Chapter 4

Agnes tried to ignore the stares that seemed to follow them across the dance floor. Fortunately, taking her attention from the whispers and glances proved less challenging than anticipated. The commanding presence of the man she danced with ensnared her focus entirely, rendering the surrounding ballroom a mere backdrop to their exchange.

"Did you receive my note?" Agnes asked, the suspense gnawing at her far more than she cared to admit. A part of her desperately sought a diversion from the unsettling proximity between them. A waltz with any other gentleman would have felt ordinary, but there was an intensity about Gillingham that unsettled her.

"What made you change your mind?" He deftly skirted her question with one of his own, his voice carrying a hint of genuine curiosity mixed with something she couldn't quite place.

"Does it matter?" Agnes replied. She aimed for nonchalance, hoping to steer their conversation away from the unsettling introspection his question provoked.

"Of course, it does. After vehemently telling and showing me how uninterested you were, merely hours later, you send a note stating otherwise. I should like to know if my threats truly worked," he replied, the slyness in his tone unmistakable. Agnes recognized the tease. She mentally fortified herself against his verbal gambit, refusing to be drawn into his game.

"Oh, after thinking about it, I saw no harm in trying something new," she countered with feigned sweetness. "After all, you did seem desperate. And I am feeling quite charitable," she added, injecting a dose of mock generosity into her voice. His response was to chuckle, but there was something cool and sharp in his eyes. The man was as audacious as he was mysterious.

"Well, I am glad you reconsidered. Whatever your reasons are," he conceded. Agnes's eyebrows arched in mild surprise; she had half-expected him to press the issue further, to challenge her claims with the same tenacity he applied to everything else since she met him.

She frowned. "I thought you said you never made the same offer twice?" She couldn't resist asking even though she might be pushing her fortune a little too much.

"Oh, but I never made the offer again." Gillingham raised their arms, bringing them slightly closer, and Agnes felt slightly breathless. "you sought me out with an acceptance."

Caught in the undeniable logic of his words, she had no choice but to concede the point, her pride smarting from the admission.

"Six events you said," she quickly redirected the conversation to safer grounds, hoping to recover some of her lost ground. "Nothing more," she asserted firmly, as if setting a boundary.

"And nothing less," he agreed smoothly, leading her in a graceful twirl past a couple who seemed more at odds with the music than in harmony with it.

"Would this event count as one of them?"

He paused, considering her question with a seriousness that momentarily lifted the playful in his eyes. "It is only fair we count this out of our agreement, don't you think?" he finally said.

"No, this has to be the first event," she argued.

"I beg to differ, Your Highness. Remember that these are my terms, not yours."

"Remember that I chose to agree and I can easily rescind my offer," she shot back. What was the matter with him that he could not accept this as their first event.

His expression darkened. "Are you threatening me?"

"For your greed, yes, but it is more a certainty than a threat."

Gillingham twirled her then, and when she was back in his arms, he leaned slightly. "My terms."

There was something commanding in his voice that made her hesitant to retort, and Agnes allowed their dance to conclude in silence. He took her hand and placed it on his arm, leading her away from the dance floor. It was then that a, middle-aged gentleman approached them, his bearing one of assured ease and distinguished elegance.

"How interesting to find you here, Lord Gillingham," the man said, glancing at Agnes.

"Allow me to introduce Miss Young, the ward of the Duke of Richmond."

Agnes held her breath, hoping he would not scrutinize her as some did. The gentleman smiled softly and held out his hand, as Gillingham added, "The Earl of Asmont."

His name was familiar. His business, renowned for its profitability and reach, was the envy of most men. The smallest investment in Asmont's Trading Company was considered a badge of savvy and influence in London. Now she understood why Gillingham made her the offer.

"Ah, I finally meet the lovely Miss Young," the Earl said with a flourish as he gently kissed her knuckles, his manners impeccable and his charm effortless. Agnes noted the respect in his gesture, a rarity from someone of his standing directed toward her, given the usual societal whispers surrounding her family.

"It is a pleasure, My Lord," she said, curtsying politely.

As he straightened, his keen eyes shifted between Gillingham and Agnes, a silent inquiry passing between them. An awkward silence enveloped them momentarily, the ballroom's lively chatter fading into a distant murmur until the Earl said, "Am I correct in assuming that we would be hearing wedding bells this season?"

The question caught Agnes unexpectedly. "Oh, that depends on whether Lord Gillingham is as charming as he ought to be." The words tumbled out before she could catch them, then her cheeks warmed. Gillingham nudged her slightly.

"I am confidently upon the path of winning her heart," Gillingham interjected smoothly, his voice breaking the brief lapse into silence.

"Why, I should expect more enthusiasm from such a young couple in love."

"We are not in love, My Lord," she blurted again. Good heavens! What is the matter with me?

"I see," the Earl murmured, his gaze flitting between them once more, but more directed at Gillingham. Perhaps the Earl was not convinced they were truly courting.

