Chapter 34

Theodore smiled as he stood in front of the fireplace in his London home, mulling over the joyful chaos of the past days. The journey back to Town was pleasantly eventful courtesy of the Richmond boys' rambunctious company. Their laughter and games had filled the carriage, making the miles pass swiftly.

"Are you ready?" A voice behind him asked, soft and gentle. Theodore momentarily closed his eyes and allowed the sound to penetrate the deepest parts of him. His smile deepened, and when he turned, he found the very breath stolen from him as he stared at his wife.

Agnes was dressed in a midnight blue dress with silver embroidery; her eyes were alight, and her grace unmatched. She was as resplendent as the brightest star in the night sky. Theodore could neither move nor say a word.

"If I were not your wife, I would claim that you are seeing me for the first time, Theodore," she said with a chuckle, her eyes twinkling with mirth and slight apprehension.

"Perhaps I am seeing you for the first time, Lady Gillingham," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper, as he struggled to remember how to breathe.

Theodore detested his title when his father held it, then he grew to like it when it became his. Now he was proud of it because Agnes bore it. He took her ungloved hand in his and gently dropped a kiss on her knuckles. At his gesture, she turned a delightful shade of pink.

"I have something for you." He walked over to a table and picked up two velvet boxes. When he returned to her, he set them down on the mantle and opened the first, presenting it to her.

Agnes' eyes widened, the blue extraordinarily vibrant. She reached into the box, tracing the diamond and sapphire necklace with her fingers. "Theodore, this is beautiful," she whispered, her gaze never leaving the necklace.

"It belonged to my mother," he said softly. "I hid them shortly after she died so my father couldn't sell or gamble them away." He recalled the broken ribs that resulted from his actions and quickly dismissed the thought.

Agnes raised her eyes to his. "Thank you for protecting such a memory."

He smiled and walked behind her, unclasping the necklace, and placing it around her neck. When he faced her, his breath was stolen once more.

"How does it look?" she asked.

"Magical." He turned, opened the second box—a larger one—and presented its content. "Mother loved to wear this to every ball she was invited."

Agnes gasped. "She wore this in her most beautiful portrait in the gallery."

Theodore nodded, picking up the diamond and pearl tiara. "May I?" With her approval, he placed the tiara on her head, and it rested on her blonde curls as though it was made for it. It was! He took a step back. "Now, I have no words."

She laughed. "Oh, you must find them. I cannot have you lost for words."

Taking her hand, he kissed it again. "Shall we?"

"Yes, My Lord."

When they arrived at the ball, Theodore watched with a proud smile as their hostess, the Duchess of Preston, swept Agnes into a warm embrace, exclaiming over her attire and jewels.

"You still have the newlywed bliss about you," Anthony teased him, his voice rich with humor as he clapped Theodore on the shoulder.

"What reason would it have to diminish?" Theodore returned in equal humor, his gaze lingering on Agnes as he watched the women exchange their greetings across the room. Agnes was quite animated tonight, her laughter echoing softly through the grand hall. Her smile filled a part of him with such warmth, it was palpable, warming him through the cool evening air.

"It's good to have you back. Town has missed you both," Anthony remarked, his tone genuine, reflecting the sentiment of their social circle.

"You mean the gossip sheets have," Theodore quipped, a wry smile playing at the corners of his mouth. They laughed together, the sound mingling with the light clinking of glasses and the soft murmur of the gathering.

The first strings of a waltz sounded just then, a melodic invitation that filled the room. Seizing the moment, Theodore approached his wife in her little reunion party. "I'm afraid the orchestra beckons my wife and I to the dance floor, and I'll have to steal her for a bit," he announced to the chattering ladies, his tone playfully apologetic.

"By all means. She's all yours after all," their hostess, Lady Preston, chuckled, waving them off with a graceful gesture of her fan.

"He's as poetic as ever," he heard their other friend, Miss Lovell, whisper to the Duchess as he led Agnes away. Her comment was light, teasing, and carried a hint of admiration.

"They'll hear you, Emma," the Duchess hushed her gently, though a smile tugged at her lips.

"Why? It's a compliment, Frannie," Miss Lovell returned, her voice carrying a playful defiance.

And Theodore chuckled to himself as they reached the dance floor, the gentle strains of music wrapping around them like a soft embrace.

"You didn't tell me your friends liked my poetry, Agnes," he said with a mock frown as they made their way through the crowded ballroom.

"What makes you think they do?" She returned slyly, a playful glint in her eye.

