Chapter 6

Agnes grinned at Frances and Emma as Gillingham helped her from the carriage in front of the Royal Opera House. After revealing that the Duke of Preston was his old friend, they had invited him and Frances. Of course, they could not leave Emma behind.

They walked inside and took their seats in the box reserved for the Marquess of Gillingham. Soon the lights dimmed, and Agnes leaned forward, all her attention on the performance.

"Oh, how splendid!" she sighed as the first act concluded, and the cast retreated backstage. It was a love story, and the beginning was already sad and filled with longing.

"Should I offer you a handkerchief?" Gillingham teased. Frances, Preston, and Emma were engaged in a different conversation, and Agnes felt Gillingham's closeness. Her cheeks warmed.

"Why do you think I need one?" she whispered.

"You appear to have been moved by the performance," he added.

"Oh, only one in possession of a heart of stone would fail to be moved by this," Agnes retorted with a playful roll of her eyes. Her words were light, yet they carried the depth of her emotions.

"Are you saying I have a heart of stone, Agnes?" he asked, leaning closer, his gaze never leaving hers as he waited for her response. She thought her name sounded beautiful on his tongue, but she could not allow him to know that.

"I do not recall giving you leave to use my Christian name, My Lord."

"Oh?" he feigned surprise. "I thought it was one of the terms of our courtship, Miss Young."

"Do not stop now," she chuckled.

"You may call me Theodore," he said.

"No Theo?" she teased.

"There should be a distinction between how you address me and how my sisters do."

"What if I truly wish to call you Theo?" she punctuated that with a slight pout.

"Perhaps you should simply call me darling," he offered with a sly grin, and Agnes felt her cheeks warming. She looked away, mumbling something incoherent while Theodore laughed.

"What private festivities are you two hosting over there?" came Preston's voice from behind them, carrying a playful note of accusation.

"Such merriment without us?" Frances, who was seated next to her husband, chimed in, her smile bright.

"I cannot tell you how excited I am for you, Aggie," Emma, who was seated right behind Agnes, leaned in and whispered, her eyes sparkling. "I told you the poet was fond of you," she added with a nudge, referring to Theodore in their private joke.

"I concede, Emma," Agnes heaved an exaggerated sigh.

Meanwhile, Theodore was engaged in some discussion with Preston, his back partially turned to Agnes, allowing for their whispers and giggles to go unnoticed for a moment longer. Frances used the opportunity to scoot closer to them, her eyes gleaming.

"You will not believe how fast news of the two of you is traveling through society, Aggie," Frances whispered. "You won't believe the lengths to which some of our society matrons will go," she began, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "They're actually placing wagers on whether or not a certain marriage will happen by season's end."

Agnes gasped. "You jest! Surely, they wouldn't dare?"

"Oh, indeed they would," she affirmed with a nod. "It seems there are no bounds to their meddling and fondness for gossip."

Emma shook her head in disbelief. "How did you find out about all this?" Emma asked, her curiosity piqued.

"The advantage of being the Duchess of Preston," Frances winked. They held their fans up at the same time and laughed. The gentlemen paused their own discussion and turned identical expressions of curiosity in their directions, each man's face a mirror of the other's bemusement at the sudden outbreak of laughter among the ladies.

They were spared any explanations, however, when the performance resumed right then, the lights dimming and the conversations around them quieting as the first notes of the orchestra filled the air once more.

The show was most pleasant, and Agnes was dabbing at her eyes with her gloved hand by the time it ended. Theodore slipped a handkerchief into her free hand and whispered. "I told you that you would need it." He rose and offered her his hand.

"Do pretend you did not give me this handkerchief and you did not warn me," she murmured.

"How can I deny the truth, Agnes?" he laughed. He was more charming than she thought, and far removed from the lousy poet at the park.

They emerged in the vestibule, and amidst the throng of people exchanging pleasantries and discussing the evening's entertainment, they came across a familiar face. "Work with me, Agnes," Theodore whispered, smiling at her with an expression that looked almost tender.

Agnes could not help the blush that rose up her cheek and the little flutters in her belly. She was about to look away for the sake of self-preservation when Lord Asmont joined them.

"Lord Gillingham, Miss Young," Asmont greeted as he joined them. Theodore's gaze deliberately lingered on her before he turned to the Earl.

"Good evening, Lord Asmont. How did you find the show?"

"One of the best tales of love I have seen in a very long time. Did you enjoy it, Miss Young?"

"I did, indeed. If you had joined us earlier, you would have found me in tears." She waved Theodore's handkerchief as she said that, and the Earl smiled.

They discussed the play, and Earl, it turned out, was as fond of opera as Agnes was. "My cousin writes plays, Miss Young," the Earl said. "I shall copy one of his manuscripts for you."

"That would be splendid! Thank you! I appreciate my imagination being stoked as much as my emotions. And the theater never disappoints in that regard," she added, feeling her eyes light up.

