Chapter 8

The Travers boys were a delight, Theodore thought to himself as he refilled his cup of coffee. But their father's ward, a vision of grace and wit, was even more of a delight. Indeed, he was right. This arrangement wouldn't be boring, after all. And now, he had the perfect excuse to call upon them once more. He recalled his promise to the boys to join them for a game of pall mall.

"You're smiling, brother," a voice cut into his thoughts.

Theodore met his twelve-year-old sister, Leslie's suspicious gaze. The young girl had a penchant for noticing the minutiae.

"Am I not allowed a bit of good humor now, Leslie?" he chuckled, amused at the expression on her face.

"Of course you are, Brother," she replied, the look in her eyes suggesting that her inquiry had more to it than she was revealing.

"I think what Leslie meant is that you look dreamy, Theo," his seventeen-year-old sister, Harriet, chimed in, pinning him with an equally suspicious gaze. She often saw through Theodore's attempts at insouciance.

"Is this about Agnes Young?" Leslie's eyes shone with curiosity, her voice barely containing the excitement of uncovering a secret.

"Agnes?" He was taken aback. How did they know about Agnes?

"Why, your betrothed, Theo," she replied with a certainty that baffled him.

"You two are all society has been talking about lately," Harriet supplied. "Even the servants are talking about it. That is how we heard."

"We are not betrothed, Leslie," he quickly corrected his sister, hoping to quell the burgeoning rumors before they took root. First the Travers boys considered him Agnes' husband, and now his sisters were on the brink of believing they were betrothed. What was next?

"But the papers talk about a betrothal," Leslie argued.

Those dratted gossip sheets!Theodore had no countenance for the rubbish they published, feeding society's idle brains with unfounded conjectures. Was that what they'd already concluded about his relationship with Agnes? He didn't know how he felt about this. It might convince Asmont that you are seriously courting her. If it will, then that was all that mattered.

"You're courting her, and you'd only do that if you wish to marry her." Harriet supported her sister's argument, her green gaze firmly on him, as if trying to decipher his thoughts.

Leslie now regarded him with an expression that all but said: ‘I told you'. Her eyes gleamed with the triumph of having her suspicions confirmed, even as Theodore struggled to find the words to respond.

"I… Well…" He fleetingly sputtered, his thoughts a jumbled mess. How to explain the complexities of adult relationships to his sisters, who saw the world through the lens of fairy tales and romantic novels?

"It seems like we'll be getting a new sister by the end of the season, Harriet," Leslie bounced happily in her seat, her anticipation undiminished by Theodore's lack of confirmation.

"Girls," Theodore said, offering a weak, self-conscious chuckle as they regarded him with identical expressions of expectation. Their eager faces, lit by the soft glow of the morning light, awaited his clarification. At that moment, Theodore felt the weight of his next words, knowing well they could either feed their hopes or dash them entirely.

"Do not believe the gossip those papers spread," he said, grasping at straws.

"Then it's not true? You're not courting Miss Young?" Harriet's voice held a slight quiver that conveyed her disappointment.

"I am courting her," he admitted, his voice steady, even as he watched their reactions closely. "But we are not engaged."

And the relief in the girls' faces couldn't have been more obvious. They transformed in an instant, from apprehension to pure delight.

"But we are getting to know each other slowly," he quickly added, wanting to temper their excitement with reality. It was important they understood the complexity of relationships, that not everything was as straightforward as it appeared.

"Slowly still sounds like splendid news to me still," Leslie chirped delightedly.

Yet, as Theodore watched his sisters revel in the news, something akin to guilt washed over him. Their faces, so full of hope and joy, reminded him of his vow to protect them. His sisters clearly yearned for a sister-in-law, and he was incapable of giving them that. The most he could offer them was false hope, and he felt like a cad.

That afternoon, Theodore made his way to call upon Agnes as promised, his steps measured and his anticipation discreetly veiled beneath a guise of calmness. The butler, without keeping him in the receiving room until he was announced, led him straight to the drawing room. The air was filled with a blend of floral scents and the aroma of freshly baked pastries. Were Agnes and the boys already waiting for him with tea?

