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“You may have it,” she conceded with a gentle wave of her hand. Her appetite had deserted her; she had managed to eat but one sausage to his four. She was silently thankful for his robust appetite—it meant their parents would be none the wiser about the scant attention she’d paid to her meal.

For a fleeting moment, her brother’s presence and his tales of his marmalade venture provided a welcome distraction from the shadows that lurked at the edges of her thoughts. “You will come down, won’t you?” George asked when the meal was over.

Agnes was about to decline, but thought better. “I will.”

He hopped down from the sofa. “Come, then!”

“Go ahead. I will join you soon.”

His eyes narrowed. “Are you certain you are not saying that to be rid of me so you can lock the door again?”

That coaxed a laugh from her. “I will join you soon. I promise.”

“I believe you, for you have always kept your promises.” He skipped to the door. As soon as she was left by herself, the harsh reality of her situation returned, unbidden and chilling.

After taking a moment—along with several deep breaths to steel her resolve—Agnes made her way downstairs, her steps hesitant yet determined. To her mild surprise, she found her mother, Frances, and Emma gathered in the drawing room. Therealization that her friends had chosen to stay, to offer their support in her time of need, warmed her heart.

The room was steeped in a solemn air, but at her entrance, her mother rose swiftly, crossing the room to wrap Agnes in a tight embrace that unleashed the floodgates of her barely restrained tears. The three women gathered around her, consoling.

“What happens now?” Emma asked, her voice soft but filled with concern.

It was, indeed, the question that hovered like a specter over all their heads. What would become of her in the wake of the scandal that threatened to mar her future? “What are people saying?” she asked.

“Never mind what people are saying,” Caroline replied, guiding her to sit on the sofa. “They can only be lies.”

Lost in her contemplation, Agnes barely registered the sound of footsteps until her father entered the drawing room.

“It is nearing midday, and I still haven’t heard a word from that Marquess, Caroline,” William said to his wife, his expression dark and his footfalls heavy.

“I implore you, my dear, afford the gentleman a little more time. We are hopeful to receive his correspondence soon,” Caroline responded, her voice calm. She took Agnes’ hand and patted it. “He’s likely as shocked by the events as we are,” she continued.Her attempt at reassurance did not quite reach her eyes, and it did not escape Agnes’s notice.

Her father turned to her. “George told me you ate the breakfast he took up to you.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Agnes responded.

“Good. We must be steadfast in keeping ourselves healthy. No matter what.”

He walked to the tall window that overlooked the garden and stood for a moment, his hands clasped behind him. Everything about his posture spoke of his worry, and Agnes wanted to go to him, apologize for her failure. However, she remained in her seat, showing strength she did not feel.

William swiveled. “If Gillingham fails to act in a manner befitting his station, I vow to escort him to the altar myself, with a pistol to his back, if need be,” he declared.

“That will not be necessary, Your Grace,” came a voice, steady and unmistakable.

Agnes’ heart skipped. The room fell silent as Theodore walked in ahead of the butler.

Emma’s gasp was the only sound to break the silence, then she clapped a hand over her mouth and looked away, while Frances grinned.

“I find myself before you today to request the hand of your ward in marriage, Your Grace,” Theodore said, his demeanor formal.

“Very well,” the Duke responded after a moment, his earlier ire dampening into a wary acceptance. “Should she find herself agreeable to the match, you shall have my blessing.” William’s gaze shifted to Agnes.

At that instant, Agnes felt a tumultuous wave of emotion threatening to overwhelm her. Despite the dire circumstances, her father was affording her the final say in the matter. She could reject Theodore and they would not blame her. The room’s attention shifted to her, a silent inquiry hanging in the air.

Agnes raised her eyes to Theodore’s, and she was met with a visage that was detached, far from the warmth she once believed they shared. His expression was one of a man resigned to his fate, rather than a suitor eager to propose. Was this the life partner she was expected to accept? Her heart ached at the thought, the realization dawning that his proposal was born not of desire but of duty. It seemed, to him, this union was akin to walking through the gates of perdition rather than a pledge of companionship.

“If you will excuse us for a moment, Lord Gillingham,” Caroline said, looping an arm though Agnes’. She guided her out of the room to her father’s study.

“How do you feel about his offer, Agnes?” she inquired, her voice soft, inviting honesty. Before Agnes could marshal her thoughtsinto words, Caroline hastened to add, “Whatever decision you make, know that we will always support you.”