When Agnes dared to glance at Gillingham, she found his expression had shuttered, replaced by a cool detachment that left her further discomposed. Realizing her misstep, Agnes chided herself internally. Their arrangement, however pragmatic, had boundaries she'd inadvertently crossed with her careless words.

Thankfully, their conversation was interrupted as the Earl's attention was sought by their host, prompting a polite but swift departure from their company. Agnes barely concealed her relief, her breath hitching ever so slightly in her chest as she turned to face Gillingham, whose gaze was fixed upon her with an intensity that felt almost tangible.

"Quite the convincing answer you gave Asmont," his said. Agnes found herself momentarily at a loss, the remnants of her composure threatening to unravel.

"I didn't mean it that way," she managed to stammer out. She wished to clarify, to make him understand it was a slip and nothing more.

"Asmont doesn't know that," he said, his tone cool, his expression meticulously neutral. His guarded demeanor, so unlike the Gillingham at the park, left her yearning for a glimpse of the emotion she was certain lurked beneath the surface. The ambiguity of his response was far more disconcerting than outright disapproval.

"Would it kill you to trust and agree with me for once, Miss Young?" His words sounded measured.

"It's not a matter of trust," she responded quickly, her defense rising. She wanted to explain the surge of panic that had gripped her at the mention of marriage, to make him understand her reaction was not a reflection of her feelings toward their arrangement. She could not tell him the truth, however, that marriage to a man like him spelled disaster for a woman with hopes such as hers.

Their exchange was interrupted by another gentleman, who greeted Gillingham with a familiarity that suggested a long-standing acquaintance. "Gillingham, it has been a while since you deigned to properly join society," the gentleman observed, clapping Gillingham on the shoulder in a manner that spoke of their shared history.

Seizing the opportunity to escape what promised to be yet another uncomfortable conversation, Agnes excused herself with a hastily concocted reason. "Please, excuse me," she murmured, making her retreat with what she hoped was grace. She left the ballroom to seek the retiring room, and when she found it, she splashed some water on her face and patted it with a towel before looking up at her reflection in the mirror.

"You foolish, foolish, woman," she murmured to herself.

Upon her return to the ballroom, she found the mood had shifted. Gillingham was conspicuously absent, and her attempts to locate him proved fruitless. The remainder of her evening unfolded in a haze of polite conversations and half-hearted dances, the earlier encounter casting a shadow over the festivities.

"I told you he was interested in courting you!" Caroline's voice was filled with triumph as she settled onto the edge of Agnes' bed, her eyes alight with satisfaction and excitement.

Despite the turmoil churning within her, she met Caroline's questions with patience, trying to navigate the conversation without betraying the complexity of her emotions.

"Perhaps I underestimated him, Mother," she whispered. The reality of her situation was beginning to sink in, now that she had agreed to Gillingham's proposal. The facade of courtship they were to uphold demanded more from her than mere acceptance—it required her to play her part convincingly, a prospect that filled her with a deepening sense of dread. How was she to be convincing when she had the tendency to blurt out nonsense?

"Oh, thank Providence! I shall be planning a wedding by the end of the season," Caroline gushed, lost in her own world of matrimonial fantasies. Agnes winced and fell back against her pillows, closing her eyes. "What would you like to wear, my dear? Silk or lace? The satin in fashion in France, perhaps?

"Mother!" Agnes couldn't help but protest, sitting up.

"Child, he's courting you. I saw your dance today and the two of you could not look away from each other. You cannot tell me that this cannot develop into something greater." Caroline held a hand to prevent Agnes from arguing. In her mother's eyes, the arrangement with Gillingham was a clear path to marital bliss, a conclusion Agnes found increasingly difficult to envision for herself.

"May I ask you to slow your pace, Mother?" Agnes managed a weak chuckle, an attempt to lighten the mood that felt hollow even to her own ears. "You dream excessively."

"As well I should. I'm marrying off a daughter," Caroline said, rising to her feet with a flourish that left no room for argument. Her excitement seemed to fill the room, an infectious energy that Agnes found both endearing and overwhelming.

"We're simply courting for now, Mother," Agnes tried to interject, her voice soft but firm, as Caroline reached the doorway, poised to spread the news of the evening's developments.

"I must find William and tell him what's happened at the ball tonight," she continued, opening the door and departing, leaving Agnes alone with her thoughts.

The silence that followed filled Agnes with dread once more. Gillingham had left the ball displeased with her, and she was still questioning whether she could trust him to improve her chances this season instead of diminishing them.

She gathered her hair and began to braid it, wondering how she could stop her parents from getting too excited about her courtship without revealing its nature to them. Guilt weighed on her heart, particularly as she considered her mother's unbridled joy. She had embarked on this charade with Gillingham to secure her future and prevent any disappointment to her parents, yet the deceit necessary to maintain the facade left her feeling increasingly isolated.