"What is this on my cake?" A woman's somewhat apprehensive voice sliced through the air as he neared the drawing room. The voice was filled with confusion, teetering on the edge of alarm.

No sooner had the question come than a loud squeal erupted, harmonizing disastrously with the crash and clatter of China. "Oh, good heavens! It's a worm! A worm on my cake!" The woman's scream was piercing as Theodore stepped into the heart of the commotion.

The scene before him was one of disarray. Broken China littered the parquet floor, and a dark stain marred the carpet. At the center of it all, Theodore spied the Duchess of Richmond attempting to soothe her horrified guest. Her efforts were proving futile, however.

"Good heavens, there's another one on the sandwiches too!" The stricken lady was on her feet, her actions bordering on the theatrical as she jumped up and down.

He caught sight of Agnes, and she was a portrait of calmness, her attention fixed on a cake placed precariously on a saucer. "It's not a worm. It's a caterpillar," she corrected. Agnes seemed to have found a sliver of humor in this otherwise unfortunate situation.

"As though that makes any difference," the now apoplectic guest spat at Agnes, her patience frayed beyond repair. With swift movements, she snatched her reticule and made for the door.

"Lady Kirkland!" the Duchess called out, a note of appeal in her voice.

Lady Kirkland was beyond placation. "Utterly unhygienic. Such lack of common courtesy. Worms! In my tea! They're trying to poison me!" she muttered to herself, her words a barrage of outrage as she stormed past Theodore, and he was nearly pushed aside in her rush.

He knew Lady Kirkland all too well, and if she had not been so discomfited, she would have recognized him. And he would have become kindling for her tales.

Theodore found was caught between amusement and confusion. What was going on? When his eyes found the butler—who had been poised to announce his arrival—the man's eyebrows were raised in silent question.

"Lord Gillingham!" Agnes's voice broke through the tension. A sheepish smile graced her features as her eyes met his, and there was a silent apology in their depths.

The Duchess of Richmond stepped forward. "Welcome, Lord Gillingham, and pardon the fray. I don't know how we got worms?—"

"Caterpillars," Agnes interjected softly with a precision that was humorous given the circumstances.

"Caterpillars in the tea," the Duchess corrected, sighing deeply before she dispatched a servant to fetch the housekeeper, presumably to solve the mystery of the unexpected guests.

Just then, a small giggle from behind one of the sofas came, drawing the room's attention. Theodore's curiosity, already piqued, transformed into amusement as the pieces began to fall into place in his mind.

"Georgie?" Agnes called out. The boy's gasp was audible, a clear giveaway of his hiding spot.

"George Frederick Mathew Young, come out here this instant!" his mother called.

The little boy crawled out at last, his face red. Yet, the moment he spotted Theodore, his demeanor shifted. His eyes sparkled with excitement, and he dashed over with the energy only a child possessed.

"Have you come to meet my friends, Lord Gillingham?" George asked.

"Aren't you supposed to be with your governess right now, George?" His mother's voice rang out again.

George seemed to be in his own world, one where governesses and their schedules held little sway. He pressed on with his questions for Theodore, undeterred. "I have two of them having tea with Mother and Agnes right now," he declared with pride. "They seemed to have sent Lady Kirkland away, though. I think she isn't fond of caterpillars," he added, a conspiratorial gleam in his eyes.

Tugging at Theodore's sleeve, George pulled him toward the scene of the toppled tea service, eager to share his adventure. Despite the chaos, or perhaps because of it, Theodore was drawn into the boy's spirited world.

"How about you hear what the Duchess has to say first, George?" Theodore's suggestion was an attempt to steer the young lad toward order.

"Friends shouldn't be kept waiting," George countered with the sort of impeccable logic only a child could muster. His protest was cut short as a new voice called out his name, bringing a momentary pause to his antics. "Oh no," he murmured, concern in his voice as he turned toward the source.

"There you are. I've been looking all over for you," the voice, calm yet firm, belonged to a woman clearly accustomed to dealing with wayward charges.

