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Agnes knew her father well enough to understand that he was simply avoiding the ton. Nevertheless, she offered a concerned nod and said, “I hope he recovers quickly. We’ll manage without him tonight.”

Mary looked at her suspiciously, her gaze piercing. Agnes could sense the unspoken words hanging in the air but dared not voice her thoughts.

Mary proceeded to express her concern, masking her words with kindness and consideration. “Agnes, I’ve noticed how casual you’ve become with Peggy. While I understand you have known her for many years, it’s unbecoming for a woman of your station to be so familiar with members of the staff.”

Agnes’s agitation grew with each word. Her mother’s condescending tone grated on her nerves. She clenched her hands in her lap, her knuckles turning white.

Casual with Peggy?Peggy is the closest thing I have to a friend in this stifling house.

Mary continued, her words honeyed with feigned concern, “You must remember, Agnes, we are nobility, and they are commoners. You must not associate yourself with them as if they are friends.”

Agnes struggled to maintain her composure, her thoughts churning with anger. She could feel her mother’s strong hold on her face as Mary came closer, caressing it. Mary’s smile did little to mask the intensity of her gaze.

“I tell you this out of concern, Agnes,” Mary said softly. “I do not wish to make you angry.”

Agnes cast a well-practiced smile at her mother, her eyes betraying none of her true emotions. “Of course, Mother,” she replied. “I understand.”

As she met her mother’s unwavering gaze, Agnes couldn’t help but wonder when all this could be finally over and what this Season would have in store for her. The weight of her mother’s attention bore down on her, a constant reminder of the expectations she had to meet.

She hated all the attention her mother was giving her. The more her mother doted on her, the more Agnes felt suffocated by the weight of familial obligations.

Mary, perhaps sensing her daughter’s discomfort, changed the subject with a smile. “You look positively radiant, Agnes. I have no doubt that this will be the Season you find the most suitable match.”

Agnes clenched her fists beneath her dress, a fresh wave of anger bubbling up inside her. The words were like a heavy cloak of expectation, one she never asked for.

With a voice that was carefully measured but filled with resentment, she responded, “Oh, Mother, this beautiful dress you’ve chosen for me would have been more suitable for Rose, wouldn’t you agree?”

Every trace of kindness disappeared from her mother’s face. Her voice turned cold as she instructed, “Meet me at the entrance of the estate when you are ready, Agnes.”

Without waiting for a response, Mary turned and left the room.

Taking a deep breath, Agnes composed herself. She knew tonight was about the ball, and she had to prepare herself mentally for the evening ahead.

Agnes put on her gloves, a practiced ritual, and made her way to the entrance of their estate. Her mother was waiting there, her gaze stern and expectant. As Agnes joined her, she took a moment to steady herself mentally.

This Season was meant to be a whirlwind of dances, potential suitors, and her mother’s scrutiny.

I can handle that.

I can handle it!

* * *

“This is not something I signed up for.”

Matthew arrived at the grand ball. In front of the stately building, his family in tow, a scowl appeared on his face as he looked around.

The evening held a sense of anticipation, and the flutter of excitement mixed with a hint of apprehension. The Duke of Huntington was no stranger to the grandeur of such events, but the snobbish ton never failed to irk him.

Stepping down from the elegant carriage, his sister, Letitia, emerged gracefully beside him. Her presence was a comforting anchor amidst the sea of strangers. A soft squeeze of her hand sent a silent message of unity and support. Matthew looked down at her with a smile, a flicker of warmth in his otherwise stoic expression.

As they stood in front of the imposing building, Matthew took a deep breath, steeling himself for the ordeal ahead. The grandeur of the ball was almost blinding, and he couldn’t wait for it to be over before it even began.

His mother, the Dowager Duchess of Huntington, joined them, her regal presence casting a sense of authority. Her gaze held a mix of pride and expectation as she reminded them, “We must behave like nobles, Matthew, Letitia. It is expected of us.”

Matthew’s thoughts churned with a bitter irony. Behave like nobles, indeed. He understood the importance of maintaining decorum, but it was the hypocrisy and double standards of the ton that grated on his nerves.

With a nod, he followed his mother into the grand ballroom.