"Did you not hear the compliment just now?" he asked, his eyebrows raised in feigned surprise.

"That hardly qualifies, Theodore," she responded, her voice teasing, a soft laugh escaping her lips.

"You are just jealous," he observed as they took their positions on the dance floor, the musicians tuning their instruments in the background.

"Of your poetic talents?" She snorted in apparent disbelief, her eyes dancing with mirth. "I have better taste than that," she added impishly, her tone light and teasing.

"Could you be any less blunt?" He rolled his eyes dramatically, playing along with their banter.

"And feed your delusions? No thank you," she chuckled as he pulled her close to him in concert with the music, the first notes of the waltz filling the air around them.

"You wound me, Agnes," he gave an exaggerated grimace, his hand on his heart as if struck by her words.

"You'll survive," she laughed again, her laughter mingling with the melody of the orchestra, light and carefree.

Curious glances trailed their every move, the other guests whispering and watching with amused interest. But Theodore did not care about the attention. He only wished he could pause time right now and listen to his wife chat and laugh for all eternity, her presence more captivating than the grandest of poems.

"After all, you survived our atrocious first ball, did you not?" She added, referring to a memory filled with both fondness.

"Indeed, I did," Theodore agreed, his voice soft, his eyes locked on hers.

"That was one clumsy evening," she laughed. They glided gracefully across the dance floor, and Theodore felt proud of both of them—how far they had come. More importantly, he was pleased that Agnes was his wife.

"I still have my battle scars to show for it," he chortled.

"But I wouldn't change it for anything," he heard himself say, the words slipping out with a sincerity that tightened his chest. "I wouldn't change our meeting for anything, Agnes," he added, pulling her slightly closer, their movements in perfect harmony with the lilting music.

"You wouldn't?" There was surprise in her pale eyes, widening slightly as she looked up at him. And something akin to...hope?

"I wouldn't," he repeated, his voice firm, his eyes never leaving hers. And he'd never been more certain of anything in his life.

Their dance ended too soon, the final notes lingering in the air as they reluctantly parted from their embrace. They were just stepping off the dance floor when Theodore and Agnes received quite the shock. Lord Asmont, a figure from their past with whom relations had been strained, approached them with a congenial smile.

"A lovely evening. An even lovelier sight with Lord and Lady Gillingham in attendance," the Earl said to them, his tone warm and devoid of any past coldness.

Theodore exchanged a surprised look with his wife, his eyebrows raised in silent query. Was this the same man who'd given them the cut direct during their last meeting at the bookstore? What had changed? He wondered, his mind racing as he tried to decipher the sudden shift in demeanor.

"May I have the honor of the next dance, Lady Gillingham?" He suddenly asked Agnes, who appeared fleetingly taken aback by the request.

"Why of course, my lord," she accepted gracefully, her composure swiftly returning as she gave him a polite nod.

Theodore couldn't understand why, but he didn't want to let go of her right now. Especially not for a dance with another man. A tightness gripped his chest at the thought of another's hands upon her.

"Theodore?" She whispered when he hesitated, her eyes searching his for an explanation.

"Ah, right," he quickly collected himself, feeling a flush of embarrassment for his momentary lapse.

"Do not keep my wife for too long, Lord Asmont," he smiled as he handed her to the Earl, trying to sound jovial yet conveying a clear message.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Asmont chuckled before leading her away, his tone light yet assuring.

Theo felt the nerve at his temple pulse as he watched them step onto the dance floor. The room suddenly grew a few degrees warmer too, or so it seemed to him.

"Frances says your wife's the star of tonight's ball, Gillingham," Anthony joined him once again, clapping him on the shoulder as if to bring him back to the present.

"You two are all the guests are whispering about," he added, his voice low and tinged with amusement.

"Indeed," Theodore said absently. He was half listening to his friend as his eyes trailed Asmont and Agnes's dance, a frown forming on his forehead.

"Good heavens, man. Put back those daggers," Anthony's gaze finally followed Theodore's to the dance floor, noting his friend's intense expression.

"Asmont isn't holding her properly. It's too close," Theodore observed, his voice stiff with disapproval.

"It's a quadrille, Gillingham. Not a waltz. That isn't too close," Anthony chuckled, trying to ease his friend's concern with a dose of reality.

Theodore disagreed silently, his gaze fixed, his mind not quite assuaged by Anthony's reassurances. The distance seemed far too little for comfort, and every step they took grated on him like discordant music.