"Well said, Miss Young," the Earl boomed, his voice carrying his approval through the vestibule, drawing a few curious glances from the nearby attendees. Then, turning to Theodore, he whispered—but loud enough for her to catch. "I would marry her if I were you, Gillingham. She is most impressive."

Agnes felt a blush creeping up her cheeks at the Earl's praises, a mixture of pleasure and discomfort swirling within her. The acknowledgment was flattering, indeed, but it also reminded her of the delicate facade they were upholding.

It is necessary,she tried to convince herself, repeating the words in her head.

"There, it wasn't so difficult to behave yourself for one evening, now was it, Agnes?" Theodore's voice was a soft murmur as he kissed her knuckles in the front hall after returning her home. The action, though part of their ruse, felt strangely intimate in the quiet of the evening.

Agnes, for her part, pretended to glare at him in response, not quite ready to concede any point, especially not one that suggested she had been anything less than her usual, composed self. Yet, his chuckle softened the edges of her feigned indignation, making it difficult to maintain her glare.

He bid her goodnight, then walked out of the house. As she brushed her hair in preparation for bed later that night, Agnes found her mind replaying the evening's events. Surprisingly, or perhaps not so surprisingly, she realized she'd had a very pleasant time at the theater. It wasn't just the opera itself, but the looks she exchanged with Theodore, the hushed conversations, and the laughter with her friends.

She pondered over their arrangement, wondering if it would indeed work out as they had planned, and if she would truly walk away with that desirable match at the end of it all.

Disturbed once more by her emotions, she set down her brush and slowly made her way to her bed. Cautiously, she lifted her covers, an odd ritual born out of necessity thanks to her younger brother's mischievous nature.

A croak greeted her, and she sighed. "I knew it!"

George, her five-year-old brother, had a peculiar fascination with the oddest of critters, a fascination that often manifested in the most inconvenient of ways for Agnes. He delighted in the shock and surprise his little "gifts" elicited, though tonight, Agnes felt neither shock nor surprise. Rather, there was a resignation, even though the critter was different.

She used a hand fan, the nearest object within reach, to gently scoop the little frog off her covers. Calling upon her lady's maid for assistance, she ensured the frog was taken outside where it belonged. Tonight's visitor, though an unexpected end to her evening, oddly mirrored her feelings—out of place.

"I loved the little present you left me in my covers last night, Georgie," Agnes began, her tone playfully reproachful as they gathered for breakfast the following morning. A sheepish smile quickly spread across the boy's features, and he shrank in his seat, almost disappearing underneath the table.

"What is it now?" Their mother sighed.

"It was a frog!" Harry, her eight-year-old brother, answered.

"How did you know?" Agnes' brows furrowed. Harry wasn't known for his fondness of critters, making it unlikely for him to have been an accomplice in this latest escapade.

"I saw him carrying it to your bedchamber yesterday," Harry replied, his defense quick and somewhat indignant.

"Thank you for the belated warning then," Agnes responded, smiling.

"Georgie made me promise to keep quiet if I didn't want any more slugs in my boots. Otherwise I would have warned you," Harry cried out, his face contorting in disgust at the memory. "Slugs," he shuddered visibly. It was a weakness little Georgie loved to exploit without mercy.

"Georgie, I thought I told you to keep your creatures away from your brother," Caroline admonished, her tone stern, yet she appeared to be struggling against the smile threatening to break through.

George disappeared under the table and giggled, his delight in the chaos evident.

"Ugh, children!" Philip, the oldest of Agnes's brothers, snorted with a shake of his head. At thirteen, he already saw himself as a young man and hardly participated in his brothers' games, but he often found amusement in them.

"Why, you only just got out of short pants yourself, Philip," Agnes teased, her comment drawing delighted laughter from George and Harry, and even a reluctant grin from Philip.

Breakfast then proceeded in its usual boisterous and pleasant manner. Afterward Caroline sought Agnes out, no doubt to question her about the events of the night before. She had already retired to bed when Agnes returned.

"I know how fond of the opera you are, my dear, but was last night better than the other times you attended?" Caroline asked as they settled in the conservatory.

Agnes smiled, knowing her mother was measuring her emotions and opinion of Theodore. "It was very pleasant, Mother," Agnes replied, her response genuine yet measured. She did not want to give her too much hope lest she dragged her to Bond Street to shop for her trousseau.

"Oh, perfect!" Caroline clapped her hands together, her mind evidently racing ahead. "Do you think we should go trousseau shopping?"

Oh, no!

"Of course, we wouldn't be buying anything just yet, but it would be wonderful to look around and make plans," she reasoned, and Agnes swallowed.

"You really do run too fast, Mother," Agnes echoed her father's often-used admonition, a smile tugging at her lips despite the underlying concern.

"I what?" Caroline quirked a brow.

"Nothing," Agnes demurred, her innocence feigned.

"You silly girl!" she tossed a small pillow at Agnes, and she laughed.

Beneath her good humor, however, the guilt persisted.