Chapter 35

"Imust confess I did not expect to see you back in Town, Lady Gillingham," Asmont said to Agnes as they danced. His gaze seemed somewhat searching, as if trying to discern her thoughts.

She refused to let it disconcert her as she politely responded, "We couldn't miss our dearest friends' ball, Lord Asmont."

"Indeed," he agreed, nodding slightly as they continued their steps in time with the music.

"Besides, Town is where the entertainment lies, is it not?" Agnes added, now employing an air of nonchalance, her tone light, almost teasing.

"The entertainment is already drawing to a close, I'm afraid," the Earl said with a hint of regret. "But it's been a memorable season. Full of wedding bells too," he added, his gaze fleeted behind them, perhaps catching a glimpse of other couples or reminiscing the recent joyful occasions.

It WAS a memorable season indeed, Agnes inwardly agreed. But she felt conflicted. If only she could make more GENUINE memories with her husband, memories not shadowed by the demands of society or the whispers of scandal.

"I am certain that if your husband could, he would pull you away from this dance floor right now," The Earl suddenly said as though he'd somehow read her thoughts. His voice was low, almost conspiratorial.

Agnes gave a sheepish chuckle as she glanced in the direction where they'd left Theodore. Catching sight of him, she noticed his intense focus on them. Her husband's gaze was dark, and she wondered what was wrong, what thoughts were brewing behind those stormy eyes.

The cheerful demeanor she'd left him in seemed to have dissolved completely. As they danced, Agnes noticed his smiles had faded, replaced by a distant, pensive expression.

A part of her worried if he was all right, a small knot of concern forming in her stomach. Agnes found herself very much distracted for the remainder of their dance, her thoughts repeatedly drifting back to Theodore, wondering about the sudden change in his mood.

She was relieved when the dance finally came to an end, and the Earl courteously returned her to her husband. She needed to know if all was well, to understand the cause of his unspoken troubles.

"I did not keep your wife for too long, Gillingham," Asmont said in good humor as he handed Agnes over, his voice carrying a jovial undertone.

"It took you long enough to bring her back," Theodore responded curtly, his voice devoid of humor. In fact, his tone was all but curt and accusing, a stark contrast to the light-hearted atmosphere around them.

"You should hold onto that jealousy, Gillingham," Asmont laughed, dismissing the tension as he bid them a good evening and excused himself, seemingly unaware of the seriousness of his words.

Utterly perplexed now, Agnes turned to her husband. But before she could pose any questions, he abruptly said, "We're leaving." His voice was firm, allowing no room for argument.

She hastily bid Frances and Emma goodnight, her farewells brief and distracted, before following her husband out of the Preston house. Her mind was a whirl of confusion and concern, eager to understand what had transpired in her absence to cause such a sudden departure.

In the carriage, she asked, "Theodore, what happened."

"Nothing happened," he murmured, looking out the window.

"Are you certain? I left you cheerful, and now you are as dark as a storm."

"It is late, Agnes. It's high time we returned home anyway," he said stiffly when she inquired about their sudden and rather early departure.

"Late?" She echoed in disbelief, her voice rising slightly in her astonishment. "Do you hear yourself, Theodore?"

He ignored her for the remainder of their journey, his gaze fixed out the window, leaving her to stew in her growing frustration and confusion.

Back home, she followed him to his study, determined not to let the matter drop. The room was dimly lit, the heavy curtains drawn, and Theodore stood by the fireplace, his back to her as he stared into the flickering flames.

"Gillingham," Agnes finally ran out of patience, her voice firm and carrying a hint of reproach. He regarded her now, turning with something akin to surprise in his gaze as if he hadn't expected her to follow him into his sanctum.

"You cannot expect me to believe that nothing is wrong," she insisted, her voice steady despite the quiver of emotion beneath it. "One moment you were the cheeriest gentleman, the next, there's never been a more irritable one," she added, her words punctuated by her hands gesturing for emphasis.

"Is my mood supposed to be as predictable as the weather?" he returned sharply, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"Oh, I wouldn't want the weather any similar to your mood," Agnes returned in equal irritation, her own eyes flashing with a mix of annoyance and worry.

"Then you will know to refrain from being overly familiar and friendly with the Earl when next you encounter him," her husband said abruptly, his voice cold and cutting.

Agnes found herself momentarily taken aback, her mouth agape, as the real issue at hand came into sharp, unexpected focus.

She recalled Asmont's jest about Theodore's jealousy. Could that really be the cause of his sudden outburst of anger? It seemed petty, almost trivial, yet it was the only explanation that made any sense given his recent behavior.

"Is this about my dance with the Earl?" She asked, her voice filled with incredulity as she tried to confirm her suspicions.

"It damn well is, Agnes," he replied, his voice rising with each word. "The way you smiled and laughed with him, the way he held you, all of it was wrong!" He added, his anger spilling over.

And for some reason, his anger, and especially his jealousy right now only further ignited her own indignation. How dare he claim such feelings when he had so expressly denied her any deeper emotional bond?

"The nerve of you to get jealous, Theodore," she scoffed. "You tell me you do not, and cannot ever love me, and then you feel jealousy over my cordial interactions with another man? Do you hear yourself?"

"Do you see yourself? I have every prerogative to feel whatever it is I feel, Agnes."

"Why?" She took a step toward him.

"Because you are my wife. You are mine, Agnes," he said, his voice deepening, his expression intense. He ate up the distance between them in one swift stride and took hold of her by the shoulders in a surprisingly gentle but firm grip.

Something about his mood suddenly softened, and as she held his unwavering gaze, she saw a longing that had perhaps always been there, hidden beneath layers of stoic detachment and societal expectation.

