosity piqued.

"Come," he said, taking her hand in his and leading her out of the dining room.

"We should put the pianoforte to good use tonight," he said, his voice carrying a note of unexpected eagerness. Whatever was necessary to extend her company a bit longer, he thought to himself. He did not wish to end their evening together. Not just yet. The intensity of his desire to prolong the night surprised and perplexed him in equal measure.

"I hardly play," she said tentatively when he sat her at the pianoforte, her fingers lightly grazing the ivory keys.

"In that case, I shall be the best teacher," he replied with a confident grin, taking a seat next to her.

"I'll be the judge of your instructing capabilities then," she chuckled, her tone light and teasing.

Theodore began to play. It had been so long since he'd touched the keys, he'd almost forgotten the joy it brought him. The melody flowed effortlessly under his fingers, and he found himself lost in the music, the notes filling the drawing room with sound and emotion until his wife's voice finally broke into his reverie.

"That is beautiful," Agnes breathed as the last notes of the melody echoed around them.

"But quite melancholic too," she added, her voice soft and reflective.

"My mother used to play this," he said, a touch of nostalgia coloring his voice. This melody was one she'd composed herself. She'd played it through her tough times. It had been her little cry for freedom.

"Your mother?" Agnes echoed, her surprise and curiosity clearly piqued.

Realizing what he'd just let slip and not ready to delve into the deeper recesses of his past just yet, Theodore abruptly stood. "Goodnight, Agnes," he said quickly, his tone final. And without giving her the opportunity to respond or ask any further questions, he turned on his heels and left the room, leaving a trail of silence in his wake.