"My apologies, Your Grace. He escaped from the classroom," the governess said, addressing the Duchess with a respectful curtsy before reaching for her errant student. George, displaying a surprising agility, dodged and darted in the direction of the French doors.

Thankfully, a footman, quick on his feet and clearly well-versed in the art of intercepting young gentlemen of energy, beat him to the exit and scooped him up just in time. George's protests turned into a cacophony of kicks and squeals as he called out to Theodore for help, a plea made all the more dramatic as he was whisked out of the room by his governess, who followed with an apologetic look over her shoulder.

"I should see to that child," the Duchess said, offering Theodore an apologetic smile before following the audible trail of her son's displeasure out of the room.

"Well, that was some grand introduction to George's little friends," Theodore said lightly as he surveyed the aftermath of George's introduction to high society. The room, though in disarray, held a certain charm in the wake of the day's events.

"George is fond of the oddest critters," Agnes explained, amused by the boy's display.

"Lady Kirkland apparently isn't," Theodore observed, unable to resist the quip. At this, Agnes finally allowed the mirth she'd been repressing to surface, and Theodore found himself laughing along with her.

"So, is this call mine, or George's?" Agnes asked slyly, her eyes twinkling. Theodore realized then that his promise had been both to the children and Agnes.

"Since the boys are having lessons…" Theodore trailed off, his mind already weaving through the possibilities this unexpected turn of events presented.

"Should we take a walk then?" Agnes suggested, her proposal coming as the servants began their task of restoring order to the drawing room. The suggestion was a welcome one, and Theodore nodding in agreement, eager for a moment of tranquility after the storm of excitement.

Agnes led him to the Richmond Conservatory, a place she proclaimed the Duke was most proud of. As they walked among the exotic plants, the impeccable fountain, and statues that adorned the space, Theodore had to agree. The conservatory was indeed impressive.

She also had some lemonade and sandwiches brought over, and they took a seat at the iron and marble table where the tray was neatly arranged and awaiting them. Theodore examined a sandwich before daring to take a bite.

"Never tell me you're afraid of caterpillars too, Theodore," Agnes teased.

"On the contrary, I have no appetite for the creatures this afternoon. Perhaps another time," he returned. Agnes's smile followed.

"Don't worry. I'm sure George didn't reach this tray," she reassured him.

"That is quite a relief," Theodore quipped, finally allowing himself to toss the remainder of the sandwich into his mouth. He washed it down with a sip of the cool, refreshing lemonade, the perfect antidote to the warm weather enveloping them.

"I must confess I am quite grateful to George and his caterpillars," Agnes suddenly said, her gaze drifting off to the expanse of the conservatory as if she were confiding in him. "Lady Kirkland's appetite for gossip is insatiable," she added. "She called to ask me about our courtship and when we plan to marry. If we marry, where would we live, and how many children do we envision together."

Theodore nearly choked on his lemonade. "She asked you all of that?"

"And more."

"Such as?"

"What color of dress I am wearing on my wedding day and what flowers I plan to use."

Theodore now understood her indifferent attitude toward the lady's angry departure earlier. She had been hoping for a respite, it appeared. "I suppose the rest of society is asking the same question," he said, his thoughts drifting back to the conversations he'd had with his sisters at breakfast, their eagerness to discuss the latest gossip sheets.

"Oh, Lady Kirkland is an entire society on her own, believe me," Agnes said.

"She cannot be that bad," he chuckled, unable to resist teasing her further, intrigued by her vehement stance.

"I agree," she said, a sly smile curving her lips. "She's worse," she added, her words punctuated with a certain finality that made him burst out in hearty laughter.

"Imagine if we told them there will be no wedding."

"They will lose their minds, Theodore."

"Indeed." He studied her for a moment before he broached the next subject. "I have received an invitation to a ball by the Countess of Barrington. Will you attend it with me?"

She flushed slightly before responding. "Yes, but we will dance together only once."

"Why?" he asked, puzzled.

"I have to give other gentlemen a chance."

Something dark suddenly turned inside him, and Theodore could not understand it. He masked it very well, however.