"Do you see yourself?" he asked again.

"No."

"You are beautiful, Agnes, every man's dream." He drew her closer. "I cannot help the rage that nearly consumed me at the sight of you in Asmont's arms."

"He is harmless," she whispered.

"You are mine," Theodore murmured, lowering his head. He kissed her, sweetly and desperately. She had never felt both broken and happy at the same time.

Her heart swelled, yet she pushed down what hope bubbled within her. This was too much to bear. Agnes desperately wanted to believe that he truly cared for her. More than anything, she wanted his love. When he pulled away, he stroked her cheeks, looking into her eyes as if he was going to kiss her again.

"Can we not make this work, Theodore?" She heard herself ask before she could rein in her thoughts, her voice a whisper of desperation and hope.

He suddenly blinked, seeming as though he was only just realizing the gravity of her words. His hands abruptly dropped from her shoulders and he took a step back, his expression unreadable.

And Agnes had never felt more bereft. Nor had she ever regretted her words more. This was the price of offering him her heart.

"This was all a mistake," he sent her heart crashing further with his words. His voice was low, filled with a regret that matched the pain in her own chest.

And as she watched him turn on his heels, she couldn't stop the tears which burned a slow and painful path down her cheeks. The distance he put between them felt like miles.

The night was the most restless she'd ever had. And throughout, she found herself listening in for her husband's return, each minute stretching into an eternity. Alas, Theodore never came back home.

The following morning, Agnes skipped breakfast, her stomach in knots and her eyes swollen from crying.

A brief knock came sounded at her bedchamber door. "I told you I'm not hungry, Evans," she called out from where she sat on the chaise lounge by her window, her voice hoarse.

Her lady's maid had been insistent. Where Agnes expected Evans to walk in—perhaps even bearing the breakfast she'd turned down multiple times—she was shocked to find Theodore walk in instead. His presence was unexpected, and her heart leapt and sank all at once at the sight of him.

She watched him silently take a seat beside her. He looked disheveled, his usually impeccable attire rumpled, and just as sleep deprived as she was, with dark shadows underlining his weary eyes.

"You cannot starve yourself," he said at last, breaking the heavy silence that hung between them like a thick fog.

"Not hungry is not starving oneself," she replied, her voice low and devoid of its usual warmth. "Besides, what care of yours would it be whether or not I eat?" She couldn't help but add, the bitterness seeping into her words, tinged with the hurt of the previous night.

He looked hurt by her last statement, his eyes widening slightly as if her words had struck a deeper chord. The nerve of him, she thought, feeling a surge of anger at his apparent surprise.

"You are my responsibility, Agnes. Of course I care," he said, his voice earnest, as if trying to bridge the chasm that had opened between them. Agnes thought his words superficial, and it only hurt her more.

She didn't want to be a mere responsibility of his. Couldn't he see that? Her heart ached for something more, something deeper that she feared they might never have.

"You are right. I have been selfish, Agnes," he continued when she did not respond, his gaze fixed on her. "Which is why I must let you go," he added, his voice faltering slightly as if the weight of his decision was too much even for him to bear.

Her brows instantly knitted in confusion, her mind racing to understand the full implication of his words.

And when he spoke again, his words felt like a dagger through her heart. "We would have the marriage annulled," he proposed. "I will take full responsibility. Even on grounds of adultery. I assure you a clean reputation out of this union."

"Why?" Agnes was as shocked as she was pained by this sudden turn of events, her voice a whisper of disbelief, her heart breaking in her chest. "You would prefer to walk away from our union instead of trying?" She didn't know why she asked this question despite already knowing the answer to it.

Perhaps a part of her, a treacherous part, still harbored some hope. Despite everything, some small, foolish part of her heart clung to the possibility of a love yet to bloom.

"You don't understand, Agnes. This is for your own good," he responded, his voice strained, as if the words pained him to speak.

"Why?" She was barely able to recognize her own voice right now, so choked with emotion it was. "Why exactly should we annul our marriage, Theodore?" she demanded, needing to hear his reasoning, however flawed it might be.

"Please don't do this, Agnes," he implored, his voice breaking slightly. The usual steadiness of his demeanor was nowhere to be seen, replaced instead by a visible torment. The pain in his gaze was palpable, almost tangible in its intensity, making her heart twist in her chest.

"Why are you subjecting us to this?" She asked, her voice a soft plea for understanding, for any insight that might explain his sudden desire to sever their bond.

He opened his mouth several times to speak, but no words came out, as if he struggled to find the right ones, or perhaps any that could adequately explain his thoughts. Until finally, he said, "You do not know the man you married, Agnes."

"Then show me who I married so I may learn about him, Theodore," she persisted.

"I would rather die than let you see what would hurt you, Agnes," he responded, his voice laced with a desperation that bordered on despair.

And she found herself even more perplexed by his words. But the finality in them was clear as day. Theodore did not want her to see, to know the depths of whatever darkness he believed he harbored.

Oh, but you're already hurting me, Theodore,she thought to herself as the bitter realization dawned on her. The more he pushed her away, the deeper the knife twisted.

She would never find what she was looking for with Theodore. He did not love her. He never will. It was time she woke from her illusory slumber, from the fanciful hopes that had no place in the reality of their loveless union.

"Very well, Theodore. We shall have the annulment," she accepted his offer at last, forcing down the growing lump in her throat. Alas, if only she could do the same to the ache in her heart.

Nodding, he stood and walked out of the room. When the door closed, the silence became deafening. Agnes shot to her feet and began packing her belongings.